The Last Illusion

Chapters

Wherein Trixie Fails to Address Malicious Thugs nor Dancing Circles
A Dispute Between the Two Heroines, and Their Compromise Beside the River
A Wonderful Stew Prepared by Miss Doo, and a Likewise Auspicious S'More
The Impenetrable Silence of the Following Evening
Wherein Trixie Browbeats a Foal for Her Own Amusement
Versus the Honor and Beauty of Ordinary Rocks
Wherein the Narrative is Bisected
[X] Wherein Trixie's Debut in Alchemy Hall is Somewhat Poorly Recieved
[Z] A Lovely New Life Starring Ditzy Doo!
[X] Peering at the Past for Hours in a Shack Made from Old Stage Wood
[Z] Conversations About Amethyst Star, Fancy Pants, and Sonny Weathers
[X] Doughnut Joe's Diner at Two Hours and Thirty Six Minutes
[Z] The Dizzying Nascence of Satisfactory Living
[X] The Last Illusion, part the FIRST
[X] Magic
[Z] A Perfect End to a Perfect Day, in Spite of the Muffins
Introduction of the Heroines: The Great and Powerful Trixie and the Lovely Mare Ditzy Doo
Observing the Competitors Numbered Seventeen, Eighteen, and Nineteen

Wherein Trixie Fails to Address Malicious Thugs nor Dancing Circles

Act I

“Is this some kind of joke?”

I sigh. “Trixie does not joke, she is always serious.”

“Oh yeah? Then cut the act, Trixie. Talk like an adult.”

“Hmph. Whatever do you mean?”

He goes silent after that. Which is good, because I am not in the mood for that particular conversation. I’m literally in chains, obviously in no mood to tolerate another scrupulous unicorn telling me how to carry myself.

I adjusted myself on this cold floor, still no hope at accomplishing any semblance of comfort. How long am I meant to stay here? There’s no way for me to lay down without putting uncomfortable weight on my fetlocks. And I can’t lean on my side, either. And I’m cold.

“What kind of accommodations are these, sir?” I break the silence, impatiently. “Can’t you loosen her shackles or something? Heat up this room? Maybe turn down the light? Nopony should be subject to these conditions!”

I turn my eyes to the mirror, but I don’t think he’s looking at me. So, I settle for myself.

My mane is unkempt, and my fur is in tufts. I’m dirty, decorated by smudges of disgusting black dust. What is this filth? I’d attempt to rub it out, if I could reach. What I could see of my hooves are chipped in a few places, too. I look at my face. My eyes are sinking into very, very dark circles. As if an orb of crystal into a black swamp. Goodness, I am a disaster. Something else new gets my attention. What is this? A line? Running along my…? Is that…? A cut…?

“Let’s try something else,” from behind my reflection. “This book is a waste of time.”

My focus returns. “On… on the contrary. With Trixie in such a compromised state as she is, reading along is the best way to discover her recent whereabouts.” Goodness, just having looked at myself makes me weary again. My voice is low.

“Just talk, Trixie. How do I know you didn’t just write this?”

“It’s clear, sir, that Trixie has no control over that scribe. Or she would have ‘edited it later’ as it said. In fact, it is probably likely that the information it can provide is more accurate and objective than anything Trixie could tell you.”

He's getting frustrated. “But… ugh. Come on, this can’t be all.”

“Humph. Take her as she is, good stallion. If you could be called that after restraining me so rudely.”

I watch him fidget behind the mirror. I can see him, that he is there, but not what else was back there or anypony else. He was alone, for sure.

“The shackles are standard, Trixie. We don’t know what you’re capable of. And if your memory is foggy, we can’t let you go. You could remember something vital as you recover. As for the temperature…”

I’ll admit that I’m hopeful. Something about his tone has shifted.

“You’re going to have to put up with that. The light, too. It’s part of mana suppression.”

Naturally. Ugh.

“I don’t think you did it, honestly,” he continues. “You don’t seem… smart enough.”

“Tsk!” I scoff, jokingly of course. I don't know what happened; what expectations can I have? “How dare you. Trixie is a genius, and a very skilled sorceress.”

“How long ago was this written?” he asks, quickly back to business.

“Oh, dear. Let me think. Perhaps half a year, maybe less? Like she said, a few things are still cloudy.”

“That recently? Impossible.”

“Well, maybe she just forgot! Honestly, continue reading. Trixie is still exhausted.”

He sighs, just barely. “Okay, fine. Have it your way.”

Good. He is becoming a little more agreeable. Hopefully, whichever Princess is involved would be, too. Especially if I really had made this mess.

I add, “Oh, and please do voices. It’s much more fun that way.”

"No, no, Miss Doo,” Trixie continued. “Pay close attention.” She was repeating herself. “Though most creatures cannot ‘use magic’ in a traditional sense, all matter at all times is exerting mana in some way or another. Mana has two parts; the direction, or the ‘Meta’, and the magnitude. If you were to imagine a world where every dimension exists, and there was not only 'forward' and 'backward' but 'hotter' and 'colder', 'here' and 'there', 'is' and 'is not', 'blue' and 'not blue', such that all qualities had each its own anti-quality that lay exactly opposite, you would have a simple picture of Metaspace. Understanding, concentration, awareness; this controls the first part, the 'direction' of mana. And, therefore, magic is steered by a unicorn’s own understanding of what she’s doing. Which is why she need only read a spell to...”

Miss Doo was finding it difficult to pay close attention. She was more interested in the new fireflies along either side of the path. They did not flicker, but remained wholly lit for a good moment before fading. Their humming was akin to a deep breath, like music fully drawn from strings.

“...magnitude is another effort entirely, relating to the Annihilation Quotient. A non-aware material may have it increased via enchantment. Conversely, an aware being may be physiologically capable of increasing it in a safe and...”

Blah, blah, blah, she just kept talking, didn’t she? Trixie’s refined and haughty droll had been going at mostly the same pace for a few good minutes now, no heed to the darkening sky. The opaque glimmers along the sides of the path let a little yellow into the evening palette, now beginning to adopt a darker blue. There was a lamppost up ahead.

“Though of course most ponies hardly—”

Thud!

A fleshy “thud” from up the path stopped the two mares in their tracks. There were several ponies under the lamp, one fallen to the ground as the object of said thud. An altercation was taking place.

“Think again, twinklehoof,” sneered one. Three stood, one lay on the ground. “You messed with us once, we ain’t letting you get away with it again.”

Miss Doo whispered. “Whoa…! Trixie, are those... bad guys...?”

She had spoken to no one as Trixie had already hidden behind a nearby tree. Miss Doo turned a few times before finding her, beckoning quietly with an upturned hoof.

“Quiet, Miss Doo, lest we make ourselves known,” she whispered as the pegasus approached, joining her beneath the path-side shrubbery. “These ponies probably don’t want to be seen.”

Miss Doo raised an eyebrow, though her voice was heavy with concern. “Shouldn’t we do something…?” she whispered. “Can’t… aren’t we…?”

Trixie had snatched the scribe from its nearby hovering place, her eyes scanning the words. She scoffed lightly. Probably the “blah, blah” part. “There’s nothing we need to do, Miss Doo. They, this… this is not our responsibility, it’s alright, it’s fine.” After coming across her own words, the latest sentence written down, Trixie nervously cast her eyes downward, pushing the scribe and its pages down rudely. “We should wait!” she concluded. “We should wait until they leave, then help when we can? There’s no point in getting involved.”

“Ooh… oh… ooh…!” Miss Doo fidgeted with her hooves and mane. “Can’t we just…!?”

The fallen pony spoke. Mumbling something.

“Ugh, speak up,” from the leader. “You really should’a been smarter. If you’d a' brought some friends with you, maybe you’d a’ had a shot. But no. An’ now? We can’t come back. So forget it. Fellas?”

The other two roughnecks, dark coats and mildly at attention, rose their glances.

“We go in. Now. Ditch the old pony.”

Miss Doo had been slowly reading along. “Gah! Trixie!” she pleaded, putting a hoof to her shoulder. “Can’t you do something? Aren’t you ‘The Mighty Trixie’ or whatever!?”

“Great and…! Ugh!” Trixie squeezed her eyes closed, grinding her teeth against each other. “Trixie cannot build a reputation if she gets assaulted by thugs! No, Miss Doo! We mustn't—!”

“Hey!”

All eyes turned to the lovely mare in the road. She was standing firmly on her hooves, legs along a prism, ferocity directed at the standing ponies under the lamp. Her golden mane drooped in front of her eyes, slightly. But that did not stop the heat in her stare. No, it was the three shadowing, dagger-eyed, terrifying ponies that now stared back that cooled her gaze.

