Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer

by ObabScribbler

9. Prophecy Girl

The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. It was the wrong weather, Bon-Bon thought. Funerals were meant to be all rainy and dark. How could it be sunny when you were burying someone you cared about?

Nonna was dead. The thought still didn’t seem real. Bon-Bon felt like she would still hear the creak of the door to her grandmother’s house if she walked up the stoop. Nonna generally anticipated the moment she was about to reach for the knocker when she spotted her coming down the street. Bon-bon hadn’t touched the brass dragon’s head in years.

Ponies stood around her, mostly old mares and stallions from the senior centre. Nonna went there for lunch several times a week and played bingo on Wednesday nights. She was a terrible player but loved the game anyway because of the atmosphere. Put several dozen old folks in a warm room, apply punch, add a dash of competitiveness and stir until simmering.

Nonna was dead. Maybe if she thought the words enough times they would build up inside her and fill the hollow in her chest. Maybe she could choke her grief with a mantra. Nonna was dead. Nonna was dead. Nonna was dead. Nonna was dead. Nonna was …

Bon-Bon’s mother dabbed at her eyes with a hankie from her purse. Her mascara was perfectly intact, not a smear anywhere. She had picked out a black dress especially for the occasion, cut to flatter her figure with a little black veil to show it actually was a funeral outfit. Bon-Bon’s father rubbed her shoulder with one hoof. It was more emotion than she had seen from either of them since they came to fetch her from Nonna’s kitchen. She hadn’t wanted to leave but the paramedics insisted it was bad for a filly to see somepony zipped into a body bag. Her screams had prompted a rare outburst of anger from her father as he dragged her away. That had been it until now and this tiny outpouring of grief at the graveside. Bon-Bon was surprised he didn’t check his watch while his hoof was raised. He was missing a business meeting for this.

Nonna was dead.

As was customary, a photograph of her had been placed on top of the coffin during the ceremony. The funeral director had glued little silky black ribbons to each corner of the frame. The picture was of Nonna when she was younger, where her hair had been pure pink instead of grey and done up in little sausage curls around her head. She playfully held up one hoof as if she didn’t want her picture taken. In the other she held a stick of candy-floss that was an even brighter shade of pink. Wisps of it clung to her mouth. She was laughing. She looked young and happy and full of promise.

Bon-Bon had been given the photo to hold while the coffin was lowered into the ground. She held it facing her, so she would see her grandmother’s smiling face and not the memory of her slack jaw in the rocking chair as the paramedics shook their heads and said there was no way mouth-to-mouth could revive her. She had died of an aneurism. It was sudden and very quick; one moment she was there, the next she wasn’t. Just like that, Bon-Bon’s whole world tipped on its axis and she was still trying to get her footing back.

Nonna was dead.

When it was over, her mother and father led her away from the grave. Nonna had been laid to rest right next to her husband. Bon-Bon tried to look over her shoulder as they went but her father steered her away, his hoof on her shoulder this time. It was a lot firmer than the way he had held her mother’s.

“Do you want to go get something to eat?” he asked as they passed through the cemetery gates. Around them, old ponies streamed past, chatting about what a beautiful ceremony it had been and what a loss it was.

“Not really.” You could almost believe Candy Sweetie-Drops was in mourning. She got the tearful tone right but her eyes were still dry and cold. Not the cold of grief, either, but the calculating cold of snakes and lizards waiting to strike. “I think we should just go home.”

“If you think that’s best.” Bon-Bon’s father didn’t bother asking what she wanted to do. Nopony had said much of anything to her lately.

Even the response to her cutie mark had been underwhelming. Her father had smiled and said she was primed to go into the family business now. Her mother had taken one look, long enough to recognise it as identical to Nonna’s, and turned away without a word. It was ironic that the lollipop on her own flank was much sweeter than she would ever be.

Bon-Bon stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, still clutching the photo frame. “I don’t want to go home.”

Her parents walked on a few steps before also stopping. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” said her mother with irritation that spoiled the image of the grieving daughter. “Come along now.”

“I want to go to Nonna’s.”

“No, darling, we’re going home.”

Bon-Bon narrowed her eyes at them. “You haven’t let me near the place since Nonna died. You’ve never kept me locked up before. You never usually care where I am. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” her mother said without looking at her. “Whatever would give you that idea? Now come along and we’ll –”

Bon-Bon took a step backwards.

“Bon-Bon,” her father said warningly.

She took another step.

“Darling!” her mother snapped. “Come here.”

She whirled and ran. She ran all the way to Nonna’s house, awkwardly because she was on three legs. She was still faster than either of her parents. By the time they caught up with her, sweating and flustered, their funeral attire dishevelled, she had seen what they were trying to keep from her.

