Trixie woke up in a good mood. She shuffled out of her duvet covers, opened the door of her small wagon, and breathed in some of the fresh Canterlot air. After how long it had taken to rebuild her small home, along with her own reputation, it was good to feel pleasant about the world and the future. Nopony had suffered more in their downfall than Trixie. At least in her own mind.
Any bad opinions of her victor, Twilight, had vanished from her mind. She was a proud, hard-working pony, and her show, she knew, was one of the best travelling shows in Equestria. There was something satisfying about how many tricks she had managed to learn and complete. She really was becoming better at magic. Perhaps not good enough to think of fighting an Ursa Major yet, but still good enough for her own benefits. It was hard not to be so proud that she boasted of her talents, as was her way, but she had seemed to get better at controlling her feelings over the recent months.
Of course, there was a reason for this. There always had to be a reason for everything that happened. The events of the magic duel with Twilight had somewhat changed her spirit, but not in the same way that another pony had. Twilight had managed to show her the error of trying to fight somepony with greater power, but she hadn’t truly stopped boasting even then. It was far too normal for her to boast to just suddenly stop all at once. That was, until the letters had started.
A few months before a letter had arrived at her door from a secret stallion—Mr. Apple he named himself. He was enquiring about her life on the rock farm, where she’d worked for a short while when her show wasn’t making enough profit. She’d earned a fair bit at the rock farm—but hadn’t, overall, enjoyed the experience of working there. She hated waking up in the mornings to the sound of pick-axes and grumbles; she hated how weary the sun made her eyes feel, and how little sleep she felt she was getting; and, more than anything, she hated the fact that everypony had treated her as if she was nopony special. As if she wasn’t as great and powerful as she had always wanted to be. They’d completely ignored that she’d had dreams and aspirations, and this angered Trixie more than anything.
She said just as much in her letter back to Mr. Apple, assuming that the rudeness in her answer would turn him away from trying to get in contact with her again. Even now, Trixie wasn’t sure whether she actually wanted him to reply—but reply, he had. And what nice things he had to say in return. He’d actually apologised for hitting upon such a touchy subject, and had offered her a ticket to a show to apologise for the sore feelings he had caused for her. The show had been one of the best shows in the whole of Canterlot, and she was glad that she’d been able to see it. But the strange thing is, it hadn’t stopped there.
At first the letters had been riddled with guilt back and forth—Trixie wrote to apologise about being so harsh about the farm life. It wasn’t as bad as all her anger had seemed to suggest. It just wasn’t her calling, and whilst she was there it distressed her to know that her cutie mark was coming to no use. Everypony knew how important cutie marks were, and to not be able to follow them seemed to suggest that she was worthless, and she hadn’t liked it.
Mr. Apple had completely understood in his letter back. His own cutie mark had been a burden on him throughout his youth, and even now. Nopony ever understood its meaning, and its simple pattern had often made ponies question whether he had a special talent at all. Even he wasn’t entirely sure what it was meant to signify, but he hoped to find out one day. That’s why he travelled a lot, to find out if there really was something out there he should be. Something that would, finally, make him feel like himself and not just a copy brought out from some inane two-d character printer. He’d then apologised for divulging too much personal information, and Trixie had wrote back to him to tell her she hadn’t minded. She liked that about him. It made him more pony, rather than just a few words squiggled on a page.
The letters had carried on much in the same fashion. Every few days, almost to an exact time and place, Trixie would excitedly find a letter, a new town or city’s stamp on the top, waiting for her wherever she was. No matter where she moved, she always found one, and along with the letter would come a new address she could write to in order to reply. Sometimes he’d send little gifts along with them. A new robe, a few bits, a ticket to another show—and each time when she wore them, or spent them, or went to see them she would think how great it would be to have Mr. Apple with her, joining in her pleasure.
