A unicorn stallion stood in deep thought, his face grim. He stared at a series of projections on the wall emanating from an array of crystal balls. His tan coat and nearly-black mane matched his crisp brown business suit, which covered his cutie mark. The rhythmic wooden sound of another’s hoofsteps echoed behind him, and a second stallion in similar apparel came along side of the first. The images on the wall were of a stormball game, the stands covered in a thin dark mist went through the projections, and Princess Celestia’s dispelling of said mist. The second stallion, a black earth pony with dark brown eyes wearing a pinstriped gray blazer, watched as the first spat in anger: the recording showed an aging athlete recklessly charging Princess Twilight Sparkle as black mist poured from his eyes, but he was promptly thwarted. The black stallion shook his head discontentedly, and said, “Well, chief, there you have it. There’s no doubt now. The threat is real.”
“If they’re getting this bold, Shadow-Walker, we will need to act, and soon,” growled the other, still looking where the projection was.
“If I may be so blunt, Mr. Fields, a few of us were getting worried you weren’t coming to this conclusion quickly enough,” said Shadow-Walker.
Mr. Fields said, “Were you now? Until I reviewed this turn of events, I didn’t have enough proof, but what happened during that match, well...no doubt, as you said. But they’re surprisingly paranoid. We can’t go about this in the usual way; they’ll see us coming leagues away. We’ll have to come at them sideways, and will need to get in close if we’re to succeed. We need somepony on the inside.”
“Who should we send, sir?”
As Mr. Fields pressed a button on the wall, the projections ended, leaving only a dull ambient light. The two started toward a desk with a few more crystal balls on it, set in wrought iron tripods. He turned toward Shadow-Walker and said, “We’ll need one of the best. Somepony who always gets the job done. One of our own, who doesn’t know we’re back up and running. Then, and only then, can we be certain the enemy won’t see us coming.”
“That’s a small pool to draw from,” replied Shadow-Walker. The unicorn sat at the desk, meddling with the crystal balls, as the earth pony continued, “How many would even be up to such a challenge?”
Mr. Fields pressed another few buttons. Pictures of four ponies shone on the wall: a charcoal pegasus mare with a dark blue mane, a tan earth pony mare with a two-tone curly mane and tail, a spiky-maned gray unicorn stallion, and a pale green earth pony draft stallion. Leaning back and waving across the images, Mr. Fields declared, “These four come to mind: Meteor Chaser, Sweetie Drops, Half-Pipe, and Cross Cut.”
“Meteor Chaser is out; she has a husband these days and a foal on the way. Half-Pipe is too high profile...too successful in the pro-skateboarding scene after we closed down; he’ll have autographs to sign wherever he goes. And...Cross Cut died two years ago, in a house construction accident,” said Shadow-Walker with a touch of sadness.
“Cross Cut’s dead?” started Mr. Fields in surprise. Shadow-Walker nodded slowly, to which the chief sighed long, low and slow. Shaking his head, he resumed, “What a shame, that he’s gone. He was incredible in the field. Rest in peace, old friend; you’ve earned it.” The two held a moment of silence.
As they lifted their heads back up, Mr. Fields suggested, “Well, what about Sweetie Drops?”
The black stallion rocked his head side to side for a moment, then hesitantly reported, “She did the best at disappearing. Last any of us heard, she still was in deep cover as a confectioner near Ponyville, due to the Bugbear’s whereabouts.”
“Ponyville, you say? Well, isn’t that just conveniently close. She will be perfect,” said Mr. Fields as he tapped a button again, making all four portraits disappear.
Nickering in displeasure, Shadow-Walker said, “I think we need to revisit who’s up for consideration. Sweetie Drops is a no-go. She’s a loose cannon.”
“A loose cannon she may be, but she’s also the only agent who ever had a perfect capture or kill record. If we must endure collateral damage to get the job done, then so be it. This cannot continue,” Mr. Fields said sharply.
Shadow-Walker pursed his lips. With a grunt, he returned, “Be that as it may, but it doesn’t cancel out that we’ve changed too much since we restarted the agency. What we do now is too different from Sweetie Drops’ M.O. She’s a scorched-earth monster-catcher for pony’s sake, not—”
“Not all monsters are enormous creatures,” interrupted the chief. “Some, as you can see, are other ponies. She should have little trouble getting in and getting the job done.”
