Heat and Desire

Heat and Desire
Chapter 5: Trixie Part 1
By
The Incognito Brony
(Brony Incognito elsewhere)

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan made work of fiction written for fun and to finally get this idea out of my head.

Fair warning, this is a very strange and very dark story with badly written sex that descends into the realm of rape. You have been warned.

I do not own My Little Pony in any part, nor is this intended to infringe on any copyright or license owned by Hasbro or anyone else. If you actually read this disclaimer, you deserve a cookie.

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Foreword: If you missed it, the events of Springtime in Ponyville occur between this chapter and the last. It's not important to have read it, but will be referenced.

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"Gaze in awe at the Great and Powerful Trixie."

The mare she saw in the mirror was not great, nor was she powerful; facts that black pockmarks in the old glass did little to hide. Were she to guess, the mirror was older than her by at least two decades and was almost certainly the most recent addition to the tiny bathroom, not counting Trixie herself.

She turned to see her profile. One of her hooves came up and ran along her midsection, feeling its way down her side. Her ribs didn't show but, like yesterday, she felt them more easily than the day before.

A brush on the medicine cabinet glowed a weak blue and floated near. She was starting feel the weight of it these days, but dutifully brought it to her blue-white mane to work out the tussles and tangles of the night before. When she was done, she carefully laid the brush back down and purposefully ignored the light wash of relief as she released the magic

Out of the bathroom, she made the three step journey to the kitchen. It had a stove and some cupboards, as well as a countertop with a metal bucket set into it. That bucket might have counted as a sink if the faucet worked.

Beyond the kitchen was her tiny living room. In truth, the only thing separating the two was the fact that the couch was over there and the stove wasn't. There was also a coffee table, though it hadn't seen coffee in the time Trixie had lived there. Currently, it held only a single, three month old magazine and a scattering of free newspapers open to want ads.

Trixie reared up, placing her hooves on the countertop. One of the previous tenants had apparently not understood the purpose of a cutting board, so damaging the surface was not much of a concern. She took a cupboard's handle between her teeth and eased it open. Inside, there was hay and nothing else. It was dry, coarse straw that sat loose on a shelf. The kind not even the store deemed worthy of the effort to bale properly.

She pulled out a mouthful. Her gut turned the second her tongue touched it, a lump rising to close off her throat. At the same time, her neglected stomach growled. She flicked the cupboard door shut and slipped her hooves off the counter. They hit the floor hard, but her apartment was in the basement. There was nopony below to disturb.

She didn't look to her tiny table, just closed her eyes and pulled the cheap hay deeper into her mouth with her tongue. It was only through sheer force of will and the gnawing pain in her stomach that she managed to force her jaw to work. The taste was like cotton and ash in her mouth and lingered long after she'd wrestled it down.

She finished with a cough and hung her head over the maybe-sink in case her breakfast came back up. It wouldn't be the first time. Looking down into the tarnished metal, she reflected that there had been a time she liked hay; especially mixed into a casserole or in a smoothie.

The food stayed put, though both it and her gut made their displeasure at the arrangement known. She looked up at the clock on her wall. It was nearly two in the afternoon. She had to get to work.

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"Two blooming onions, four steins of hard cider and three garden salads," Trixie said, putting the food on the table, "and I'll be right back with your curried rice."

The four colts gave their cursory thanks before digging in. She left them to it, heading back toward the bar, and the kitchen behind it, to wait on the rice.

It was Tuesday at Stage Left. That meant it was onion night and the local high school's weekly rendition of The Manehattan Dragon. Thirteen performances and, somehow, they seemed to be getting worse.

Trixie leaned against the counter while she waited, her eyes on the stage. The dragon, a hilariously hideous pile of green cloth, paint and ping pong balls with twelve hooves, stood to one side. A tiny Earth pony mare wearing a fake horn made from a plunger stared it down.

"My, little pony, but you are brave," the dragon said.

One of the first lessons Trixie's teachers had drilled into her was the difference between projecting and yelling. It was a concept lost on the dragon. It could, she supposed, have just been how the director had told the pony to play it. She doubted, not for the first time, that whomever directed the play knew what he was doing.

The dragon was an alto.

"More likely," the dragon said, "you are foolish and desperate. Do you expect to defeat me with that little horn and your pitiful magic? Nothing you could do could hope to pierce my beautiful, luscious scales."

"My name is Scribble Rune," the 'unicorn' said, "and I don't plan to defeat you, but I know of something that can."

Trixie shook her head. "Cue the incantation and the little dance," she muttered under her breath.

One of the colts from Trixie's table stood up. "Eat her now! While she's casting!"

"They don't deserve to be on that stage," Trixie said.

The bartender and manager, a stocky stallion she only knew as Draught, laughed. "They pull in a good crowd."

