Chronicles of Equestria II: The Magician, the Toy Maker and the Past

“The Last Show I’ll Ever Do”

‘That was the last show I’ll ever do!’ These desperate words, that were repeated often in recent months, yearned for nothing more than to break free and reach out to the vast reaches of the world, to whizz through forests, echo across mountains, run atop the surface of oceans to distant lands, fill the skies and soak their clouds, delivering their message to every single living being with ears to hear. However, they were stopped by a set of wooden walls belonging to a small cart just a mile or so outside of a small town.

‘That was the last show I’ll ever do.’ the words repeated weakly, and a long, pointy-ended hat - which was littered with many sparkling, dazzling stars decorating its side and a wide, magnificent rim - flew into one of the inner walls, with less grace than its stature deserved. On one side, the hat’s rim was soaked in some transparent fluid, and as it touched the edge of a poster after finding its rest on top of a cluttered table by the wall, the rim passed on some of the salty wetness to the paper.

The poster itself was drawn eloquently to capture the majestic nature of its subject: a mare with a confident fire in her eyes, a slightly smug, but charming smile at the edge of her muzzle, standing in a stance that sparked the thought that she is ready for anything the world has to throw at her right now and a magnificent hat on her head, not unlike the one resting at the bottom of the poster. The fiery eyes of the mare cast an engulfing gaze on the entire room, staring right into the very soul of anypony who dared to try and stand her stare. Sadly, like everyday, there was only a single pony inside the cart to challenge her, and she was hardly a worthy opponent to such a Great and Powerful poster as her sight was blurred and she was quietly panting from exhaustion.

She was staring at the poster at the bottom of which her hat has landed, seeing nothing but an ugly, azurish, purplish blob among other blobs of diverse colours. The mare wiped her eyes with one hoof to have a better look at this boastfully confident show-off on the poster. Her hoof raised up impulsively, as if she was about to punch the caricature, but she stopped and lowered her hoof, sniffing once instead.

‘That was the last show I’ll ever do.’ she repeated and looked away from the paper, her eyes drawn to the long broken mirror of the cabinet to her right. She took a long look at herself through the few shards that were still in the case. Her pale cornflower mane was a mess, her azure coat ruffled, and she had also managed to smuggle dirt onto her own face when she wiped her eyes with her muddy hooves. Perhaps if she hadn’t pulled the cart this whole mile in such windy autumn weather, she would still be in her show-ready getup, but how could she have just stayed there? She couldn’t stand those horrible ponies. They didn’t deserve to be in the company of somepony like... She just stared at the mare in the mirror again, the mane, the coat, the dirt, the puffed up red eyes.

She tried to hold it back, but in a moment she started sobbing uncontrollably, tears dripping onto the dusty cabinet. The mare opened the cabinet to take out her mane brush and make herself into something near presentable, her tears still tapping rhythmically on the wood. But then, she saw it.

A small silver rod with a sparkling star at the end flew out of the drawer, from right next to the brush. Her eyes were set on it, but they didn’t see the rod. They saw an old mare’s face with a concerned, but always proud smile. Then they saw many new faces, of ponies in awe and wonder However, very slowly, the expressions changed and a few of the ghostly images became more irritated, then, after a flash of lavender, the visages were just laughing. They were laughing. They were laughing! They just kept on laughing and laughing, pointing hooves at her in their amusement, reveling in the sheer hilarity her very existence represented.

The mare started to shake, her jaw numb from the pressure she forced on it, her eyes stopping the tears for an instant, instead housing a new sort of fire. But unlike in her poster counterpart’s eyes, the flames in her eyes weren’t of confidence. No, these were the flames of months of hopeless frustration concentrated and refined into pure and uncontrollable rage.

The small wand flew across the cart helplessly, crashing into the door opposite of the mirror cabinet, but it wasn’t over yet. It was flung towards the ceiling ever harder, then at one of the walls, then the desk, then at the floor, then back at a wall, and then-

Something rang on the floor and the mare opened her tear-bleeding eyes, the silver rod - now crownless - stopped in the air while small sparkling silvery pieces of scrap kept ringing on the floor.

The mare kneeled down to the floor, her mouth repeatedly forming the word “no”, yet not a breath of air escaped her lips. Her eyes locked up uncontrollably, burning tears pouring down her face.

Her mind was just about to simply give up; she couldn’t believe she has done this. She broke it. It was a gift, the best gift in the world. One of the only real gifts she had ever received. And now she broke it. She never mean to do it, not really. Perhaps everything was just so broken that she just didn’t realize anything else could possibly break. Especially not something like this... What has she done?

She stood up and cleared out the drawer, simply throwing the mane brush and other useless stuff aside, then carefully lifted every piece of the star and flew them into the empty drawer along with the silver rod. Finally she carefully slid the drawer to a close, twisting the small lock at its side.

