Lyra and Bon Bon Visit Wales
Talking with Thomas
Admiral Biscuit
“No, I come from a small town a ways away from here,” Lyra continued in Welsh. “It’s called Pon . . . um, Manville.”
“That sounds French,” Thomas replied. He’d heard things about French girls; until now, he hadn’t believed them. “Are you French?"
Lyra hesitated. “Have you been there?” she asked, hoping she’d gotten the right mix of hopeful curiosity in her tone. She had to admit she was from somewhere, and she knew about Prance—which was probably the same here; Twilight had said there were all sorts of strange parallels between the worlds.
"No," he said. "I've never left the UK. I'd like to go, sometime, I just don't have any friends who live there, and I don’t know the language." He gave her a funny look. "Hey, how come you speak Welsh?"
"So? What's wrong with knowing Welsh?"
"There's nothing wrong with it, but—"
"We wanted to go to Wales, so we learned Welsh. Simple."
"Wouldn't English have been more useful?"
"Not really. We weren't planning to visit Engles."
"Oh, I see," he said dubiously. "So how long are you staying here?"
"I just came here for the day, with my mare—with my womanfriend. Over there.” She pointed to Bon Bon, who was watching the pair while drinking another glass of wine. He waved, and she reluctantly waved back.
“Where are my manners?” He stuck out his hand and Lyra looked at it dubiously, before remembering that she'd seen other people on the beach doing that. “I’m Thomas Davis.”
As she held his grasp, she tried to think of what that name meant. She couldn't think of any normal occupations that the name fit, or even lifestyles, but some of the upper-class unicorns she knew of had pretty esoteric names. It must be something like that, she thought, unless one or both of those words is related to a human-only part.
“I’m Lyra Heartstrings,” she announced, leaning forward and embracing him. She'd seen the mare with the cutie mark across her back do that, so it was obviously the way women greeted men. After a short hug, she let him go and pointed up the beach. “That’s Sweetie Drops, my womanfriend, but everyperson calls her Bon Bon, or Bons for short.”
“That’s a weird name,” he said. “I can see why she goes by a nickname. Were her parents hippies?”
Lyra frowned at the unfamiliar term. "Uh, no, her dad's a farmer and her mom's an herbalist."
She put a hand on his shoulder, the sensation foreign under her new human hand. She hadn’t intended for it to be as distracting as it seemed—his face flushed, although he didn’t make any effort to move her hand. Instead he looked down at her chest again.
Lyra glanced down at herself, checking to make sure there wasn’t a bug or something crawling across her boobs, since that was where his attention was drawn. She didn’t see anything there, and decided it must be a human behavior. If women all had different-sized boobs, maybe that was one way men could tell them apart—certainly, hers and Bon Bon's were nothing alike. She’d have to ask Twilight about that when she got back to Equestria.
“So, do you come here often?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, in the summer, anyway. It’s too cold in the spring and fall.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, not really paying attention. She glanced down at his hip, hoping to see a cutie mark but there was nothing visible. You didn't see one when he walked by you earlier, she told herself. You can't expect it to have just appeared. He shifted around nervously as she was looking, so she looked back at his face. She could hardly ask him if he was full-grown—if he was he’d be insulted; if no, she might have to endure an uncomfortable explanation.
Fortunately, he broke the silence admirably with his own question. "So, um, what's the story behind your ink?"
"Ink?" Lyra looked at him in confusion. She hadn't brought any writing supplies. She should have; Twilight was never going to forgive her for the oversight. Nopony came to the beach to take notes, though. The librarian would just have to suffer.
"Your tattoo," he said, pointing to her hip.
"It's because my special talent is music," she began, explaining it as she would to a foal. She twisted on the blanket so he could get a better look. "I fell in love with the lyre, so that's what I got."
"Lyre?"
"Don't you know what that is?"
"Kind of. It's like a harp, isn't it?"
"Smaller," she told him. "You can hold it in one ho—hand, and play it with the other."
"Yeah. And you liked it so much you decided to get it tattooed on your hips?"
Lyra nodded. She wasn't sure exactly what he meant by 'tattoo,' but maybe that was another idiom that wouldn't translate. "Isn't there something you really enjoy doing?"