And this was it, today was the day they were finally going to meet. A pile of letters was waiting on her doormat. A few fan letters from her recent show, a letter and book from Princess Twilight which she’d asked to borrow to help with a new trick (it was good to keep in touch with a Princess. A lot more business came, that way), and then she noticed, to her dismay, no letter from her pen pony had arrived. She’d thought, perhaps, he would like to send her something before they met at lunchtime—but, no.
A cough came from her side, and she turned to see the newspaper delivery colt standing next to the wagon. She sighed and paid him his bit, and he carried on going on his round. Trixie picked up the paper and took it inside the wagon. As she looked through her new robes, trying to decide what to wear for her first date (because Mr. Apple had said, unless she didn’t want it to be, it could be considered a first date) she flipped through the pages of the Canterlot Gazette. Nothing interesting caught her eye, so she carried on rifling through the paper without caring much about what was written.
As she looked at the sapphire dress and shawl, she turned the page again, and saw something that made her do a double take. It was her! In a newspaper review! How perfect. She could start the day with some really positive reviews of her work that she’d worked so hard to perfect. This would be her first one in the Canterlot Gazette. Every other newspaper, so far, had loved and admired all of her tricks and stories. And Canterlot had been one of her best shows to date, as her admirers had claimed of her.
But this one was different. As she read through it her mind began swarming with anger. How dare this stallion say such things against her! ‘Untrendy, uncouth, and unmentionable to all that I care for’. And that wasn’t even about her show—that was a personal affront to her own character. It seemed utterly unbelievable that anypony could think that badly of her. Even all of her previous enemies in Ponyville had learned to slowly accept her over time. But this stallion, why, he hadn’t even met her.
She stared down at the name underneath the article. Trenderhooves, she knew, was an extremely famous writer all over Equestria. Anypony who was anypony believed everything he said—a negative review from him could just about ruin her career, and along with it all the dreams she’d built up. Trixie grumbled to herself, scrunched up the piece of paper and threw it sidelong into the trash. She would have to have a word with Mr-oh-so-high-and-mighty at some point. It was urgent for him to change his mind, and for her to speak her mind— no matter how rudely it may come out of her mouth. She’d worked hard to get where she was, and nopony was going to ruin it. A tear dripped down her cheek as she thought of her livelihood disappearing before her very eyes. She couldn’t let that happen. She just couldn’t.
Just then a knock came on the door. Trixie jumped, and wiped away a tear. Smiling, just about as much as she could manage, she opened the door. The delivery mare outside jumped when she saw how forcedly her grin was held in place.
“Parcel for Miss. GAP,” the mare announced, holding out a paper and quill to Trixie. “Sign here, please.”
Trixie signed the paper, and the mare handed over the parcel. She thanked her, and then, whilst the mare stood waiting for something more, she went inside and slammed the door behind her. The mare sighed and walked away.
Inside, and still reeling in her own upset, Trixie opened the parcel. A letter floated out to the floor, and Trixie’s heart leapt. She recognised the handwriting. Mr. Apple had managed to write something to her after all.
‘Dear Miss. GAP,’ he’d written,
‘I wasn’t quite sure whether or not, when we finally meet each other face-to-face, we would be able to recognise one another so I thought it best to try and make some kind of precaution against this. I wouldn’t want to be disappointed in speaking to a mare, and then realise, in my own eagerness to meet you, that it actually wasn’t you I was speaking to. For a while now I’ve been trying to think of some way we could recognise each other, and when walking past a Canterlot shop, De Lis’s, yesterday I noticed this pretty ensemble in the window. It would be hard, even in Canterlot, not to notice its splendour on a mare—a dress befitting my special pen pony, I think. I hope you like it, and are not disappointed with my own rather ramshackle look when we finally meet. I can’t wait to see you, in your dress, at the Canterlot Green today.
All my love and hope,
Mr. Apple.’
Trixie’s heart leapt higher on every word, and her own sadness disappeared along with her upset. She looked inside the parcel, and stepped back in awe to admire the fine material and toning of the blue and emerald beauty. It didn’t take her long before she snatched it out of the package and threw it onto her body, to admire herself in the mirror. Mr. Apple was worth a thousand careers, if this dress was anything to go by.