“You … you let them …” she stuttered, staring at the carts still parked along the street.

Each one was filled with her grandmother’s possessions: furniture, decorations, books, plus other things buried under mounds of rubbish. The front door to the house was open. As Bon-Bon watched, a workpony carried out a cardboard box of items. His unicorn horn glowed as he levitated the box towards the nearest cart. Along the side it read: Honest Ernie’s Refuse Collection.

“I thought you said they’d be all done by lunchtime,” hissed her mother.

“They’re manual labourers,” her father retorted. “When have they ever worked to the time they say?”

Bon-bon galloped towards the unicorn. “Stop! Stop! Those are my grandmother’s things! You can’t just take them away!”

The unicorn looked shocked. The box fumbled in the air, tipping some of its contents onto the ground. Bon-Bon fell on them like she was jumping into a swimming pool, spread-eagling herself as a foal would across toys it didn’t want anypony else to play with. The unicorn stared at her, dumbfounded.

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” said her mother as she, too, galloped up. “Poor thing’s wracked with grief, you know. Just carry on with what you were doing.”

“No!” Bon-Bon wailed. “No, you can’t take them!”

“Ignore her. My husband and I are the ones paying you, so do your job.”

“Um …” The unicorn scratched his head. “I can’t lift those things while she’s lying on them like that. She might get hurt.”

Bon-Bon tried to stretch out every limb as far as they would go, to cover as much as possible. “You’re trying to get rid of her,” she howled. “You knew I wouldn’t let you, so you didn’t want me to find out until after it was done. You’re trying to erase her, like she never existed, just because you were ashamed of her!”

“Nonsense.” Her mother sounded rattled. She pushed a strand of pink hair back into place under her little black hat. She always wore hats, even indoors: boaters, berets, tam-o’shanters, sun hats, and bonnets – if it was feminine and kept her hair from showing, she wore it. “You’re being hysterical, darling. Now get up and leave this poor stallion to do his –”

“No!” Bon-Bon screamed. “No, you’re throwing it all away! This is all we have left of her – all I have left of her – and you’re just letting it be thrown away like it doesn’t matter! Like she doesn’t matter! But she does! She matters!”

“It’s all junk anyway,” said her mother. “Nopony would pay good money for any of it. It’s old and ugly; I won’t have it in the apartment so it has to go. Now get up and stop being ridiculous.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Now you really are being ridiculous. Where would you keep a bureau, or a rocking chair, or a dining table? The record player didn’t work even when I was a filly, the crockery is full of chips and cracks and those hideous paintings she put on the walls were only there to cover the cracks in the plaster. She got them because they were cheap. It’s all cheap. Cheap junk. And it’s going where all cheap junk should go – into the garbage!”

The increasingly staccato venom of her words made Bon-Bon look up in shock. Her mother was never so openly scathing, especially in public and especially with strangers around. Her expression now, even half-hidden by her veil, was one of long-held bitterness. She was not looking at Bon-Bon but at the house, as if she was staring at the source of all her life’s miseries. She looked as though at any moment she might leap at it and start tearing it apart, brick by brick.

Bon-Bon was struck then by the thought that her mother had worked her whole life to get away from this place and its imperfections. Everything she had done had been to compensate for a history marked by poverty and scarcity. There had never been enough of anything while she was growing up, and what her parents could provide for her was second-hoof at least. She had grown up hating their ‘make do and mend’ attitude and strived to do everything she could to make a life where that wasn’t the only option. And in doing so, she had also stripped away all the warmth and love that had characterised her humble beginnings. Having everything she could ever want had produced a deadly side-effect: she didn’t want the things that counted.

“Candy,” said Bon-Bon’s father. “Eyes and ears, honey.” He meant the workponies, who had all stopped what they were doing to watch her. He and she were prominent business-ponies whose reputations hinged on being wholesome and saccharine. A dead mother they could work with; that was good for sympathy. A public hissy fit was not.

Bon-Bon’s mother drew a shuddering breath. You could see her mentally drawing together the pieces that had floated away, binding them down under the etiquette she had ruthlessly taught herself to follow. “I’m fine,” she said tightly. “Bon-Bon. Come here. We’re leaving.”

Bon-Bon opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut across her.

“Now, Bon-Bon.” The cold iron in her tone made it clear: retaliation would not be tolerated and punishment for it would be significant.

Bon-Bon almost didn’t care. Nonna was dead and her home and all Bon-Bon’s memories of the place had been destroyed. What else could be taken from her? Even the prospect of school and Bright Eyes wasn’t so scary anymore. Bon-Bon hadn’t been back to school in the days leading up to the funeral. She tried to care about what was probably being said about her and couldn’t raise herself out of her grief enough to worry. She felt numb, like she just wanted to crawl into bed and never wake up.

