Love-locked and Breathless

You awaken around midday, the sounds of conversation from behind closed doors disturbing your sleep. It’s coming from just outside Trixie’s apartment. It sounds like her and… Whipchat?

“Did you even think about telling him, Trixie? Or are you going to leave it until he’s just about to jump in the tank?”

“Sorry I forgot, geez, I guess I was just having too much fun with him last night to ruin the good mood we had going.”

“Fun? What sort of fun? Are you two intimate or something?”

“Wh- How dare you accuse the Great and Pow-!”

“Hush, keep your voice down! You want to wake up an ex-criminal with a hangover and ruin his day already? Besides, I was just asking.”

You hear a sigh from the other side of the door; “No, I’m not ‘intimate’ with him, mother. And he’s not gonna mind either way. Illusion magic’s all about keeping the audience interested rather than just foaling around with real locks, anyway.”

“Atta girl. Anyway, I’ve gotta double-check the water tank; we’re filling it up already, but it’s gonna be a few more hours before it fills to the brim.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you stage-side tonight.”

As the two clueless ponies had their discussion, you quietly take a seat at the nearby table. The look on Trixie’s face when she re-enters only to find you wide awake and watching.

“Hi.” she says dumbly, “Uh… how much did you hear?”

“Not enough, evidently.” you fold your forelegs matter-of-factly, “What’s this thing you were trying to tell me?”

“Oh, that.” You can tell she’s trying to dance around the subject as much as she could. She seems to think it’s easiest to remind you one step at a time. “Well, remember yesterday when I said we bought a new water tank and a half-ton weight for our show?”

“I take it that’s gonna be my latest stunt?” you ask, “Just dunk me in the tank and I’ll pick the locks to escape? The classic underwater cell trick; that’ll keep the crowd interested.”

“No, you’re not going to do that.” she says simply, “You don‘t need to do any lock-picking for this one.”

“Pardon?” That didn’t make any sense to you. For instance… “Why wouldn’t I need to use my magic? Are we not using locks this time?”

“I’m glad you asked.” With a flick of her horn, a nearby prop box lid opens, where she produces a series of delicate, silver padlocks, as opposed to the chunkier bronze ones you were so used to facing. “We’re going to be using these during all of our stunts from now on.”

You pick up one of the dainty devices with your magic, feeling, scrutinising every inch of it. Every pin, every tumbler, every… wait a minute…

“Th- these padlocks are fake!” you double-take. The silver padlock clicks open at the slightest touch. “Trixie, are you serious!?”

“What would you rather do?” she retorts, “Clap yourself in real padlocks and risk your own life? The real ones are too dangerous to use for live performance. Besides, these fakes will make your life easier.”

“B- but what about my special talent?” you can feel your sense of worth draining away with each passing second; it had taken you so long to use your talents for something better than thievery, and now you’re never going to use them again!? “I can’t use these! I’d rather take the risk with the real ones!”

“Listen to me-” Trixie tries to calm you down. Emphasis on ‘tries’. “The real padlocks you were using were too dangerous, so Whipchat’s making us use the fake ones instead. I guess he’s just taking his health and safety license seriously now that we’ve hit the big time again.”

“Well, tell him to shove these fakes up his arse.” you ignore the sudden gasp of shock from your friend, “And what about you? I know you deal with tricks that are mostly smoke and mirrors, but how can you just stand by and let the only real part of the show get taken away? I thought you knew better.”

“Oh, come on, you know the audience isn’t going to notice the difference between a fake padlock and a real one!”

“I’ll notice! How would you like to be told that you can’t even use your own talents anymore? Heck, going back to being a thief would at least have some self-worth in it, in a weird sort of way.”

“Don’t go all holier-than-thou on me!” she snaps, “For a big, hard criminal, you sure are being childish about how you use your magic.”

“Hey, at least my magic’s genuine; that’s more than you can say.”

“What did you say!?” The crack in her voice tells it all. Looks like you’ve touched a nerve. You decide to push this nerve to see how she likes it.

“You heard me. All I’ve seen you do with your spells involve pretending and feigning the real thing with props just so you get to be more popular! That’s probably why you agreed to these fake padlocks, isn’t it? To knock me down a peg and save on your ego, because Celestia forbid anypony else being better at spell-craft than you! How does it make you feel, Little Miss Great and Powerful, when a dirt-bag crook off the street has more credible magic than you’ve ever cast in your whole life-!?”

SMACK!

Everything falls into a deadly stillness. Trixie just stands there, panting, trembling, red-faced in rage. A hoof-shaped bruise begins to show on your snout, where she had just slapped you.

“Get out.” She hisses venomously. You drop the fake silver padlocks to the ground and walk right out of her apartment, and out of her life.

You wash your hooves of this. If you can’t make a living using your own special talents, then there’s no life for you there.