“This is going to blow up in our faces,” sighed Shadow-Walker with flattened ears.
Mr. Fields snorted. With a pointed glower, he curtly said, “Put your differences with her aside, and go make the call. She’s the best chance we have.”
Bon-Bon watched as the quickly-bubbling thick clear fluid in the saucepan began turning amber. She shook up a carton of heavy whipping cream and began pouring some into a measuring cup as Lyra rounded the corner. The unicorn's bright smile and mouth opening up halted, as if put on hiatus by the focus on her best friend’s face, and was slowly overwritten by a cheeky smirk. Lyra’s horn glowed golden, as did an aura about her hooves. Her hoofsteps, silenced by the spell, picked up in speed as she approached Bon-Bon, still meticulously measuring the whipping cream. As she ceased pouring, and with the mint-coated unicorn upon her, Bon-Bon swiftly whipped out an air horn. Lyra convulsed and slid as the horn cried out its clamour, its bearer grinning victoriously. Bon-Bon hurdled her assailant, reducing the sliding Lyra to a dust mop. Lyra came to a stop a yard from the trashcan. The two looked at each other. Bon-Bon giggled triumphantly; Lyra pounded a hoof on the floor, protesting, “Damn! I thought I had you!”
“Hardly!” said Bon-Bon as she got a measuring spoon from a drawer, setting it next to a bottle of imported vanilla extract.
“How?”
“One, the stairs creak. Two, while your spell silenced your hooves, the spell itself makes noise. And three, I saw your reflection in the saucepan,” explained Bon-Bon as she helped Lyra to her feet. The two hugged for a moment. Bon-Bon returned to the stove-top, finding the liquid had begun edging from amber to a dark sienna in colour. She moved the saucepan from the active burner to an unlit one and poured the measured whipping cream into the mixture. A hiss sounded as Lyra looked over the confectioner’s shoulder.
As Bon-Bon added some vanilla extract, Lyra asked, “Carmel today?”
Bon-Bon said, “It’s pronounced care-rah-mel, but yes. A young colt ordered a batch of turtles for a filly he fancies.”
“Rumble needs to learn Scoots isn’t looking for anypony right now,” chuckled Lyra, slowly shaking her head with a knowing grin.
“Wrong on both ponies,” said Bon-Bon, shutting off the lit burner.
“Oh? You did say a colt and filly, not a stallion and mare, right?” pressed Lyra as her best friend finished stirring.
Bon-Bon snickered again. She began washing the wooden spoon as she said, “What’s Roseluck offering for gossip and rumours this time?”
“She hadn’t decided, but how did you know?” asked Lyra, trying not to laugh.
“Just paying attention,” said Bon-Bon, looking over the spoon, then resuming scrubbing it on one side.
Lyra shot her a questioning look, then reiterated, “No, really, how did you know?”
“I just told you,” answered Bon-Bon, not even looking up.
“Okay, okay, you want to keep your secrets,” snickered Lyra as she opened a cabinet. “I’ve got a bit of shopping to do for tonight.”
“For tonight? What’s—oh!” exclaimed Bon-Bon, dropping the spoon in the soapy water. A smile wormed its way across her face as Lyra pulled out a pair of saddlebags. “Wow, that’s here already? Does’'t feel like a year’s already gone by.”
Lyra beamed, “I know, right!? I’ve been looking forward to our Friendiversary for weeks!”
“Time sure flies when you’re having fun...,” said Bon-Bon, walking over to Lyra. The two embraced again, each with a contented sigh and closed eyes. They held each other for a moment with not a sound around but a warbling wren outside. They opened their eyes nearly in unison, each gazing into the others’ as Bon-Bon continued, “Nothing like a best friend, is there?”
“You’re so right,” cooed Lyra as they nuzzled muzzles. They looked each other in the eye, then smiled with small, genuinely happy giggles. The two very best friends let go. Lyra tightened the belt for her saddlebags as she said, “Hopefully this won’t take long.”
Bon-Bon sighed as she took a candy thermometer out of drawer, clipping it onto the saucepan, “It will. You know how Golden Harvest gets.”