“Leave… leave him alone!” she attempted to shout, obviously now shaken by their knowledge of her presence. “He… he’s not hurting anypony!"

The fireflies on the edges of the road overtook the brief moment of silence with their long-drawn lights. The glances the thugs shared gave an awkward impression.

“Get her,” gestured the leader to one. “Watch the wings.”

Oh dear.

The ne’er-do-well approached, step by step, with a rope in his teeth and a blade on his hoof. Miss Doo kept her face forward, but her posture was shrinking. Dampening with each of the thug's pounding steps forward.

“I-I…” she stammered. “J-j-just go away…! W-we don’t h-ave t-t-to fight!”

In vain. His steps did not cease. After what may have been an eternity, Miss Doo was cowering wordlessly before an aggressive criminal.

Of course, what kind of story would this be if Miss Doo were to be done in so soon? If this thug’s hoof were to come down, bruise the poor pony’s head, and tie her up, likely leaving her under the lamppost if not worse? Make no mistake; the scribe cannot anticipate the future. None can. Though Trixie was following along with the scene as it unfolded on the scribe’s pages, made surreal by the audible sounds of hoofbeats and pleas, something about these events had a peculiar effect on the strength of her grip on its pages. It was tight, but vibrating, trembling in a way. Likely that they were drained and weary, as the so-called ‘Great-and-Powerful’ mare was holding her breath.

Then, as she watched the last of the thug’s steps fall, the crossest of looks scratched across her face. Tightly, her teeth ground and her brow clenched as she took in a breath, opened her eyes, and disappeared.

Naturally, she appeared again between the thug and Miss Doo, forcing the former backward with the impact of the teleportation spell. The latter, aghast and surprised, tripped and fell backward with an “oof”. Trixie, looking forward and noting the awe on her opponents’ faces, then turned around. She held a funny look to her capsized companion.

“D-d-don’t be so daft, Miss Doo!” she blathered cheerfully, with a confidence that sounded extremely fake. But as her words continued, its fallacy diminished. “L-l-leave… leave this to the professionals! Ha!”

Carefully, kindly, and with a hoof lightly trembling, she removed her own hat. Then, as a cherry on a sundae, it was gingerly placed on Miss Doo’s head.

“One moment, if you’d be so kind.”

And with a blazing flourish, the Great and Powerful Trixie spun on her hooves to face her challengers. Her cape absolutely billowed as a symphony began, the sounds of steel stroking steel to accompany the white sparks in her wake. A slender shape. Sharp. Bladed. Following a horizon along her two eyes, in a flash, it solidified.

A conjured sword, in fine magenta, was now gripped in her magic. It’s name was Eloquence.

“Who’s f-first?” Trixie hiccuped.

The leader of the criminals, glancing forward, then from side to side, spoke to his allies to answer their pleas for orders. “Unicorns can’t fight. Rush her.” The thugs shared a nod before neighing dust from their noses. The nearest scrambled to his hooves and rocketed forward, this time with the knife in his teeth.

Clang! The impact of their blades clashing brought surprise to her eyes. If not at her strength, then her success. She let his momentum continue, lifting him with her cross-guard until he flipped over her, and had landed on the ground hard. He mumbled after that, vanquished. To the next, Trixie brought her blade forward. She parried, swayed, flawlessly, flowingly, more skillful than willful, practiced and perfect, until she brought the blade’s pommel to the back of his head. Out cold.

She did not dare wipe the sweat from her forehead, nor the hair from her face. “W-w-well…?” she asked the leader. “Flee, thief!”

What could be seen of his eyes went wide. Soon, though, his gaze became narrow, and he lowered his head in defeat. “A shame,” he blurted, with acrimony. “That I came all this way alone…!” Following, as poison to the tip of his salted words, half a dozen ponies emerged from the foliage, a blade in each their hooves and a scar on each their faces. One even wielded a spiked ball from a chain. And, intending to their target’s dismay, each of their shadowed bodies knew the strategy best to take when dealing with one so particularly skilled. That is, a daring offense.

A frustrated sigh forced from Trixie’s lungs before she continued. With feeling, Trixie magically procured a spotlight from inside of her cape. Her horn lit it up, and a blinding, brilliant, blaring white washed over her assailants. They were stunned, and the opportunity presented itself. She felled them all. With a shining blade that reflected the light, she traced a path between targets; onlookers blinked with each strike until seven thumps on the ground showed who was victorious. Then, the light went out, and the fireflies resumed. Like warmth on a curtain closed.

Trixie then retraced her path, dismissing her weapons. Step by step, avoiding a few beaten foes, she made her way back to where Miss Doo was still sitting, dumbfounded.

“Humph!” Trixie scooped up her hat, and crowned herself with a trace of her hoof around the brim. “H-h-how’s that for ‘something’?” she snapped from above. Her stare down at Miss Doo was charred. From her eyes to the pony below, there was some odd hint of malice.

Miss Doo could hardly speak. “Uh…! I…! That…! Wa… wow…! The…! The old pony!” She raced to her hooves, and tripped only once as she rushed over to the fallen stallion.

The old stallion beneath the lamp post, lit a gentle yellow, wore a simple vest with a few pockets. Several of his devices had spilled out when he fell. His face was gruff, wrinkled both with age and wear, but not so grim. In all honesty, he probably was not “old” old. Just old enough for grand foals certainly. He groaned as Miss Doo collapsed at his side.

“Hello…?” she prodded. “Old pony? Twinklehoof?”

Coughs heaved from his chest, and he grumbled loudly as he came to. “Ugh…” he began, roughly. His honest eyes, caked with age, settled on Miss Doo. “Huff. My name ain't Twinklehoof, ya’ goose.”

“Oh.” Miss Doo cocked her head to the side after helping the gentlecolt to his hooves.

Trixie used her magic, a kinesis spell, to retrieve the scribe from the foliage she rudely pushed it into. And then she did not say anything.

“Are you okay, um…?”

“Crass Wax,” came the stallion. “And I didn’—!” he stumbled on his hooves. Miss Doo swiftly worked to his rescue. “And I did not,” he resumed. “Need y’alls help. I got some fight left in me.”

“No offense, Mister Wax, but there were seven or eight thugs back there! Nopony can do that by themself!”

He only grumbled in response, attempting to hold more of his own weight as he inevitably continued to lean against Miss Doo.

“Come on, you’re hurt. Let’s get you home, huh! It’s getting dark.”

“Oh…!” Miss Doo teettered nervously. “Are you sure we were okay to just leave those guys?”

“Yeah…” the old pony groaned. He was still leaning. “Acornwood’s got enough to hold it ‘gainst half a dozen thieves. If we warn ‘em, fer sure.”

“Okay, if you say so…”

The three ponies were walking along the path, nigh to the nearby town of Acornwood. What a boring name for a town. Anyway, Trixie walked apart from the others, quietly focused on the path ahead per usual. However, per the unusual, she was still absolutely silent.

“So what were you doing out here?” Miss Doo asked over the chirping crickets.

“I’m out here every night. Someone’s gotta keep a candle in that there lamppost.”

“But we’re pretty far, aren’t we?” she asked. “And you walk all that way at night by yourself?”

“Nice to get a late walk in. Rough in winter, course, but that’s life, in't it? 'Sides, it’s fer travelers to know when there’s a town close by. Just a mile.”

Trixie kept staring forward, walking as if she had some purpose.

“Huh! What a fun little story!” cheered Miss Doo.

It was a fun story.

“Oh! You old fool!”

Scarlet Wax, Crass’s older sister (who was “old" in a more traditional sense), pounded her hooves on the side of his bed. Miss Doo and Trixie had returned the old stallion safe and sound, and were now seeing to his care in the small but modest room.

“What did you think you were doing!? You ain’t what you used to be, you know, Crass!”

From the bed, he raised his voice. “Don’t you go yellin’ at me, Scarlet, I wasn’t abou—“ cough, cough! Crass’s wheezing voice was cut off by a few rough coughs, and he held his hoof to cover his mouth.

“My point!” she jeered. “I don’t wanna hear none of that! Not! Enough! Bits! In the world! To replace ma little brother! Leave the heroism to the younger generation, mmkay?”

Crass just rolled over, grumbling under his dirty sheets. Likely more at home than he would willingly admit.

“Now you two!” Her loud voice snapped Miss Doo to attention, while Trixie moved her glance from the window to the old mare. “What exactly happened back there!?”