“Bon-Bon,” said her father, also in a warning tone. “Come along now. You’ve upset your poor mother enough.”

She had upset her mother? Okay, that was laughable. Except that Bon-Bon really didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, she got carefully to her feet and picked her way towards her parents over the broken vases and scattered cooking implements. They had been thrown haphazardly into the box before they were tipped onto the ground. Nearly everything was damaged or broken. One thing, however, caught her eye. She recognised the old tin Nonna had brought with her when she moved to Equestria. The words ‘Madre Migliori Biscotti’ and a picture of a rearing pony emblazoned the front. On impulse she snatched it up, opened the lid and placed her grandmother’s photograph inside. Then she replaced the lid and carried both back to the sidewalk where her parents were waiting.

She met her mother’s gaze. For a second it seemed like Candy might argue. Then she shook her head, conceding defeat in this one thing. It should have felt like a victory. It didn’t.

Nonna was dead.

Bon-Bon carried the tin all the way back to their apartment like it was a magical artifact, holding it tight in the elevator and finally depositing it in her pristine bedroom. All the rooms in their apartment were pale and modern and minimalist. The tin stuck out like a sore fetlock. Defiantly, Bon-Bon put it in pride of place in the middle of her bookshelf, facing the door, so it was the first thing anypony would see as they entered. The painted rearing pony made a poor lookout but Bon-Bon stroked its faded colours lovingly.

Nonna was dead.

Staring at the tin, Bon-Bon thought the words again. This time the tears came in droves. She cried and cried until each breath hurt to draw and her chest ached. Then she cried some more for all the things she had lost, as well as the things she would never have.

The bolt of lightning through her brain was almost a welcome relief. At least it was a different pain than the ones she was already experiencing. It fried her synapses and made every muscle go rigid like she had just grabbed an exposed electrical cable. For a second her whole body convulsed and there was a sensation of pushing inside her, as if something was shouldering aside her internal organs to make room for itself. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out.

And then she fainted.

---

Pip constantly compared Ponyville with Trottingham. Everything in his new home seemed strange to him, even now, after months of living here. The buildings were different, the accent was different, and the way ponies talked to him was different. In all, he sort of like the differences, but they had been difficult to swallow at first. He had wept and wailed about moving her at first because all his friends were in Trottingham and he wouldn’t get to see them anymore. Ponyville was all the way on the other side of Equestria! It wasn’t like he could go over to their houses after school to play, or get together at the weekend the way they used to.

Nowadays it wasn’t so bad. The colts and fillies at his new school were, by and large, a friendly bunch. There were some horrid ones he didn’t like to go near. Mostly those were in other classes, so they didn’t bother him, but at break-time and lunch there were no walls keeping them away from him. Diamond Tiara kept saying his accent made him sound stupid and Silver Spoon laughed that he was a piebald because piebald ponies were ‘common’, so he kept away from them in particular, but most of the others were nice.

When the bell rang for morning break (they called it ‘recess’ in Ponyville, not ‘playtime’ like in Trottingham), he emptied out of the school building alongside everyone else and immediately looked for his friends. Featherweight was off sick again. He was off sick a lot, Pip had found. Sometimes he even had to go to the hospital for check-ups because he was so small. When Pip asked at home whether he should be going to the hospital for check-ups because he was a bit on the small side, his mother had shaken her head and told him that Featherweight was a ‘preemie’ so there were special rules for him. Pip hadn’t understood properly but that didn’t matter. Featherweight was cool when he was around and when he wasn’t, well, there was always Dinky.

If any of Pip’s friends in Trottingham knew he had befriended a filly, they would have laughed themselves stupid. Fillies were icky and totally yuck! Even Dinky suffered from liking pink too much and had come to school dressed as a fairy princess on Book Day (Pip had come as a pirate, which was even cooler than when he dressed as one on Nightmare Night, because Pinkie Pie had given him a really cool beard and moustache to wear as well this time). Despite these obvious shortcomings, however, Dinky was pretty cool and had been the first pony who was nice to Pip when he arrived in the middle of the school year and didn’t want to admit why. How uncool was it to admit your parents were so spooked by some stupid foalnapper – who had already been caught by the police – that they upped sticks and moved across the country to keep their son from being foalnapped too?

Today Dinky was sitting by herself on the swing. Pip bounced cheerfully up to her.

“Hi, Dinky!” he trilled.

She looked over at him. “Oh. Hi, Pip.”

Pip frowned. “Why aren’t you swinging?”

Dinky kicked the dirt with on hind hoof. “Don’t feel like it.”

“Then get off and push me while I swing.” He could say stuff like that to Dinky. She was cool and didn’t care if he said please or thank you – until he went too far and she kicked his shins until he remembered his manners again.

