//------------------------------// // 11 - Going home // Story: The master and the windigo // by stupidswampdragon //------------------------------// All the places around the world develop their own scent, just as their living inhabitants do as well. Sometimes it's an intentional process, as marked by the thin trails of smoke, rising from burning incenses; sometimes only as a by-product, the stench of work seeping into the walls as it lingers in the air; and other times by random chance of fate. Nostrils widening as she took a deep sniff, Lyra wasn't sure which category their home would fall into. They had never really paid great care about the smell, after all. They did clean regularly, but even despite the detergents - or maybe because of them? - the rooms slowly got their own olfactory hoofprints. Not some strong, overpowering sensation but more of a hint; a hint most ponies would miss, only readily apparent to the two who knew what to smell for. It was smell they were well acquainted with. A smell truly soothing her spirit. Blehh. I'm as melancholic as if I were an old hag! Lyra ran her gaze across the dimly lit interior. Not feeling like her regular self had evoked a number of emotions from her; this once she was just annoyed at her own self. Seriously. We've been away for... uh, how long exactly? The answer eluded her; she had to go as far as to actually rewind the events in her mind to get a rough idea. Rewind real fast that was; the sheer memories of dragging herself across the snowy hillside made her shiver. Ugh. Sure glad that's over with. I really have no idea why I even bother to remember those things! "Home, sweet home!" Bon sighed loudly. She had been moving ahead of Lyra; not by much, just enough to allow her to open the door in front of her wounded friend. "Well, one thing's for sure! I certainly never missed this place so much after one single week of vacation before, haha!" The light-hearted comment drew a sombre grin from Lyra. Indeed, they had left for the mountains roughly a week ago. Only one single week, Lyra shook her head with disbelief. Certainly felt more. That week had proved long enough to threaten her life with change more drastically than anything else in the last ten years. Ever since she had started her music career and had moved in with Bon, that is. "Master's home is a little dim." Lyra didn't even bother looking that way any more. There was really no need to either; she could easily recognise the windigo by voice alone. She had grown pretty familiar to her familiar. "The shutters are still closed," she pointed out and hobbled a few steps forward, careful that she didn't put any strain on her stitches. She had been getting used to that thing as well. The wound got less and less in her way, a development she could readily approve of. A bit too rapid development, perhaps; but she was nopony to complain about that. She simply surmised that she had become accustomed to the injury, her less conscious movements finally adjusting as well. She would still hiss and clench her teeth after the more unlucky motions, but those have become rarer occasions. "I know! I know, right? Real gloomy in here," Bon yelled back from the living room. "I'm opening them in a sec! Just be a little patient, okay? Need to put these bags down first..." I so need a code to let her know when I'm talking to a ghost, Lyra rubbed her head. She ran her gaze back to the door behind her and worked her magic a little. The brown wood moved with a faint creek and slammed shut, plunging the small hall into utter darkness. "Master's home is absolutely dark now," Snowy pointed out and sat next to her master. Lyra paid the windigo an annoyed glance... then promptly forgot about her irritation, her passing discovery amusing her greatly. Shutters still lowered and the door behind her closed, there were no sources of light left around her. As such, her eyes became useless; she couldn't even see her own nose, a sensation she had always found amusing and distressing at the same time. The only image she could make out were the blue outlines of a ghostly body... and two crimson-red eyes, belonging to the same creature. With no background to speak of, the windigo was glowing like a neon sign. That wouldn't have surprised Lyra much - she understood the concept of contrast. Snowy was barely visible under normal circumstances; but leave her as the sole source of light and she would appear to be shining like a beacon. The windigo definitely was no real beacon, however. While she was shining, that light didn't illuminate anything around, not even the floor Snowy was sitting on. Lyra blinked at the surreal image. Then she rubbed her eyes, shrugged and decided to ignore the weird phenomenon. Snowy had always been breaking all the rules of reality she knew of. Nothing new there. So not useful as a flashlight either, Lyra sighed and moved her hoof from her eye to the side of her head. Another thing her 'useful' servant was no good at. Sadly