“Crap. I forgot we’re out of carrots,” scoffed Lyra, annoyed. She shook her head a moment. “Oh my God, that mare is aggravating. Wish me luck in getting back before nightfall.”
“Good luck, Lyra,” said Bon-Bon. “And don’t let her get to you this time.”
“Thanks, I’ll try. Be back A.S.A.P.”
The two smiled broadly at each other before Lyra turned to go. She paused a moment as she got to the door, then ran back and gave Bon-Bon a hug. Giggling, the confectioner playfully pushed her best friend away by the face, saying, “Get moving, you silly filly! The mail will be here before you leave at this rate!”
“Sorry! This time I really am going!”
With another grin, Lyra stepped out of the kitchen. Bon-Bon shook her head with a small smile. That goofy mint-furred mare just made her happy, happier than anypony else ever did. She was just too much fun. Becoming best friends happened so naturally, and all the hanging out they did made it a waste of perfectly good bits for them to live separately. Bon-Bon had noticed Lyra seemed just as happy with the new arrangement. All the long talks, silly jokes, lunches, the occasional prank, sharing their hopes, fears, dreams, and deepest, dark secrets have been a strong source of contentment. They even had a park bench big enough for them both installed on the front porch. There had been rumours floating around they were more than best friends, but Bon-Bon didn't care. She had her Lyra with her through thick and thin.
Looking up from the thermometer, she saw the mailmare, a wall-eyed pony coming up her step. Seeing it wouldn't be at optimal temperature for another few minutes, Bon-Bon stepped out to the porch. With a nod, she said, “Hey Muffins. How do you do?”
Derpy tossed what was left of a golden-orange muffin in the air and chomped it. She grinned as she chewed and swallowed, then said, “Bon-Bon! I’m feeling great! The Cakes had butterscotch muffins this morning, and they always put a spring in my step. How about you?”
It’s true, today’s looking pretty darn good. The weather’s nice, ponies are smiling and laughing, and tonight is gonna be special. Can’t friggin’ wait!
They laughed together a moment, then Bon-Bon said, “I’m feeling great, too! I’ve got a special order brewing for who could be Ponyville’s newest item, and a special night with Lyra this evening.”
“Oo-o-ooh...!” started Derpy as a devious grin turned her lips upward. “Are you two gonna keep the neighbors up?”
Bon-Bon’s face turned a vibrant carmine hue, to which Derpy nearly buckled from laughter. Bon-Bon spluttered, “No-o-o! Nothing li-ike that! It's our Friendiversary!”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist; it was right there,” said Derpy. Bon-Bon exhaled hard as the mailmare patted her on the withers. As the confectioner caught her breath, Derpy gave Bon-Bon a hooffull of envelopes and continued, “Smells like caramel. Is it chocolated coated with peanuts you’re giving Lyra tonight?”
Bon-Bon flushed again, and in exasperated tones splurted, “No! Snails wants these turtles for Twist!”
Eyes shot open as Bon-Bon realised what slipped through her lips. A triumphant grin crossed Derpy’s face as she exclaimed, “Ah! Thanks; gonna get those fifty bits from Roseluck now!”
“Fifty bits!?” Bon-Bon shouted as her jaw went slack.
“Yep! If she’s gonna offer that much for gossip, why not, right? See ya, Bon-Bon!” cheered Derpy as she took off, almost as fast as she had during that stormball game.
Bon-Bon remained agape as she watched the mailmare’s sudden departure towards the florists’ market stalls. Grunting in frustration as she headed back toward the kitchen, she muttered, “For pony’s sake, fifty bits?”
Why did her words leave me so flustered that I spilled the beans, and that fast? This isn’t like me; I’ve kept secrets of all kinds for years. Hell, I still remember a myriad of classified and other privileged information for which journalists would pay a small fortune, documents Equestria's enemies even now would offer me amnesty and comfortable accommodations for life, and so on! Never once did I fail to keep mum on any of that. But...crumbling almost instantly when she suggested Lyra and I were together? Sure, plenty of other ponies have said the same—wait, why is my heart beating that fast, suggesting that about Lyra? Oh, whatever; I’ve got more pressing things to think about. I mean, I’m still the same pony; why am I now, as Bon-Bon, struggling to do what I, as Sweetie Drops, handled without issue? There’s nothing I had then that I don’t now, and when it comes to the big stuff, the same goes the other way, so—actually...no. That’s not true. Bon-Bon has something Sweetie Drops didn't: Lyra.