Dinky slid off the swing and pip got on. She shoved him with her forehooves but her efforts were lacklustre.

“Higher!” Pip yelled. “I want to go higher!”

Dinky shoved with a little more force but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. Eventually Pip let the swing come to a stop and twisted to look at her over his shoulder. He was surprised to see that Dinky looked on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Pip twisted even further to look at her, so that his little body was almost folded in half at the waist. “You look really upset. How can you not know why you’re upset?”

Dinky wiped at her eyes. “I mean I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Huh?”

“With my mommy. She’s acting all weird and last night Auntie Golden Harvest came over and they were talking in whispers in the living room, but when I came out of my bedroom to ask what was going on I got told to just go back to bed. Auntie Golden Harvest had this weird look on her face, so I stamped my hoof and wouldn’t go back to bed and … and …” She sniffled woefully. “Mommy yelled at me.”

“Is that all?” Pip scoffed. “My mummy and daddy shout at me all the time.”

“My mommy never yells at me,” Dinky insisted.

“Never?” Pip was shocked. “Never ever? Not even when you do bad things?”

“I don’t do bad things.”

“I don’t believe you. Everypony does bad things and gets yelled at.”

“Well I don’t,” Dinky replied, folding her forelegs and sticking out her lower lip. “And my mommy never yells at me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

“I am not!”

“You are too! I bet your mummy shouts at you all the time! I bet you do bad stuff and … and it’s so bad it makes her cry!”

It was an awful thing to say, especially to a friend, but Pip was caught up in the heat of the moment. He would feel terrible about it later. He expected Dinky to yell back at him some more, but to his continued surprise, she leapt at him, knocking him off the swing. They cannoned through the air and rolled around in the dirt, grappling until the teacher on duty galloped up and pulled them apart.

“What in Celestia’s name are you two doing?” exclaimed Miss Porcelain, stunned to see her two loveliest students fighting like a pair of cats over a dead mouse.

Pip pointed. “She started it!”

Dinky glared at him. “My mommy was not crying because of me!” Then she surprised everyone who had gathered to watch by bursting into tears. “I d-don’t know wh-why she was c-cryiiiiing!”

Miss Porcelain released Pip, who stared in horror at Dinky as the teacher gathered her up and, somewhat creakily, hobbled towards the school. “Come with me, Pippin Longstocking. You have some explaining to do.”

---

Bon-Bon jerked awake as if shocked by a live wire. She lay in bed for a moment, senses wide open. No demons. She was in bed, at home, it was still light outside and everypony was still safe. She clutched at these facts like hoofholds as she levered herself upright and stretched. All her muscles tensed for one glorious moment before she released them and shook.

One glance in the mirror told her she was a mess. Her eyes had new threads of red where they were bloodshot and her mane sat in interesting peaks and troughs. The live wire explanation held more credence the more she stared.

“Sweet Celestia, that’s not a pretty sight to wake up to,” she muttered, reaching for her brush. As she tended to her mane, tail and coat she went over what she had to do next: get something to eat, get to Zecora’s house and get to grips with the Lunar Sword before night fell and she had to go on patrol.

Soon the smell of grease filled the small house. Bon-Bon decided to fry all her food, reasoning that the more calories she took in now, the more energy she would have for her session with Princess Luna. This morning had really taken it out of her and she couldn’t afford to start a patrol already exhausted. Nonetheless, she also couldn’t afford not to put her whole heart into learning whatever Luna had to teach. If the Lunar Sword was ever to be useful – or at least not a brain-stomping hindrance – Bon-Bon had to figure out how to wield it as she would a regular sword. As she scraped baked beans, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes and even fried bread onto a plate, Bon-Bon considered how best to approach the thorny issue of dominance with a millennia-old sentient, empathic chunk of metal.

The knock at her door was a surprise. She paused with the first forkful of mushrooms halfway to her mouth. The knock came again. She pushed back her chair irritably.

Lyra stood on her doorstep. Bon-Bon blinked in surprise and alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Lyra replied defensively. “I was on my way home from work and came to say hi.”

“Oh.” Feeling a little mean for her suspicion, Bon-Bon said awkwardly, “Uh, hi.”

“Well that was weak. And lame. It was weak-lame. Or … wame? Leak? No, wait, that’s already a word, isn’t it? Can I smell toast?”

Bon-Bon glanced over her shoulder. “I was just about to sit down to eat. Would you like to join me?”

“Cool!” Needing no further invitation, Lyra bustled inside. “Oh, cool-a-rooney! Fried tomatoes! How do you get them to stay that shape so well? Mine always explode when I try to cook them and I end up scraping tomato seeds off the inside of my oven.”