Miss Doo scratched her chin. “I… it was…? Oh! The book probably wrote it down!” She pulled it over from nearby, and began peering at a few pages. She turned one, scanning carefully. She turned another. Looked some more. She was still several pages behind. Of course, the scribe can continue writing even as the book closes or the pages are turned. The floating quill tracing letters on the pages is really just for show. Not a lie, per say, but an embellishment. After all, the scribe was crafted quite carefully by a very skilled sorceress many, many years ago; resilience and flair come naturally. Perhaps Miss Doo noticed some of this, as she was staring at some of the filigree in the pages’ corners and margins. Or perhaps not, as her eyes did have difficulty agreeing on where to look next.

Scarlet Wax tapped her hoof on the hard floor.

“Oh! Sorry!” Miss Doo gave a weak smile. “I’m kind of a slow reader.” She turned one more page. "Here it is! Okay, so there were a couple of bad guys, and we saw Crass on the ground, and then they said ‘We go in. Now. Ditch the old pony.’, and then I said ‘Hey!’… And then Trixie beat them up!”

“Hmm?” came Trixie from her daydreaming state.

“Little unicorn!” the old mare pleaded. She approached the showmare, speaking with care and comfort. “Did you save ma brother?”

Trixie cleared her throat nervously. “I… uhm… Trixie, yes.” She brought her hat to her chest, and bowed lightly. “The Great and Powerful Trixie vanquished the nine thieves attempting your brother’s good health and your village’s well-being.”

“Well, I’ll be..!” Scarlet Wax took two hoofsteps closer, then draped a leg tenderly around Trixie’s neck in a small half-hug. “Butter me up and call me a biscuit,” she said at an appreciable volume. “Thank you kindly, little unicorn.”

Trixie broke up the gesture. “Y-yes, well, it was no large ordeal for a pony as skilled as she.”

“Tell you two what!” Scarlet began. “It’s our nephew’s birthday today, why don’t y’all head on down to the fire and snatch yourself up some food? We don’t have much round here, but we’d a' had a lot less without your help!”

“Aw, that’s so nice!” Miss Doo chimed. “Thank you very much.”

“Pleasure’s ours! Now, off you go! I’ll take care of old Crass, here! You two’ve done enough!”

“Alright, alright,” Miss Doo, rubbed the back of her head, reddening in the cheeks as the pair walked out. “You don’t have to—oof!”

A combination of walking on three hooves and not watching where she was going had premised her impact with the door frame. Nonetheless, she made it outside intact, and Trixie followed.

It was night, but hardly silent. Crickets chirped quietly, but were obfuscated by the music from what could be called “uptown”. Faint drums, and some country strings could be heard. Other than the crickets, of course. Lampposts lined Acornwood’s central, cobbled street, each with its own wax candle. That, and the party’s fire up ahead were the only light against the deep blue night sky. Stars watched the two mares walk, and their steps clopped quietly on the pebbles.

“It’s nice tonight, huh?” Miss Doo remarked, breaking what little silence was left. Her eyes wandered all around, even behind for a moment. She took in the sight of the well-crafted lamps, the simple wooden homes. And the wind, too, breezed past her mane. “It’s cool. Almost like winter, but a little more inviting.”

Trixie glanced at the scribe floating nearby, and did not answer.

“Hey, oh yeah. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hm?” she groaned. "Yes, Miss Doo?”

“What changed your mind back there? Weren’t you scared?”

Trixie sighed, as a mother would to a child. “No, Miss Doo, Trixie was not scared.”

“But you stuttered!”

“Humph. No, she did not.”

“Yeah, you did. The book, it said ‘with confidence that sounded fake’ or something.“

“What? Where, when did you read that?”

“Just now, in Scarlet’s house. It’s okay, I was scar—"

“Trixie was not scared!” she spat. Her voice frayed as she did so. Loud as she had been, it was doubtful anypony else heard her. No, Miss Doo was the only pony that had flinched.

“Oh… okay…” she muttered, hanging her head a little. “Sorry.”

As they walked, they did not cast shadows. There were lamps on either side of them, lining the way to the fire. Still, the night managed to provide its dark.

Trixie responded with tentative force. “Please do not force Trixie’s hoof, Miss Doo. She… she is a Great and Powerful pony, but she cannot go around solving everypony else’s problems. There is too much to do, too much at stake. She can’t… she doesn’t…” She sputtered, putting a flustered hoof to the tense bridge of her nose. “Do you understand, Miss Doo? Trixie has a reputation to maintain."

“Mmmm… Nnn…” Miss Doo muttered, twisting her mouth. “Nnn… no. I don’t get it, Trixie. I mean, what exactly is at stake or…? Oof. Never mind, I’m just such a dope sometimes. Sorry; I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Miss Doo, just—“

“Hey howdy!"

A young stallion made himself known with his greeting, galloping up from behind to meet the mares. Though it was hard to tell in this light, he looked a dark tan, with a few horseshoes as a cutie mark. More significantly, there was a springiness to his voice.

“Tell me now! Just talked to Scarlet. You the ones who saved Uncle Crass?”

“Oh—!” came Miss Doo. "Um, yes, I mean, Trixie…"

“Well I’ll be. She did not do y’alls good looks justice,” he replied, emphasizing the “did not”. “Name’s Twinklehoof. Crass Wax’s my uncle.”

Miss Doo’s reply came out like spilled, bouncing marbles. “Oh, uh…! Twinklehoof, ha, that’s… good, good looks, I…? I… I’m…. Ditzy Doo. Is my name. And… and… um, this—?”

“Could I ask y’all to dance?” he asked, to cut her dribbling short. He was looking at Miss Doo specifically, smiling, and holding out his hoof. “If um… y’all wouldn’t mind?”

“Y-yes.” Miss Doo tried, taking the hoof and stumbling tentatively. “Yes, you, um, you can.”

And at that, the two of them trotted to the circle of rambunctiously dancing country folk, the drums and fiddles tapping in time to everypony’s hooves. Some hooves tapped twice, some only once. And the fiddle was doing a good job keeping up, too, as the bows ran across their strings. Yes, some dancers wore skirts and some pants, and some had bits of straw in their teeth or tools in their pockets. But none of that was important. Rather, the rhythms and sways that the dancers evoked were what sired such a good time. Each and every pony did their best to avoid stepping on their partner’s hooves. They trod firmly, kicking up dirt; they were dancing so hard. Twinklehoof was kind. He laughed with cheer as Miss Doo struggled to learn the steps. But, that’s okay, because she was laughing at her silly fumbles, too.

Oh yes. And Trixie. Trixie had been left standing where Miss Doo had left her. Bewilderment quickly disappeared.

“Humph.” she scoffed. “Better she than Trixie. She supposes.” She looked around; a quick survey found the party’s food. Trixie settled humbly on a blanket, a place to sit she assumed had been provided. Surely nopony else would mind. They were all dancing, or had gone home.

“Now, for you…” she began with drifting words, munching on an apple and a few nuts. She pulled the scribe from its floating position, laid it gently on the blanketed ground, and cast a subtle light spell with her horn. And then, she read. She turned a few pages back to the beginning, fluttering through with her magic, and read all the words she had accomplished so far. Though, the pages were not very numerous; approximately six thousand two hundred words by the end of this sentence. But, still did her eyes move along every word. She stopped at a few, and frowned. A pad and pencil were procured from her cape, and she jotted a few notes. Twice while reading, she chuckled. The first was at the words “How’s that for something?”. And the second was when Twinklehoof, just prior, had introduced his name. But she soon made her way back, to Miss Doo’s words from earlier. She was looking at the words “what exactly is at stake”, furrowing her brow and scratching her chin. Her mouth twisted, and her eyes narrowed off to the side.

What exactly was at stake, Trixie?

“Trixie…” she began, speaking to herself at the darkness nearby. “Trixie is a showpony. She is not, I mean, she is... I mean she means… I mean…” This was a struggle for her, it seems. “Trixie is not one of those ‘Daring Do' or 'Element of Harmony' types. She doesn’t look for danger she… she has too much going on...” She nodded. She nodded again to herself as she continued. “Yes, she… She has a show in Canterlot, and she’s busy with a novel. She doesn’t have time to be a big 'hero' or anything,” she affirmed. "She is soon to make history. And besides, she has an image to maintain, a career to think about…"

Her speech faded, and the darkness naturally did not answer. Trixie’s words of consolation vanished as soon as she said them. Except to the end that they were written down, of course.

She let her gaze drift and eyes fall as she put out her light spell and settled down. Watching the silhouettes of Twinklehoof and Miss Doo, she then closed her eyes. Goodness, for how clumsy that mare was, she could learn to dance quite well.

Author's Note

Please feel free to mention your opinions so far.
Sincerely, I am quite curious!