Bon-Bon’s mind continued to wander as she set down the day’s post, checking the thermometer and seeing it still registered the mixture too hot to continue.
Lyra is something special, something worth treasuring. Maybe that’s why she’s proving to be such a break point. I’m not used to having attachments, even five years after the agency shuttered. Having no emotional weaknesses or attachments was essential for anypony in the B.P.P., and I’m still...no, stop lying to yourself; emotionally, I am certainly attached to Lyra. I couldn't not be: she’s so sweet, caring, fun, and funny. I love her—as a friend, of course, and just as a friend...or...is that really the end of it? My heart’s going quick again...um...well, crud, I don’t know! Never really thought about it before. Well...I don’t recall having any crushes through school, or my professional life either, if I’m honest about it. It’s not like there wasn’t opportunity, even if I don’t include that creep Breezy Rays. But...what about Lyra? I don’t know. Well, it’s not like I have time right now to figure this out! Five degrees left to drop; that’s just enough time to sort the mail before the caramel will be ready.
Setting a pair of pair of paper organizers by the stack, she starting knocking the envelopes one at a time into whichever sorter bore the correct cutie mark. She muttered to herself, “Junk...junk for Lyra...bill...junk....”
She stopped suddenly with a sharp gasp, eyes widening. A bronze horseshoe in a golden circle lay centered on a small envelope. It was addressed to “Bon-Bon,” who trembled as she took it from the rest of the mail. Her hoof shook badly enough she nearly tore it in half trying to open it. Her breaths shortened and quickened as the colour ran away from her face. The shaking worsened as she stared agape at the letter within. She muttered, “...no....”
Her breaths slowed, but the shaking did not. Her jaw clenched. Bon-Bon’s eyes narrowed. “No....”
She collapsed toward a chair and missed. Blood vessels on her eyeballs stitched lines of red along their white surfaces as she crumpled the letter and its envelope. “No...!”
She threw the paper ball toward the stovetop’s pilot light, and pounded both forehooves on the floor at each word. “No! No! NO!!!”
Tears started down Bon-Bon's face as she seethed, breathing hard, with the occasional hammer-blow to the octagon-and-dot tile floor. Sobs overtook the rage and earnest crying began. Her tone remained angered, “Why now!? Why today of all days!? Why couldn’t you wait another twenty-four motherless hours?!”
Bon-Bon cried on the floor, not showing the slightest bit of dignity in the face of unwanted news. A passing wren flitted to the window, sang its fluty warble, looked down at the crying pony, paused a moment as it flicked its tail perpendicular to the ground, then flew away as if it were happier not knowing what started that scene. The confectioner lazily pushed herself up with her front legs. Defeated, she moaned, “Why can’t the past remain in the past...??”
She pulled on a towel, partially opening a cupboard as she found something to dry her face. Through the fluffy red cloth she murmured, “I’m so sorry, Lyra. Oh my Celestia I am sorry. I wanted this night so bad....”
Wiping the towel downward, her face and eyes had hardened. Somepony could have died under that gaze. As she stood up, she said firmly, “...but duty calls.”
“...but I swear she just can’t make up her mind. That filly is, like, so fetlocks-over-withers about Noteworthy one minute, and the next she pines for Big McIntosh. I’ve tried telling her both those stallions are, like, married to their work and don’t have time for a mare, and Octavia’s tried telling her that, and so has Carmel, but Lily is just, like, so dramatic all the time...,” prattled Golden Harvest in the gossipy-est tones known to ponydom, oblivious to Lyra’s drooping eyelids.
Boredom permeated and marinated Lyra’s every word. “Yes, anypony who’s ever been around when she faints knows she’s a drama queen....”
The carrot-topped earth pony huffed, and put a hoof on her hip, shifting her weight on her hind legs with an irritated expression. “Gee, Lyra, it’s not like I’m talking or anything! How rude a pony would, like, have to be to show no interest in what’s, like, going on in another pony’s life, or share with somepony who actually cares how you’re doing!”