On stage, an Earth pony in a harness and a cracked papier-mâché mask descended from the rafters. The harness held him upright on two legs. Something that had started its career as a broom was taped onto his right foreleg.

Scribble Rune waved a hoof at the new arrival. "Behold: a human!"

The audience roared with laughter.

Trixie smirked. "Schadenfreude sells."

On stage, the human leapt fifteen feet into the air to pounce on the dragon.

He missed and drifted offstage behind the curtain, carried helplessly by his harness. There was a dull thud. For a second everypony was quiet, then erupted into a fresh peel of laughter as half of the human mask rolled out from behind the curtain and across the stage.

Draught cleared his throat loudly. Trixie turned his way. "Trix, listen. We have a few minutes. About Thursday..."

Trixie smiled wider. "Do not worry, The Great and Powerful Trixie knows what went wrong and will deliver a grand performance."

"Yeah, about that. Trixie, open stage night's not much of a draw."

"What are you saying?" Her eyes widened. "No! Trixie will..."

"Trixie, calm down, it's only for two weeks. We've got the Canterlot Knights coming in. I can't say no to that kind of act."

"But this is a theatre, a place for..."

"Human! Punch!" yelled a voice from the stage.

Draught gave Trixie an even look while Trixie gave in to a sudden need to scratch the back of her neck and watch the floor. "Trixie, this is my place. If I can pack these seats for a couple of nights, I will."

Years on the stage had taught Trixie to keep her expression calm. She sniffed once, then nodded. "Of course."

Draught sighed, "I know you love doing it. Look, it's not forever. Here." He pulled a blooming onion from a tray and put it on the counter. "On the house. You've only got twenty minutes left, so why don't we get Opal to cover your tables and you head home for the night?"

Trixie eyed the onion. Her mouth watered. She shook it off and pushed the dish back. "Thank you, but Trixie can't. She has to go to work in an hour... I'll pick it up when I go."

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The rare feeling of warm food gave Trixie some comfort as she pushed through the employees' entrance of the Prancing Pony. Her uniform, a negligee that somehow made her feel more exposed than being naked, clung tight and uncomfortable to her body. It was the one grace of her lost weight: the uniform had been unlivable before.

A wall of heavy bass beats hit her ears as soon as the door opened, even through the added buffer of the dressing room she now entered. The air was filled with bottled mare musk. She was careful to stay away from the dancers and their dressing tables as she moved through.

Another door and she was out on the floor. A stage stood at one end. A runway branched off it, running to the very center of the room and ending at a circular island of stage with a pole planted in it. Trixie knew that, from above, it looked like somepony had put a pin into a thermometer.

Tables filled the rest of big room wherever there was space, and nearly every cushion had a stallion on it.

The music died and a male voice echoed through the room. The voice, unlike those of most stallions in the room, sounded suave. "Now gentlecolts, please stomp your hooves for our main attraction this evening. The elegant, the graceful, the alluring, Azure Sky."

The crowd cheered. The music turned soft and melodic, an old classic Trixie couldn't quite put a name to.

On stage, the curtains opened to reveal a deep blue pegasus mare. She all but floated out onto the stage, flicking her wings open one at a time as she passed the tables. She reached the pole at the end of the runway, snagged it with the crook of her wing and used it to spin sharply around. A hind hoof hit the stage in time with a single, hard drumbeat. Sky threw a knowing grin to the audience as the deep, resounding drumming started and launched into her routine.

Trixie shook her head and went to the bar, grabbing a tray.

"You're on nine to sixteen tonight." Boost, the bartender, had to yell over the music.

Trixie nodded.

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The night was finally winding down. The music was quiet enough for Trixie to hear the growing headache pounding in her head, the dancers were all done for the night and last call was five minutes ago. Only a few patrons remained.

Trixie fought to keep her eyes open as she meandered from table to table, picking up the remnants the patrons had left behind. Rules or not, she wasn't above stealing their leftovers at this time of night. One of her tables was still occupied. With the kitchen closed and no more drinks coming, there was no reason to talk to them except to try to get more tips.

"Are you sirs..."

One of the patrons leaned over to her. A foreleg fell across Trixie's shoulders and pulled her to the stallion. She staggered under the weight. He leaned in close to Trixie’s face. His breath smelled like apples and paint thinner.

"Hey, you're not stuck up like that Azure Sky, are you, pretty lady?"

Trixie tried to pry the hoof off. "You can't be serious..."

"Thinks she's too good for me. A hundred bits and she said no." He dropped a bag on the table. "but fifty says you'll meet me out back."

The stallion’s friends, who were both laughing at her, suddenly stopped and stared past the show mare. Trixie looked back to see Boost and the bouncers standing behind her.