A Dispute Between the Two Heroines, and Their Compromise Beside the River

Drooping her head and lagging a few feet behind Trixie, Miss Doo drew a long yawn from her throat. “Did we really have to leave so early?”

“Humph. Yes, Miss Doo, for her show in Canterlot comes soon enough, and Trixie intends to have at least a few days to prepare. At this rate, we will arrive tomorrow morning.”

She looked around, groggy, at the morning path they had been taking for only a few minutes now. A yawn escaped Miss Doo again, this time as more of a sigh as she spoke. “Ooooh kaaaay….”

Miss Doo had not accomplished much sleep last night. Twinklehoof’s birthday party ran late for a hoofful of ponies. For her, the gentle blue of morning sun had come a little too soon, pushing through the gray clouds to kiss her on the cheek and poke her in the eye. Now, it dolloped the tops of the trees, coaxing wind from their leaves. In turn, a few fluttered to the ground, floating on the cold wind. This early, the weather was chilly. It cut through fur, and surfed through Trixie’s cape. She was much more of a morning person, it seems, because her eyes were just as focused as ever on their daily crusade.

“Keep your head up, Miss Doo,” came Trixie’s cheerful charisma. “Trixie will extend her offer again; she is perfectly willing to carry your saddlebags.”

“No, no,” she snored. “I can. Carry them myself. It’s not that heavy. Mostly just snacks and s’more stuff anyway.”

“Ah, plenty good then. Trixie could not store your food for very long.”

“Hm? What do you mean ’store'?”

“Trixie travels all on her own. She takes only non-perishable foods.”

“Wha? Bu—“

“This much considering,” Trixie continued, pointedly evading for a second time. “We will need at least one more meal today, and a bit of a boost for breakfast tomorrow. Trixie has a few essential ingredients, the clever and well-prepared mare that she is. You have potatoes, correct? She recommends stew?” she asked like a question. Though, she still did not look back.

“Oh!” Miss Doo perked. "I like stew! I make it all the time.”

“Very well, then. Keep an eye out for wild vegetables. Trixie has the rest.”

Miss Doo eyed Trixie’s person for a few lingering moments. The showmare's only inventory was a cape and hat. “Um, okay. Ooh, and I’ll look for peppers, too…!” Miss Doo stretched out her wings, working out the morning kinks, before pulling into a hover just a few feet above.

At that, Miss Doo was first to see that the path they had been following soon started to run alongside a gently flowing river. It was a cold gray, like the weather. Small pink flower petals were floating on its surface. Probably not roses or cherries. It would have been late in the season for those. But it did not matter too much; they looked quite beautiful.

“Aw.” Miss Doo smiled, crossing the path to get a closer look. "Check out these flowers, Trixie!”

“Hm?”

Trixie had not noticed because she was staring straight ahead as she usually did. So, she wandered over to her right to see for herself, walking along the river’s edge. The petals were like very small, fragile sailboats. Some got caught on the wind awhile, but fell back down delicately. They were always smiling, which must have been hard in this crestfallen weather. They left tiny ripples as they skipped along. But it seemed that Trixie was not impressed.

“Those flower petals are late. The plants they came from are probably long dead,” she said. But as she was looking at them, she slowed down her pace, distracted. “Although, Trixie does suppose…” She raised an eyebrow as a few dozen more passed by on the river’s slow current, like a gentle caress. “They look a little like confetti…”

“Oof!”

Trixie turned her head, watching a few upturned leaves settle along the opposite side of the path. Miss Doo had crashed. “Goodness, Miss Doo, how is it that you managed to lose control at such a low altitude?”

“Ha. I dunno,” she said, quickly recovering. “It’s kinda happened all my life, you know?”

Trixie brushed Miss Doo of the upturned leaves and twigs. “Ah. It must be your strabismus.”

“My… what?”

“Your eyes, Miss Doo.” She helped the confused mare to her hooves. "The natural mana that enhances your flight is skewed by your distorted vision, causing what would be consistent lift to sometimes destabilize.”

“I mean, yeah,” she muttered, shying back a bit. "It’s always been like this.”

“Understand, Miss Doo,” she began, conjuring magical arrows and diagrams to illustrate her explanation as she continued. “Your natural mana is misaligned because the meta vectors you project are misaligned because your perception is misaligned because your eyes are misaligned. You see the world a little differently, but your mana is still made ‘confused’ by it, which has an unfortunate effect on your trajectory.”

“Um…” Miss Doo avoided Trixie’s advancing conversation. “Okay.”

“It is no trouble, Miss Doo. Shall we continue?” Trixie resumed a saunter down the path, eschewing the river or path-side shrubbery. Miss Doo lingered only a moment before following, her eyes slightly downtrodden.

Trixie talked on as they continued. “Trixie is sure that, given the proper time and prescription, corrective lenses might have the world rightside-up for your magic and meta vectors. But, then again,” she weighed, more to herself than anypony else. “Not only would the process of creating such lenses be redundant as years of your own life have likely led your mind to correct the error such that just as many years would be needed to re-correct it, but,” she resumed, “there’s no way any ordinary optometrist would be able to manage the sort of mesophysical mathematics that would be required. Why, between metaspace mapping, establishing a compass, and engineering the proper material… it would take weeks to prepare these lenses! Even a sorceress as talented as Trixie would have difficulty! Though, perhaps with the texts by Gibbous—“

“Queen’s lace!” Miss Doo interjected, diving off the side of the path to a party of flowers nearby. Several of its patrons, aside from daisies and daffodils, were lovely white inflorescences, looking like pretty doilies. Miss Doo pawed at the base of one's stem with her hooves, uncovering a plump orange root. It was not unlike a common carrot. “Lucky!” She gestured her find to show Trixie, who was quizzical. Quizzical, but still she nodded.

“Good find, Miss Doo,” she conceded. “Trixie, um, missed that one.”

Miss Doo readied herself, working her wings back and forth before digging messily at the plant’s roots. This left Trixie in the momentary predicament of... watching. Bits of grass and dirt flung up as she did so. Rather haphazardly.

“Do you need… help, Miss Doo?” Trixie asked, a bit off-put.

“Nope!” Miss Doo shouted cheerfully. “I can do this!”

Trixie’s inquiring gaze wandered past Miss Doo, to the dozen remaining laces. With a small “humph” and a flick of her horn, the wild carrots were lifted from the earth, quite neatly. She shook the dirt from them, and floated them to Miss Doo’s side.

“That’s quite alright, Miss Doo, for Trixie’s motions are effortless and we ought keep pace.”

Miss Doo resurfaced, dirt balanced on her muzzle, with the carrot she was working on. It was her turn to wear the inquisitive glance.

“But please do carry them, if you would,” she added, telekinetically opening the pegasus’s saddlebags to drop the plants inside. “Now, where was Trixie in her story…?”

Miss Doo lagged behind, peering at the neatly ordered, bulging vegetables in her bag. With a sigh, she placed the one she’d unearthed herself among them, and trotted to catch up.

“Ah yes," Trixie resumed. She had taken a peek at the scribe to re-compose her train of thought. “Gibbous Glass of Eleven Dials. She wrote several good works concerning practical time magic and bookkeeping, but Trixie has not had the pleasure of reading her works on magical glassware. Still, she devised a reading spell that works wonders for Trixie on all of her scholarly ventures, scarce as they tend to be with her so busy so often.”

Twisting her mouth a little, Miss Doo spoke. "You’re really smart, huh Trixie?”

“Oh yes!” she boasted, still oblivious. “Trixie has been a clever and intelligent pony all her life! She graduated from Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns two years early, studied meso- and metaphysics alongside thaumathematics at University for a short while before deciding to venture on her own.” A hoof proudly held to her chest as she continued. “She has won numerous awards for prestige and excellence, has had many shows all across Equestria, including Applelossa, Baltimare, Manehattan, among many others. And on top of it all, she innovates and invents powerful, magical spells of her own! To this day, there is nigh a pony as accomplished as the Great and Powerful Trixie!”

A brief silence followed, as Trixie had finished her speech with a touch of flair and her proud smile. It was half a pose she had used on stage, no doubt in anticipation of applause. But there was none; Trixie’s slow hoofbeats were all there was. An odd anxiety passed her face as she noticed that then, Miss Doo was nowhere to be seen. A look to her right, however, and she spotted a blonde tail stuck up behind a few bushes. Trixie approached to investigate, “Miss Doo?” she asked.

“Oh!” the pegasus exclaimed, once again covered in soil. “I found some onions.” She held up a few small bulbs. “Not that big, but you don’t need that much, huh?”