“Gee, Goldie, it’s not like you’re talking about anything important, nor that I have anything else going on that, just maybe, I need to be doing that’s more important to me than listening to the rumour-mill. Do I have Your Grace’s permission to leave and get on with my day?” grouched Lyra, rolling her eyes and opening her coin purse with telekinesis.
Smirking, Golden Harvest retorted, “Oh, sure! I’d just let you get right back to your, like, best friend’s warm embrace! You have, like, so many things to do that just best friends do! Like sleeping in the same bed, trading spit, and getting frisky!”
Throwing a few bits roughly on the table, Lyra rolled her eyes while sardonically, snidely responding, “I guess that’s the difference between you and me, that at least I can bed somepony.”
“At least I can, like, tell the difference between a mare and a stallion. Everypony’s talking about it...,” sneered Golden Harvest, haphazardly dropping a sack of carrots on the stall counter.
“Believe whatever the hell you want, then. Since you’re too stupid to know the difference between marefriends and best friends, kindly bugger off,” snarled Lyra, taking up the carrots with a levitation spell and whirling off to leave.
Behind her, Golden Harvest called out, “You two have a loving night! I mean, a lovely night!”
Lyra focused as she gritted her teeth angrily. A slight glow to her horn lasted for a second. As a small gust swept through, the sound of flapping burlap ruffled overhead. Golden Harvest looked up to see the upper right corner of her stall’s sign flopped over, its twine unraveled and undone, in spite of the other three being in firm square knots. The carrot vendor scoffed loudly back at her stall, “Why, I never!”
Lyra grinned to herself as Golden Harvest grumbled indistinctly. The sky had darkened a little with a touch of crimson on some of the clouds. Lyra took some deep breaths, settling down a little bit at a time.
Maybe next time, Goldie, you’ll remember who gets the last laugh. Damn, the sun’s setting. You were right again, Bon-Bon; getting everything for your favourite dish took too long. If I hurry I can get the risotto done before the stars are in full view.
Lyra began to run, as did her mind.
I really, really wish there was another carrot vendor closer than Canterlot, but nope. Golden Harvest holds the damn corner on the market, and will for the foreseeable future. But Bon-Bon loves carrot dishes so much. Goldie's gossiping is almost as bad as Roseluck's. At least Roseluck’s kind-hearted, even if she’s melodramatic (well, the rest of the flower trio are too, for that matter). Golden Harvest, though...she has a way of picking at ponies. Just loathe that insufferable rumour queen. She really wouldn't be that bad if she wasn't so snarky all the time.
Lyra rounded a corner, dodging a disappointed-looking Snails.
There’s the house. So good, to see her in a moment! Just walk in and see her lovely bicoloured mane, sparkling eyes, adorable face, wonderful smi—hold on just a stinkin’ minute, where did all that come from now??
Lyra stopped dead in her tracks at the thought. Her eyes twitched, looking downward at nothing in particular.
That...that isn’t the kind of thought best friends have for each other. My very best friend is a good-looking mare to be certain; I’ve seen the heads turn when Bon-Bon enters a room, particularly when she’s all dolled-up...but to dwell on it fondly? No. I won’t. I do not swing that way. I do not swing that way. I never chose to fall in love with other mares. Yeah, mom, I remember. I won’t be the “dyke” in the family...geez, I hate the way she said that word. Still sounds so mean, even in my own head....
Lyra continued forward slowly, chewing on her lip and looking down.
No, it’s not okay. I know, mother, you don’t need to keep saying it. “There’s no reason for there to be both mares stallions, if it were okay for mares to love other mares like stallions. It goes against Princess Celestia’s wishes.” But nopony seems to agree with you, mother. Rainbow Dash firmly said there was nothing wrong with it, so did so many others around town. So much of town is already convinced we’re together like that...is that how I feel? No. No...I...no, she’s my best friend, my very best friend; a strong sense of fondness should come naturally. I do not swing that way.
The scent of caramel met Lyra’s nose upon opening the door, which...wasn’t right. Turtles required chocolate. There was no smell of chocolate. Just caramel, and not particularly strong. Lyra raised an eyebrow as she called out, “Bonnie?”
Lyra, that’s a pet name. You don’t use a pet name with somepony who’s just your best friend...but it’s okay between very best friends, right? I hope?