She’ll need to fix it. She just can’t let it stay this way, but how will she repair it? She can’t do it herself, she never fixed anything, especially not something this elegant and precious, and she’s short on bits as it is. If she would perhaps have a friend who...

The mare sniffed painfully. She just couldn’t bare dealing with all of this right now. She turned around and fell into her small, rough bed, not even bothering to lift the blanket, just letting her body merge with the unhomely unity of wood, straw and sheets, while the soft pillow mellowly petted her face and dried her endless tears to the best of its ability.

The owner of the cart slowly, and bitterly, drifted off to sleep.

A void, or rather a familiar void: that is what surrounded the simple conscious idea of the mare. She was very much aware of the impossibility of a void being familiar since - by its very nature - a void couldn’t hold anything, including everything that could spark a feeling of familiarity. Yet in dreams, such impossibilities drift on to the shorelines of reality before being pushed back by a waking consciousness. She knew this too, as well as the fact that she is indeed dreaming at this moment. If she wanted to, she could have easily dismissed the dream and wake up, but though she had no idea what she was thinking before she fell asleep, the familiar burning feel around her eyes told her that whatever it was, she would rather just drift aimlessly in this void as long as she can, than to wake up and have to deal with her emotions full front.

After a momentary millenia, something broke the tranquility of the void. She recognized it as something she had dreamt many times, ever since she was little, though it usually varied around a bit. It would always start off in some wicked adventure, the scaling of an unscalable mountain; venturing to the bottom of the sea in a magical bubble to commune with watery spirits; defending a small town from a gigantic magical beast. The dreams were usually very rare, but it seemed as if for the past weeks, they appeared every night, perhaps just a symptom of her misplaced nostalgia. This time, she was given council by the God-Queen of the Fire Sprites; some sort of made-up elemental orb things. When she was younger, she loved these dreams for the adventure and even later she found a sort of childish charm to them; but lately in the past months she could barely stand them. Still, they were better than waking up, so she gave in.

Not quite enthusiastically, she went on the quest set for her by the Queen to free their coal mine from a flood sent by some hostile tribe or other. She did this dozens of times over the years and, though she deviated from her original path every time, she hardly had any freedom. She found that for some reason, if she does something completely different from her original path, these dreams just fall apart and she wakes up. So, as if rather watching a play than actually taking part in the events, she slaved through the “adventure” and had an imaginary ceremony held in her honour; while she prepared for the ‘shift’.

Though the dreams always started with outlandish adventures she would take part in, at their end, the dream itself wouldn’t end, instead changing from her adventuring through untamed, non-existent lands to her finishing the retelling the tale which she just took part in while floating in the void yet again, with nothing to accompany her but a large, blank audience. This was the part she really hated recently. The crowd cheered her enthusiastically.

Phantom hooves clopped on a non existent horizontal surface, which probably would have been the ground, should the apparitions have needed anything to stand on in this realm of impossibilities. The hooves clopped to applaud her story, complementing the way she told it, a few washed-away voices noting their favourite parts to their companions and the spooked whimpers or enthralled cheers of foals made the experience complete. It was everything she didn’t have.

There was a single, dim light in this grim parade of merriment, a ghost-like presence by her side in the void, keeping her company for as long as she could remember. Perhaps the withering remains of her self confidence or respect, who knows? But it was there; she could feel it. Whatever it was, it didn’t make a sound, it didn’t have a shape or form of any kind, not a direction or anything she could grasp. But it was there. Like a supporting hoof over her shoulder, never leaving, never saying a word, never faltering or questioning her. Yet, perhaps there was one thing, a slight scent of a sort...

She once came across a bouquet of flowers with the same scent, though long after she met with it in her dreams. What was the name of those flowers? Hydrangea.

She sniffed into the void, despite it lacking air and her not having a nose, or a body for that matter. The scent filled her and gave a wonderful sense of clarity that only her dreams could grant as of late. If only she could reach out to this presence, this part of her, just once.

As she thought this, with no intermission or explanation whatsoever, the image of a letter appeared in the void for a sudden, crystalised moment. In this fleeting instant while it was there, she could recognized it. She received it a few days ago. A sharp, formal envelope. Blank seal. She didn’t open it. She wasn’t sure if she even had it anymore.

Before she could even question the sudden emergence of the letter’s thought, it shattered the void, dragging her out of the dream and onto a rough, uncomfortable, straw bed with her face down in a wet pillow.

After she had awoken, the mare simply stared into the cold, wet pillow under and around her face. She was thinking. Though at first her mind held a small grasp on the mental image of the unread letter; soon everything that had clouded her thoughts before she had drifted asleep crawled back into her head. As images from her ‘welcome’ yesterday reappeared in her mind, she simply repeated the same, tired words into the pillow: “That was the last show I’ll ever do.” After this, she turned onto her side and stared blankly at the table across from her bed.

