//------------------------------//
// Argumentations 
// Story: My Little Human 
// by Some Dickhead 
//------------------------------//

"You're not going, Lyra!"

Bon Bon slammed her hoof against the floor, earth pony strength nearly shattering the hardwood, while the spearmint unicorn, nostrils flared and ears held plumb, attempted to set her on fire through sheer tyranny of will. 

"Who the buck are you to decide that for me? I'm a grown mare, Bon Bon!"

The confectioner scoffed, rolling her eyes as she prodded Lyra's chest. 

"Yeah, a grown mare obsessed with a show for little colts. When you're being all weird at home, fine, sure, whatever, I can tolerate it, but I'm not gonna let you make an ass of yourself in public like that!"

Lyra recoiled as if slapped across the face, before stomping forward with narrowed eyes.

"An ass of myself? What are you even talking about, it's just a Pinkie party!"

Bon Bon's chuckle came more from exasperation than humor. 

"Oh, don't give me that crap. 'Wow, golly gee, there's a real human in town!' Seriously? I thought you were smarter than that. Watch, it'll end up being ... " She dismissively waggled a hoof. " ... I dunno, a humare orgy or something."

Lyra couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. 

"An orgy at a Pinkie party."

Bon Bon gave her a deadpan glare in return. 

"Heat Week 997."

Turning away with a blush, Lyra steadied herself with a shuddering breath. 

"T-that ... ok, no, that doesn't count, it wasn't her fault. We both know that the pharmacist confused stimulants for suppressors."

Bon Bon pressed the attack.

"My point is that it'll be you, Pinkie Pie, and 20 of the sweatiest freaks in Ponyville, standing around and pretending that cartoon characters are real. Trust me on this, it's going to be a complete embarrassment, and ponies will think a hell of a lot less of you for going."

Before despair could inspire a rout, Lyra managed to rally her spiraling thoughts. 

"But he is real! Look at the news, he just did an interview on CNN, for Celestia's sake!"

"Since when do you believe CNN? The whole thing's probably just a fancy marketing stunt. You know, hire an illusionist and pretend the show's come to life, get all the little shits to go out and buy some more toys."

"Are you - " She smothered her rising frustration. "Bon Bon, Anonymous is here, in Equestria, it's a fact. The Princess herself confirmed it. Why are you in, like, denial about this?"

Bon Bon let out a sigh, the sort that can only come from once again retreading the same tired argument.

"I have ... connections, you know, from before, and unless he somehow managed to hide from every single government agency on the planet, word would've gotten to me."

"Ponies can slip through the cracks, Bon Bon."

"But can an alien? Lyra, you're my best friend, I love you ... l-like a sister, but you have to face reality—humans don't exi - "

The front door exploded inwards, crashing against the wall as the frame buckled and hinges cracked. Through the smoke and heat and telltale ozone spice of magic, a tall figure, panting and swearing under his breath, stumbled into the room and collapsed against the couch, knuckles clenched white as he warily eyed the windows. Tattered ribbons of what used to be clothes dangled from his limbs, and ash and soot caked his skin, thickened by the sweat that poured from his scalp. 

If the force of his arrival didn't betray his nature, then the blood pooling on the carpet did, and the two mares—one quivering with barely restrained excitement, and the other reduced to a dead-eyed stare—soon recognized that the being hunched over in front of them was, in fact, the source of their disagreement; not some golem or apparition or elaborate costume, but the genuine article, in the bruised and blackened flesh. 

"Heh, sorry for, um ... dropping in like this." Anon turned to look in their general direction, absent-mindedly rubbing his arm, and winced when his fingers brushed over a fresh burn. "Just, uh, having some mare troubles, y'know?"

Bon Bon wasn't the sort to retreat into denial when presented with an uncomfortable truth—her time in SMILE had beaten down that particular urge until it was a little red stain on the pavement—but the prospect grew increasingly attractive as a horrible realization coalesced in the back of her mind: 

She was wrong, the human was real, and Lyra would, with a smugness yet unmatched, lord that over her until the day she died.

'No. Celestia bucking damn it, no.'

But before either one of them could respond to the intruder, the front of the house, roof and all, was peeled away like an orange, momentarily suspended in a rippling purple aura before being flung across the other side of town.

There, at the boundary where ragged floorboards met grass and sod, stood a roiling mass of anguish and grief and rage, something feral that was once a unicorn. She stomped towards Anon, flaming hoofprints trailing behind her, and the sheer presence of her magic all but drowned him as she drew ever closer. 

Desperation took the wheel, and the man, hands shaking and heart pounding, reached out and clutched a lamp, and threw it at Twilight with what little strength remained in his body. The projectile—though quickly reduced to a puddle of molten porcelain—halted her advance, if only for a moment, and gave him just enough time to escape through a window. At this, she surged forward with a terrible, ear-rending scream, punching a hole straight through the far wall of the house. 

Those parts of the structure that remained, weakened and unsupported, soon collapsed into a smoldering pile, and the roommates—having somehow made it through totally unscathed—felt the seas of churning emotion inside their heads settle into a sort of vacant weariness.

"Lyra?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't think our insurance covers this."