Amethyst Star hated today, mostly because Lyra loved it. Nothing good came from being that cheerful. Irritably, she moved through the partygoers, wondering why she felt like the one pickled onion in a tropical salad. Look at Pinkie Pie, swinging on the lights! Didn’t she ever worry about breaking something, or hitting someone? Plus, seeing ponies emptying the punch bowls and dancing on tables brought out her black depression like endless coffee. No one, she suspected, got that casually carefree without a lot of fretting, sprucing, and acting. “What do you think!?” Lyra yelled over the beatbox. “What!?” yelled Amethyst. “Enjoying the party!?” “No!” “But it’s loud and bright and happening!” “That’s my point!” “What!?” “What!?” Amethyst pointed; they slid into the kitchen. Beatbox music thumped the walls, but at least they could stop shouting. Straggler ponies walked past, looking for treats. “You’re not enjoying any of it?” said Lyra. “Pretty narrow idea of enjoyment.” Amethyst paced up and down. She felt too energized, as though someone had dumped a load of radioactive heat inside her and locked it in. “Oh no, there’s loads of ways to enjoy yourself. You mean not one of them’s come to you?” “What do you mean? You’re either happy, or you’re not. I need a drink.” “Berry’s punch is over there –” “Yeah, no. Orange juice, please.” “But the punch had barely been spiked –” “[i]Orange juice, please.[/i]” One glass dutifully appeared. Amethyst wasted no time gulping it down. “You know, Misery-guts,” said Lyra, smiling, “you keep pretending there’s only one form of happiness, but we both –” she winked “– know better. Don’t we?” Refreshed once more despite herself, Amethyst placed the glass carefully in the sink. “Sorry?” “That theory you had, way back. You know, how there’s only six emotions? Anger, disgust, fear, happiness, sadness, and surprise. You got it from that book?” “You called it baloney.” “It is baloney! Just one happiness against five bad emotions?” “Surprise is neutral.” “My good mare, I call baloney! There’s all kinds of good emotions. Excitement, indulgence, contentment, that rush you get after eating cake…” Amethyst sank where she stood. Only loyalty and a failure to think of anything better kept her listening. Already, she heard the debate rumbling on the horizon, under that blasted music. [i]What a birthday,[/i] she thought miserably. [i]My own birthday, too. Sheesh.[/i] The worst part was that she’d had to organize the party herself. Her presumption that no one else would schedule it turned out to be true… except in Pinkie Pie’s case, hence the mad chaos steamrollering over her own plan. “Heck no,” she said when Lyra finished rambling. “You’ll find the bad stuff outnumbers the good easily. Taxes, politics, diseases, annoying neighbours, stress, work… You know what they say about happy families and unhappy ones. Plus, there’s a very long list of mental disorders.” “Phooey,” said Lyra, beaming. “You only focus on problems. [i]I[/i] focus on[i] solutions[/i].” “That again? Laughter [i]isn’t[/i] the best medicine. I’m sure doctors would have noticed.” Despite the shaking in her legs, Amethyst turned and walked towards the living room door, towards that overloud, overcrowded sinkhole. It was her party. She had to be there. If she wasn’t, well, what would they think? In her heart, she trembled. What would they say if she ditched them? So when Lyra grabbed her foreleg and pulled her towards the backdoor to the garden, she squirmed. “Lyra, what are you doing!? I’m the host!” Yet they stepped outside. She made no effort to get back in; Lyra slammed the door. Cool breeze. Butterflies zipping past. Trees ablaze with autumn. Green hills and boundless skies. “But what about –?” “They’ll understand,” said Lyra. “Just savour it. Enjoy it. I know you. Everyone’s got a type of happiness that fits them best. I work out the who and the what.” “You do?” “Well, it’s like music. Different genres, doing different things. But it’s all a kind of art, right?” Silence. Not even a hint of the party out here. Only peace. Amethyst sighed. “Something’ll go wrong. It always does, right?” Her defeat disappeared into nothing. No chance against the garden, or the quiet town, or the lovely greenery. Amethyst wouldn’t admit she was happy. She wouldn’t let go of what she knew: that life waited for the party to end. It wouldn’t be stopped by one kind gesture. Yet they stood outside a long time. Lyra never once let [i]her[/i] go. And Amethyst felt less like a pickled onion.