The light was on in the kitchen, but no Bon-Bon. Lyra stepped in. The caramel still was in the saucepan, and thickened past the point of use. Cocoa and confectioner’s sugar sat measured and in bowls exactly where they were this morning. She found the mail, not fully sorted, on the counter. Lyra furled her brow, but concern leaked into her voice as she said, “Bon-Bon!”
She ran upstairs. The bathroom was unoccupied. Poking into the bedroom, she saw their beds on opposite sides of the room, and no sign of her best friend. On Bon-Bon’s bed lay a long yellow dress, soft and devoid of wrinkles, and matching wide-brimmed hat.
That outfit...the one I like best on her...she planned on wearing it tonight....
Lyra sniffled. Tears started welling up in Lyra’s eyes. She bolted downstairs, checking on the other side of the kitchen. The shop floor was closed and dark, its delicacies neatly laid out on trays with the labels in place. Lyra’s shoulders and ears slumped as she hung her head. Moping back into the kitchen, she whined, “Bonnie....”
Sobs started as she dropped her weight against the counter, barely holding herself up. As her crying worsened, she flopped down. She pushed herself around so that she wasn't smashing her nose against the cabinet doors, and wailed. Heaving chest, rolling tears, rattling breath, Lyra could be heard out in the street. Within seconds a face appeared in the window, but quickly left, appearing quite uncomfortable yet concerned. Lyra began regaining control of her breathing bit by lonely bit. Still a mess on the floor, Lyra lamented, “But it’s our Friendiversary....”
Why, Bonnie...?? Why would you do this? You said you were looking forward to tonight as much as I was, but you’re gone. You just up and left me here crushed...lost...heartbro—no. That’s not—oh, who do I think I’m kidding? I am heartbroken....
Darkness continued overtaking the kitchen, and Lyra didn’t move. All her smiles were gone. She stared vacantly in the dim room. As the sun set, something caught her eye. A glint of light near the stove? Lyra looked over at the out-of-place reflection. Gold leafed paper? They didn’t keep any such stationary in the house. The paper ball was partially burnt, having been too close to the stovetop’s pilot light. Slowly Lyra mustered the strength to return to all-fours. She levitated what remained of the paper over to her, unfurling the mass.
I’ve seen this insignia before...but where...?
Flipping it over, Lyra struggled to piece together what little there was. Enough of the upper left was intact to give two clear words, which she muttered, “Sweetie Drops....”
The ruffled wet fur did nothing to hide her confusion. Lyra repeated, “Sweetie Drops...?”
Wait...when we were decorating for Cranky and Matilda’s wedding, she said something like that before charging after the Bugbear, that her real identity was “Special Agent Sweetie Drops.” And then she—the briefcase! The one with the grappling hook and such! It had that symbol. But why would they send her a letter marked like that, unless...they were calling her back....
The dawning moment of comprehension hit Lyra like The Friendship Express at full steam. A long, slow drawing of breath was held briefly, then the waterworks resumed. Her tears and cries this time sounded of anger and rage, not sadness and despair, as she once again slumped to the floor. Roaring, she kicked the floor repeatedly for a few moments. Emotional pain returned to her face. The unicorn returned to a sitting position, neck limp, while she reined in the sobbing. She stared at the floor, lower lip quivering. Her head raised up a moment, then Lyra dashed out of the house.
Minutes later, still with tears running down her face, Lyra stood outside the Friendship Castle, pounding frantically on the door. She waited very little before giving the door another fraught beating. A boyish soprano yelled from somewhere behind door, “All right, all right! I’m coming!”
The door opened to reveal a baby purple dragon with green eyes, spines, and underbelly. Lyra sniffled as he jerked back in surprise. Spike started, “Lyra? Wow, it’s been a long—what’s going—never mind. Just come in. I’ll go get Twilight.”
A crescent moon hung in the sky like a cockeyed, sneaky smile as the train pulled into Canterlot. Bon-Bon rode coach in the second to last car. She stared vacantly, the fur under her eyes drenched, and her eyes reddened with a sopping kerchief in her left front hoof. The conductor called out, “Canterlot South Station! Next stop, Hollow Shades! Departure is in ten minutes!”