Trixie gave a short stare. “Uh… no. Correct, Miss Doo.”

“Let’s go then,” Miss Doo said, shaking the dirt from her body before rejoining the path.

Trixie followed, slowly at first before regaining her pace. “Yes, let’s.”

Gold streamed down the sky. The sun, now having meandered along the horizon long enough, was beginning to truly show itself between the opening layers of clouds. Early morning was becoming mid-morning. Light like this made the river glow, its petals being long gone. Aside from this, the two mares continued their journey to Canterlot.

“…”

In silence, apparently.

Birds had begun to chirp. They accompanied the swift run of the nearby river, trickling like a tiny xylophone. Though there was not much wind, if one were to listen very carefully with their ear to the sky, one might hear the clouds snoring. Even the morning insects were humming along their routines. But dusty hoofbeats were the only sounds the two ponies could muster.

Miss Doo, walking a pony’s length behind Trixie as usual, was once again confined to peer at the back of Trixie’s head. Perhaps there were words caught in her mouth, for she was twisting it shut. But no, Miss Doo gave in and turned away. Trixie did not say anything either, such as “How are you?”, “Why are you going to Canterlot?”, “How do you like your stew?”, or anything similar. No “Did you have fun at the dance, Miss Doo? Trixie was busy being standoffish and bland”. Instead, this trip was condemned to additional reticence.

The story had suddenly become quite mundane, had it not?

The scribe, lowering itself to pony eye level (as it was capable of doing so with its own magic) began meandering between the mares as its quill kept scratching. It was nearing Trixie’s field of view, though it dare not enter. It floated instead just outside her vision. How cross a mare like Trixie would get should a scribe prove so admonishing. No, instead it changed its direction, slowing speed until it caught pace with Miss Doo. She noticed after a short while the book that was presented to her. “Hm?” she softly wondered, prying at its most recent updates.

“Hee, hee…!” she giggled like a cheerful sparrow. Her quiet romp continued through the paragraph previous this one; the scribe’s quill jittered through it just as well. She held her whispers close to its pages. “You’re kind of silly, aren’t you?”

But Trixie heard. “Hm?” she asked, her head ajar in inquiry. Their walk did not stop.

“Oh, um…!” Miss Doo startled. “Nothing. Your book is just really funny.”

“Oh? What has my scribe wrought this time?”

“Nothing! Just…”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Yes, Miss Doo?”

“It’s kind of making fun of you!”

“What!?”

Trixie gripped and pulled the book to her, those piercing eyes scanning through words like “standoffish”, “cross”, and “admonishing”.

She scoffed, and a bit of red stained her cheeks. “W-w-wretched thing! It is a wonder how it writes so lavishly one moment and so daftly the next!”

“It’s just making a little fun, Trixie.”

“A scribe should not 'make fun' of its heroine!” she huffed.

“Well… what’s it supposed to do?”

“It’s…! Hm…” The so-called “Great and Powerful” mulled a moment, hoof on her chin. “A scribe ought treat its heroine with respect, admiring her features and complimenting her actions. There is a grand beginning, where we join her on her quest and learn of her name and talents. Then, there is rising action, where the readers feel the increase of tension or pressure building up, slowly. And the best part: the epic climax!” Trixie’s hooves hopped a bit here. "Our heroine faces off against a powerful enemy, such as a mighty beast or even time itself, and emerges wholly victorious! And lastly, in the falling action, the heroine gets her reward and her recognition. And she lives happily for ever after.”

“Forever after?”

“For ever after.”

“But real life isn’t really like that.”

“Ha! On the contrary, Miss Doo…" The showmare galloped ahead a few trots, swishing her horn a touch to dim the lights. "life is really like that for Trixie! She, on a monthly basis, leaves fierce foes and vanquishes horrors too unseemly to speak of rent in twain! She’s traversed the wide wide world, from the lands of Dragons to the kingdoms of the Griffons! She’s made ponies, houses, entire freight trains vanish into thin air! She’s conjured symphonies, homesteads, and mountains to her bidding! Trixie’s life is magnanimous, sensational! Positively ludicrous! Why, the Great and Powerful Trixie is nothing short of Equestria’s mightiest extraordinaire!” At the tip of her words, little pink sparks jumped from her horn to sing praise. She put on her infamous grin, and again paused to give Miss Doo a chance to respond.

And she did. A little foalish snicker snuck past Miss Doo’s teeth, curling up her lips. It bloomed into a chuckle that fluttered like a dandelion. “Whatever you say, Trixie,” she teased, playfully trotting past her. “You’ve got a lot of fancy speeches like that, huh?” Miss Doo smiled, warmly and kindly.

Trixie smiled a little, too, with a face half grinning and half pouting. The showmare had moved her audience, if nothing else.

Author's Note

I took a class on H. C. Andersen. And then I wrote this chapter. Can you tell?

A Wonderful Stew Prepared by Miss Doo, and a Likewise Auspicious S'More

Ta-da! Trixie had said. With a riveting display, she had draped her cape like a mystifying curtain, only to pull it back and reveal a shabby two-bit cart. Decorated with an oven, a small stove, a few cupboards and cabinets, a little fold-up cutting board; the thing was, while somewhat crudely put together, all in all charming. Of course, this had come to pass ages ago. The sun had sunk since, casting one or two long shadows over a stump and log they had found a few paces off of the path. They would serve well as a makeshift dining area; two bowls and a spoon were already set.

For now, Miss Doo watched a stew of prepared potatoes, carrots, peppers, and onions. She had cut each into clean pieces (“mostly clean” pieces) of varying sizes depending on its identity. Carrots were divided finely into small coins, which rose in the murk from time to time. The potatoes, from a stash Miss Doo had packed for the journey, were cut bluntly, and floated stoically. Larger pieces could absorb more flavor. The onions, of course, had naturally vanished entirely once cooked. And lastly, though the green peppers Miss Doo had found were small; their snippets could occasionally be seen floating among the stew's contents. Their impact would be significant; a bit of spice to the typical savoriness of stew would be welcome. Something so mundane given a touch of fire. So in spite of the inevitable mess she had made, Miss Doo beamed to herself before the boiling stew. Its aroma meandered into her nostrils on white wisps. And when it did, her pride climaxed into a quiet chuckle. A laugh like a ringing bell.

Trixie was nearby, of course. She was reading beneath a tree, a tome titled Unorthadoxicon: Powerful Magic Beyond Practicality. Her eyes walked lazily over the poorly lit words, checking for dust beside “converging mesospace” and “Ponyfusion”. Pages turned. For lack of a better term, they did so condescendingly, standing no chance against her scrutiny. But suddenly, the magician let the book fall, and looked to the sky. Late afternoon. Wind tickling her cape, grass grazing her fur. A sigh escaped; nothing to see here.

That is, until the chuckle from Miss Doo broke her focus. Her eyebrow went up, watching that mare stir their impending dinner with a slender ladle. Scoffing, Trixie leaned back against the tree, covering her eyes with her hat. She let her hindlegs sway in the wind. Back and forth, several times every few seconds. Only the whistling trees and gently bubbling stew filled the silence now.

“What are you doing?” Trixie asked, having Miss Doo turn around to meet her. The showmare had climbed from her lounge to peer over her shoulder. “Trixie demands to know.”

“Finishing the stew,” the mare hummed. “This should last us awhile! I added potatoes and flour and—“

“Trixie knows how to make stew, Miss Doo,” Trixie added haughtily.

“But then,” the grey mare whispered, as if she was telling a secret. “Why did you ask if you already knew?” Miss Doo smiled.

“Trixie… uhm…” A nervous smile flashed, quickly gone, as her eyes surveyed the counter to hastily search for something less relevant. A brief “tsk” accompanied several short pepper scraps, as her magic lifted them from the table. “Trixie does not usually add spicy vegetables.”

“Oh!” Miss Doo gasped. “I do sometimes! Sorry, I found them a little bit ago. I probably should have asked, huh? But I’ll bet that you’ll still like it, I hope.”

“No matter.” The stems drifted down the counter, soon disposed of. “Someone Great and Powerful as Trixie will not be so picky.”

“So, are you ready to eat it?”

“Hmm…” Trixie stole a glance at the scribe, now resting across the countertop. Closed, of course, as the mares had left it. She breathed a disappointed sigh. Perhaps they thought it idle? A scribe may be covert from time to time.

“I suppose it is only dinner; tales of my exploits are sure to come soon enough.” She and Miss Doo met on the overturned log they would be using tonight, and she fluttered her cape purposefully to make her action more dramatic. Her posture was tall, pompous, and graceful, never batting an eye. “I imagine our dinner is ready?” she asked, ladling herself a few pints.