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Trixie looked into the spotted bathroom mirror. A mare she barely knew stared back. "Gaze in awe at the Great and Powerful Trixie." She hung her head. "When did Trixie become a joke?"

The floor didn’t answer.

She picked up her brush and set it to her hair. The motions were mechanic, lifeless. They’d become a token gesture to herself. When she was done, she stepped out into the kitchen. She looked up at the cupboard. There was still a meal or two of hay left. Her stomach growled, but she couldn’t bring herself to even look at the stuff. Her couch was starting to sound appetizing by comparison.

She kept walking through the kitchen to that very couch and laid down on the tweed, careful to avoid the broken wire that dug into her back and the large, brown stain. One sniff months ago told her that the stain hadn't been made by anything nearly so wholesome as coffee.

A bag squeezed its way out from under the couch, pulled by her magic. She upended the entire thing onto her coffee table, spilling a month’s worth of bits onto the table. Last night’s meager tips were added to the pile.

Leaning over the money, she counted every bit by hoof. Four little stacks of coins started forming on the far end of the table. For every bit that passed under her hooves, she saw a muffin. A pie for every three. Five for an oat smoothie.

She missed those.

Bit by bit, the pile vanished into those four stacks. The rest of the coins gathered into a smaller stack after the first four were made. A month of good meals sat before her. Nothing extravagant, but it would be good, hearty food.

There was a knock at the door. Trixie hiccupped and looked, but didn’t move.

Another knock.

Trixie gave the little stacks another long look, then angrily swiped all but the odd stack off the table and back into the bag. She grabbed the hem in her teeth and stomped over to the door. It glowed a light blue and was wrenched open. There stood an older stallion with a face that looked like it had been cut from granite with a dull axe. The bag of bits fell at his hooves.

"Yes, yes, Trixie knows. Rent."

The stallion raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and stooped to pick up the bag. Trixie slammed the door in his face.

Trixie turned and made her way back into the apartment, to the couch. She climbed up onto it and curled into a ball, hugging her chest to keep it still. In front of her, on the coffee table, stood that last stack of bits.

Another month of hay.

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Trixie stood in front of the Prancing Pony staring at the mouth of the alley. She still wore her uniform and held a borrowed bottle of musk in her mouth.

She continued to stare. The stallion had returned, made the same offer. There were fifty bits down that alley. Ten good meals, at least.

She might even enjoy it.

She laid her head against a wall. The cool brick eased the flush and weight of the long day from her temple. Eyes closed, she tried to ignore the aching emptiness in her stomach, tried to make the cool on her head be the only thing in the world.

Her stomach growled. It hurt.

Blue magic lifted the bottle from her mouth. The nozzle turned. Her head lifted. Two quick presses of the plunger sprayed the cup of her throat. Like the brick, the spritz was cool and refreshing, the scent warm, heavy and sweet.

It wasn’t so bad.

Another spritz sprayed high over her head, drifted down onto her back. Goosebumps rose on her skin where the tiny droplets hit her fur. The sensation was surprisingly pleasant.

Her stomach growled again.

"Shut up." Trixie’s voice quivered lightly.

She twisted her body around to see her side. The bottle came with her. She hesitated, then squeezed the plunger again, spraying a light mist onto her flank, onto the image of a wand and trail of stars.

A hiccup twitched through her core. Despite herself, she sniffled.

She smelled sweet.

Another twist of her body and she sprayed the other side. She didn’t look at her flank this time.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Her stomach churned, then growled.

The bottle shattered against the brick wall.

Trixie stared at the viscous, white blob that was slowly starting to run down the wall. Flecks of glass stuck to it, one occasionally falling to the ground with a dull plink. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in gasps and gulps. Violently, angrily, she shook her head so hard her eyes were forced shut. A bubbling pressure built deep in her heart until it burst from her mouth in a wordless cry, undulating as her head flew from side to side.

Her head twisted back, teeth pulling at the negligee she’d been forced to wear. It caught and pulled at her curves and horn. It finally surrendered and ripped apart. Its remains fluttered to the wall and fell on top of the bottle’s remains to make a gooey pile.

Trixie’s breathing slowed, calmed. Looking at the pile filled her with grim satisfaction.

"Are you alright, lady?" The voice came from behind her.

She looked back. At least a dozen ponies had stopped to stare at her. Some looked concerned, one was curious, most were just amused.

Trixie sniffed, thrusting her muzzle high into the air. "Of course." She spun around, snapping her tail at the crowd, and walked away down the street.

"Whatever," said one pony.

"Weirdo," said another.

Trixie ignored them. After she’d gone a block, she looked back over her shoulder. A black-on-mocha Earth pony, a buckskin, walked a few yards back, holding pace. He had the tall build of a Canterlot pony and wore a black suit jacket and tie.

"Can Trixie help you?"

