Debts to be Dealt With

Never had butcherscotch, thatched-roofed Ponyville received such a dense flogging of rain.
Thunder flashed livid white. The houses shuddered and wept as water poured down their walls.
The gutters gurgled and the pavements were half-drowned in whispering puddles.

The pitiless war cry of lightening, as it cracked above the swirling, black clouds like a whip, had sent all the shivering occupants of the village cowering like shadows from the sun beside their spitting and choking fires. All windows and doors were sealed. A terrible folly it would be for them not to be.

As the storm raged bitterly, in the center of the village, a notice board heaved as wind and hail battered it about. Crumpled and soddened papers, were nailed against the face of it. Their bold, colourful prints and pictures, though soaked and beginning to run a little, silently but grandly announced various future events.

In the corner of the board, some smaller papers rustled and wrestled against the nails that bound them, struggling to be free and to fly and dance wildly about in the tempest. They featured faces. The inks were rather smeared, but you could still make many out.

Some of the faces had beaming smiles. Sour smiles. Sinewy smiles. Boiling smiles. Some of them had eyes like softened honeycomb. Thawing snow. Sharp daggers. Raging, writhing fire. The faces were of ponies, griffons, dragons, and even missing, much beloved pets. All, according to the posters, were desperately wanted. Some were wanted out of love and grief. Some were wanted to hang.

One of the wriggling papers tears free from the board, and briskly whisks away upon the twisting, howling wind. It madly leaps and soars, until the heavy weight of the drumming hail casts it upon the ground, bobbing in a grey puddle.
It slowly turns upon the surface, and as the wailing winds smooths out the front of it, any passing pony would be able to stare right into the face imprinted upon it.

A carolina-blue face. Purpureus eyes framed by long, licorice lashes, narrowed by a hard, determined frown. Her glaring smile twitched mockingly at the tips. A pointed, lavender hat was slipped over her forehead, clearly adjusted with great care and pride. A long lock of frosty blue hair, stiffly fell from beneath it, and a dramatic cape matching her hat flowed about her defiant shoulders.

If a passerby was to delve into the text that framed the image, they would see the words “WANTED” in large, booming letters, as well as various info upon the offending mare. A passerby, if there was one, would not have been able to weave through this information for very long however.

A splash and a loud crunch echoed about the empty, soddened street, as something swiftly disturbed the murmuring puddle and kicked away the poster with a flurry of stamping hooves.
A billowing cape traversed through the pounding of the storm, leaving trails of silvery droplets, as it's wearer sliced through pools of rainwater.

Beneath a very familiar hat, heavy from water that trickled down the sides of the rim like cascading waterfalls, was the glimpse of a very familiar blue chin, wrinkled by the pony's nervously churning jaws. Familiar, frightened eyes darted to and fro, scanning the seemingly sobbing buildings of Ponyville.

Suddenly, the mare cried out like a snapped twig, and stumbles. She collapsed in the middle of the hard road, quaking all over as the numbing rain travels down her muzzle. The pace of her gasping lungs was rampant. She glances down at her hoof, and then releases a river of curses under her rattling breath. “The foolish and confounded Trixie has twisted her ankle!” She wheezed crossly, stumbling over her tongue due to the shocking cold.

Trixie whipped off her hat, and the rain began to bounce off her horn. She puffed out her rosy cheeks and squeezed out a blushing-pink glow to envelop it. Furrowing her brow with concentration, she guided her magic to swirl about her injured foot.

All the while the spell did it's work, she tightened her teeth to restrain another cry building in her throat, and salty tears mingled with the rain.
Trixie's ears were pricked constantly, her shoulders rigid, every fiber of her being, alert, and poised like a drawn dagger, ready and waiting as it hung in the moment.

Her heart was jolted into her mouth, as an ear-spliting crash roars above her. Lightening dives down upon Ponyvillie as agile as a Wonderbolt and as deadly as a Timberwolf, screeching like a banshee and searing her eyeballs with a terrible, white flash.

She screams as another bolt strikes, far devastatingly nearer then it's predecessor. She shrinks beneath under the cover of her cape, as the clamorous cacophony of rain and thunder threatened to deafen her tender ears.

Terrified, Trixie didn't dare open her eyes for a while. She peers out after a time, fumbling for her hat, and looks about her, huffing and puffing and trembling. Just as she does so, another shocking lightening bolt plunges down, this time, upon the roof of a cottage right beside her.