The mare rubbed her eyes. They were still sore from crying, though they weren’t shedding any more tears - she was unsure if because they didn’t have anymore to spare, or simply because she was beyond the point of crying. Right now, she wasn’t feeling anything. No depression, no anger, no frustration. Nothing. And it was terrible.

Then again, at the very least she could think. And thinking, she needed to do now more than anything at the moment.

She knew she wouldn’t- couldn’t continue her life as it was. For the past year or so, everything had just been going from bad to worse on a seemingly weekly basis. Lately, she couldn’t set foot on a stage without being swiftly followed by ridicule. If she could put on five minutes of performance without somepony marching onto her stage to make fun of her directly, and without the crowd shouting her away, she would be surprised. And why does she put up with this? Because at least some of them have the common decency to spare a few pitiful bits, on what would be the price of admission.

The very same thing that gave her money to buy food with, took the taste out of it. No matter what she tried, no sort of enjoyment found her dining alone in this cart. This damnable cart. Exactly like her old one, yet nothing in common. Her old cart- Trixie’s cart was a home, a place of rest and confidence. This wretched set of walls and wheels was a casket, a rugged protective casing. The only thing it had in common with Trixie’s old cart was but a couple of items it carried: The mare’s hat, cape and the silver star wand.

As the wand crossed her mind, the mare’s chest felt pierced for an instant, but she sighed and turned to her other side in bed.

Who is she kidding? She had had this line of thought countless times. First declaring that her latest show is to be her last, then taking stock of her options. But what options does she even have? She only really has experience with illusion magic and showmareship, neither of which did her much good, and neither of which she could ever practice again without being ridiculed. Should she look for something more general? She couldn’t possibly work as a salespony. With her reputation, who’d employ her, and what customer wouldn’t mock her? Try some sort of art perhaps? Hah, like she wasn’t living off of hoofful of bits as it was.

What would somepony else suggest? “Ask your friends and family for help.”... The mare curled up, her eyes itching.

What “friends”? If she had ever had any favors, she had lost them with her reputation. And “family”?... Why would any of them even want to know or acknowledge they have somepony like her in their family? She was only glad that the one pony she knew to have truly cared for her will never know what became of her.

It’s hopeless. Utterly, completely hopeless. Simply thinking about these things made her feel as if the thoughts would be burning away at her soul like some sort of acidic, putrid grime and, no matter how hard she tried to lock it away, the knowledge - that somewhere, somehow, she was the one who created this same grime that she sunk into - stood out in her mind, like a single pair of silently disapproving eyes, watching her wallow in self pity.

For a moment, a thought crossed her heart. “Would anypony miss me?” She forced her eyes shut and shook her head violently, physically getting rid of the idea before taking a simple deep breath and crawling out of bed.

She only now realized that she was still wearing her cape. She sighed and laid out the cloth on the desk, next to the matching hat, which still laid there, curled up in a painful pose in the corner of table and wall. The mare stepped to the cabinet and looked her shattered, dirty, unkempt image in the eyes tiredly. After a moment, she looked down, realizing that her attempts to open the top shelf of the cabinet failed. She sighed as she remembered that it’s only the wand’s remains that she could find in there, and started looking for her mane brush.

After a bit of turning around and looking under the table and bed, she found it stuck in the corner of the cart between her bed and the cabinet. She pushed her bed off an inch or two - as much as the small living space allowed - and looked behind it. Something was next to the brush, and as she leaned in a bit more, she realized it was a small, sharp, formal envelope with a blank seal.

She flew the brush out, then after a moment of thinking she drew the envelope out too and pushed the bed back in place. The mare glanced at the broken mirror as the brush started working its way along her mane, then looked at the envelope.

She had no idea why anypony would write to her, especially this formally, but the writing on its front just made it look all the more ominous.

From:

Oakleaf ‘The Vagrant’

Owner of Oakleaf’s Toy Emporium

Custard Street 19; Ponyville

She had never heard of who ever this “Oakleaf” was, but he was from Ponyville. Why would anypony write to her from that town of all places? Surely it must be some sort of mockery. But then again, it’s been well over a year now, who would decide to mock her only now? And why so formally?

She placed the letter on the desk and continued to brush her mane. It wasn’t until she finished that she lifted it again, but her thoughts were completely fixed on it all the while, just dabbling with the simple question of whether to open it or just throw it away and forget about it. Finally as she couldn’t decide, she thought back to how the letter had appeared, and the sensation she had felt before. She could almost smell that last, wonderful scent and the peace it brought that could only find her in her dreams these days. Though she didn’t much believe in omens, somehow this small, frail connection between the last good thing she could call her own and the envelope has given her a jolt of confidence that inspired her to open the letter, pulling out a folded piece of paper, on which the following words were etched in ink and finely crafted letters:

To ‘The Great and Powerful’ Trixie!