“I use a frying pan, not the oven, and you’re trying to tell me you actually clean yours?” Bon-Bon said doubtfully, closing the door and returning to the kitchen. “You have that plate. I’ll make some more.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Lyra protested. “We can just split what you already made. There’s a ton here!” Her eyes widened. “Celestia’s sweet shiny horn, Bon-Bon, how much were you planning to eat? No wonder you always complain about your weight.” She wagged a hoof. “It’s not good to eat huge meals in private. That’s how pony obesity is getting to be such a problem in Equestria. Small meals of good, healthy – oh my gosh, is that fried bread? I love fried bread!” Lyra plonked herself down, placed a layer of tomatoes and mushrooms on the slice and rolled it up. Her face when she took a bite was one shade away from total ecstasy. “Bon-Bon, this is … you’re a … oh my … how the hay do you make everything taste so good!?”

Bon-Bon gave a small smile as she retrieved the frying pan from the sink and relit a burner on the hob. She extricated all the food she had so diligently put away and set about making another heaving plate of food.

When it was sizzling in the pan she called over her shoulder, “Would you like seconds?”

“Yeff pleeeff!” Lyra replied through a mouthful of food. “Sho gooff!”

“Here.” Bon-Bon brought the frying pan over and slid more onto her plate. Lyra had polished off over two thirds and was wading her way through the rest at the same great speed. “You sure have a good appetite today.”

“Mrrf!” Lyra could not even form words through her mouthful of bread. She patted her chest with a ballad up hoof and glugged from the glass of water set before her. “Your cooking,” she said breathlessly. “So. Darn. Good.”

Hiding her pleasure at the compliment, Bon-Bon eventually sat down with her own plate and they ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Finally, Lyra threw down her fork and raised her hooves. Her belly was ever so slightly distended.

“I give up,” she declared. “I’m full. I want to eat more but if I do I’ll burst.”

Bon-Bon delicately sliced and raised her food to her mouth. Slice and raise, slice and raise, slice and raise, until every scrap was gone. She placed her own knife and fork down and burped into the flat of her hoof. “Excuse me.”

“Gaaaaah!” Lyra threw her head back and emitted a groan. “I ate too much!”

“You didn’t have to have seconds.”

“But … but … but … so good!” Lyra said by way of protest, as if she had been powerless to stop herself. “I swear, Bon-Bon, if it wasn’t for you and your cooking, I’d only ever eat dried noodles.”

Bon-Bon made a face. She had eaten dried noodles many times while on the road and knew they had the consistency – not to mention taste – of wet pencil shavings.

Lyra’s eyes ticked downward, so that she was looking at Bon-Bon sideways while her head still rested at an odd angle over the back of her chair. “So, I hear you talked to Noteworthy this morning.”

Bon-Bon leaned back. Ah, so this was why Lyra had chosen to rush home from work to make sure she caught her. The food had been an added bonus, not the real reason for the visit. “A little. He saw me on his way to work and we walked to Music Makers together.”

“He likes you.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“No, I mean he likes you. Still. Even though you shot him down. It’s really obvious. Don’t tell me you didn’t realise.”

Bon-Bon wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. “Can we talk about something else?”

Lyra shrugged, half-hiding her face behind her shoulder. “So, uh, what did you guys talk about? Anything juicy?”

“Is this about what he said about high school?”

Lyra stiffened briefly. It was a millisecond but Bon-Bon noticed. “What did he say about high school?”

“That you were your class’s ‘moody one’. Although, frankly, I had a hard time believing him.”

Lyra smiled brilliantly. “Yeah – ha ha! What a card, huh? What a maroon. What a joker. What a … something else that means the same thing. What a synonym! Me, moody? As if!” she was too over the top, her tone and expression exaggerated to almost parody levels – which, for Lyra, was really saying something. “I mean, seriously.”

Bon-Bon leaned forward in her chair, bracing her elbows on the kitchen table. “Lyra,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“You’re over-egging the pudding.”

“I’m what?”

“You’re protesting too much.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” Lyra stuck a hoof in the air, pointing at the ceiling. “William Shakespony! We studied him in school. Blech. I hated his plays. The only thing I hated more were his poems. Oh, and school in general. I hated school.” She transferred her gaze to the ceiling, leaving her hoof there as if she might forget where it was without the help. “I really hated school.” Her tone had changed on these last words, become soft and almost sullen.

“Lyra?” Bon-Bon started.