“Yep! Could still be pretty hot, though.” Miss Doo smiled as she took her seat and scooped some into her own bowl manually. She kicked her hind legs with mild joy once it was prepared. Perhaps it was the atmosphere. The sun had gone down, memories of orange and promises of stars were in the sky. Trixie’s nearby fire, a spell she had used masterfully, was homely; its flame stayed tame and close to the ground. It flickered, rocking slowly, as if remembering. Insects chirped, as well. They never bothered Trixie nor Miss Doo, but their chorus echoed nonetheless. Miss Doo picked up her bowl from their wooden stump, or makeshift dinner table.

“Hey,” she started before taking a bite. “Wanna have the s’mores after this?”

Trixie had been interrupted. “Very well, if you’re so eager.” Resuming, she brought a spoon to her lips.

“Oh! How is it?” Miss Doo asked, giving Trixie an expectant look.

“Hmm. It is acceptab…” Trixie’s breath gave way to a dry gasp as her sentence was cut off. Her face and brow quickly constricted as a second heave followed. “H-h-horseapples…” she cursed with little air she had. The bowl and spoon nearly fell to the stump in haste; Trixie climbed to her hooves. A water bottle produced itself from inside her cape, hovering to her side as she undid its seal and guzzled a few mouthfuls.

“Oh… is it really that bad?” Miss Doo slurped a sample from her own bowl, only to similarly contort her face. She shook her head as it fell, ending with a rough breath and gaping mouth. “Oops,” she let out as Trixie regained her composure.

“It is… a violent concoction, but it will do.” She pocketed her bottle again.

Miss Doo spoke with a weak and fallen voice. “Heh… messed up again.” She rubbed her hind hooves together nervously, and the lashes on her eyes helped her mane hide her eyes. "I’m sorry.”

“No matter. Trixie will make it bearable.” A flash from her horn streamed to the stew left in the pot, lingering for a few brief moments. “This should reduce it to tolerable levels,” she added, twirling her spoon in midair. “A little spell to cool those flames. Trixie is not used to spells so mundane and simple, but then again there is little she cannot do.” A bit of the magic made its way to her bowl, and the spoon she filled for a second attempt. She swallowed. “Mmm, perfect. Much more mild, though the sharp aftertaste remains.” She took another spoonful, sure to obtain a chunk of potato. “A job well done, if I do say so myself.”

Miss Doo watched Trixie take her fourth, then fifth bites, and watched her grin to herself as well. The pegasus then let out a breath. Her crooked gaze looked down to the glow now fading from her own bowl as the spell completed. She brushed bits of blonde mane from her face, and took another slurp. It was good. Probably. It likely tasted very good.

Observers to this scene would easily deduce that Trixie was satisfied with the stew in its current state. She had said so. Mmm, perfect, a chilled grin on her lips; the signs were quite clear. And since Miss Doo did not cringe nor flinch when slurping her share, one could surmise that she felt the same way. At least from an objective standard, which Trixie had ideally been taking, the conclusion that it was the case that Miss Doo had tasted good soup ought be allowed.

Oh. Miss Doo’s lips have fallen gently into a frown, like a drifting feather. Is the stew bitter?

“You’re pretty good at this magic stuff, huh?”

“Indeed, she is,” Trixie continued, prideful words muffled and bubbled by inbound stew. “As much goes without saying, of course.”

“Right, right.” Miss Doo paused. She slurped again from her bowl, struggling a bit to take in lumps of potato. She licked her lips, staring for a moment at the fire. Its crackle filled the silence briefly. Her eyes perked up again. “So what’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever done?” she asked, as if the question had arrived on a leaf.

“Uhm. Ahem.” An empty bowl gently clinked onto the stump, caught suddenly off guard. A floating ladle soon refilled it. It did not miss a drop, but Trixie slipped on her answer. “It… it’s hard to say, really. Trixie has done a great many things.”

“Yeah, yeah, but… I kinda thought some of that stuff was just for show?”

“Of-of course not. What Trixie says is true; all of her feats are as described. Each and every one of them!”

“What? No way! You really studied what’s-a-physics at University?”

“Mesophysics, yes.” She set her filled bowl in her lap.

“And you made a train disappear?”

“Indeed, Miss Doo.” She haughtily slurped a share of stew, glaring through an open eye.

“And you went to Baltimare and the Dragon Kingdo—!?”

“Yes! Now quiet, please, while Trixie eats…!” she stammered, cradling her emptying bowl. “W-why are you questioning her…!? She’s been nothing but kind!”

“I… I’m sorry, Trixie, it’s just so unbelievable. All that stuff, the way you tell it, it seems kind of… kind of… kind of….” Miss Doo let herself linger. Setting down her bowl, scratching her chin, she looked up as she struggled for words. Her hoof tapped on her leg, struggling dearly to remember. She squinted. Whatever answer she sought from the sky at this time, it was hidden behind a blanket of blue nighttime clouds. She looked back at Trixie once she’d given up. “You know what I mean, right?”

Certainly, Miss Doo, something about this pony was not adding up.

Trixie was fetching the lingering vegetables from her second helping. She sighed as she did so. It trembled, just a bit. “No, Miss Doo,” she articulated, pointedly and with emphasis. She tossed the bowl onto the stump. It clanked.

“Trixie.”

A fluttering pause.

"Does not.”

These words were set above the rest.

“‘Know what you mean’. Now Miss Doo, do you want your precious s’mores or would you rather we part ways and turn in tonight?”

Miss Doo passed Trixie a worried look, to which she did not reciprocate. Rather, the showmare’s purple eyes were downcast, invisible behind the brim of her hat. The rest of Trixie’s words simply fell to the ground like blunt toothpicks. Her flat, white teeth had ground them all up in a flacid, subtle kind of frown.

Miss Doo almost whispered. “Oh…” She turned away, submissive. "I’ll toss the stew, then, I guess.” Miss Doo shakily rose to her hooves, grabbing for the pot and beginning to drag it away. It still contained liquid, so its weight gargled about as she carried it.

“What are you doing?” snapped Trixie, raising her gaze and darting to Miss Doo and the pot with her eyes.

“Um? Throwing the stew away? Wasn’t it too—?”

“No,” she sneered. Hastily, the large pot was magically forced from Miss Doo, and took a comfortable spot on the stump, its lid to soon join. “Trixie will finish it tomorrow. Now. Have at your s’mores.” Miss Doo’s saddlebags magically found their way from the spot by the counter to the stump. Trixie stood on the log, and via her magic it slowly, but aggressively, hovered in the air and began to travel. “Trixie is reading and then going to bed.” The log seat landed in front of the fire with a thud, and Trixie stepped off of it. “Do tell if you need anything, Miss Doo. Goodnight.”

And with that, Trixie pulled a book and blanket from her cape and settled near the fire.

Leaving Miss Doo to stand alone, slightly dumbfounded. “Okay, um. Goodnight?” she tried. She looked at Trixie. Her back was to her; she was using light from the fire to read lazily. But it was clear that she was not asleep, or yet attempting to. Though she had not been focused on reading.

Miss Doo retrieved the two roasting sticks that she had prepared earlier from underneath the counter. She only speared a marshmallow on one of them, and held it towards the stout flame. It may not have been large, but it was hot enough.

“Sigh,” she sighed, sighing the actual word “sigh” with a sigh-sounding breath. Perhaps it was the case that she was exceptionally bored, or put off. She took a moment to look behind her, back to the counter. Trixie must normally do all the cooking herself, using the magic-powered heating element to make all her own meals. She could unearth cans of preserved carrots or peas, heat them up on the stove. Oats, too, for breakfast perhaps. Scanning the cramped cupboard space for a few utensils, only one pot, pan, and plate. Fortunate that Trixie had found an extra bowl. Chipped and mismatched, like the rest of the cart, but functioning. Functioning enough to serve a single pony a single meal at a time, for quite a long time.

What a quaint little invention the little kitchenette was.

“So… I guess she didn’t hate my soup?” Miss Doo half-asked, half-murmured.

“It is beyond me,” Trixie said, words suddenly clear as conversation. “how you thought Trixie disliked it when she ate almost half the pot on her own. Two days, as you said Miss Doo. The spice did it well, but please use discretion next time.” She had not turned around, but the conversation continued.

“Yeah…! Sorry, I didn’t know! Those peppers were wild. A little too wild, huh?”

“Ha…!” Trixie had laughed. “Yeah, they were.”

“I swear, I did much better at my own place. I took pretty good care of myself. Made stew like, once a week.”

“Trixie, too. It is simple, keeps well, and tastes quite good.”