He smiled like a fox eyeing a chicken coop. "You just cost me twenty bits, kid." His voice had a low scratching quality, like somepony just recovering from a chest cold.

Trixie set her head back forward with a ‘hmph.’ "The name is Trixie, and she doesn’t see how it’s her fault you lost money."

"Would you have gone in for a hundred bits?"

Trixie’s hackles rose, but she kept walking. "Trixie does not know what you are talking about, nor does she have time to play stupid little games."

"I caught your show in Trottingham. You trained in Fillydelphia, didn’t you? South side."

Trixie stopped and looked back. "How?"

Trixie got the impression that he could skin her with those teeth. "The stage name. The way you do the rope trick. Also, it’s my job. Call me a talent scout."

Trixie’s gasped. She spun his way, flicking her mane in a flourish and ending upright on her hind legs, her forelimbs spread wide to the sky. Straining with the effort, she pooled enough magic to summon a billowing cloud of smoke on the ground around her. "Then behold! The Great and Powerful..."

"I caught your show last Thursday. How long did it take to get you down from there?"

Trixie deflated, but kept the pose.

"You haven't got much left, do you?"

Trixie's breath caught, but she hid it. Instead, she dropped back to her hooves and started walking away again. "Trixie does not need to stand here and be ridiculed by an uncouth lout."

The stallion started walking with her again. "Kid, the only reason I'm talking to you is 'cause I'm on a schedule here. I usually wait 'til a mark's hit rock bottom."

"Then you will be waiting a very long time. And the name is Trixie. And Trixie is nopony's mark."

The stallion snorted. "Kid? You put it off a day. Maybe a week. How much do you think that bottle cost?"

Trixie flinched.

"How about that frilly number you tore up? Must’ve been worth a pretty penny."

Trixie grit her teeth, her head drooped, but she walked on.

"Figure you're at least a hundred bits in the hole. And joints like The Pony? Only got three of 'em in all of Manehattan. They talk. Word'll get around if you don't pay up. And for ponies like you, that's already bottom of the barrel. You figure anyone'll take you on if they hear you got kicked out for stiffing one?

“Listen kid, you talk to me now, or you'll talk to me in a week covered in stallion gravy. I’m doing you a favour here."

The mare stopped. "What do you want?"

He came up beside her. "Believe it or not, I want to give you a job."

Trixie blinked. "A job? What job?"

He laughed. "The kind of job ponies talk about on dark streets after midnight. You're a smart filly, you know it's not the kind you're going to put on a resume." He shrugged. "I need a unicorn. One with actual magic training. Right now, you're close enough. Job's not pretty, but you do one turn for me and you can put the Prancing Pony square behind you."

Trixie eyed the stallion, looking into his eyes for any hint of a lie. She didn't find any, though he still looked at her like she would look at an oat smoothie.

She said nothing.

The stallion stuck his muzzle into his jacket, pulled out a slip of paper and a small stack of coins. He dropped them on the ground beside Trixie. "You want to get out of this rut, you go to that address tomorrow." He turned and walked away. After a few steps he looked back over his shoulder. "And buy yourself a sandwich, for Celestia's sake."

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The next noon saw Trixie sitting on her stained couch. On the coffee table in front of her were The Buckskin's piece of paper, the coins he'd given her and small pile of hay from her cupboard. She forced herself to chew through a breakfast of the hay while she stared at the other two.

The windowless apartment felt smaller than it usually did. It seemed barer, somehow, though nothing save the clock had ever graced the walls since she'd lived there. She sighed.

Musk still covered her body from the night before. It no longer smelled sweet, just heavy; like cooking oil that was starting to turn.

Her schedule was free today. Neither Stage Left nor The Pony had her on the books. It happed happened far too often for her pocketbook's well being. Worse, somepony else had her stage tonight.

A niggling worry crept into the back of her mind that it was last night that that stallion had shown up. She wondered if he knew.

He'd known about Fillydelphia.

Trixie shook her head. "Get a hold of yourself," she said. "I'm giving him too much credit."

She looked at the paper again. It had a crude map drawn on it. The address wasn't far. Trixie poked the small stack of bits with the very tip of her hoof and watched it slide an inch across the old wood with a tinny jingle. Soon she was pushing it back and forth between her forehooves.

Distracted, Trixie picked up another mouthful of hay and bit down on a stone.

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Countless warehouses made of centuries-old stone lined both sides of the street. Very few ponies walked the street and those few were burly Earth ponies pulling heavy carts into and out of the buildings. In the near distance, Trixie could hear the rumble and bells from the port ahead and the din of the city from behind.

She came to a narrow street cut between two of the warehouses. She checked her map and ventured in. The sounds of the city muted and grew suddenly very distant. The street, only wide enough for maybe three ponies of Trixie's size to walk abreast, cut out most of the sun's light, even this close to noon, leaving everything cast in shadow. The place was deserted.