nothing new there either. Can't believe I signed a contract for this... loud-mouthed fridge! She couldn't dwell deeper into lethargy. A loud bang sounded from the living room, startling the musician. The rest of her senses also started working shortly afterwards. Colours and shapes, everything came back as light found its way into the house once again. "Master's home is-" Snowy began to chirp, but got shot down mid-sentence. "Say that one more time and I'm... uh..." Lyra growled, her righteous anger ebbing a little when she realized how she had no credible threats to a ghost. Not like being short on sound arguments had ever stopped her for too long. "I'll send you to the corner!" Snowy flinched and made rapid blinks. "Is there a problem with the corner?" she finally asked, tilting her head to the side and turning to her master with the same move. "I understand Master intended to punish me, but... a corner?" "Oh, I'm sure you'll find out," Lyra grumbled ominously and hobbled toward the living room. She felt real embarrassed about the lame threat - and for the same reason she hadn't expected it to go over the ghost's head by such a wide margin. "Master, what is in the corner?" Snowy hopped right in front of her pony master. She sounded excited and tense, her crimson eyes focusing on Lyra as if the pony had uttered some ancient secret that should have been lost in the mists of time. "At this rate, a completely idiotic ghost is going to be!" Lyra rolled her eyes and moved through the ghost. Despite only using three legs, she marched towards the largest room of their house with determined - though not really graceful - steps. She only stumbled when she heard the badly muffled mumbling coming from behind her. "Ah, I see! I better be careful around this Master as well, then... I don't think I like ghosts all too much." The thing didn't change texture or taste, no matter how Lyra jabbed it with her teeth or poked it with her tongue. The latter was a rather peculiar sensation, one she could only liken to eating dried mud. "You're making faces again." Using the best of her table-manners and most of her self-control, Lyra turned to Bon and faked an honest-to-Celestia smile. It took a gargantuan effort on her part and she succeeded splendidly. If only she could muster the same strength to get herself to swallow that stale piece of bread she had been chewing for the last few minutes... "Still making faces," Bon rolled her eyes with a weary sigh. Lyra gave up on the grin and refocused her efforts. She steeled her nerves, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Then she tilted her head upwards and gulped. It was a ridiculously theatrical way to eat, but she could suffer that much when she had just achieved victory over the first bite of her overdue breakfast. This had easily been the most problematic buttered bread she had ever had the misfortune to meet. It didn't prove to be a very long acquaintance, though. "Oh for the- just don't eat it if you don't like it!" Bon screeched and yanked the plate from the struggling musician. "What were you expecting?! Everything here is at least a week old! I specifically asked you if you wanted to eat something before I went shopping!" That much was true. Lyra did recall a brief conversation to that effect. "But I was hungry," she mumbled and glanced away from the table. She really was. The food on the train hadn't been any good on the way back. "Well, you're obviously not hungry enough!" Bon huffed and bit into the same slice of bread Lyra had struggled with before. Lyra couldn't help but flinch at that sight. That bread was everything bread should have not been. It had been left in a bag, becoming doughy and tasteless while they were away; it surely would have sprouted mould had they came back just a few days later. For a pony to eat that stuff without any distaste whatsoever - Lyra had thought that to be quite inconceivable. The oft-forgotten joys of coming home, she thought as she placed her face into her hoof. Anything but looking at Bon eat that... thing. "Master is high maintenance," Snowy remarked. Her ghostly form was leaning to the oven, a mere step away from the table the ponies were at. "Then again, most living things are. I guess I'm lucky I'm in that regard." "Pffft, yeah. You're just an undemanding dunce!" Lyra cackled to herself. A being who only dined on heat had no place to criticise her. Somepony else had also offered some of that criticism, however; in the form of a thrown dish, no less. Lyra received the commentary very gracefully. She did a perfect quarter spin as the wooden plate hit her head, followed by an immaculate landing on her right side. That finishing move was less eloquent than it could have been; the injury under her bandages made sure she regretted dropping the wrong way. "I'm NOT undemanding!" Bon slammed her hooves onto the table. "If anything, you're the one who's pampered!" It took a little while for Lyra to realize just what had gone