Recreational

Trixie shuddered feverishly, waking in a sweat despite the chilling temperature of the room. The company had shut off her heating in an attempt to get her to pay the quadruple-digit bill, but Trixie spent so much time out on the street on cold winter nights that she had grown accustomed to the frequent shivering and colds, where the heat in her home had been a luxury. But like most luxuries, she could live without it. Her dependency was only on the tiny fluid filled syringes, and as she sat up in her bed, she thought about how she would secure her next fix. Sombrely, she got up and stretched, her sleep-bleary eyes blocking out most of the grimy clothing and toys scattered throughout the cramped apartment. Trixie floated over a feather light bag, secured with a tight rope at its neck. Loosening it with her telekinesis, she peered inside and saw one glittering bit. The golden coin was the only thing that shined in the room, the one tiny ray of hope. Trixie blew a lock of silvery hair out of her eyes in frustration.

“One bit isn’t even enough for a measly apple.” She muttered to no one in particular, staring at the coin, willing it to multiply, but nothing happened. Trixie felt her stomach grumble at the mention of food, but she knew from experience that if she was this hungry, there would be no point in eating anything because she would then become ravenous, all the hard work of keeping her hunger at bay wasted. Trixie’s hoof lingered over the shiny bit, smoothing her hoof over the engraved grooves in the golden metal. Sighing, she lowered it back into the bag, pushing it into its safe hiding place. She silently remarked why she even bothered hiding the pathetic little savings – it wasn’t like there was anything to steal. Not that robbers ever approached her home. They were scared of her. But they were not intimidated of her magical power, or even her presence.

They were afraid of what she did.

Trixie knew that most ponies had gained knowledge of her, and how she worked at a house of ill-repute. But what could she do? When she needed bits and nopony would hire her, she turned to the illegal practice of prostitution to keep a feeble income. She knew if she was assertive and played the game right, she could get a fair amount of bits. But she hated herself for it. Trixie wasn’t a stupid pony, far from it, and she knew all her magical ability and knowledge were going to waste as she rutted her life away, tired and ill, yet still dependent on the vile concoction inside those syringes. She’d shed a tear too many a time to be able to cry at the thought, toughened to the emotions that broiled within her mind, but she still sobbed drily, shuddering at the numerous framed fan letters and drawings hanging on her wall. Her eyes settled on one beautifully innocent drawing, scribbled in bright, colourful crayons, depicting a blue mare with a shakily drawn purple hat and cape, with the filly who had illustrated it standing next to her, both with large, happy smiles. Trixie found herself next to the picture without fully realising, her hoof stroking the glass of the frame, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles out of the creamy white paper. She read the large, childish name scrawled in the corner, Dinky Hooves. She smiled and gradually stopped shaking, calming herself enough to locate her prized garments underneath all of the dirty, trashy material. She extracted the smooth purple hat, her eyes tracing over the stars of assorted shapes and sizes. She sat it on her matted mane, sighing in relief at the comfort of the material, closing her eyes in bliss as she tied the matching cape around her shoulders. It felt good to be home.

Only 3 hours ago, Trixie had been at peace with herself, clad in her magical attire and surrounded by an imaginary crowd of adoring fans, all begging her to entertain them with her magical abilities and again recount the story of defeating the Ursa Major. Now she was in her more shady and shabby attire, donned for the inky black night ahead. She’d spent a good while in the shower, trying to wash away her regrets and sorrows in the icy cold water, to no avail. She’d stepped out, dripping on the threadbare carpeting around the room, and begun meticulously preparing herself, a ritual which she had become shamefully accustomed to.  She had applied the dark eye make-up precisely, pulling the mascara wand through her already dewy lashes, leaving them coated in a sticky black residue, and swiped dark black eyeshadow over her lids. Looking in the mirror as she left, Trixie couldn’t help but feel disgustingly fake. She glanced at the crude leather jacket she wore, her hoof shakily reaching her mouth as she travelled down to her flanks, trying to ignore the prominent ribs through her cerulean blue fur. Her cutie mark lay concealed underneath a tiny leather skirt, her smooth flanks in a grotesque show to any vendors nearby. Trixie flicked off the light with her magic before she could begin sobbing again, and ran out into Luna’s night, galloping to her usual place – a dark corner near Ponyville’s only bar. She stood there shivering, trying to arrange herself in an enticing pose, and began waiting for the drunken stallions to stagger out of the bar and notice her.

Shivering, the powder blue mare looked into the green eyes before her, towering over her petite frame and laughing at her, the stench of stale hard cider wafting out of his mouth, causing Trixie to flinch.

“How much?” he hollered, slapping at Trixie’s flank and hooting again, the alcohol impairing his balance as he tripped a little, recovering just before he hit the floor.

“200 bits an hour.” Trixie firmly said, looking away from him nonchalantly. She knew how to play this game, only from practice, and kept her true emotions bottled up inside of her.

“Wha’?” he yelped, incredulous. He rubbed his head with his hoof, the onset of his hangover apparent as he began to sober up slightly. “Well, mah momma only gave me 100 bits to buy toys with t’night.” He said, winking. Trixie gave a little noise of disapproval at his immature bartering, and stalked away, making sure to wave her flanks temptingly as she retreated, throwing a sultry gaze over her shoulder.

“B-but… I’m sure she won’ mind if I spend a lil’ more… specially if it’s on an extra good toy...” he simpered, his eyes growing wide as he drank in the sight of her curved flanks. Trixie smirked and drew closer, her violet eyes never straying from him.

“I thought you’d say that.” She said, her eyes still locked on his. Regrettably, Trixie was good at what she did.

“E…Eeyup…” the stallion muttered, following the mare down the alley, into the darkness.