High above, a pony's head appeared over the edge of a roof, then vanished. The sight made Trixie's skin itch.

Halfway down the narrow street she came to a door left slightly ajar. Another check of the map and Trixie pushed it open.

Inside, the warehouse was in ruins. Cracked and crumbling walls defined the space. Where there had once been a second floor there was now only jagged edges of wood and stone. Everywhere there was rotten wood, rubble and at least a century's worth of debris. The place smelled of dust and mould. Flecks danced in columns of light that streamed in between the slats of the ceiling.

In the corner was the buckskinned stallion from the night before. He stood in a small area swept clean of all the dirt and detritus. Next to him was a table, small and simple, with a cushion on either side. On the table were two covered plates.

"You're later than I thought," he said.

Trixie huffed a laugh from her nose. "Then you should have told Trixie a time instead of expecting her to come running."

He gave her that predatory little smirk. "Really? Most dames in your position don't keep a paying stallion waiting. Not if they plan to eat."

Trixie prickled. Her fur puffed out as she drew herself up and evened a glare on him. He kept his smile even, then reached down to nose the cover off one of the plates. The revealed plate was piled high with lightly stewed vegetables sprinkled delicately with some green herb. Trixie guessed it was oregano, but then Trixie assumed any green herb was oregano.

"The food's gotten cold." The stallion's voice never wavered, but Trixie saw more than a little smug in his blue eyes. "You do like ratatouille, don't you? I like to do business over lunch. Keeps things from getting too formal."

Trixie eyed him as she edged over to the nearer cushion.

She sat down.

He nodded and calmly walked over to his side of the table and sat on his cushion. He started in, plucking a potato from his plate and chewing it slowly. He shrugged with his foreleg, his hoof gesturing to her plate.

Trixie looked down at the food, her mouth watering. With her magic, she pulled a perfectly stewed carrot up and slipped it daintily into her mouth.

The sweet locked her jaw the second the food touched her tongue. Her eyes followed suit as she took in a sharp, unbidden breath through her nose. It was a sigh not meant for polite company. She tossed her head back without noticing, flicking her mane. In her mouth, tastebuds she'd long neglected and forgotten sprang to life in glee.

A moan rolled out of her throat. Even back when food was a given, this would be the greatest thing she ever put in her mouth.

She dug in with gusto and without magic. For the first time in a long time she relished her food and her stomach was eager to accept it. She was halfway through when the blissful haze worked itself clear enough for her to realize that The Buckskin was watching her. He nibbled at his own plate, but his eyes stayed on her. That smirk stayed on his face.

"Don't stop on my account. Oh, you got a little something there." He swiped a hoof vaguely at his chin, then tossed her a napkin. Trixie caught it with her magic and wiped the generous sauce from her chin, then from the rest of her face. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way. Kid, what do you know about humans?"

Trixie blinked. "Trixie has had to sit through..."

"Serve through."

She glared at him. "Seen thirteen showings of The Manhattan Dragon."

"No, not that. You must've had a Gran. What kind of stories did she tell you?"

"The same as everypony knows. They are legendary creatures. They have hands like a monkey, can run as fast as a pegasus and are as strong as an Earth pony. They wear metal like dragon scales and hold bladed iron horns in their hands. They haven't come to Equestria in centuries,"

The stallion nodded, grinned wider and shifted back on his cushion. "What if I told you they weren't all that and that I've seen one a few weeks back?"

"Trixie..." He was still eyeing her. "I'd ask what kind of job you want me to do."

"Good girl. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He shifted in his seat, a foreleg coming up so he could prop himself up on the table. "Did you know there are laws about bringing humans to Equestria?" Trixie raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "Didn't think so. Stiff penalties for that. Owning humans? Even worse. Now, what do you suppose happens when a bunch of pampered Upper Crusts, who aren't so used to be told no, get told they can't do something?"

Trixie said nothing until the stallion lifted his eyebrows in a meaningful shrug. She realized that he was waiting for her. "They'll do it?"

"Bingo. Got it in one. Got us some spells to bring‘em in from where they live. That’s where you come in. Now, suppose I tell you that humans are a special kind of wicked in the sack? What then?"

Trixie swallowed. "You want Trixie... you want me to summon a human so somepony can..." her face screwed up in disgust, "have sex with it?"

"Actually, I want you to summon one so half a dozen colts can have sex with it. Bachelor party, way I hear it, but not something I worry myself about."

Trixie stared at the stallion, then glanced at her food and to the door. She swallowed hard.

The other pony laughed lightly. "Well, you might as well say it. Everpony does."

Trixie swallowed again. "What if I go to the guard?"