wrong. Then she sighed and rolled onto her belly, cringing as the move pulled the skin under her bandages again. "Master's friends still look pretty scary," Snowy whistled. She had been crouching on the stove, surveying the small kitchen from that elevation, like cats do when alerted by loud noise. You scaredy useless goof, this is all your fault! Lyra shot an angry glare at the ghost as she reached to give her injured shoulder a rub. That wasn't a really fair assessment and she knew that much; but she couldn't help blaming the ghost for the mishap anyway. It was really easy to forget how nopony else could hear or see Snowy, which made her odd interjections really difficult to handle. I need to pay attention to the things I say, eh? "Sooooorry!" Lyra made a protracted apology until she had used up all the air from her lungs. "You better be!" Bon pointed a hoof at the musician. "And don't you dare calling me a dunce again!" "Heh. You know I wouldn't!" Lyra peeked at her friend. While the sight of Bon's barely contained rage would normally fill her with despair, she enjoyed it this once. She already had a solid plan to turn the situation around - and she was savouring the sweet revenge she could so rarely indulge in. It was certainly worth the throbbing headache. "See, I was just being annoyed by my good-for-nothing ghost over there." "Oh! Have I annoyed Master again?" Snowy blinked and sprang up. "I must have. Now thinking about it..." The image of the translucent, blueish pony standing on their stove made Lyra ponder whether it was still safe to cook anything there. She had no idea about proper kitchen hygiene when ghosts came into the picture. She finally decided that she'd get Bon clean the place, just to be on the safe side. "I shall tirelessly work myself to get back into Master's good graces!" Snowy made a quick oath, her eyes closed and a hoof pointed at her temple. "I swear I shall never stop until Master refers to me as some ordinary ghost no more! ...it was kind of dignified to be called a windigo. Old Master did that lots. When he didn't refer to me as a demon, that is. Still, demons are also of a rank higher than ordinary ghosts..." THAT'S ALL WHAT YOU'RE HAVING A PROBLEM WITH?! Lyra felt her high spirit crack, her head dropping to the side. A mentally deficient fridge without any actual uses. That ghost couldn't have been anything else. "Wha- what?" Bon blinked, her firm pose melting as confusion and doubt started setting in. "Oh... the ghost. I forgot about that ghost. So you mean... you didn't say that to me?" "Nope," Lyra dropped her head into a hoof. She didn't get to savour that sweet victory, in the end. Her servant-stupidity-induced headache was way too great to permit anything such. Such a pointless way to lose her good mood, too. "Well... still serves you well!" Bon shrugged and settled back to eating the week-old bread. "How many times did I tell you to think before you talk? Use your head for something already." Lyra tried to think of a proper response to that admonishing comeback. The only proper answer she could come to was simply letting her head slip from her hoof and hit the floor, nose-first. "Master seems to be in need of a proper vacation," Snowy offered a suggestion, still fiddling atop the stove. "You're the last I want to hear that from," Lyra grumbled. Then broke into a pitiful whimper, realizing how she just made a perfectly legit reply to Bon as well. A perfectly legit reply that would no doubt incur repercussions. "A-N-Y-WAY!" Bon clapped her hooves. "I think we need to get a few things done today, wouldn't you agree?" Still face-down on the floor, Lyra didn't dare move or even look at her friend. She was absolutely certain that she had pushed all the wrong buttons and Bon was just waiting for the chance to extract horrible, horrible vengeance on her now. "Since you don't like my breakfast and we have nothing fresh to cook with either, I think it'll the best for both of us if I just up myself and get the shopping done!" Bon declared. She sounded oddly indifferent; a sure sign that she was forcing herself to remain calm... the last step before she exploded into something dangerous. Or outright vile. Or both. Usually both. Whimpering on the floor and trying to curl into the smallest ball possible, Lyra just couldn't wait for that to happen. "I wanted to keep you at home... but you have obviously gotten better now," Bon continued in the same foreboding, subdued done. "So I have no qualms about trusting a little errand to you." That's... not so bad, Lyra realized and lifted her head up. Bon had already been staring at her, a sly grin occupying the beige pony's face. "I don't trust those crooks in that blue-blood's employ too much," Bon leaned forward, onto the table. "So I want you to get a second opinion." "A second opinion?" Lyra mused aloud. There was some sense in the idea; there was no way she could trust the medical crew of the Dancing Lights. There was no telling how