Nothing Mr. Apple had planned—from the dress, to the place—was cheap. When Trixie arrived at Canterlot Green, it didn’t take long for her to realise how out of place she truly felt. It was a destination desired by the Canterlot elite, and only the best of the best were allowed in. Trixie wondered for a moment if she, even in all her own personal glory and pride, would be able to get past the guards situated at the front. Thankfully, after introducing herself as Miss. GAP, she realised Mr. Apple had added her name to the list.
It was hard for her to figure out how to act, and how to suitably impress anypony who was in there. If the tall columns, ancient statues, and grand ballroom were anything to go by then none of the cliental of the Green were going to be easily won over by a country mare, like she was. Her status as a farm pony wound be considered a hindrance in this kind of place. It would all be okay, she thought, as long as Mr. Apple could be by her side to help her along. But for the life of her she couldn’t figure out who he could be. There were far too many stallions in the area for her to know.
Panic began to cross her mind as a young foal, a small colt in black, walked in her direction. 'Oh no,' she thought, 'please don’t tell me I’ve made a donkey of myself, again. This colt’s nothing more than a foal—like my admirers in Ponyville had been.' Admittedly foals were always easier to win over than adult ponies, but still—you couldn’t consider a relationship with a foal. It would be like dating a baby brother.
The colt walked straight past her and tapped another stallion on the hoof. The stallion, sporting a very casual green jumper and spectacles, looked down at the foal with a smile.
“What is it, Parsley Sprig?”
“My mother wants to know if you’re satisfied with your visit, sir,” said the squeaky voice of Sprig.
“Very satisfied,” he replied. His eyes went upwards and met the stare of Trixie’s. Unbeknownst to her, she had been watching the stallion and colt’s conversation. She blushed and turned her head away. She was all for getting attention, but not in this kind of way.
The stallion’s eyes didn’t leave hers. Instead he smiled, tugged on a small lock of hair, and walked nonchalantly in her direction. He came closer and Trixie slumped. How much more of a fool could she make herself look?
“Miss. GAP?” he questioned. There was a tone of shock in his voice, and Trixie was startled. She turned to look at the stallion.
“Mr. Apple?” she asked. He nodded his head, and blushed. Trixie smiled, and looked at him. His casualness, his apparent fixation on simple clothing and style, his ability to blend into any high-class situation. Yes, this is exactly how she’d imagined him time-and-time again, on reading his letters. There was a moment of silence before young Sprig entered the conversation.
“Is this your date, sir?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes,” both Mr. Apple and Trixie said together. They laughed.
“She’s pretty,” Sprig said. Mr. Apple nodded in agreement. Trixie couldn’t have agreed more. Sprig noticed his mother watching him in the distance. “Can I see you to your table, sir and madam?” he asked the couple.
“Of course,” the stallion said. Sprig led them to a small pagoda outside, sitting in the middle of a relaxing pool of water. Frogs and dragonflies, ducks and fish, danced around eagerly. Violins could be heard playing throughout the peaceful garden. Sprig pulled out their seats, keeping a wide-eyed stare on Trixie, and both of them sat down on their seats. In front of them their first course was laid out.
“I planned the menu myself,” Mr. Apple told her with a smile. He still couldn’t look to her without blushing. “I remembered how much you liked hay-shakes and oat cakes.” He turned to Sprig, who continued to stare at Trixie. “Okay, you can leave now, Parsley Sprig,” he calmly told the foal.
The foal slowly nodded his head, and crept closer to whisper into the stallion’s ear. “You’re one lucky sir, sir. If all doesn’t go well, can I have a go?”
Mr. Apple shook his head and laughed, as Sprig trotted away back into the ball room. “Sorry about all this. I had to come here for my job, so I considered you might like to come to. Between you and me, these places can become pretty boring when you’re alone with your thoughts.”
Trixie nodded. She couldn’t find any words to say, but instead went to her hay-shake as a sign of comfort. There was a lace of cinnamon throughout, and she could swear she’d caught onto a hint of nutmeg as well. Mr. Apple looked at her expectantly.