He smiled that same, damned, predatory grin. "Kid, you haven’t seen anything yet. You go to the guard, they’ll just look at you funny. Even if they do throw you a bone, all they'll find is an old warehouse. Don't tell me you didn't see the spotters. We knew you were coming ten blocks out.

“Same coin, you do this, we’ll take care of you, but you can never talk about it to anypony. You do, we all go down. You try, we’ll know and we’ll stop you. Nothing personal, you understand, there’s just a lot of necks on the line here. Mine not the least. You got a single doubt about this, you walk away now. Nothing happens.”

“Nothing?”

“Kid? Being honest here. Right now, you’re just another back alley washout three days from selling her flank. You're not worth our time.”

Trixie eyes stayed on the food in front of her. “How much?”

“I’m sorry, Kid, I’m a little deaf in this ear. Come again?”

“How much?”

“Good girl. Well, now, got a bit of a sliding scale there. Get us a prime specimen and you'll get more. Still, like I said, one turn with us and you can put The Pony behind you.” His eyebrows shrugged, knowingly. “And there are some fringe benefits to this arrangement, but we can worry about that later.”

He pushed his plate over to sit beside Trixie’s.

“You'd best eat up. You’re going to need your strength.”

She obeyed. While it no longer overwhelmed her palate, the food was delicious and she ate more than she should have. It left her feeling tired and bloated, but it was glorious to even be able to feel that way again. She wanted to curl up in a corner, even on the broken rubble, and sleep. That didn’t happen.

After she’d eaten, The Buckskin led her to the back of the warehouse. There, he opened the broken remains of a door to reveal a set of stairs heading underground. The tunnel disappeared into darkness.

“Stay close,” he said, not looking back. “You wouldn’t be the first pony to get lost down here.”

He went down and Trixie followed. Ten paces in she was blind, the only light coming from back the way they’d come. She pushed magic to the tip of her horn, making it glow.

“None of that,” The Buckskin said, “I’m not getting there and having you too weak to cast. Besides, got it covered.”

Trixie let her glow die. In the fading light she saw him prod a nearby stone in the wall aside. Behind it sat a lantern, already lit and ready. He took it in his mouth and led her into the darkness again.

The trip was long and winding. The walls changed from natural stone, to brick, to cut stone and back again. Many tunnels went by, but the stallion leading her seemed to know the way. Trixie, without anything else to do but follow, watched him. He would pause ever so briefly at every intersection, then press on. She could feel a pattern in the turns he was taking, but couldn’t put a hoof on it. The drowsiness in her head from the full belly didn’t help.

They eventually came to a long, straight tunnel and followed it. It ended at a door. The stallion set the lantern on a hook and knocked three times, paused, then twice more. The door swung open.

Two armoured ponies stood in the doorway. They peered out at Trixie and her guide. One nodded to the other and both moved out of the way.

The Buckskin walked in. Trixie stared. She had expected another warehouse. What she got was a theatre. It was small by any standard. The floor was only large enough to hold, maybe, a hundred ponies, but was made from polished, black granite. There were only two box seats set into the walls, one on either side, but they were both flanked by rich tapestries that hung ceiling to floor and would cost more bits than Trixie had ever seen in her life.

The stage, while not much larger than her wagon’s had been, was currently covered by a curtain of deep crimson. From its shimmer, Trixie would have bet her last bit, if she had any, that it was silk.

“I think she likes it,” one of the door ponies said. He was a peach-coloured Earth pony stallion with a hint of red poking out from under his helmet. The armour formed a skirt in back that hung low over his flanks and covered his cutie mark.

The other, another Earth pony, though he was a heavyset, cornflower stallion, just laughed and waved her through with a shake of his head.

Trixie stepped in, though her gaze drifted around the room, then up to the ceiling where a crystal teardrop chandelier dominated.

“You can gawk after you’ve done the job, Kid.” The Buckskin stood near a door at the side of the room. The cornflower guard gave her a playful kick to the thigh. It gave Trixie a start and she moved quickly over.

The hallway beyond was simple cut stone with light provided by sconces along the walls. Uniform doors dotted both side of the hall. A larger, double door stood at the end.

The Buckskin guided her to one of the smaller doors, apparently at random, and pushed it open for her. Trixie stepped through without a word.

“Is this a hotel?” she asked as she took in the room. Her hooves were on thick, shag carpeting. The walls were done up in a tasteful eggshell wallpaper with a coral relief texture. The ceiling was subdued stucco. In front of her was a plush queen-sized bed that was currently home to a platter of greens and a scroll case. Across from that was a writing desk that had a selection of drinks and a sweating decanter of water on it. Beside her was a door, currently open, that led into a small but pristinely white bathroom.

There were no windows anywhere.

“Right idea, but I wouldn’t call it that.” He paused. “Well, I guess some charge by the hour, so maybe close enough.”