implicit they had been to the shady dealings. However, all she had suffered was a bad wound - and that had been stitched together pretty well already. Why would she need to get another doctor see it? Had there been any problem with the treatment, she would have surely felt the effects already... be that pain or bleeding. "Yeah! A second opinion," Bon narrowed her eyes. Her smile also deepened in parallel, her lips parting until the very last of her molars showed. "I want you to go to the doctor and get a thorough check. You can do that much on your own, right? No need to drag you there, right?" "Not sure I understand everything correctly," Snowy scratched her head. "Master being treated by a proper doctor is a good thing, is it not?" "But I have already been treated by a proper doctor! You told me that much, in fact!" Lyra rolled her eyes. It wasn't the best decision on her part; she was in the middle of unpacking her bag. Her unicorn magic had obediently followed her gaze, scattering her stuff around the room. Now she had a bag to pack out and a room to clean up. Wheeee. "Indeed! I did say that. That being said!" Snowy broke into an awkward cackle, holding a hoof to the back of her head. "I have absolutely no idea who is trustworthy in this strange new world. Hahaha! It used to be so much simpler before. Old Master would just denounce everypony as unworthy underlings or crazy impostors and keep himself to his own. Nice and clean-cut! I kind of liked that simplicity." It didn't take much for Lyra to realize why her servant had liked that 'simplicity' so much. You just enjoyed not being exposed to thinking, didn't you! "Bon's just making me go through a bunch of demeaning, unnecessary and, well... scary checks again," her true thoughts blurted out from her mouth, way before she had the common sense to look around and make sure no extra pony had been listening in to her rant. "All because she's pissed at me - because you keep babbling nonsense!" Her heart immediately lighter, Lyra stretched a leg and breathed freely. That was followed by a mighty cringe and hurried glances around... and also lots of praying to Celestia and all the other, long-forgotten gods to save her in case Bon had actually overheard any of that. Her prayers had been heard. She was alone in the room. Alone, apart from a windigo who was glaring at her with a deeply disapproving expression. "I only voiced proper concerns. That is part of my duty to Master." "More like your only duty," Lyra went back to rolling her eyes. She also lifted her wounded leg and kicked a small can of sweets back to the bag. "Seriously, you're no good at anything that comes to mind." The round tin can bounced into the air and hopped over the bag, clanging on the bed-frame behind. Its broken arc ended on the floor, the circular piece of metal rolling around and disappearing underneath the bed proper. Le sigh. Still more mayday than my day. "And for that I do humbly offer my apology once again," Snowy bowed all the way to the floor. "I am sure Master will find some use for me in the future, though." Lyra wasn't overly touched by hearing the same sentence get repeated yet again. Still, she couldn't blame the windigo too much either. One rarely picked the fate one had to bear. She didn't really chose to be a musician either. Not entirely. It had just been something she had most affinity with. Under a different alignment of stars, she could have been a mailpony or garbage-collector just as well. "Whatever," she shrugged her servant's words away all the same. The fact she bore no ill will didn't automatically mean she had to sympathize. She focused on retrieving the escaping piece of junk instead. She hobbled to her bed, swiping the dusty floor with a hoof while cursing herself for not cleaning the place more often. Much to her surprise, the first thing she caught was a black sock. It was real weird to find one. Those things came in fours... and she had never worn any to her best knowledge. Maybe once, for a specific performance? Though then she should have had three more of them somewhere. She didn't recall having three black socks in any of her drawers. This isn't even mine, she concluded with a sigh, tossing the dusty piece of clothing behind her. She resumed her search undaunted. She had been looking forward to those sweets, a wish that could only be granted if their can was not resting under her bed. Teeth gritted and eyes narrowed to a slit, she extended her leg as far as she could and waved it around. Victory favoured the bold and she felt something solid push against her fur. A happy squeal rang in the room; her horn flared up with amber magic, her next catch sliding out from under the bed... ...and Lyra blinked in disbelief when a deep-blue coloured book came to light. Eh? Eeeeh? EEEH?! "Master has a strange way to store less-used belongings," Snowy remarked at the sight of a pony rummaging weird things from under her bed. "Old Master used a chest for this purpose. Then