“Well, is it good enough? Do you like it?”
Trixie swallowed her mouthful, and opened her mouth to speak. “It’s okay. Not the nicest one I’ve ever had, but it’s okay.”
The stallion laughed. “Honesty—I like that. Best not to beat around the bush, right?”
“If something’s good, it’s good. If something’s not, it’s not. It’s as plain and simple as that,” she told him. “That’s not honesty. That’s just knowing the difference between this and that.”
“I’ve certainly never thought of it in that way,” he said. “I like it though. It’s a new take on an old prospect.”
He smiled at Trixie, and she smiled back. The violins started a new tune, and along with the different style of music came the owner of the Green. Sprig’s mother walked over, a large over-bearing smile on her face, and stood in-between the spaces between their seats.
“I assume everything is to your taste,” she said, looking beseechingly at Mr. Apple.
Without taking his eyes off Trixie, he said, “Very much to my taste, yes.”
“And your happy?” she continued.
“I haven’t been this happy in a long time,” he said.
“So, we can be assured a positive review?”
He didn’t answer this question, but continued to look to Trixie. He blushed slightly and coughed, tugging on his jumper awkwardly.
“You’re a reviewer, then?” Trixie asked. “You should come see my show some time. Reviewers love it—most of them anyhow.” She gritted her teeth to prevent herself from speaking about the article that morning. She didn’t want to let anything bad enter her thoughts. This was supposed to be a happy time; finally meeting the pony she’d loved to speak to for all these months.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said, tugging on his shirt again.
The owner turned to Trixie and looked her up and down. “I know you, don’t I?” she asked. Again, she looked Trixie up and down. A spark of recognition shone in her eye. “Of course, you’re the mare from today’s Gazette—the show-pony. Strange,” she looked to the stallion, “I didn’t think Mr. Trenderhooves would want to spend time with her, considering his apparent hatred for the show.” The stallion’s ears fell down against the sides of his head.
“That’s okay. The great and powerful Trixie doesn’t wish to spend any time with him either,” Trixie told the startled mare. The owner looked as if she was going to say something again but Mr. Apple stopped her just in time.
“Could we have the next course, please,” he said. The mare curtseyed and disappeared inside with the full plates.
“But we didn’t get a chance to eat anything,” Trixie said, surprised. Mr. Apple tugged on his shirt again.
“Trixie, I have to say—what I mean to say is—that I’m—I’m—I wasn’t aware you were you—“ He carried on stuttering. Trixie placed her hoof on top of his.
“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen an Ursa.”
“Trixie—I have to say.” He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “I came to see your show the other day.”
“Good, isn’t it?” she said, her eyes glittering. “It took me a long time to perfect my little tricks. The hard work is worth it for everypony’s applause though.”
By his quietness she assumed it was okay to carry on talking about her show, but the stallion soon cut her off. He pulled his hoof away from hers. “Actually, I didn’t like it.”
That was it. No explanation, no nothing. His last words were simply, “Sometimes it’s easier in letters. Sometimes it’s easier when nopony knows that you are you.” And with that, he walked away, leaving Trixie all alone. She went to leave not long after, disheartened by his words. How could anypony not like her show? It was her life, her passion, and to think that Mr. Apple hadn’t shared in her joy of it was the most depressing news of the day. That is, until Sprig ran up to her.
“You’re going quickly, miss. Was Mr. Trenderhooves not good enough for you? Would you like to have dinner with me? I can get you a discount, since my mother owns the place.”
She listened to his babble, but all that she could hear was the name of that cursed stallion. Trenderhooves! Of all the ponies, of course she had to be falling in love with Trenderhooves. She would take anypony else: Fancy Pants, Soarin, Macintosh—She’d even consider dating Snips or Snails over Trenderhooves. But, of course, fate had to play games with her and make her fall in love with the reviewer that had ruined her last chance of fame.