Trixie releases a strangled shout and her heart flutters like a petrified Pegasus deprived of flight. For a split second, the outline of a figure flashes in the slanted glare of the jagged bolt.

A tall figure, with his or her more defined details blurred white by the bolt's brilliance. With long, lithe limbs and a great head held high. A flowing silvery mane and tail whipped by the wind and rain, strangely thin and spiderwebby, streamed out from behind it.
As soon as the lightening had faded like a white stain banished from stormy curtains, the figure was swallowed by the darkness of the storm.

Trixie scrambled to her hooves, almost slipping in another puddle. Her eyes were locked where the figure had been. She felt as if sharp icicles had been stabbed into her spine, and blood throbbed in her ears. She knew that figure. That was the figure of somepony she could never forget. Those eyes... The eyes she'd caught briefly... Those haunting eyes, she also knew...

The eyes had been like two strips of cerulean vintage wallpaper, with two, beetle-black irises sitting against it like forgotten heirlooms. The highlights of them had like cobwebs or bone-white clumps of dust, clinging like vices to the heirlooms. Bags had been draped beneath the gaze like worn, fading curtains, enhanced disturbingly by the intense lighting.

Trixie had to get away. Trixie knew she had to get away, and fast. She turned and galloped down an nearby alley, her padding hooves echoing rhythmically in time to the humming of the rain upon the grey, teary cobblestones of Ponyville. Her fleeing reflection darted after her, faint and neutral like watercolour.

Questions slashed through the delicate strings of Trixie's head, hammered by fear that raged through her like a forest fire. But not concerning how they had found her. How they intended to catch her. How they intended to deal with her. Why they hadn't already finished her off. Trixie knew the answers to those already.

The answers to those, was that they always knew everything. That they had always planned everything. And that they wished to play with her. No, no. The questions that concerned Trixie, were how long would they keep this up? How far would they go to fuel their satisfaction?

As she ran, Trixie kept seeing flickers of movement in the corner of her eye. She constantly caught faint stirrings or rustling amongst the brisk beat of the rain, and the growl of thunder. Her heart battered against her breast, and she barely dared to breath, so great was the iron clutch of terror.

Some of the windows of the sealed cottages stared out with dank, dark faces, while others glowed dimly orange, reaching out comfortingly toward the dank, greyness outside. Trixie didn't stop to pound at bolted doors, or rap at the windows, or shout for help. She didn't dare. She probably wouldn't be heard over the storm anyway.

But she knew she couldn't run forever. Teleportation, even in short hops, was no longer an option. All her magical puff reserved for that was spent. Her lungs were scorching, and her body stung and screamed due to the harsh, warmth-sucking rain. Her body ached. Her thoughts ached. Trixie had to find somewhere to stop... To rest. To hide.
But Trixie had only been to Ponyville twice before. The plans of the place in her mind were hazy. Where could she hide? An icy shiver traveled down her spine. Where could she hide, where they wouldn't find her?

Trixie reached the end of the alley. As she had gone down, it had grown smaller and more claustrophobic, so she was glad of it. She was now in a square. A square, she'd previously been acquainted with.
She raised her head, the hat sagging out of shape under the burden of the water still chucking down, and her lashes dotted with little sparkling droplets.

For a moment, all Trixie's fears left her. A frown creased her brow, and contempt started burrowing into her heart. She tilted her head sidelong, rolled her eyes, and released a deep, heavy sigh. Casting her lacklust gaze at the building, Trixie knew she recognized it, and that she couldn't care less that she could.

A great Oak was planted before her. A simply huge tree, with big, broad branches with garments of pistachio green, swaying it's spread fingers as if in a steady trance. All it's colours, no doubt bright and zestily refreshing in spring or summer, were dulled down by the depressing pull of the watery greys of rain, and the black forehead of the wrathful, booming sky.
A blue telescope was perched upon the very top the tree, gazing lustily and longing at where the twinkling stars, it's most and only captivating interest, would usually be placed. Tonight however, they were cruelly smothered by foreboding darkness, and deprived from even the telescope's keen gaze.

Some of the Oak's thick arms were bulky enough to hold up strawberry-red balconies. Windows and extensions, choked by limerick-green moss were dotted about the trunk, were near a great two-sided door, with a golden engraving of a burning candle upon it.