again, a full chest would barely fit into this room." "Heh! Would you look at this - my diary!" Lyra giggled absent-mindedly, the book having taken the entirety of her attention. "I had been looking everywhere for this thing, haha! Simply under my bed... well, ain't this embarrassing. Must have put it there to hide it from Bon. And I was about to give up on it and start a new one, too." "Better late than never," Snowy nodded heartily, closing one crimson eye and bearing the other on her master. "But - why hide a diary? Wouldn't Master prefer to have it proof-read while Master has the chance to correct it?" "Proof-read...!" Lyra jolted and shuddered. The mere thought of somepony else peeking into her materialized thoughts scared the living daylights out of her. That her own stupid ghost suggested that much - that barely surprised her, at that point. "Why would I even want that?!" "Because it would wind up on a library shelf one day?" Snowy began her explanation. She moved her eyes to the ceiling and rubbed her hoof on her chin, unintentionally resembling a famous sculpture about a thinking pony. "Surely when Master's late descendants would read it - centuries later - Master would prefer to not look like some uneducated country bumpkin. That's what old Master was always worried about anyway. That and not appearing in the best light." "Your previous master wrote his diary just to make himself look cool for his readers?" Lyra cackled with a dry tone. She had long since understood that blue-bloods were a vain bunch, but that was a new kind of low. A moderately new kind, anyway. "What else would anypony write a diary for?" Snowy fiddled around and scratched her head. "Books are pretty lasting, far more than their creators. They shape one's legacy! It's only natural Master would prefer her thoughts to get presented in the best light possible." "Keh. As if I cared what anypony thinks of me," Lyra sighed and cracked the deep-blue book open. Especially after I'm dead. I mean, seriously. Legacy? More like schmegacy. Who cares. Nopony who read a book about her would know what her favourite foods were like. Or how she spent her mornings. Or what crossed her head whenever she saw a pretty sunset. The small things that made herself her. Actually, she had been worried about the opposite, that she might forget about those things herself. Turning into a dull pony - or maturing, as Bon would refer to it - wasn't a prospect that had filled her with joy. So she had written those thoughts into the fancy book she had bought at a discount sale a few years ago. Thoughts may flee her, but she could always rediscover them that way. "This is just for myself," she continued as she ran her eyes across the hastily scribbled lines of text. "My thoughts are my own." "Haaa. That's something completely different! Old Master was all about legacy and whatnot. Didn't stop him from forgetting about his own son somehow," Snowy mused as she popped up right behind Lyra, making the pony slam the book closed with a speed nearing that of the light. "Recording thoughts for Master's own convenience... that sounds pretty interesting. I wonder what it would be like, remembering everything with perfect clarity. Would be pretty weird, I suppose." "What makes you even say that?" Lyra raised her eyebrows as she rubbed the dust off the book's cover. She had nothing but her own coat for the purpose, but she didn't exactly mind getting herself more dusty than she already was. Fiddling under her bed had never been a clean activity. "Everypony wants to remember things. Heck, we're always angry when we forget about details.... like missing a rehearsal because I- uh- somepony forgot about it! Not like I have ever done anything like that... ahaha! Hahah, of course not!" "It's only natural to forget," Snowy shook her head. "Living things always want to remember, yes... but only the things they wish to remember. No-one wants to be mired in the shadows of their misfortunes for eternity. Moving past means forgetting. The fine details, if nothing else. Dull edges don't hurt so much." True, I suppose. I wouldn't want to recall all the times I made a fool out of- Lyra stopped cleaning the book and wrinkled her eyebrows. A strange sensation had taken hold of her; one she could only put into its proper place after some heavy deliberation. Not that the conclusion was any more comforting. She sneaked a glance to her side, to the ghost of hers. Snowy has been sitting next to her still, the prim expression of the windigo replaced by a content, if slightly sombre smile. There was something strange about that smile, as Lyra found. Something contradictory. And the expression wasn't the only thing that puzzled her, either. "Seems you can mumble something other than nonsense. That was actually quite poignant of you, huh. There's always a first, I guess! But you...you said you can't recall everything about yourself," she mumbled, raising her voice as her loud thinking turned into a proper