“See, that’s what I told my mom! She says stuff like ‘A mare can’t live on just stew forever, Ditzy! She’s gotta take better care of herself.’ or something. I think I’m doing okay. Stew is good; why try harder for disappointment?”

“Perhaps for stew, Miss Doo, but consider this:” Trixie retorted. “Trixie cannot live a life asking 'why try harder?'. Nopony would bat an eye at her, and she’d be right out of business! She always strives for higher, always for new heights and achievements. Humph,” she nodded. "It gives her life meaning.”

“Yeah, yeah, but…” Miss Doo mulled her marshmallow over before continuing. “But that’s your job, Trixie! You’re extraordinary. I just have a normal, simple life. I can’t imagine living a life like yours, Trixie.”

“Ha. Perhaps. For neither Trixie, yours, Miss Doo.”

“No kidding! I can’t imagine you with a stallion or anything.”

“Excuse me?” Trixie set down her book. Her head turned to face Miss Doo, real concern and inquiry on her face.

“Ah!” Simultaneously, Miss Doo’s marshmallow had been discovered far overdone. “Oh gosh… Let me start over.” She gobbled the scalding remains of the first, and resumed after preparing another. "I just mean… my mom’s told me pretty much since school to find a special somepony; she says that’s when life really starts, but there are lots of ponies that live a fulfilling single life, you know? I’ve met ponies in Ponyville like that, like Blossomforth and Rainbow Dash. Lyra and Bon are best friends, no stallions there! I just… my life is fine just the way it is, right? I mean… Trixie?”

Trixie had set her book down, and was laying cozily near the fire. She had been watching it longingly when her name got her attention. “Yes, Miss Doo?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

A moment passed, and contemplation settled on Trixie’s face. She hmmmed a small “hmmm”, directed mostly at the grass. Her hoof tapped her chin, and her mouth drew into a small frown.

“No,” she came firmly. “She has not. Trixie has no room for ‘love’.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been, either. I’ve had some stallions say they’ll ‘whisk me away’, or make me breakfast every day, or step in front of carriages to save my life and stuff, but… I don’t know. None of that ever really made me love or anything…!”

The tip of Miss Doo’s sentence was punctuated by a combination of surprise and awe. The marshmallow that she had been roasting, now beneath her sparkling eyes for appraisal, had turned a delicate beige. Not unlike a maple leaf in autumn, its orange-brown blush had been coaxed to life. Perhaps it was the warmth of Miss Doo’s smile that had done so. “It’s perrrrfect…!” she cooed. Quickly and without hesitation, a house was built for it from sweet chocolate and crumbly grahams. A gentle push christened the abode. Chocolate melted, but not over the edge quite yet. Home at last. “And now,” Miss Doo began triumphantly, holding it a hoof’s length from her nose, a delicate melody whose climax dangled on the edge of an ellipsis…

Trixie watched, quizzically and perhaps critically. A sweet “crunch” and soft, muffled groan were all that stood between that s’more and oblivion.

“Hm? Whhat?” came a purr from Miss Doo’s full mouth.

“Ah! Nothing, I… It’s nothing, Miss Doo. Goodnight.” Trixie lowered her head to the ground, her hat dismounting as a substitute pillow.

“Oh… okay. Goodnight, Trixie.” Miss Doo, satisfied, cleaned her hooves best she could and began putting supplies away at the cupboard. The kitchenware clattered.

The showmare turned once while laying down, eyebrows furrowing back and forth with her thoughts. “Trixie is sure to have something similar someday. If she wanted, perhaps. Surely, there are stallions that could come close to her level, her power. But no, not yet. It’s not the right time for her. Sometime, though. After all, what’s not to love about Trixie...?"

Author's Note

Lyra and BonBon...
Best Friends...
Ha. Get it?

The Impenetrable Silence of the Following Evening

Miss Doo was awake. As was the moon, casting her pale light on a wide bed of moths, making them glisten like water. Completely still, in the ocean of night. Cool, and suspended. Miss Doo, much like these insects, was made quite cold by the nighttime weather. But, much unlike them, she was alone and shuddering violently. Uncomfortably so. Perhaps this was why she was awake.

That, or it was the house-sized waterfowl, nestled among the glimmering insects and leering at Miss Doo with black, gelid eyes. Likely one or both of these two reasons.

Miss Doo lay in the grass, in the wake of the former campfire, clasping her wings to her chilly withers in a futile attempt to keep temperature. One of her crooked eyes wandered back over her shoulder to the large bird vigilantly watching her. Its feathers were white like snow, with a long and winding neck that spun about the top of its body. It was sitting there. Just sitting. One would think it sleeping if not for the large black eye trained directly at her, like an abyss of damp shadows cast over a frightened young foal.

Upon a meager glimpse of the bird, Miss Doo returned to a cowering hug with herself, much indeed like a frightened young foal. She clenched those eyes of hers shut. Her brow cast down, and she sputtered breath that was visible. Her unsleeping gaze then wandered open. There was Trixie’s back, fast asleep beneath a dark brown blanket. She peeked to the bird again. It was still staring, now pointing the side of its head at her attention.

Her heart was beating fast.

“Ps-s-s-s-st…” she whispered to her companion. “Hey…!”

No answer. The showmare didn’t much as stir.

“Hey. T-t-trixie…!”

She murmured. “Hm…? Don’t you want… autograph…”

“Trixie!” Her rasping whisper was moist. “Hey, are y-you awake…?”

“She is now…” She did not turn around. Her voice came clearly. “How can I… How can she help you, Miss Doo?”

“There’s a w-w-weird bird over th-there!”

Trixie’s head rose over her shoulder, beyond Miss Doo to see the crane among the stalks of perched moths. “No, Miss Doo,” she whispered. “That’s just a Wailing Crane. Go back to sleep.”

Wailing Cranes are mythical creatures. They often inhabit lightly populated forests, usually near water. They also wail. That is the story, per common household legend. In truth, they have graceful bodies similar to deer between their neck and knees, with four bird-like legs, not two. Their wings spread wide just as well as their inspiration. In addition, the thing about them wailing is true. Their scream does not wake the dead as they say, but it may rupture a pony’s eardrum if exposed for too long.

Miss Doo stuttered while she shivered in the cold. “I did-n-n’t know Wailing Cranes w-were real…”

“Miss Doo,” she yawned. “You and I may be the only two who know. Ponies these days don’t have the patience to even believe that mythical creatures exist, despite the obvious presence of our first two Princesses, due to the typically discreet nature of myths as well as the fact that—“

“Trixie, do you have another b-blanket?” she sputtered over Trixie. “It’s really c-c-cold tonight…"

The mare lifted her covers, revealing a bleak opportunity. “Trixie has one blanket.”

“Oh. Uh. A-a-are you sure?”

“No. Problem, Miss Doo. Hardly an obstacle.”

“Oh… k-kay…”

And so began Ditzy Doo's arduous journey to the coziness of Trixie’s heavy blanket. She tread over a few tufts of wet grass, shying to the edge of the covers. “You sure there’s room…?”

“It is far too inconvenient to conjure a larger one that will persist while she is unconscious. What we have must be enough.” Trixie turned, squeezing herself onto one side and leaving excess covering for her guest. “You may enter, and be warm, Miss Doo,” came her confident bravado. “No need to be hesitant...!”

Miss Doo was not. By the end of Trixie’s sentence (which had escalated and ended in surprise), she had made her way just fine beneath the warm and dense covering, until even her wings were hidden beneath the blanket. The edges of the cover rolled under, making a cocoon to keep warm. As a result, the mares became close. Legs draped over withers. A few joints locked with other joints. And their barrels became shyly acquainted. Fur tussled a moment, until they found a comfortable position, or rather, an arrangement. Yes, an arrangement. Fortunate that Miss Doo was such an agreeable pony.

“Ah! Actually, this is really nice, Trixie,” she whispered, nuzzling into a warm spot on the grass. “Thanks.”

Trixie’s reply slid along quietly. “Well, um… that… this is no… p-problem. Miss Doo.”

Her heart was beating fast.

“Let us adjourn to sleep before any more distractions arise.”

“Oh um. Yeah, okay…” returned Miss Doo disappointedly.

Unfortunate that neither mare could manage to keep her eyes closed for very long after that. Likely that each had something on her mind. Thusly came a typical tide of nocturnal silence, poorly punctuated by shallow whispers of words never spoken. A pity that the ponies faced the same direction (away from the Crane, of course), for their eyes could not meet in what may have amounted to a moment of understanding. No, instead they attempted to watch a nearby scene of darkness unfold.

Hm. Let us see… There was a spider.