She pondered this thought as she went home, after ignoring Sprig and leaving without a word. The more she thought about it—she wanted to say, the more angry she became—but the truth is, thinking only made her more conflicted than ever before. All that she had read in his letters, every single word, had been the most sincere, caring things she’d ever read. He’d sent her gifts, and happy words, and admiration for her aspirations. Everything she could have ever asked for in a pen pony—in a friend. Then how could it be that he hated her and her show so much when he’d seen it? Maybe, yes, he hadn’t been aware who she was, but that wasn’t what mattered. And for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what was more important, her new chance at friendship and love (something she hadn’t had for many years) or her life’s dreams. Ever since she was a little filly all she’d wanted to be was a show-mare, and have ponies admiring her for her work. Then again, she’d also wanted to be a princess and have the opportunity to drink hay-shakes and eat oatcakes all day. Out of both of them, the first seemed the easiest to achieve.
After two weeks no letters had arrived on her doorstep, aside from one from Twilight complaining that her book still hadn’t been returned to the library. Trixie couldn’t bring herself to even try doing much. The only time during the day she came out was to do her shows, and she only did this because she wouldn’t allow herself to give up. The crowd numbers slowly went down as each day went by, and by the time the two weeks were up (a time when she’d usually begin to move on) there was only one pony there.
Despite the small numbers Trixie decided to continue with her spectacle. She took centre stage for her first trick, and lit up her horn to prepare herself.
“Excuse me,” the mare in the audience said, “I’m not actually here for the show. I was told to deliver this to Miss. GAP Trixie.”
Trixie stopped her act and frowned. The mare gave her the paper, took the bit that Trixie gave her, and went. Trixie was not pleased. The effects of Trenderhooves article had destroyed her business in Canterlot, and perhaps even further, so what was he sending her papers for now? Instead of a letter it was the Canterlot Gazette that had been handed to her. She opened it, telling herself that she wouldn’t care what it was, but knowing that she did, and would care what was said. It wasn’t quite what she expected. She turned to the third page of the paper, an important page in the Canterlot Gazette, reserved for top stories. The headline read: ‘Letters to Trixie’. A Trenderhooves article? About her?
‘Dear readers,’ it read,
‘a while back you will recall my having reviewed a small stage show act by the travelling performer, the Great and Powerful Trixie. If you’ll remember I downgraded it for its lack-lustre tricks and attempts to put a face to magic that was far more pretentious than real. I still stand by this opinion, because in truth, I firmly believe that every unicorn should have something about them that makes them real and not pretend—That is what I consider true magic to be. A good sideshow must always have personality. To this extent, with this definition, every type of pony: earth, unicorn or pegasi, has a chance to find the true magic within them.
There has been very few opportunities within my travels to meet such ponies, with these perfect magical abilities. Even I, myself, have fallen into the trap of pretending to be something I’m not, because it’s an easy form of escapism from the truth. However, imagine my shock, when I began to find my true magic, and began to see the true magic in somepony else—Miss. GAP, my special somepony, truly turned magic into something new and spectacular for me. Only one other pony has had that magic before in my travels, and even she couldn’t get rid of my own pretence. Yet my pen pony managed it.
Because of this special reason I, despite not having rebuked my hereby review of Trixie’s show, which still remains, have decided against the down-grading of her own character. I had no right to do so in the first place. I’m so used to being right in my reviews and having nopony try to challenge them that, upon discovering myself that my own assumptions were wrong, I realised I still had a long way to go before I was deserving of my true magic. To Miss. GAP, and Miss. Trixie, I simply say avoid the gap between you’re true personalities. Use the true magic I saw through the letters to perform your tricks. And whilst I may never be a fan, Trixie is something that everypony should see and judge for themselves, before coming to any conclusion about whether or not you should go see her show. She has the true magic I seek for—and is deserving of a chance. It’s up to Miss. GAP if I’m deserving myself.
Your faithful reviewer,
Trenderhooves.’
And with that, Trixie smiled, got out a piece of paper and quill, and sat down to write a letter.