question. "Wait. Is it possible that you wanted to forget who you were, Snowy?" The windigo snapped herself to attention right away, her face returning to her usual immaculate, expressionless state. "I have no idea, Master. I would be surprised if that was the case, to be honest - that's kind of a weird thing to desire. But if I had done so, then I must have succeeded splendidly!" Lyra pushed the diary under the bed-sheet and then threw herself forward, landing on the soft material herself. Squeezing another perfectly correct answer from the windigo wasn't what she had sought to achieve with the question of hers. Quite the opposite, in fact. Well, it's all right. I will just try again some other time. When my luck's trending upwards. "LYRA! ARE YOU STILL MUCKING AROUND IN YOUR ROOM?" The yell came from behind the closed door of her room. The thin layer of wood didn't do much to its harshness though; Bon's voice boomed in the room as if she was shouting directly into Lyra's ears. "GET GOING ALREADY! YOU'LL BE LATE FOR THE DOC!" Frowning and mumbling with her mouth covered by the bed-sheet, Lyra wondered just when she had moved back to living with her mother. "Fancy city," Snowy chirped excitedly. "Master must be living under a really benevolent liege!" The first thing Lyra had done was commend herself on her great ability to adapt. She really had no idea she could get used to a constant annoyance that quickly; but she could successfully ignore almost every silly remark that had left Snowy's mouth. The rest she could handle covertly, only having stopped for a facehoof at the worse moments. She only made scenes when Snowy demonstrated the really deep ends of the windigo 'logic'. Those rare moments had almost made Lyra thankful for her bandages. She had a few overly helpful ponies volunteer for help whenever she broke into a random yell, but she could always brush the unwanted help off by pointing at her wounded shoulder and claiming how she had simply ran a little short on breath. The doctor wasn't so far from her home - though to be frank, in a village such as Ponyville, no two places could have been too far away. She didn't need any help to hobble herself to the doc, anyway. She preferred being left alone, so she could at least retort to her persistently stupid ghost without having to worry about somepony misinterpreting her. It was for the same reason she would have preferred to have stayed at home. She had wanted a good chat with that windigo ever since she had been better; the last time they talked in private was during her ill-fated escapade from the Dancing Lights. She wanted to know more about Snowy, lay down some rules, explore the ghost's capabilities a bit deeper... or rather just see if it had any whatsoever. She couldn't do any of those in a public street. Nor in a waiting room, for that matter. Talking about waiting rooms... She really, really hoped it was Nurse Redheart on duty that day. That would have made her visit a little less horrible. "Oooh! That's... that's PRETTY! I wonder what it tastes like!" That line had easily passed all the mental filters. Fearing the worst, Lyra glanced to her right, at the translucent creature; but Snowy was still, albeit staring in a strangely excited manner. Lyra stopped and tried to trace the windigo's gaze; a passer-by behind her had failed to anticipate the sudden change in her motion and bumped into her, the red stallion practically bulldozing her into the ground. Argh! I swear this ghost's only getting me into trou- Lyra's internal rant was interrupted by more pressing concerns. Two concerns, to be exact; thick wooden wheels that belonged to a cart. Thick wooden wheels that belonged to a cart and had been rolling almost right by her side. That sight must have been one of the unexplored venues of medicine, for Lyra completely forgot about her anger or the sore spots where the stallion had walked over her back. The cart had moved over her without any further injury before she could do so much as scream. The red stallion only managed coming to a stop after the cart had fully cleared her; which in turn had given her the fuzzy warm feeling of being safe. Yay! It had also given her a good view of the crate that had tripped and fallen from the back of the cart, straight toward her. Lying in the dust and glancing upwards, Lyra had realized something really perplexing about her own self. As it turned out, she would smile when she was absolutely pissed off. She only paid the crate a dry chuckle, for example. You've got to be kidding me! Even if it were in a funny mood, the crate only cared for practical pranks though. It landed square on Lyra's head, turning onto its side and spilling its contents onto the pony - burrowing her in a small pile of apples. A little apple juice too, as a few of them had split in the process. She noted the latter only when the smell of freshly smashed apples had hit her nose. Lying under a hill of apples and wearing an empty wooden box