"Yeah," he said defensively. "Lots of things. I don't know if I enjoy them enough to have them permanently marked on me, though." He looked back down at her hip. "I suppose it can be covered, though."
"Why would I want to?" she asked him honestly. "It's who I am, and I wouldn't change that for anything."
"Well, I guess it's good to be that passionate about something. If my parents knew I was here instead of at university, they'd worry."
Lyra digested this new information. If he was at university, and it was the same as it was in Equestria, than he was old enough to be on his own. On the other hoof, if he was hiding from his parents, then he wasn't old enough. It was all so complicated.
"Your friend—what did you say her name was? Boms? —she must have some really good suntan lotion, eh?" Bon Bon had turned her back to them while she fished around in the picnic basket for another snack to go with the fresh glass of wine she'd poured.
"Suntan lotion?" Lyra looked at him blankly.
"Well, her back's kind of red, and she's got really pale skin. I mean, I wasn't staring, but I just happened to notice, you know, the eye's drawn to movement, heh, and well, um." Thomas' face was beginning to turn red. "If, if she doesn't put some on she's going to have an awful sunburn."
"We didn't bring any," Lyra told him. "I've never needed it before. Do you have any we could borrow?"
"Yeah, I, uh, I got some here. I like to bring it along, in case I go swimming. It says it's waterproof, but it isn't. Learned that the hard way." He reached into his bag, while Lyra looked back over at Bon Bon. Her skin was changing color. She'd noticed that earlier, but hadn't really thought much of it.
"Cool; I'll be right back." Lyra hopped off the blanket and flounced over to their spot. Thomas watched her go with a wistful smile. When he'd headed out for the beach, he'd never thought he'd have a French girl hitting on him . . . and now she was going to get her friend, too. If he played his cards right, he might just have the best night ever.
Lyra crouched down next to Bon Bon. "You should come over and meet that guy. He's telling me all sorts of interesting people-stuff."
"He keeps looking at me," Bon Bon said. "When you aren't paying attention."
"That's because men can tell women apart by their boobs," Lyra told her. "It's no different than another pony looking at your cutie mark. Oh, and he says you should be wearing suntan lotion, and he's got some that he's willing to share."
"Can't you just bring it over here? I just got comfortable." She motioned to the top of the picnic basket where she'd set two slices of bread—a former sandwich, minus its filling—and her wine.
"Oh come on, Bons, you know you want to hang out with a new species. He thinks we're from Prance, that's what I told him. He's never been there, so we can fake it."
"You want to hang out with a new species. Can't I just sit here, drink in peace, and watch for whales?"
"Please? He's really friendly, and it would make me happy." Lyra traced a finger along Bon Bon's arm. "And a happy Lyra is a horny Lyra," she added with a coy smile.
"I am not doing it on a beach," Bon Bon said flatly. "Not with some weird human, and not with you."
"It's not like that," Lyra said, grabbing Bon Bon's shoulder. "I . . . well, I won't lie and say that the thought hasn't ever crossed my mind, but even if I was thinking of it, I don't know how they, ah, show that they're ready or interested." She looked over her shoulder at Thomas. "I could try winking at him. . . ."
"Don't you dare. Not until you know him better." Bon Bon slammed the rest of her wine and got unsteadily to her feet—the combination of the wine and sunshine were causing minor issues with the already unnatural bipedal gait.
As she walked down the beach, she studied him closely. He didn't really look like anything special, but then Lyra would have been happy talking to a tree, if it could have told her more about humans. Lyra had practically jogged back to him, and was occupying one side of his beach towel.
"This is Thomas," Lyra said.
"I'm Bon Bon," she responded, leaning down to give him a hug like she'd seen Lyra doing earlier.
"I'm pleased to meet you," he croaked once she'd let him go.
"Is there room on the blanket for another po—person?"
"I could just—" he began, before Lyra wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him against her.
"Go ahead and take that side," Lyra offered. "We'll all fit if we scrunch together."
Bon Bon bent over and brushed some loose grit off the blanket before sitting alongside him, and lifting a foot to brush the sand off the bottom. Sand had never bothered her hooves, but she'd discovered her human feet had far more sensitive bottoms.
Once she had her feet clean, she set them on the blanket. Thomas held a bottle in front of her.