Lyra continued as if Bon-Bon hadn’t spoken. “You want to know why I hated school? I’ll tell you why. Noteworthy says he didn’t tell you, but I know he said something, so I might as well say this and get it out of the way. I hated school because the fillies and colts in my class were mean. Sounds stupid, huh? Well, in hindsight maybe it is. Was. Whatever. The point is, they liked picking on ponies who were different and … well, there weren’t many ponies who were different. You know that Diamond Tiara who’s always giving other little ponies a hard time? Well, she’s got nothing on her sister, Gold Crown. Goldie, I used to call her. Heh, that used to make her turn purple, she got so mad! Have you ever seen a yellow pony turn purple? It’s way cool!”

Bon-Bon said nothing.

“Anyhow, she was the biggest, most stuck-uppiest filly who ever stuck-upped. Her nose was so far in the air she was kissing the undersides of clouds! You’d think she came from Canterlot or something, the way she carried on about her family this and her family that. Gasp, her daddy got her a real gold crown for her to wear during her Cute-ceañera. Double gasp, her mommy scored them invites to Prince Blueblood’s garden party in Canterlot. Triple gasp, her granny once shook hooves with Princess Celestia herself!” Lyra blew a raspberry – and then had to wipe globules of saliva from her own eye. “Oh, ew, gross! She talked about how great and wonderful her family was all the freaking time! And I do mean all the time. I know why she did it, too.” Lyra sighed harshly, eyes rooted to the ceiling. “I don’t know who my dad is and I don’t know where my mom is. I don’t know if I have any brothers or sisters. I was left with the New Horizons Foals Home when I was a foal. My mom gave up all legal rights to me. I’m not sure why she did it. One of the nurses once mentioned to another nurse that she was really, really young, so maybe that’s the reason. A proviso she set down when signing me over to the authorities was that her name was stricken from my records. When I came of age, I got a look at them, but she’s listed as ‘Mare X’ in everything.

“I grew up in care and pretty much bounced between foster homes as a filly. I was too much of a hoof-ful for anypony to deal with for long but I didn’t give a rat’s butt whether or not I was adopted. I still had a mom, unlike all the other colts and fillies I lived with, and I was convinced she was coming back for me. Unfortunately, I was also stupidly adorable to look at and I had cute a lisp until I got braces fitted to fix the gap in my teeth. So I acted out all the time, just to make sure nopony tried to take me away from the Home. That was the last place she put me, so I figured that was where she’d go to find me. I was the original wild child. In hindsight … yeah, I was just a pain in the butt, but I reckoned I was just a free spirit.

“For Gold Crown, I was the also all her Hearth’s Warming and birthday presents wrapped up in one. She and her cronies made my life miserable from the first day we met and I pushed her in a mud puddle for calling me ‘orphan’. They never let me forget that I was a nopony who no-one wanted and if I ever fought back, I got into trouble at school and at the Home. When I got to high school she just got ten times worse, so I hid in the music rooms every lunchtime, lost myself in playing and voila.” Lyra gestured to her cutie mark. “A star was born. I spent all my free time practicing whatever kind of music I could get my hooves on, but lyre was always my favourite. I loved how intricate it was and how precise your magic has to be to pluck each string just right for perfect pitch. It was pretty obvious my magic was never going to be really strong, so I figured I’d just make it really precise instead. Several years down the line and here we are: I’m using my talents to make a living at Music Makers and Gold Crown is using her ‘talents’ to make babies with her husband in Manehattan.” Lyra shrugged. “So now you know.”

The phrase ‘you could have heard a pin drop’ only barely covered the atmosphere in her little kitchen. Bon-Bon sat motionless. Eventually Lyra dropped her raised, now rather pale hoof onto her stomach and massaged it to get blood flowing into it again.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked.

Bon-Bon couldn’t think how to responds, so she asked, “What do you want me to say?”

“Ponyfeathers, I don’t know!” Lyra exclaimed. “Mostly ponies say ‘I’m sorry’ or something.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“No.” Lyra rolled her head from left to right in an approximation of a shake. The sound of her mane between her neck and the chair made an odd grinding noise. “Actually, I really don’t. It’s not something I want to be pitied for. My mom didn’t want me. Boo-frigging-hoo. I accepted that fact a long time ago when I realised I was fooling myself about her ever coming back for me. By that time I was too old to be adorable and too angry to be cute. I coped. I learned to look on the bright side and enjoy what I’ve got in life instead of constantly thinking about what I don’t have. I’m pretty well-adjusted.” She performed a melodramatic eye-twitch, followed by her usual cheesy grin. “Don’t you think?” Her smiled faded. “Aw, ponyfeathers. Bon-Bon, don’t look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like I’m some baby bird that fell out of the nest. I’m fine. I never said anything because it never seemed relevant. Family’s a sore spot for you, what with your parents and that falling out you guys had and how you don’t talk to them and they disinherited you and … y’know … all that junk.” Lyra blinked. “Wow, that came out way worse than I intended. Look, I didn’t want to be all ‘I can out-angst you on the parental front’ or whatever. That’s not what a friend is supposed to do. I just thought that, since Noteworthy couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, it was time to tell you the truth.”