Allow me introduce myself, my name is Oakleaf. I’ve only recently opened up a Toy Shop of sorts in the town of Ponyville, partially to honour a very dear friend of mine. In all honesty, my talents do not lie with creating the various contraptions my friend has designed, and even though their assembly should be easy to anypony with decent skills in the use of magic, I’m unable to fully run this shop by myself.

For this, I’ve looked to employ a unicorn with talents in magic, who may assist me in the creation and possible enhancement of my friend’s designs. Naturally, as I’ve heard of your skills in the field of illusion, I was intrigued, as many - in fact, I’d dare say most - of what I plan to create involves the clever application of enchantments that aim at giving life-likeness to toys and the sort.

As I’ve learned of the recent disrespect you’ve received, despite your seemingly obvious talents, I’ve felt compelled to contact you first, and ask if you’d be interested in perhaps taking a break from your current practice, lending me some assistance in my plans which I mentioned above. Naturally, I would be happy to provide a handsome fee for your efforts, and given my enthusiasm towards magic, I’d also see such cooperation as an excellent opportunity for mutual learning, should you be interested.

Eagerly awaiting your reply;

-Oakleaf ‘The Vagrant’ ~ SP

Who writes like this? The whole letter sounded more like an invitation to a Royal Garden Party than a recruitment letter from a toy shop. And what is this “SP”? S Pony maybe? But what does the S stand for then? Or it might not even be “Pony”. And why her? Why would this stranger pick her out? Why would this Oakleaf character choose to give her an exclusive offer, while all of Equestria is laughing both behind her back and in her face at the same time?

She read it again and her eyes stopped on the line mentioning a “handsome fee”. She never wished to return to Ponyville after what happened there, but she knew she needed the bits, and really, what is more humiliating? Returning to Ponyville where she’ll be ridiculed but possibly receive a steady income; or continuing in this limbo of performances where she is ridiculed anyway and what few bits she receives feels more like pity then actual payment. Besides, if her pay was big enough, she could possibly save up enough to move away somewhere, somewhere where nopony had ever heard of her.

But first the wand. She’ll first have to repair the wand... Really, she could never hope to pay for its proper restoration with what she makes with these pointless performances.

She’ll take it.

A few phantom thoughts swirled around her mind. She couldn’t name them, but they appeared as soon as she decided to take up the offer.

She turned away from the cabinet and walked out the cart’s door. Instantly, she noticed the dark brown muddy surface at the end of the short set of stairs leading down from the door. As she took a look around, she noticed that the ground was only wet under her cart. Looking up, she noticed a single cloud sitting right above her cart, and a piece of paper glued above her door with crude words saying: “Let’s see if The Great and Powerful Trixie can escape a Great and Powerful Mudbath!”

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. Should she have not been the victim of this “prank” obviously set by one of those damned pegasi from the town nearby, she still wouldn’t have found it funny. If she would have hated the pony who became the victim of such a joke, she still wouldn’t have found it funny. Yet she was laughing. For the first time in many months, she was laughing. Honestly and freely - she was laughing. And the reason why, was so simple, it was wonderful all by itself: The phantom words revealed themselves in her mind.

“Stars around,” she thought.

‘That really was, the last show I’ll ever do.’ she finished, shouting the words with bitter, yet joyous vigour.

The mare stepped down from the door, and after a few minutes of slowly pushing the cart out of the mudpit, she attached herself to it and started pulling the cart down a path she never thought she’d travel again, towards the one town she hated beyond all, but cherishing in the sour knowledge that against all of this, only better days can possibly lay ahead of her.

“What in Celestia’s name was I thinking?!” the mare repeated in mind as she marched up and down in front of her cart, just off the south road into Ponyville. She couldn’t go a step closer to that blasted town, she just couldn’t. This horrible year was all its fault, that one damn incident had ruined everything, how could she set foot in the town again?! But she needed to.

It was pathetic really, she traveled for two days, just to get here and now she’s stuck, not a mile from the outermost houses of the town. Perhaps all that she needs is to clear her mind. Yes, that would be good.

She wandered off the road a bit, leaving her cart behind to take a stroll, still keeping a distance from the town. Following the sound of ducks, she happened across a small secluded lake and laid down just staring at the reflection of a hill across from her on the other side of the lake, taking a quick glance towards the distant housetops of the nearby town.

She had no idea how she’d clear her mind, the past months she hadn’t had the luxury for such a thing. She wasn’t even sure if she could afford it now. Going from town to town, shutting out the ridicule and degrading actions aimed at her, dragging that rack of wood she called her home and crawling onto a stage one rigid step at a time, knowing the outcome already; these were the things she could afford. It is such a tasteless, stagnant irony of her life that all she could afford to do happened to be everything she wished she couldn’t.