Bon-Bon wiped her face again. She packed little, and had no issue retrieving her saddlebags. She tried to focus, but one face was all her mind could find.
Our Friendiversary was this night. Oh Lyra, I’d been looking forward to tonight for weeks. Your carrot risotto had been so close I could almost taste it. The stroll through the park under the stars kept my eyes to tonight. Instead, some oversalted peanuts and the redeye into Canterlot was what I got. I’m so sorry, Lyra....
Lyra’s giggle echoed in her brain, in opposition to the groggy grouching of passengers debarking at this forsaken time of day. She muddled toward the exit along with several others. Outside the train, few were on the platform. A few businessponies, doubtlessly bound for Fillydelphia or Manehatten, waited impatiently in their suits and trench coats, with their leather-bound binders and attaché cases. Bon-Bon didn’t look up at the coming and going of others. She walked toward the street, her mind digging up the old routes, trying to place them against the new landmarks.
“The moon rides high tonight,” said a stallion in the darkness as she reached the street.
Bon-Bon’s eyes narrowed. Without even turning, she recited, “Because we cut it a path through the darkness.”
Out of the shadows stepped a black earth pony stallion in a pinstriped gray blazer. He stopped about two and a half lengths from her, scowling. After a moment with Bon-Bon still not turning, he said flatly, “Sweetie Drops. Long time no see.”
She cast him a sideways glance, flattening her ears. He walked up to her, nostrils flared, the bridge of his nose scrunched, and the corners of his mouth turned downward. Their eyes met in opposing glares as he came alongside her. A moment passed, and she looked forward.
This is turning into a bad night indeed, having to deal with this...pony. It’s been, what, nearly five years had passed since I last saw him, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s been about five-thousand too few. What I’d do for a knife right now....
The two started down the street, and she spat, “Yeah. Long time, Shadow-Walker.”
The two turned a corner, still in silence. A palpably heavy air of anger lay between them, both sets of ears flattened. The two passed an entire city block as such before Shadow-Walker said, “I see some things never change.”
Bon-Bon gave him the same sideways glare as before, then snarled, “I was hoping we wouldn’t see each other ever again.”
“Likewise, but with the B.P.P. reassembled, we have work to do,” answered Shadow-Walker with just as much vitriol. Three ponies in nearly-identical outfits, each sporting a red bandanna, loitered in front of a run-down apartment building. All three watched the two angry agents approach. One began to advance toward the two, with an up-to-no-good smile, but the one leaning on a concrete staircase swiftly stopped him, shaking his head. The third watched nervously as Bon-Bon and Shadow-Walker went by. The animosity all but left a trail of droplets on the sidewalk.
Entering an alley, they walked up to a brick wall with little more than specks of black and yellow paint that once was some company logo and name for a partial mural, and a dry-rotted oaken door, its mahogany stain lay bleached out from years of sun exposure. Shadow-Walker nudged at the doorknob, and a green spell ray swept over both of them. Text in the same colour appeared on the door for a brief moment:
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SHADOW-WALKER
CHIEF SPECIAL AGENT SWEETIE DROPS
WELCOME
“I thought Celestia wanted total deniability,” growled Bon-Bon as the words disappeared and door opened. The two walked into a military-grade slanted lift. The doors shut, as they walked to the middle of the platform.
Could’ve been having my Lyra’s risotto and not around him if I just ignored the damn letter.
“Yes, and she still does. This facility never existed, remember?” hissed Shadow-Walker. A metallic clunk, and the lift began to descend.
“Every shred of evidence was destroyed, including this lift. How long has this thing been back?” accused Bon-Bon.
Shadow-Walker answered, “This is only my third time on it since we put it back together.”
“I also thought we had the monster count down enough that Equestria would not need our return,” Bon-Bon snapped.
Even dealing with Golden Harvest’s prattling sounds like heaven against being around this negligent, cowardly bastard. Oh Lyra, if you only knew. If I could only tell you...I can’t stand the thought of you being upset, and it’s because of this piece of trash you’re hurting.
“There are, shall we say, other monsters, that we’re tasked to deal with.”
Several moments passed in an uncomfortable silence. Magic-powered lights ambled upward at a lackadaisical pace as they descended. Other doors went by, but the lift continued.