Bon-Bon swallowed. Sometime during Lyra’s diatribe, she seemed to have swallowed a flat beach ball and now every breath inflated it a little more in her throat.

“I don’t want this to change our friendship,” Lyra said sharply. “So if you let it change how you think about me, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll bop you on the nose!”

“You’ll what?”

“You heard me. It’s been a few years since I had to land a punch but I’m sure it’ll come back to me. I’ll bop you right on your schnozz if you start to feel sorry for me or treat me differently. Then I’ll bop Noteworthy for opening his big yap. Then I’ll –”

“Lyra!” Bon-Bon interrupted. “You don’t have to bop anypony!”

Lyra paused in her shadow-boxing. “I don’t?”

“No. I promise I won’t pity you.”

“You promise? Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a muffin in your eye?”

“I … what?”

Lyra grinned. “It’s okay, I believe you without you having to say it.” She leaned back in her chair. “Wow. You know what? I actually feel better for telling you. It was always this weight on my mind that someday somepony might say something and you’d get all mad that I hadn’t been totally upfront with you. I mean, you are my best friend and all. Best friends should be upfront with each other.” She nodded as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “It might not seem like a big deal to other ponies, but I wanted you to hear this stuff from me. I’m not ashamed of who I am and I didn’t want you to think I was keeping it from you because of that. It just isn’t all that important to me anymore.” She shrugged, an absolutely perfect, no-room-for-doubt lift and lower of her shoulders.

The beach ball in Bon-Bon’s throat inflated enormously. “Right,” she muttered.

“Bon-Bon?” Lyra sat up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” Lyra peered at her, twisting to look up into her downturned face. “You’re upset. Aw, ponyfeathers, are you mad I didn’t tell you?” A thought seemed to occur to her. “Or was it me mentioning your folks? I’m sorry, Bon-Bon, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You said it. You didn’t mean it.”

Bon-Bon shoved her chair back so hard it screeched unpleasantly. “I … I have to go out now.”

“You what?” Lyra flopped down onto the tabletop from her awkward twist and scrabbled to right herself. “You’re going out now?”

“Yes.” Bon-Bon headed for the door.

“No, wait! Bon-Bon, please, don’t go away mad!”

“I’m not mad.”

“Well you’re sure acting like it! I’m sorry, okay! Whichever thing I did wrong, I’m sorry!”

Bon-Bon stopped. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Lyra. It’s me. I …” She paused, everything inside her wanting to spill every secret she had in that moment. It was like a physical sensation; someone had fed an invisible fishing hook down her throat and was drawing up secrets from her belly like flopping, struggling fish.

However nonchalant she tried to seem, Lyra had shared something painful with her. She had trusted Bon-Bon with an ugly part of her life she obvious didn’t like remembering. The knowledge that her mother had abandoned her and the consequences that arose from that were not something Bon-Bon could ever have expected, given Lyra’s sunny outlook and lust for life. For all her optimism, Lyra still nursed feelings from her foalhood and had exposed them to Bon-Bon … why? Because she felt able to. Because she wanted to. Because she considered Bon-Bon a friend and worthy of knowing more than just the surface that was Lyra Heartstrings.

And what had Bon-Bon offered in return? No more than the façade she had been maintaining all along. Suddenly that seemed like a betrayal and she needed to get out of there. She couldn’t look Lyra in the eye knowing that Lyra trusted her that way.

“Bon-Bon?” Lyra said hesitantly. “What’s wrong? Tell me honestly, because I don’t buy that you’re not upset about something.”

Bon-Bon bit her lip. She couldn’t keep this up. She had to give something in return, but how did you tell secrets like hers? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m actually the Demon Slayer, the latest in a long line of ponies who run around at night killing demons that would otherwise strip every pony in Equestria of their magical auras. I only came to Ponyville because I’m on assignment and almost everything I’ve ever told you about myself is a lie’. “It’s … I …” She struggled to say something – anything.

“Bon-”

“I never graduated high school.”

“Excuse me?” Lyra sounded startled.

“My grandmother died and I fell out with my parents around that time. My grandmother … was pretty much the only member of my family who I cared about, or who cared about me. After she died it became pretty obvious and I left home before I graduated. There were … other reasons too. Reasons that … I can’t talk about. I moved around the country a lot, doing … jobs wherever I went. Enough to live on. I never stayed in anyplace long enough to join a school. Then I was too old and … and then I came to Ponyville. I haven’t spoken to my parents since the day I left and they’ve never tried to find me. I read in the newspaper a few years ago that I … have a little brother now, so I guess that explains it.”