As she thought about it, she didn’t even know what she would wish she could do. Getting stared out of public revenues and barely scraping by on bits for many months didn’t do her any favors. She wasn’t even sure what she used to enjoy, what she’d do when not on stage. The very idea of passing the time loosely had just grown alien to her. However, this was an opportunity! If she can use this offer to get back on her hooves, then she can start again! But what would that even mean? Starting again? What would she do if she could do whatever she liked, or what would she buy if she had bits to spare?

The mare closed her eyes and rested her head on her front hooves laid before her. Hydrangea, the scent of that flower stuck with her, ever since she had decided to come to Ponyville, and she loved it. With the scent, she could also feel that presence that always accompanied her in her unconscious. She knew what she’d do if she had bits and would be far away from this land! She’d have a home - a real home, unlike this petty cart - and she would fill it with flowers, Hydrangea flowers! She’ll hunt down every shop until she finds some then decorate her home with them so she can always smell that scent!

The mare smiled slightly, her eyes still closed, and she turned her head a bit for comfort as she imagined it all. The home won’t have to be big, just any small flat will do, no need for a great view or anything. Though it could be nice. Yes perhaps. A nice little house on the edge of town maybe, with a small pond perhaps. Cozy enough for a single pony. She could have some nice wooden furniture, perhaps something along the lines of her old home from before... It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, nothing overly spectacular, just...

A few warm tears that escaped her eyelids ran down her face. She didn’t want her new home to resemble her old home at all. No. She opened her eye and brushed the tears away, raising her head high, while maintaining her comfortable position on the ground. Her new home will be nothing like any she ever knew, just as her life can’t be. And modesty? Ha! Why should she be modest? To whom should she be modest to? Strangers, whose only reason not to ridicule her is their lack of knowledge about her past? She knew what all these ponies were like, once they saw somepony else attack her, they would all join in. Is this the concept of their precious “friendship”? Following each other in the attack of others? Does it give them confidence? Is the idea this country supposedly built on nothing but a convenient excuse for the mentality of an animalistic pack?

Her whole being wished to scream this thought out, as the ultimate, foul truth that she was confirmed in time and again, but she couldn’t. The scent of the persistent flower faded, but the calm confidence remained and has now called her to ease her thoughts; such a thing had never happened to her before, but she didn’t bother with it, just rested her head down again.

Pseudo-justified cruelty or not, she had no obligation to do anypony the courtesy of modesty. When she’ll be back on her hooves, then she’ll be in control. She won’t let herself be drawn back by some false ideal of noble modesty, especially not for the masses who bastardized her life. No. She’s going to go for it all.

The mare blew onto the ground before her and stood up. She didn’t have to take anything from anypony, it was bad enough that she allowed herself to do just that for a year now. What was she thinking, taking punishment from ponies who betrayed their own wickerwork creed, for the sake of preying upon her?! She is Trixie for crying out loud! The Great and Powerful. And...

She looked at the ground for a few moments, her eyes wide open. She is Trixie.

She looked up and took a deep breath and an old, cold, but confident smile - which she almost forgot she had - returned to her face. She will turn her life around. She will get back on her hooves. And she will most definitely find a place where she can show them all what she’s capable of. And will she be modest? Will she bow her head to wolves in sheep’s clothing?! They’d wish. She’ll make it to the top. She’ll get a home that will be the envy of all and she’ll just cackle as the other ponies find themselves wishing they’d have been kind to her, while she’ll sit in the lap of luxury. To any other pony this would - by no doubt - be a nearly impossible task to accomplish, but she is Trixie! If she can’t do it, no pony can do it.

‘Hi!’ sounded from behind the mare’s back and suddenly her confidence which seemed to reach from horizon-to-horizon a moment before, rolled itself up into one uncomfortable ball of shame in her stomach, as she jumped up in fright and turned around.

In front of her was a small, purplish unicorn filly with blonde mane and big yellow eyes looking at her, and a gray pegasus with similar mane and eye combination. The latter of the two was between confused and shy the first moment Trixie laid her eyes on her, but then swiftly changed to a big friendly smile.

The filly tilted her head as seconds crawled by. It took awhile for Trixie to realize that it is time for her turn to say something.

‘Um, are you al-’ started the filly, trying to pick at the lack of response, only to be interrupted by it.

‘Hello!’ said Trixie, unnaturally loudly. For a while now, she only had a chance to speak on stage, or occasionally yell at “pranksters”. She quickly corrected her tone: ‘Uh, Hello.’

‘Didn’t know anypony else visited this lake.’ the filly said, staring the mare’s complete being in a way that seemed both innocently curious and annoyingly invading. The mare didn’t like it at all.

