Lyra and the White Mares

by publiq

2024-01-02 Denial

“Point my horn to the sun, then chop my head off! That will get me home.” Angry whinnies generally reserved for stallions contesting for mares attempted to echo on the foam ceiling and shag carpet. Four burly men held Lyra’s legs to keep them anchored and not kicking while a fifth attempted to fit her with a bridle and grazing mask.

“Miss Heartstrings,” the man at her front left instructed yet again, “we can’t stop you from making unfortunate decisions forever, but at least review and amend your living will so other ponies have closure. We’ll keep you here until you collapse from natural exhaustion,” he bluffed.

“I’m telling you, we need equine backup,” said some human far too near her hind right. Static followed. “Are you all really that afraid her knowledge is contagious? She’s uncooperative, even refusing a sugar cube.”

“Look at your friend,” came a voice from her hind left. With the green unicorn distracted, the head man slipped on the grazing muzzle, his focus briefly faltering with pity at the panic in her eyes.

Indeed, a white unicorn sat in silence on the other side of the room with one human. In front of her lay three boxes labeled “affirmative,” “apathetic,” and “no, change that.” Every few seconds, her head nodded in depletion as she attempted to grab tissues with her magic.

An iron boot replaced human hands in all the wrong places on her rear right as the walkie-talkie clicked off.

“So go on and eat me, you carnivorous gluttons,” screeched a defeated Lyra.

The man who slipped her hoof into the floor lock shook himself, then gently paced to sit beside the other unicorn. Seeing minimal, if any, reaction, he reached his hands along her neck and worked their way up toward her mane. If he were a more sensitive man, he would have felt her slow and ragged breaths become ever so slightly smoother. Instead, he contemplated curling her into his arms to carry her to her uncontrollable companion.

“Can you do that cute thing horses do to calm each other?” He pointed at the unicorn running out of energy to continue her fight. “You know, give her a shoulder bite.”

He lifted Vinyl’s barrel until she stood, then guided her nearer Lyra. Vinyl, for her part, was too in shock to resist.

Soon, instinct took over. Vinyl opened her mouth and clamped down. Lyra screamed in anticipation of pain, then whinnied and whinnied again until her vocalizations softened to the nickers that always accompany shoulder grooming.

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In the portal’s back office, ponies hurriedly reviewed their notes and readouts: two tourist ponies, no known contact with dangerously knowledgeable humans. Yet the portal didn’t work. Even lightly modified timelines failed. If the graphs were to be believed, a successful return could work with a far future destination. Still, none of the return conditions would be acceptable—especially if constrained by the lifespans of their friends. They may as well live out their lives on Earth.

Cindy, the office headmare, consulted with the head of the burly human men. “We can’t hold them until they’re stable—especially that green one—, not with that damn goat around.”

“But you’re at least keeping them until they both have document packets to return to Equestria, right?” He had a habit of answering with more questions.

“By the princess’ power, if only,” Cindy’s defeated voice and flopped ears revealed her surrender to fate. She still had to put on a good show even when faced with likely failure. They would be given the tools to track down messengers to return their final requests for handling unfinished business in their former home.