Trixie's mind twinged with a sense of wrongness as understanding dawned, but it was one that passed quickly. Whatever use it had seen, the bed’s fluffy, white duvet looked divinely comfortable and her legs were sore from the walk. Her throat was parched from the dust of the tunnels. The chilled water called to her.

“This is all for Trixie?”

The Buckskin laughed. It wasn’t a kind one. “We take care of our investments. All this is so that Trixie can cast a spell so we can fill an order.” He nodded past her to the scroll case on the bed. “You’ve got a spell to learn, Kid. Best take the time to get it right, but don’t take all day. Holler when you’re ready.”

Trixie turned her head in time to see him close the door. Alone now, she walked into the room proper. She filled a crystal glass from the decanter. The glass, now glowing her magic’s blue, floated beside her as she crawled up onto the luxurious bed. Under the duvet was a pillow top. Trixie had never before had the pleasure. She let herself melt down onto the bed, letting it envelop her and take away the strains. A sip from the ice-cold water and she sighed.

She felt like a pony again.

It was with a contented smile on her face that Trixie pulled the scroll case over and set to work.

************************************************************************

Trixie found herself in what she could only describe as a dungeon. The room was half the size of the theatre and made from the same cut stone as the corridor outside. Despite being better lit than the hall, there was an intangible weight here that had been absent before.

A series of other corridors branched off from the main room, these ones not separated by any doors. From where she stood, she could see the barred door of a cell down one of those passages. She knew without asking that there would be more past it.

“Getting cold hooves, Kid?” The Buckskin asked. He stood behind her, between her and the double door back to the hotel corridor.

Trixie shook her head, both for his sake and to shake the feeling loose.

“Trixie is fine.”

"Good. Remember, we need a female."

The room itself was bare, save for runic circles the scroll had told her to expect. She had, however, expected to find one, not four. Each was set such that, were somepony to paint a cross through middle of the room, each of those quarters would have a circle at its center. They were carved directly into the floor with shallow, strict cuts and each was half again as wide across as a Canterlot stallion was long.

Trixie chose the nearest of the circles and stepped inside. The Buckskin was watching her. So were the two guards she’d met at the door. She could feel their eyes on her.

She forced herself to take a deep breath to calm her nerves and help her focus on gathering all the meager magic she had left in her body. Beneath her, the motions of the spell were written out in the runes, guiding energy from nearby ley lines into the core of the spell.

Into her.

The spell, she knew, was actually four. Four parts interwoven, each reinforcing and powering the other three. No part could be changed without rewriting the whole thing. It was simple, yet complex. Beautiful. The work of a master.

She fed energy from her horn down into the precise points of the circle, to the four corners of the spell. Precision was everything. The spell grew around her. It wavered once, but held. The old magics took over, pulling magic from her and the world around. She worked to slow it. Instinct would have her close up, starving the spell. Loose herself and it would bleed her dry. Carefully, slowly, she controlled the flow as magic swirled around her, pulling closer, feeding everything back into her and threatening to blow her away.

Then the room was gone.

Trixie tumbled through darkness. She kicked out her legs in panic, which only sent her tumbling faster. The thought occurred that she should be feeling nauseous, but she wasn't. That sensation seemed suddenly too distant. She couldn't explain it, even to herself, any other way. The tumbling slowed, eventually stopped. She could see, even in the darkness. A shift of her weight and she slowly turned over and around. There was something nearby, big, white.

It was the moon.

Trixie let out a startled shriek, or tried to. She had no air in her lungs.

Or lungs, for that matter.

The sensation of breathing, something she'd never really taken stock of until now, was gone. She turned again and saw Equestria beneath her, spread out like a map. She could see most of the Griffin Lands to the west of her homeland. The Equestrian sun poked out around the planet like a child playing hide and seek.

Trixie wanted to laugh. Without air or... she looked down to see her body as an ethereal, and very transparent, blue... or apparently a body, all she had was a bubbling of joy.

As the immediate wonder wore off, she felt a pulling out beyond the moon. Awkward shifting turned her to see and, there, she saw a long path. A shimmering azure tube trailed out into the cosmos far beyond what she could see. The spell urged her to it, and she obeyed. Getting her hooves under her, at least metaphorically, she pushed off of nothing and propelled herself to it. The magics whisked her away like a mother with her foal.

Stars flew past. The path carried her, propelled her, but the way wasn’t true. She canted and tumbled often. She learned quickly that a quick kick of her ethereal hooves would right her, speed her on the path. Soon she was galloping across the stars, dozens of light years passing with every lope.

Once, the path took her through the corona of a star. She didn’t slow. She didn’t want to slow. Powerful joy took over. Let it burn her.