"Is that the suntan lotion Lyra told me about?"
"Uh-huh."
"And what does it do?"
"It—well, it keeps you from getting a sunburn. Like you're getting on your back." Thomas put the bottle in her hand.
"Because a sunburn would hurt," Lyra added.
"Yeah, I bet your back's pretty tender right now, and you don't want it getting any worse." Thomas added.
Bon Bon looked at the bottle skeptically. Like most earth ponies who'd grown up on a farm, she never had much interest in fancy lotions or expensive mane and coat care. Simple shampoos were all she ever used. All the tiny printing of the bottle was a pretty good indicator of how fancy it was, she reasoned. "If I just lie on my back, it won't be in the sun any more."
"But you'll get a sunburn on your ti—on your ch—on your front," Thomas told her. "I think that would hurt even more."
"Wait, so I have to put this stuff on all over? That's dumb. Why do you let the sun be so hot that it burns po—people?"
"That's a really good question," Lyra said. "Can't your princess make it colder?"
"Kate? What does she have to do with the sun's temperature?"
"Never mind," Lyra said. "I guess the custom is to put on sunscreen."
"Okay, I guess." Bon Bon looked at Thomas. She'd finally given up on the label: it was printed in some sort of gibberish that maybe meant something to people, but to her looked like it was printed in a foreign language with too few ys and ws. Anyway, when she went to the spa for a hooficure or to soak in the hot tub, she let Aloe and Lotus do their thing; she might as well let Thomas make sure the lotion was used properly. "You know more about this stuff than I do. Can you put it on me?"
"Put it . . . on?" His eyes had started to get a distant look.
"Yeah, anywhere that you think might burn. Will it be easier if I straddle your legs? I can turn around so you can do my back." She moved in so he could reach her more easily, but he didn't move, just stared straight ahead with his mouth slightly agape.
"I think you might have broken him," Lyra told her. "He looks like a terrified foal."
"What did I do?"
"Maybe he has a fever. His face is awfully red." Lyra put a hand to his forehead. "I hope he's okay. I don't know who we should go to for help."
Fortunately for the ponies, he recovered his composure quickly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know . . . I just kind of zoned out there for a moment."
"Is it from the sun?" Bon Bon asked, leaning well into his personal bubble.
"Not the sun," he squeaked. "I . . . I think it might be best if you, you put on your own suntan lotion. I'm not—don't, I don't know if. . . ." His voice trailed off into incoherent mumbling.
"You do it, then," Bon Bon muttered, handing the bottle to Lyra. "Make sure you get everything.”
Thomas did his utmost to keep his eyes focused on their faces and nothing else as Lyra spread the sunscreen on Bon Bon. If he had had a blindfold, it might have worked, but as it was, it would have been easier to just decide to stop breathing for a while. "French girls have no modesty," he muttered. "They should expect this. God, I'm moving to France."
"That feels funny," Bon Bon told her. "Good, but funny."
"These things are pretty useful," Lyra replied, looking down at her hand. "I'm sort of liking it." She closed the top of the bottle and set it back in Thomas' bag, then wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug, nuzzling his cheek. "Thanks for the lotion, Thomas."
"Christ," he mumbled in response.
Lyra let him go and sat back on the blanket, while Bon Bon stretched out on her back, extending her arms over her head. "Mmm, the sun feels nice. It doesn't feel too hot."
"So what do you study at university?" Lyra prompted. "You never did tell me."
"Civil engineering," he told her.
"You have to go to university to learn to run a train nicely? Locomotives are kind of complex, but I never thought they were that complicated. I don't think our local engineer even graduated primary school."
"Not that kind of engineering. We call those 'engine drivers.' It's about designing and building things, you know, like roads and bridges and buildings. That sort of thing."
"So kind of like an architect?"
"Well, not really. The architect is only interested in the external appearance of a building. The engineer does the structural calculations, and figures out how to make it stay up. Or decides what kind of material is best for a particular purpose, or handles the infrastructure around the building. There are a lot of specialty fields, but I haven't really decided on which one I like best. It's only my first year there, so I have time." He frowned. "Well, if I can keep my maths grades up." He smiled at her. "I bet you don't have to know that kind of stuff to be a lyre player."