for a hat, the sweet smell was Lyra's sole consolation as she considered what could have been left of her self-esteem. She sighed wearily and opened her mouth, taking a bite of the apple nearest to her face. Well, no need to worry. I'm sure it'll be fine. The folks in the orchestra are absolutely level-headed, mature ponies! The apple in her mouth was kind of unripe, but Lyra found the acidic taint go well with the generic sweetness. She may get Bon to buy some of those later. She couldn't afford not to show up to the next rehearsal without any apples, after all. It would be the first day of the next decade where all the other musicians would refer to her as the Applestruck Lyrist, after all. All the mature and level-headed lot of them. Her self-pity wasn't allowed more time. She began feeling lighter as the apples were shoved away from her back; she was yanked upwards shortly after, the full scene of spilled apples and just as many on-lookers greeting her. She could have done without the latter. "You okay?" came a voice from the small crowd. "Yea... yeah," Lyra sighed bittersweetly and rubbed her mane in a vain attempt work the awkwardness out of her system. There were at least two dozen ponies staring at her, and that definitely wasn't the type of attention her career had prepared her for. "Watch yer' step next time," another voice came, this one berating her. Perhaps deservedly so. "You coulda' broken a few bones, even." Trading the awkwardness for frustration, Lyra groaned, her hooves still dangling in air as some unicorns' magic held her aloft. To be honest, that kind of concern had left her cold. She had recently survived way more dangerous situations than anything a single cart was capable of producing. "Oh, wait! I know her. She's that... musician, right?" a third voice rose from the crowd. This one prompted Lyra to pop her eyes open and nod eagerly, her whole being rejuvenated with energy. It felt good to be recognized. "She's the one who was signing last night! Ha, was that good!" Smacking herself on the face with all her might, Lyra wondered if her day could possibly get any worse. She needn't wait long for the answer; she saw an overeager blue ghost crawling up the side of a nearby bakery, obviously gunning for the three huge candles at the top. She knew the Sugarcube's top was only decoration, the flames nothing but craftily coloured lumps of gypsum; no way Snowy could do anything to those. Too bad that knowledge had easily been offset by the apparent haste with which her ghostly servant had been scaling the building's walls. "Could you give me a signature?" somepony pushed a paper into her face, out of the blue. "You're the best singer I have ever heard!" Staring at empty paper with a vacant expression, Lyra opened her mouth and tried to think of something to say. She came up empty though, and turned to the stallion who had ran her over instead. "Look bud, you kinda' owe me a favour," she giggled dryly. Her left eyebrow twitched; not because she was angry, but because of the overeager fan caressing her face with that stupid piece of paper. "Eyup," the red stallion cringed visibly. He wasn't really looking at the musician however, his attention drawn to the spilled apples. "Cool," Lyra nodded, blowing the paper away from her face with a well aimed huff. "Could I call that favour in? I mean, right now?" "Eee... yup?" the stallion uttered, much more slowly than previously. He rose his green eyes upwards, finally meeting his victim's gaze. He didn't seem too shaken or concerned, to be honest. You're like, way too damn calm! Lyra grimaced at the disrespectfully calm stallion. Are you running over ponies on a daily basis or what? It would have been nice if that were the case. "Couldn't you just, you know, back up and run over me again? Accidentally? Like a dozen times?" Lyra giggled and knocked the insistently floating paper away from her face. "SERIOUSLY! JUST PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY ALREADY!" The red stallion was just as unmoved by her plies as he had been by her pains, however. "Eeee-nup." Stuck in the embrace of her 'fans', Lyra glared daggers at the stallion and made a silent vow. Mark my words! I will find who you are and my revenge will know no bound- "Just one autograph!" the fan tried again. Her aim improved greatly, her white paper landing square on Lyra's face, covering the musician's nose, muzzle and eyes. Oi! You expect me to write with my eyelashes or something? I can't sign anything like this! Even if I wanted to! "When will your next performance be? Will you be the lead singer in the Swan Lake next week?" The paper still covering most of her face, Lyra had no idea who asked that one. Arguably for the better. What kind of a connoisseur are you anyway?! Why would you drag singers into ballet? Then a distant shout reached out to her, cutting through the cacophony her 'fans' has made around her. "MAAASTER! I ALMOST REACHED THEM! THESE FLAMES SURE SEEM COLD