There was little doubt that this little filly is cooking up some stupid joke to make about her. To poke fun at the mare, probably believing to be clever and original, yet struggling to even come up with a single pun? Pathetic.

Trixie rose up and looked down on the filly. She’s even accompanied by another mare. What? They saw her cart and wanted to come and poke fun at her? Is this what she can expect from these ponies? Is thi-

‘I don’t think I ever saw you before.’ came from the filly. ‘You’re not from Ponyville, are you? Is she, aunt Derpy?’

The azure unicorn lowered her back and stood on loosened hooves while her eyes widened, but only as much as to be visible to the most attentive watchers. Could it be that she is not known?

The gray mare called “Derpy” paused for a moment, and wrinkled her nose up a little in a weird little notion, perhaps trying to think, but then just simply said:

‘Maaaybe from the west side of Ponyville?’

It was hardly even visible, but the unicorn’s eyes started twitching. Her company didn’t seem to notice.

‘Truly, you never heard of Trixie?’ she asked in a clean tone.

‘Uh... No.’ the filly replied.

This little filly didn’t know who she was. This filly honestly had no idea who Trixie is. She never heard of The Great and Powerful Trixie.

The mare just stared over the filly for a bit. The little unicorn seemed to be saying something to her, but she didn’t hear what it was.

After all of this, after keeping away from this cursed, backwards little town of misery for over a year, she returns and is greeted with ignorance? This place took away everything she had and it doesn’t even bother to remember? Every other little town greets her with malicious laughter, and now in the eye of the storm, there is nothing.

Without a word, the mare turned around and started walking. She wasn’t even fully aware of the walking itself, she guessed she’s probably going towards her cart which she left behind, but didn’t bother to think it through.

What was she even doing here? Ah right, some sort of job offer. Why not? Yeah. She’s going to look into that. Also, something about a new home. Far away. And being humb-

She stopped and lowered her head. She wasn’t sure how far she went from the two ponies, but didn’t really care. What did she expect really? Did she really wish they would welcome her with foul jokes and that they’d just make fun of her as usual? They still might. These were just two random ponies. But still, nothing? Not a note on what this town did to her? Not the slightest idea about it all? This was just an insult. Worse than that.

Now she knew. If no pony will make fun of her, that will be just as bad as if they would. Either if they’ll deny her memory, or if they’ll genuinely won’t know who she is, it will be an insult. After what this place had done to her, she deserved better than indifference. She saw enough of the “fair ponies of Equestria” to know that no comfort will welcome her here or anyplace else in this country. There was no way out of this. She didn’t need a way out of this.

Trixie raised her head with a sour smile and confident fire in her eyes. If they wish to make fun of Trixie, let them laugh on the outside, while Trixie will contently cackle on their pitiful nature on the inside. If they wish to build false innocence onto their ignorance, let them showcase their spinelessness. And if they would possibly attempt to comfort Trixie after what they had done...

Trixie laughed up loudly at the thought and continued her walk in a steady, confident pace. If these ponies would attempt something as pointless and stupid as that, then they’ve got another thing coming.

A soothing aroma of some worthless flower or some such appeared in Trixie’s senses for a moment, but she just blew it away, continuing her path one otherworldly step at a time.

The shop was a colossal show off. The first thing greeting Trixie as she entered it, was a spectacle of countless little dolls jumping and trotting around a set of shelves, a few boxes playing the same old lullabies and a few elitist classics. Near the ceiling a small train circled, puffing some sort of coloured smoke that neither managed to give it a good look or to make any sense whatsoever.

Trixie gave the shop’s contents only a quick, lowly glance, then her eyes set onto the counter, where a brown, and a teal stallion stood across from each other while having some sort of idle, probably purposeless conversation. The brown one chuckled with a noise that annoyed Trixie’s ears.

‘...I wouldn’t say the Screwdriver’s that special,’ started the brown stallion. ‘but it was quite difficult to get it just right, especially with... This.’ Here he shook his front hooves above the counter.

‘Well, I can’t lie, being a unicorn does make certain aspects of life a bit more glamorous.’ nodded the other, then looked at the door, his eyes quickly finding Trixie who was standing there, looking darkly at the merry two. ‘Good Afternoon Miss!’ he greeted. ‘Oakleaf, at your service. Uh, may ask if I can help you with something in particular?’

‘I am Trixie.’ she replied, somewhat irritatedly by the fact that once more, she is not recognized in this town of all places. ‘I’ve got your letter.’

Oakleaf didn’t say anything at first, just gave a long look to the mare. It wasn’t an engulfing gaze of evaluation, he just stared straight into her face for a few seconds, then as if awoken, opened his mouth:

‘Oh, of course you are!’ he said, walking around the counter. ‘I believed it might take more time for you to reply, but it’s excellent that, uh, you could make it. I’m very glad.’ he continued nodding at the end, the way Trixie saw from two faced charmers. She wasn’t impressed. The stallion continued, turning to the brown one. ‘Well, Mr. Smith, I’m sorry but I think we’ll need to continue another time. Miss Trixie and I have an appointment of sorts.’

