It had been a rough day at work. Ponies yelling at you from left and right, criticizing everything you did. At the end of it all, you were worn down, and beat to hell. You needed time to relax, and a walk around town was just the remedy for you ailments.
You were the head of a successful building company within Ponyville, tasked with dreaming up new house designs, and sometimes getting commissioned for special projects. Your dexterous hands helped you draft more intricate plans than any pony hooves could. Not even unicorn magic could match up. While most days went off without a hitch, today was just a disaster.
It seemed as if everypony was against you. What was up today? Every design you presented to your coworkers was brutally rejected. You weren't even allowed to explain them. Even when you went out to lunch, you couldn't seem to walk anywhere without angering somepony. Nothing seemed to go in your favor.
Eventually, due to your thought-filled wanderings, you became aware that you were in a part of town you hadn’t been in before. It wasn’t exactly a place of grandeur, and most buildings were older models, not yet replaced by your constructions. It did have a nice old-timey feel to it. There was a collection of ponies wandering around, mostly grizzled old timers, and other tough looking ones. They were a crowd you didn't want to mess with. After a quick look around, you saw a building that looked like a bar, and decided to stop for a drink.
Inside was a somewhat lively scene, with a phonograph in the corner spouting a tune not unlike an old western piece. It was vastly different from the apprehensive looking front. Ponies sat at different tables, sharing drinks with friends. You got a few stares, but, despite being so radically different, most ponies were so used to seeing different species they gave you no second thought. Eventually, you headed to the front of the bar, and ordered a drink. The bar tender struck up a conversation with you as he prepared your drink.
“You ain’t from around here, are ya, son?” he spoke, in a gravelly voice you might expect from a weathered war vet.
You said yes, and asked him how he knew.
“Well, first off, you ain’t a pony, and we don’t got many others who ain’t ponies livin’ ‘round here.”
Right. Ponies were pretty accepting folk, and you felt as if you blended in perfectly sometimes. Every now and again, you forgot your human origins.
“And second, you sure are dressed too fancy to be livin’ down here in Old Ponyville. Lemme guess, you had a rough day, and needed some time off.”
You had to laugh at that, seeing as it was pretty much the exact reason you were here.
“Yep, Old Ponyville might not be the prettiest part o’ town, but it helps ya get your mind off a’ things.”
You smiled, and he went off to serve other customers. As you sat, contemplating over your drink, you noticed some pictures behind the bar of a handful mares showing off their flanks. Your suspicions about this small bar rose, as you flicked your eyes through the pictures. You almost turned your head away, when one picture caught your eye.
It was of a beautiful mare with a deep blue coat, and a pale blue mane. Her cutie mark was obscured by some light purple lingerie, stretching over her rump and flank. She had some sort of magician outfit on, and carried a sultry look in her eyes. For some reason, you felt a sudden great amount of affection for this mare. You had to know more about her. You flagged down the stallion tending the bar
When he came back over, you asked him about the pictures. He motioned his head towards a door in the back, slightly covered in shadows.
“It’s not always easy to keep business afloat here. Sometimes, ya need to do a little extra, ya know?” He gave a sad sigh, and lowered his head some.
“It’s not the most glamorous job, and it can be dangerous, but we get some mares who are in need for money and willing to work for it. We treat em’ nice as we can, though. We're always tryin' to look out for 'em.”
He smiled, and gave you a look, and said “Ya interested? It’s cheap.”
You hated the idea of taking advantage of the poor azure mare like this, but you felt as if you needed to meet her as soon as you could, one way or another. You pointed at her picture, and inquired about her.
“Ah, The Great and Powerful Trixie."
At the mention of her title, you asked him about it.
"Oh yeah, she was a show mare once. That's where she got that name."
This intrigued you, but you decided not to press on any further.
“She’s a looker, ain’t she?”
You can’t help but agree.
“Anyway, she’s popular one. Come on, if you’re interested, I’ll bring you on back.”
You pay him, and follow him through the shadowy door, and into a long hallway with more doors. You hear obscene noises coming from a few of them. The two of you stop at a door near the end.
“Alright, ya got an hour with her. Have fun!”
He left you there, and walked back towards the bar. You step forward and open the door; inside was a simple room, containing only a small dresser with a mirror above it, and an old bed, which you believe would have had bright red sheets, had it not been covered in filth. You certainly weren’t wrong when you made the assumption that the bar (or perhaps brothel?) was a seedy establishment. Ignoring those thoughts, you focused on the one important feature of the room, the mare of your dreams, standing in front of the wardrobe in the very outfit you saw in her photograph.
Trixie.