THOUGH!" Somepony just finish me already...! PATIENTS ARE NOT TREATED IN ORDER OF ARRIVAL. TAKE YOUR PLACE AND WAIT PATIENTLY. DO NOT KNOCK. EVER. The last word had clearly been a later addition to the sign, but carried some official weight all the same. Lyra wasn't sure what to do. She ran her gaze across the empty waiting room and turned back to the door to the doctor's office, weighing the empty room against the sternly worded sign. She mulled over the issue for a few minutes, hesitantly rising her hoof and then putting it back onto the ground. She closed the issue with a shrug and moved away from the door. She may have been wasting time, waiting for a nurse to actually check if any patients had arrived; but she didn't want to seem rude in case there was somepony already getting treated in there. She set her sights on the table in the other end of the small waiting area, next to a window and a large potted plant. She hobbled over there quite fluidly; the ease with which she moved almost made her wonder why she needed the fourth leg in the first place. She settled next to the dark-brown piece of furniture, eyeing the magazines littering its surface. Most of them were pretty old, brought in by other patients no doubt; but she was fine with that. She only really needed something to kill time with... and to distract herself from the absolute humiliation she had been subjected to. If only she had an idea which singer she had been confused with. No matter. I will just pick a different way back home. She grabbed a magazine at random; she was fine with reading any junk, really. She picked one solely by the fashionable black bar at the top. The thin magazine was enveloped in an amber aura and sprang upwards, hopping to Lyra... who was presented with the choices of throwing it away in disgust or staring at it with a hateful glare. Octavia was smiling at her from the cover. Lyra could never stand that pony. She couldn't stand that smooth, laid-back smile. She couldn't stand that well-combed mane. She couldn't stand that fancy, pink bow-tie that meshed so well with the grey coat of its wearer. Worst of all, she absolutely couldn't stand that attention-hogging idiot who had basked in fame while her fellow musicians went barely recognized. Even Lyra - one of the more renown bunch - had often been mistaken for somepony completely different, a sensation much worse than not having been known whatsoever. "I can't believe this is the first paper that has to land in my hooves," she sighed and hung her head low. She was still angry, but she had started giving up on her day - that helped to smother the negativity somewhat. Some days just weren't meant to go well, after all. "Isn't that right? This new world is so confusing, even Master gets waylaid! How can me, a poor ghost from centuries past, avoid such heinous traps! Fake flames, of all things!" Lyra looked up from the magazine and glared at the windigo. She had wisely decided not to say anything, however. Her capacity for sympathy had been approaching zero... from the negative side. She was still no Bon for certain, but she was also fully aware how she acted when she was in her grumpy mood. Better not say words she would regret. Especially to a creature that was - supposed to be - somehow supernatural. Even so, Lyra retained full rights to her opinions. Didn't you just, like, go off snacking while I was ran over by a cart and got surrounded by crazies? After that reminder, Lyra felt a strong temptation to see if she could beat that windigo up somehow. Much to their common luck, the door of the doctor's office swung open. An earth pony came out, her blonde mane accenting her pearly white coat. She held her head high and moved with small, self-conscious steps. That sight could have been best described as a pony with class, had Lyra not known that nurse already from her previous visits. Her eyebrows twitching, the musician turned to the nurse with a smile so fake that even a blind pony could tell. "Miss Treatment," Lyra mumbled and made a very, very small token bow. "I'm... kind of here for a check up..." Miss Treatment turned to her newest patient real slow, her green eyes widening a little when she glazed over the bandages Lyra wore. "Ooh! I know I told you to only come back when you were half-dead... but I didn't imagine you would actually do me the favour!" she giggled with thinly concealed excitement. "Come on in! I can't wait to check just what you broke, tee-hee!" "That's... that's the doctor Master is supposed to visit?" Snowy gawked, her ears dropping to the side of her head. She looked pitifully scared, even for a ghost. Or especially for a ghost, rather. "Hardly the one I'm supposed to visit," Lyra whispered a correction as she hobbled towards the inevitable. "She's just the one I happened to get." She couldn't shake the notion how her running into Miss Treatment was fate, though. Kind of. Of course she would be on shift today. What else did I expect from today, really?