She emerged unscathed. There was no pain here, no body to feel it with. If she still had physical lips, she might have worried she would split the skin from the smile. She wondered if this was what it was like to be a pegasus. Was this more than they ever felt?

Trixie barely registered the planet appearing on the path before she hit it, slamming into the ground faster than thought.

She lay where she hit, marveling even then that her ethereal body was unhurt. Her mind worked to make sense of the last fraction of a second. There had been the planet, and the continent, and the lakes in the middle of it. She'd hit somewhere west of those, she thought. If west still applied. If she’d been upright when she glimpsed it. She shook it off and rose to her hooves.

The world she found herself in was all in grey, though overlaid with blue wherever there was life.

Or was that blue...

she shook her head. It wasn't important. A glance down showed her that one of her hooves was inside a large rock. She quickly found herself trying very hard not to think about how solid the ground was, or should be, to her.

She took another look around. She was in a meadow. No, the grass beneath her was too well manicured to be natural, its faint living blue essence ragged where it had been so uniformly cut. She was in a park. A line of dead grey cut through the grass’ blue to a nearby patch of forest. A walking path, she realized. Leaning in close, Trixie saw the outlines of cobblestone in grey relief.

Giant buildings stood in the distance, on the far side of a lake that bordered the meadow. They were colossal, any one of them a match for Canterlot Castle. All of them were the same dead grey, though inside them she could see tiny spots of shining, brilliant blue moving about.

Above, the moon was out. Also grey. It was night.

She made her way to the path and let it lead her through the park. She didn't see any humans here. It occurred to her that, perhaps, humans didn't come out at night very often. Ponies didn't. Maybe humans didn't come to the park at all. She wondered what else might.

Ahead, where the path led into the wood, a smattering of shining blue blurs took to the air in a swarm. Birds, maybe, or whatever passed for birds here. It was only then that she realized that she could hear no sound.

A human appeared on the path. Its two long, elegant hind legs carried it upright down the path. It was running. The spell whispered to her that it was a female and she was dazzling. The power of the spell lit her in a royal blue so bright it should have hurt Trixie to look on it.

Trixie could see she was afraid.

Behind her came two other humans. Bigger ones. They were male and just a beautifully bright. Their mouths were moving. They were angry, yelling. She doubted she would have understood them had she been able to hear. Each male carried one of the legendary metal horns in one of their hands. They were either much smaller versions, or the legends had greatly exaggerated the horns’ size.

The males caught the female, clutching at her with their hands and dragging her to the ground under their combined weight. Her mouth opened into what had to be a scream. She fought them, kicking back at them with too long, too graceful hind legs. The males fought back as hard, pushing the female down and pulling at her clothes.

They were barbaric. Beautiful, but barbaric.

The female pulled away from her attackers, clawing at the ground, inching towards where Trixie had frozen on seeing them. One of the males caught the female’s head and brought his iron around to rest against her throat. She stopped struggling, her eyes wide and afraid.

Trixie looked down to where one of the female’s elegant hands rested on the ground. Lithe fingers opened and closed, grasping mechanically. The other male was now cutting the clothes from her body.

Trixie laid a hoof onto that hand and willed the last part of the spell to take hold. Something stored inside Trixie’s ethereal body uncoiled and struck. It tore the female from her mooring on her planet and instead attached her to Trixie's hoof. The jolt made Trixie shriek soundlessly. The human fell completely still, either asleep or dead.

In the same moment Trixie felt the pull back to the stars and, without willing it, she was catapulted away from the human world, back down the path. The trip seemed shorter, more draining, uncontrolled. All too soon she caught a glimpse of Equestria, then Manehattan, then her spirit slammed home into her body. The ethereal impact, the rush of life and the sudden weight of bone and sinew knocked the breath out of Trixie and threw her to the floor.

Drained and weakened, she struggled to breathe. The sound of a struggle came from behind her, barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears and the shrieking of an alien language. The fight was short lived and quickly moved away, down one of the halls.

Trixie lay there still, finally managing to get air into her chest. Her limbs wouldn't work. They weren't heavy. On the contrary, they were too light. Moving them felt like trying to swim through air. It was as if her will to move was only a passing interest to her physical self. Still gasping, she managed to rock her head to the side to look up when two pony heads appeared over her. One was The Buckskin, the other, the cornflower guard.

"She did survive," the guard said.

"I pegged her for a fighter," The Buckskin said. "C'mon, let's get her sorted out."

The pair worked to lift Trixie onto the guard’s back. She passed out sometime after they left the room.

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A/N: this one was a long time coming. It was originally going to be much longer, and still will be, but on going through again during writing I realized that it screamed for a chapter break here or I'd break my meter. So, we get two stories about Trixie, one right after the other.

Thanks for staying with me this far. We're coming up on the final arc of this one.