There was silence for a moment. Then the sound of hooves and someone tugging at her chin. Bon-Bon hadn’t even known her eyes were squeezed shut until Lyra spoke.

“You don’t have anything to feel ashamed of, Bon-Bon. Lots of ponies don’t graduate high school for one reason or another. It’s not a measure of who you are or what you’re worth. So what if you don’t have some piece of paper saying you finished going to classes and junk? I don’t care and I’m pretty sure nopony else around here would care.”

A noise escaped Bon-Bon’s throat. She realised with alarm that it was a strangled sob. What the heck?

“Your parents are buttholes.” Lyra pulled her close. Since Bon-Bon didn’t respond, she settled for hugging her head. “I’m sorry, but they are. You’re a wonderful pony and whatever other reasons you had for leaving, I’m sure they were good ones. And I hope someday you feel able to tell me what they were, but I won’t push you. Okay? And I don’t think any less of you for anything you just told me. Okay? But your parents are still complete buttholes. Okay?”

Bon-Bon sniffed. “Okay.”

“Wow, did this day turn out way different than I expected when I woke up this morning.” Lyra chuckled. Bon-Bon felt it through the bridge of her nose. “I’ve never hugged somepony’s head before.”

“This is a first for me too.”

“Bon-Bon, you didn’t … you didn’t tell me all that just because I told you about my mom, did you? It wasn’t tit for tat, was it? Because if you said all that when you weren’t ready to … Celestia’s sweet shiny horn, I’d feel like such a butthole as well!”

“No,” Bon-Bon sniffed. “Well … honestly? Yeah. Maybe a little. But also no.”

“Well that was as clear as mud.”

Bon-Bon couldn’t help herself; she chuckled. It was watery and feeble but it was a chuckle and it was genuine. “I mean I wanted you to know, just like you wanted me to know about your mom. Unless you were lying about that.”

“Me? No! Best friends don’t lie to their best friends!”

Bon-Bon stiffened ever so slightly. “I guess not.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Bon-Bon awkwardly wiped her nose on the back of her hoof, even that was something Ponyville’s Bon-Bon would never do. “I’m fine, but I really do need to go out now. That wasn’t a lie.”

“Oh.” Lyra pulled back, releasing her head. Bon-Bon’s hair sprang back from where it had been squashed between them. “I swear, this stuff could withstand a hurricane made by ever pegasus in Cloudsdale.” Lyra poked at it, watching it spring back from her touch every time. It was a distraction and they both knew it. Lyra wanted to let Bon-Bon go off still sniffling as much as Bon-Bon wanted to leave. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Lyra.” Bon-Bon took a shuddering breath and wiped at her eyes. “You’re right. This day turned out way different than I expected, too.”

Eventually they both left the little house, which had been the scene of so much emotional revival in the last hour it practically pulsed with it. Any changeling would have been gorged by it all, had they been in the area. Or maybe, since most of it was relived heartache, a changeling would have been violently ill. Bon-Bon pondered this as Lyra walked with her down the path, breaking off to go up to her own house. More distraction.

“See you, Bon-Bon.”

“See you, Lyra.” Bon-Bon waved and trotted away, inserting a spring into her step akin to her hair. She knew Lyra was watching her. She could feel her gaze all the way to the end of their row of houses, until she passed out of sight. Only then did she allow her step to slow and her head to be held a little less high. Only then did she take stock of what she had done and the potential consequences of it.

I didn’t tell her anything dangerous, she thought. I didn’t mentioned Slayers or Watchers or demons. I didn’t tell her anything that might hurt her to know.

The sun was going to set in an hour or so. Luna would have to leave to raise the moon then. She had to hurry. It wouldn’t do to keep royalty waiting – especially if that royalty was doing you a favour. Putting Lyra out of her mind, Bon-Bon made her way to Zecora’s house.

Comments

[iAmSiNnEr]

aye first. good read been waiting for this chapter

[Starlight Nova]

Why isn't there a crossover tag?

[ObabScribbler]

10321718
Because it's not a straight up crossover. It just takes the basic premise and nothing else. Admittedly, when I started writing it was going to be more overt but the story and characters have gone way in their own direction to the point that you can read this with no knowledge of BtVS at all and not be lost.

[DavisSentoV5]

The beginning of the story (aka the flashback) legit piss me off. I got very upset and disgusted by those two sickos called parents, mostly by "mother dearest"

That funeral and that whole scene after that came at the worst possible time for me to read it...

[Solar_flare_6535]

That first part. I knew that YouTuber sent something golden my way. I wasn't sure if I'd end up following it until that first part

[stag the story teller]

OK Bon bon parents were jerks, also liked Lyra's backstory and i'm kinda glad you haven't gone the usual she has a fetish for humans route