‘Of course.’ nodded “Smith” without hesitation, and headed out the door right away, while passing a passive-aggressive look towards Trixie. She wasn’t surprised by this brief expression, she remembered his face from oh so long ago, and she replied with a sneer.

The sign on the door quickly flipped to show “Closed” to anypony passing by and Oakleaf addressed the mare again.

‘I have to say, I’m very excited that you came.’ he started and walked up to Trixie. ‘For formality's sake, again: I’m Oakleaf, and it is a pleasure to meet you in person.’ He raised a hoof, and though she hesitated, seeing how the stallion was persistent, she returned the gesture.

In the brief moment while he shook her hoof, she stared into Oakleaf’s smiling face. The insulting, schmoozing expression aside, there was something strange, she felt sort of disconnected from herself and the strangest feeling that she knows this pony came to her.

‘Trixie’s guessing you attended some of her shows.’ she said, touching the subject.

‘Oh no.’ he shook his head. After their hooves parted his smile got stronger for a moment, then weakened down. She wasn’t surprised as he was probably just faking it to get on her good side. ‘I would have loved to, but life’s been busy.’

‘Strange, Trixie’s almost sure she had seen you before.’

‘Really?’ his voice rang with surprise and even some excitement, but then he quickly dismissed it. ‘Must be a mistake though. Unless you’ve been to Ponyville this past month at least.’ Perhaps seeing that this did not convince Trixie, he then added: ‘Unlikely, but you could have seen me in the papers too. I’ve had an interview of a sorts with somepony a month ago or so, and a picture was taken of me a bit later too. Might have ended up in your reading.’

‘Maybe.’ Trixie shrugged. She read few papers lately, usually just to get away from her life. ‘But Trixie came because of an offer?’

‘Yes, of course. Frankly, if you’re interested in my offer, the job is yours, so it’s more of a question of where to begin? I don’t know how much you could already know of what you’ll need.’

‘Okay. Enough.’ Trixe said coldly and paused, looking at him with dark eyes. ‘I wanted to believe that you were telling the truth when you’ve sent that letter. I wanted to believe that someone would give me a chance, even though you obviously want me for a field you should know I have no experience in. But I won’t take this. No one would just recruit somepony on first glance.’ she shouted at the stallion. ‘Especially not me! So please stop playing around with whatever nonsense this is for and tell me- Tell Trixie what the punchline is of this stupid joke of yours!’

Oakleaf didn’t say anything just stared at her with a sad expression, which Trixie did not expect to see. There was something unusual about the way he looked at him. Simply the compassion nested in his eyes rang as something completely unnatural to the rejected magician. She would have liked to tell herself that he was acting, that this is still part of a joke played on her, but somehow she knew he truly felt horrible. And for her. She recognized that expression from sometime long ago, from times when ponies didn’t laugh at her passing, even before there was a “Trixie”.

‘I am sorry.’ said Oakleaf and looked away. ‘I suppose, I really wasn’t entirely truthful. While it is true that I’ve heard of your talents at magical illusions, the reason why I wanted- The reason why I want to recruit you is... Different.’ He paused perhaps to gather his thoughts the continued, looking at the mare. ‘I suppose you could say that your ill treatment is what inspired me to message you, I’ve heard quite a bit of it from some recent acquaintances and well,’ He stopped and looked away with an almost laugh-like grunt. ‘I suppose this is where I would claim to be a noble stallion, aiming for naught, but to aid the ill fated get on their feet or what not. But as much as I’d like to say, that’s not the case. I could also say, with true honesty that I know what it is to be rejected by all I come across, and even caught a glimpse of the self loathing written all across your pale, desperate, but fiercely angered face just a moment ago. But it’s not even the ever so popular excuse of gallant and very much fictitious heroes: an act of compassion to whom is weary of life. The reason why I requested your help was that you do not belong here. And frankly, that’s as close as I’ll get to somepony I can relate to.’

Trixie did not know what to do. More than half of her was burning with anger at this pompous, self-righteous bastard who’d go to no length to craft a circle argument, trying to salvage a morbid joke of an interview, while having the damnable, offensive insolence of downright claiming that he, with his sickeningly over decorated toy shop would have any claim to a life which is even remotely relatable to the slow, self-torture of an existence she had lived for nearly a year now. The rest of her however was unable to shake off the feeling that one expression gave her.

‘So that is why you wanted Trixie? To have somepony to relate to?’ she asked unsurely, containing her outburst, but still staring darkly at the stallion.