Next to the doorstep, a peach signboard was planted, swinging and groaning in the wind.. It had a symbol of an open book, with Golden Oak Library in spidery font, cut beneath it.

Trixie facehoofed. “The residence of Twilight Sparkles.” She groaned, throwing her head back for dramatic effect, as if about to swoon. She'd forgotten all about that confounded lilac unicorn. That goody-little-four-shoes, who'd shamed her twice before, in front of the entire village. Her cheeks burned not from the cold, but from embarrassment, as the humiliating memories of the events flowed back.

The lightening cracked, and the jaws of fear snapped up around Trixie once again.A shadow slid over her shaking form. Another shadow. And another shadow. And another shadow. Trixie crouched down, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, grinding her teeth, and pulling her hat over her face twisted in panic.

Then, an idea sparked. Twilight, she had to admit, was a gifted pony. Gifted in the arts of magic. And... She hated to admit this but... Knowledgeable. Skilled. And... Kind. Surely, she could help her out of this plight...? Of all ponies? To reveal herself to her, considering the circumstances would be risky, but... Fiddlesticks. What other option was there?

A symphony of padding hoofsteps began building in the distance, muffled by the clamorous storm like a fading dream. Trixie leapt to her hooves, and sprinted to the door of the Library. She reared up onto her quaking hindquarters, drenched with water and sweat, and began pounding the door with her forehooves, as if set on knocking it down.

“Please! Twilight Sparkle! Twilight!” She whinnied over the discordant howling of the tangled winds, “Are you inside? Please, The Great and Powerful Trixie urgently requires your assistance! Open the door! Please!”

The shadows rose up from the ground, shifting into solid shapes. Solid figures. Tall, sleek, supple. Every slow gesture and motion they made was dreadfully calm . Their eyes glowed white like steadily burning lanterns, bright but strangely lifless. These were a patient lot, used to waiting. Disturbingly patient. Clearly content to wait forever for something or sompony to ripen or rot, if they wished for such satisfaction before they struck.

As the figures emerged, and began to grow eventually more distinct, Trixie made out cloaks seemingly choking their throats, flapping behind them. Tall, pointed magicians' hats were planted stiffly upon their heads, as rigid and as still as their wearers, were revealed, after being previously merged with the darkness about them. Their long manes and tails were thin and transparent, like silvery threads. One wondered how the harsh winds hadn't torn them clean off.

Trixie snapped her attention back to the door, and continued her shouts and pounding. “Please! Twilight! Open Up!” She hollered.

The figures stepped closer. “Twilight! Please!” Trixie screamed. The figures stepped closer still. “Twilight Sparkle, please open up! Help me!” Trixie screamed again, desperation racing through her, trying to swallow the swollen, salty blocks clogging her throat.

Lightening set the sky seemingly ablaze. The spider-webby-maned figure from earlier, could be seen standing upon a nearby cottage roof. Trixie cried out, as another bolt smashed down upon the tiles, and the figure reared, slicing above the noise with a bloodcurdling whinny that rattled her to the bone.

A tree was smote by another bolt, and was sent smoking down nearby. The crash threatened to split Trixie's eardrums. “Please Twilight! The Great and Frightened Trixie shall finish off as the Great and Long-deceased Trixie, if you don't open this door!” Trixie howled, darting her eyes back and forth between the door and the figures drawing ever nearer, like a theater's closing curtain about to end the final act.

There was still no answer from within the Library. Trixie slammed her face against the door, beating it with one hoof in despair, sobbing violently. She turned to face the figures, ever closer, her vision blurred by tears and rain that still clung to her lashes, and the overwhelming exhaustion that clung even tighter.

She could make out the first figure amongst the others now. He or she had at somepoint sprung down from the rooftops. They were all creeping in one body. Slowly and steadily. They were in no hurry.

Trixie's bottom lip trembled. Her lungs heaved and gasped, as she tried to release words from her limping tongue. “Please... For... Forgive... ” Her vision swung. She was so tired... So cold... “Please... Forgive... Forgive Trixie.. For... Forgive... Forgive her, for...” She choked through gulps of hard-edged air that seemed to stifle her. The figures were silent. They kept moving, their empty stares glued to her pleading stare, as if she were an ugly, offending object, or a mutilated, cowering serpent, and it was all her fault.

Trixie wept, and slowly collapsed upon the doorstep. Drained of all lingering hope, she couldn't muster the strength to cast any spell to defend herself. Not that any she knew would be of use to her now.