Bon-Bon jabbed, “Did you ever apologise to Argent Belle’s family?”
“I wasn’t the one who left my post, was I?” snapped Shadow-Walker.
Bon-Bon wheeled around, forcing her face into his face. They were almost eyeball to eyeball as she barked, “No, you only cowered in that farmhouse and left her to die as the Cryohydra bore down on her position!”
Shadow-Walker pushed back, almost yelling, “Which would never have happened if you stayed on the north side of the ridge, and drew it northward like you were supposed to! But what did you do? Ignored your orders! You tried to outflank it, and because of you it went east, straight at Argent Belle before she had time to cast a sufficient barrier!”
“And you still did nothing!” shouted Bon-Bon. “Everypony else moved to help, but you did nothing! How the hell did you ever get promoted?!”
With gritted teeth, Shadow-Walker snarled, “Because I never got anypony killed, and I know how to follow orders in a chain-of-command! Better question: did you ever apologise to Argent Belle’s family!?”
Bon-Bon eased on her pushing, to which Shadow-Walker stumbled forward before catching himself. A loud metal clunk rang out as the lift came to a stop. Bon-Bon spoke markedly more quietly, but still livid. “Yeah. I did. I went to them three days after it happened.”
A heavy metal-on-metal hinge screech echoed up and down the shaft as Shadow-Walker, sounding self-satisfied, remarked, “Well then, will miracles never cease.”
“I told you to set your differences with her aside!”
Mr. Fields stood in the open doorway, bearing a face of professional displeasure. Bon-Bon and Shadow-Walker stared at their boss and stepped away from each other as the unicorn entered the lift. Bon-Bon blinked rapidly for a moment, and began in a state of disbelief, “Fallow Fields...? You're the director now? What happened to Director Reins?”
Shadow-Walker answered, “Heart attack three years ago. Way to keep up on things.”
Bon-Bon looked down. Director Fields consoled, “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Sweetie Drops. I really am. I remember how much you looked up to her, that you were in many ways her apprentice, but her family wanted a small, private service. She lived a long and successful life, with her work completed.”
“If her work was, in fact, completed, then why are we here now, sir?” asked Bon-Bon, trying to not cry at the news, let alone in front of others.
Fallow Fields looked over at Shadow-Walker. He said, “Go to Department 107, and see to it the gear is ready. Sweetie Drops, come with me, and I will explain what I can before your briefing.”
Bon-Bon stepped off the lift. The doors closed with Shadow-Walker still aboard as she followed the director down a hallway of steel plates and oblong magic-powered lights, spaced every four metres or so. Mr. Fields said, “Can’t say I’m surprised you two still blame each other for what happened that day. But enough about the past; you must be exhausted. I’ll take you to your accommodations for the night. Your briefing will be in the morning at 11am, so that you can have enough sleep to make heads and tails of what’s going on.”
“Sir, you haven’t answered my question,” prompted Bon-Bon.
I so don’t want to be here. I’d so take Lyra over walking through shadows of the past. Hell, even if I have to sleep in the same bed as her...well, that doesn’t sound half-bad right...but if I’m to be honest with m’self, sleeping next to Lyra sounds great. Even cuddling her sounds great...just hold her close, smell that coconut shampoo she likes so much—okay, need to stop thinking like that. Maybe I can figure out what I’m feeling later. Really wish I could do it now...should’ve just left the stupid letter alone...never dreamed I’d be returning to duty....
Fallow Fields looked at her a moment, then said, “Very well. Director Tight Reins captured monsters of all shapes and sizes, ones that threatened ponies’ lives and the peace Equestria has enjoyed since ancient times. When the agency dissolved, the only truly dangerous monster that remained was the Bugbear, which my sources tell me you took care of once and for all about six months ago.”
He paused a moment as Bon-Bon nodded. “The large and bizarre no longer pose any real danger. These days the monsters are other ponies. Ponies whose true aim, no matter how well disguised in niceties and charming words, are baleful and deadly to Equestria and its ponies. The B.P.P. was reassembled to combat today’s monsters.”
Bon-Bon nodded again. Fallow Fields stopped a moment, and so did she to turn to face him. He bluntly asked, “Tell me, Sweetie Drops, what do you know about a terrorist group called ‘Eleven’?”