‘Oh, no. I simply couldn’t stand working with somepony from around here for too long. I know, I had the chance to try. That’s how I got this far. I’d just blabber on to them about my life, not even realizing mostly what I say, in a desperate attempt to not have to partake in any idle conversations. But, somepony like you, I’d doubt would even want to, or even could do that.’

‘You didn’t seem to have a problem with chatting idly with whoever that was, who just left.’

‘Oh, he simply wished to know more about how I created my automatons, and shared a few anecdotes about a story he writes.’ he said, adding a weak, smirk-like smile at the end.

‘Sounds like idle conversation to me.’ countered the mare in a lighter, but still grim tone.

‘Heh. You know how to argue. Fine, I suppose it’s more that I have few topics i could talk about, and most of them I really doubt ponies around here would like to hear about, others I don’t even want to bring up.’

Trixie paused before replying. This stallion kept talking in what felt like riddles, as if he was different than everypony else. In fact, he even felt like he’s different. Finally she asked: ‘What puts you so apart from everypony else, that you need to remove yourself from their company?’

‘Well, I don’t really “need” to, I have to note that. I enjoy the company of other ponies, I just- Ah, don’t let me blabber on! The answer is not exactly simple, but I suppose the short version would be that I have only been living here in Equestria for the past month or so. Before that, things were different.’ he said, skimming the subject. ‘Naturally, if you are interested, and don’t mind wasting your day listening to an old stallion’s tales, I’d be happy to-’

‘No.’ Trixie interrupted him, then quietly added: ‘Thank you.’ She was a bit lost, though not more than when she was faced with the idea that somepony was willing to employ her. Whoever this stallion was, or perhaps more importantly: whoever he thought he is, she had a strange, uneasy feeling about him.

Still, he did no attempt to pull a prank on her, no group of concealed ponies jumped out from anywhere to laugh at her hopefulness, so it seemed like he’s meaning what he says. And honestly, she needed this job. Any job.

‘So,’ Trixie continued. ‘if I’d accept this offer, what could I expect?’

‘Hm?’ the stallion asked a bit distractedly. ‘Oh, coins! I’ve- I’ve no- Let’s see. Due to my generous “sponsors” freed me from the fear of survival and since in all honesty you’d be doing most of the actual work, I’d think an even fifty percent of the total income of the shop would be fair, more or less?’

Trixie didn’t know what to reply. Though she had no idea what that would actually mean, not knowing the profits of the store, fifty percent seemed unreasonably high for an employee. For a moment once more, the thought that this is just a cruel joke has crossed her mind, but a little voice in her calmed her and whispered that she should not give up an amazing chance. After all, by this point, it was more likely that this stallion was mad, rather than that he means ill. Mad she can handle. “Mad” is not insidious. “Mad” is not her usual audience.

‘I accept.’ she replied in a calm tone. ‘Though...’ she paused, remembering something. ‘I already told you I’m not experienced in crafting toys.’

‘Ahah! Don’t worry about that.’ the stallion said in a very merry, and almost relieved tone. ‘One thing I think I’ve neglected to mention, is that I’m great with spells, or rather their theoretical design and application. I can teach you whatever you’ll need and believe me, even though you might think your illusions are different from what I need, once you’re into practice, you’ll find it all a simple walk in the park. Of that, I have no doubt at all! This leaves us with a single question I believe. When do you wish to start?’

Trixie paused before replying. She could have probably started that very moment, but beyond feeling such a thing to look desperate, she also wanted to just rest down, since she pulled her cart for miles today already.

The stallion just smiled and nodded as she said she’d be back tomorrow, and flipped the door sign to “Open” once more after she stepped out.

‘One last thing!’ the stallion called after her.

‘Yes?’ Trixie responded, turning around while something in the back of her head, still insisted that this is the late arrival of the prank which is to be pulled on her.

‘I have a fancy for tea, and thought to ask if you’d like some, and if you do: would Mauvette be good?’

‘I- Think.’ Trixie replied, to which the stallion smiled again and closed the door.

As she turned back and continued to her cart, she caught a glimpse of a small group of mares who were staring at her strangely. Trixie had little doubt that they recognized her, and continued with her head high and a slightly irritated expression on her face. In her mind, she started to grasp that she managed to get herself into a very, very strange spot of life. In the employment an overly eager, lonesome yet talkative madpony who gives her a lucrative offer, and even races to check if she’d be wanting any tea in the morning. And all of this in the very heart of the worst, most filthy excuse for a town she has ever known. At this point, she was only debating whether this was too strange-, or too good to be true.

But at the same time, it was true. It was strange, it made her anxious and uneasy, but she knew it was true. Somepony did employ her. She did have an income. A real income. And finally, finally at last she could say with an uneasy, but true certainty, that the last show she’ll ever do, is in her past.