She sealed her eyes tightly closed, and shielded her face with quaking hooves. She now felt a new frigid chill caress her cheeks. Wispy, like breath. Another beating heart could be heard next to hers. An old, hauling heart, pounding like a steady, ticking clock. A clock that would soon, Trixie realized, be out of time. But not as soon as her, she knew.

Trixie heard rain rolling down an outstretched hoof. She could hear the hum of a spell about to be cast. She bit her lip, and long trickle of scarlet traversed down her chin. Farewell Ponyville. Farewell Equestria. Trixie thought to herself, bitterly. Farewell to everything and everypony.
The hum of magic began to increase, and sing out over the howl of the storm. Thanks for nothing, Twilight Sparkles...

Slam! Everything, except the growl of thunder and the padding rain seemed to stop. Trixie felt warmth spread over her soaking shoulders, cape and back. She jolted upwards, as if shaken from a nightmare. There was nothing there. The figures had gone. They'd... left her? Given up so easily?
Looking down at the pavement before her, Trixie realized that the puddles sparkled slightly with an amber light, seeming to be sourced... behind her.

“Hello? Who's there? Kinda a rough and miserable night to be out, don'tcha think?” A kind, clear voice rang out over the chatter of the rain, with a hint of concern resided in it.
Trixie's somersaulting soul now froze, and then plopped back down into her chest. Startled, she swerved round. That voice was...

“Trixie?!” A bewildered lilac unicorn gasped. The mare stood in the doorway, enveloped in a bright, homely light, that forced Trixie to squint. The unicorn had a straight, dark purple mane and tail, streaked with pansy purple and ruby pink stripes. Beneath her fringe she had large eyes, shaped like topsy-turvy tear-drops. Her irises were a rich, byzantium purple, wealthy with knowledge. She blinked her dark lashes in disbelief.

Trixie noted she was also wearing a milky dressing-gown, with puffy, cloud-like slippers on her hooves, and had a book suspended in the air by a cherry-pink glow directed from the unicorn's horn.
“Twilight... Sparkles...” Trixie stuttered, the cold still gripping her, “Trixie... Sees that you haven't... Changed much, since-”
“By Faust's mane, what on Equestria are you doing in Ponyville, Trix? So late, and in such weather? You're drenched!” Twilight frowned, scanning Trixie like a jigsaw that she suspected had had an absent piece lurking.

“Now's not the time... Pl... Please, let Trixie in.” Trixie begged. She was about to attempt an laying a brief exclamation at Twilight's feet, but instead, sneezed violently and suddenly. “Ahhh-TICHO!”
Twilight started a bit, and studied Trixie's shivering, soddened form, and sniveling pink nose with some worry. Trixie could see uncertainty lurking in her eyes, and her tongue rolling in her cheek in deep consideration.

“Well... You better come in, out of that dreadful rain and cold. I'll getcha warmed up, and then we'll talk.” Twilight spread a foreleg about Trixie, and brought her into the library, closing the door with another swirl of magic. With another spell, Twilight immediately removed Trixie's dripping hat and cape, hanging them in mid-air.
Trixie noted the inside of the oak was a pale, pinkish, apricot. Large shelves had been carved into it, towering all the way up to the high, wood ceiling, with small swirling pattens as decoration.

They were covered in books. Choked with books. Bending with books. Exploding with books. Books, books and more books. Books of all shapes and sizes. All colours and covers. With all fonts and titles. Some old, and new. The smell of books, ink and parchment filled the room. As well as the sweet scent of timber, and faint traces of cooking.
The place was spacious and comforting. Very consoling to be in. Dry, warm, and quiet. The little windows were drawn shut with purple curtains, that and the thick walls drowning out the tantrum of the ruckus outside. The storm felt like a daydream of weeks ago.

Twilight gave Trixie a friendly grin, and a pat on the back. “Up the stairs we go. We'll fix you a hot bath, and then, after one of Spikey's delicious meals, we'll discuss a couple of things. You can tell me everything you have to tell. Every detail.” Trixie simply nodded as she made up the winding stair with Twilight, staring down at her hooves. She supposed, with a swallow, that she'd have no other alternative.

She hoped with all her might she was making the right choices.

Author's Note:
After months of preparation, the first chapter is done. Yippie!
I hope you enjoyed. Do comment and tell me what you think