"Just musical theory, and the design and construction of stringed instruments. And how to read sheet music, and read in general."
"Yeah, because you don't have to be able to read in other pursuits," he said sarcastically.
"Exactly," Lyra told him. "Our farrier can't read. She apprenticed instead of going to school."
"You keep horses?"
Horseapples. "Uh, well, there are some ponies where I live, yes."
"I've never ridden a one before," he said wistfully. "Have you?"
Lyra's eyes flicked over to Bon Bon for a moment. "A few times."
Thomas followed her gaze, lingering for a while before he spoke again. "Ah, what does your friend do? Is she a musician, too?"
"No, she's a candy-maker. Didn't you see her, um, taboo, her ink?"
No, I was more interested in other things, he thought. And how I'd like to . . . think unsexy thoughts. Margaret Thatcher.The Thatch . . . crap. Susan Boyle. Susan Boyle. "I must have missed it," he mumbled. "On account of making eye contact and not staring at her giga . . . hip. You know what, I need a drink right now." He reached around behind Lyra and grabbed a bottle of Coke. "You want some? You'll have to drink from the bottle; I don't have any cups, but I promise I don't have any weird diseases."
Lyra's eyes sparkled. "Sure, I'd love to have some."
"My mates are going to be along in a little bit, and they'll have a cooler of beer, if you want something stronger. I was going to buy some myself, but I forgot my wallet at my flat. No pockets, you know?"
"Maybe I'll try some beer later," Lyra said. "But whatever you have is fine."
He offered the bottle. She looked at the lable curiously. "What's a Coke?"
"It's a fizzy drink. Don't they have those in France?"
"Ah, I'm not sure. I mostly just drink wine and coffee."
"It's sparkly, like Champagne," he warned her too late. She took a gulp of it, made an interesting face, and sneezed and belched nearly simultaneously.
"Woo, I wasn't expecting that," she snorted, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "That's pretty intense."
She looked up as another couple came across the beach towards them—a man and woman holding hands. The man stared at Bon Bon's recumbent form for a moment, before the woman smacked his arm with her free hand.
"Hey, Pedr, hey Gwylan," Thomas said. "Those are some of my friends," he explained. "We were all going to bum around."
"I stopped by your flat, but you weren't there. Got an early start at the beach, and I can see why."
"Be nice, Pedr," the woman said.
"Oh, yeah, hey, I meant to ring you, but I kind of forgot." Thomas smiled. "You know how it is." He motioned towards Lyra. "This is Lyra, and over there is Bon Bon. They're from France."
"Picked a nice day to visit," Gwylan said, leaning down to shake Lyra's hand. "I swear, it rains almost every weekend. We hardly ever get to go out to the beach."
"So you're still planning to play, aren't you?" Pedr tilted his head up towards the dunes.
"God, I don't know." Thomas looked over at Lyra. "We're having a nice time talking and—well . . . ."
"Oh, come on, man, I need you. Don't you remember we've got a wager?"
"No," he admitted. "I don't."
"You must have left the pub before we settled it. We've been keeping pace all year, right?"
Gwylan stepped in. "Only 'cause Cati sprained her ankle and couldn't play for a month."
"Sure. Whatever. Anyway, so I figured we'd put a little bit of a wager on this match, you know, make it more interesting." He hooked a thumb towards Gwylan. "So she decided that if the men lose the game, I've got to shave. Down there. Smooth as a baby's bum, she says."
Thomas whistled. "You're pretty confident, mate."
"I was on the piss," he mumbled. "But Gwylan won't let me back down."
"What if us guys win? I mean, she's wagering something, too, right?"
"I'll let mine grow back in. Six months without a razor. Unless he can't take it any more." She stuck her tongue out at Pedr, who kissed her before turning back to Thomas.
"So you see what it's like," Pedr said. "You've got to play. Nobody else saves like you, and with Cati back on the field, I've got to have you."
"I don't know," he dithered. "I'd like to, but—"
Lyra touched his shoulder. "Go ahead. I'd love to watch you play. We can take our stuff down by the game."
"Yeah, that's the spirit." Pedr's eyes lit up. "After the grudge match, we'll mix up the teams, and you can play, if you want." He gave Lyra a wink. "You'll love watching Thomas play."