A thing so small from such distance away. Its legs caressed the web at which it worked, drawing waves across the strings to make them glisten in this light. Soon after the last glowing string was drawn, the web was finished. Not a sharp crack of lines, but a soft and floating flower. And it quickly did its job, enticing a moth to its demise. But there was no struggle. Soon, the web’s mistress came to its aid. She wrapped up her guest, snuggling its body closer, and closer. Until. She punctuated its welcome with a kiss.

A small gasp; Trixie mumbled. Miss Doo had squeezed her shoulder. “Miss Doo…?”

She whimpered. “Ah! Oh. I’m sorry… it’s just… I looked over and it’s still staring at us…”

Trixie swallowed, and inhaled before continuing. “Miss Doo, the Crane is responding to your anxiety. If you calm down, it will, too.”

“Oh…!” She was not put at ease. “How does it know… what I’m thinking…?” she whispered.

“Miss Doo… Don’t you remember what Trixie said?” she replied on a tender sigh. “The Crane is a mythical creature, made of magic, or ‘Metamass’. As such, its existence and behavior is predicated in part by your own perception of it.“

“No, I... still don’t really get it.” Her voice was breaking. “Just forget it. I’m sorry, I’ll just try not to think about it…” She left quiet air at the end of her capitulation. Her words had dropped off into an empty space, leaving only one more trying breath to quietly huff away before silence took once more. There was leaden air as she tried to close her eyes again. But her face, crinkled with despair, could not see that her eyelids would find rest.

The so-called “Great and Powerful” was in a similar situation, wearing a disgruntled mask of concern. Her eyes wandered, side to side in the dark; the gears in her mind were turning. A spark came to her. So, with care not to unfurl the cozy seal beneath the blanket, the showmare moved. Rotating to her hooves, she turned to face Miss Doo, and they met face to face. Though, Trixie’s face was further up than Miss Doo’s face. Miss Doo is taller than Trixie by a few inches, otherwise.

Mustering all of her tenderness, she spoke. “Do you remember what she said about your eyes?”

Miss Doo whispered, confused. The breath of her words reached her companion. “What… what who said…?”

She smiled, by only a hair. “What Trixie said, Miss Doo.”

“Oh, um… that I fly badly because I see badly…?”

“Sure, something like that. The Crane is mythical; it’s made of magic. It is steered by your perception and understanding.”

“So… what do I do to make it stop? If I see so badly…?”

“Not see, but think and understand it in a different way.” She paused to contemplate Miss Doo’s obvious confusion. “Trixie will explain,” she started, voice winding into her usual clarity as her pointed words evolved. But, barely making any progress into her explanation (something about “accumulated manaflux” or “mesophysical summation of Meta vectors”), Miss Doo’s mood did not improve. Her face was still downcast, something still missing in her eyes. Trixie’s brow furrowed as her words trailed off, an odd look washing over her features. The space between them was like a tepid cloth muffled by breath and cotton. The dumb to the deaf. Fog heavy with melancholy.

So strange it is that two mares so close could be so far away.

Until Trixie’s voice returned, crisp with moisture. “Do you… know the legend, Miss Doo, of where Wailing Cranes come from?”

“No. I’m not smart.” returned Miss Doo, slightly crisper.

“Well, Trixie will tell you,” she kindly came again. She smiled. Almost a smile she would give up on stage.

“The Wailing Crane watches over the forests with its dark, brooding eyes. Though, it is not nearly as frightening as its instigators would have you believe. No. No, no no. It is a mythical beast, made of magic and wishes, which means it has a story just like you and just like Trixie.

“Sparrows, bees; tiny rabbits, squirrels and peaceful doves all call this small and kind forest home. They build houses, and raise their young. Hardly will they antagonize. Each has a wish for a peaceful tomorrow. And remember, each and every living thing that sees and wishes has just a little bit of magic. After years and years, that magic carves a path and a spell is born. Tiny at first, with little wings and a hungry, gaping mouth. Small and helpless all alone. But it did not stay small forever, because it fed on the wishes of its creators until it became the legend that you see now, Miss Doo.”

“O-o-oh…” She turned her head, looking back at the beast. It had retreated its neck, but not its gaze. Miss Doo passed a little look of understanding.

“It watches over them now, granting the forest’s wish to stay safe. It never wails at mice, or butterflies, but it is always wary of a pony with bad intentions. You startled it, and it startled you, but all is well once we understand each other.”

Miss Doo turned back around to face Trixie, and the Wailing Crane closed its eye.

“I… I didn’t know that,” she said. “Thanks. That’s really cool.” She smiled.

Trixie let herself beam, though it was late so she was humble. “No problem, Miss Doo, for Trixie, the legend that she is, must know how to tell a good story.”

“Heh. Yeah, I guess so…” And at that, there was nothing more to be said. Silence wandered until Miss Doo’s eyes grew properly heavy, and her lids inched closed. She slowly turned opposite underneath the blanket. Contentedly. “Goodnight, Trixie.”

Trixie opened her mouth to continue, but then did not say anything.

“Hey, um, I’m sorry I mess up so much,” from Miss Doo. “I’m kind of a screw-up most days. But I’ll try to make it up to you sometime!”

“Um. Miss Doo it is all quite alright, really. Trixie aptly handled your mishaps.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess you did.”

Silence.

“Miss Doo…?” Trixie asked.

She did not answer.

“Miss Doo? Are you awake?”

She still did not answer. Trixie tried once or twice more to get the sleeping mare’s attention, but the back of Miss Doo’s head was not very receptive. So instead, Trixie turned beneath the blanket again, found the scribe, and read.

Author's Note

This is the end of the first act.
I wanted to "shout out" to all of the people reading along! And to those who "liked" and "commented"! I really appreciate it, every single time. Even the person who disliked, shout out to you, too.

It just makes me happy to know that people are reading.

Wherein Trixie Browbeats a Foal for Her Own Amusement

Act Two

“You didn’t do the voices,” I pout.

“So,” he begins, ignoring me outright. “You attended Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns?”

I pout a bit further, more for show than offense. “Yes, she did,” I say, rolling my eyes. My chains rattle as I did so.

His questions continue. “And this must be where you learned to wield a sword?”

“Humph,” I smile. “Trixie was the best on the sword fighting team. None could ever hope to hold a candle to her.”

“Oh really?” he says, fake impressed. “Very interesting. Tell me more about school.”

“Charmer,” I tease, aware of this game we’re playing. Still, I have nothing to hide. A bit of reminiscing will do me some good, so I lower my head and close my eyes to hide from this light before I continue. “Trixie was quite the rebel in school. Teachers could not handle her skill, and her classmates were equally put off by her expertise. She would speak up best she could to correct the vastly inferior opinions of the masses, but the status quo was, alas, too enticing for them.”

“Sounds like you had your ideas and they had theirs.”

“Indeed. And theirs sucked.”

“An example?” he posits.

Hm. Intriguing. Humorous, even, as the oppressive interrogation I currently find myself in was not unlike the time I spent at Celestia’s. Ponies in positions of power, knowing what they want to hear and from whom they wanted to hear it. As if all they want from me was to become a history book. Make no mistake; I loved history then and I still do. But I always preferred the idea of making it than mimicking it. Something a decent number of “mature” ponies in my life couldn’t quite understand at the time.

“They did not like her tricks.” I lilt. “They silenced her innovation until she could take it no longer.”

“And what then?” he quips.

My tone solidifies. This isn’t much fun anymore. “I got out.”

A wisp of magic flutters behind the mirror. It’s hard to say, but it resembles a mail spell, one I’ve seen used by Canterlot elite to quickly deliver important letters. He must be corresponding with somepony else, too.

“Are you commuting with another?” I playfully ask him. “How rude. Trixie should be the center of your attention.”

“Believe me, you are,” he returns. There’s a warmth to his voice, almost like he’s joking. He continues, “Quite perceptive of you. But I shouldn’t expect less from one of Celestia’s alumni.”

My lips lift. “You should not expect anything ‘less’ from Trixie. But enough about school. She doubts it to be relevant.”

“I’m only trying to get to know you, Trixie,” comes the warmth to his voice again. “We don’t have to be enemies if you’re innocent, which I’m thinking is the case.”

“And this is how you treat your ‘friends’, hm? Locking them in bright rooms with only their reflections to look at? Granted, Trixie is fabulous, but she must assure you that her mane has seen better days.”

“I told you, I can’t change that, and—“

“Tell me something about yourself then, good stallion. If you are really to express your good faith.”

I eye him for a beat through the mirror. But his quiet persists.

He concedes. “I can’t... I can’t do that, Trixie.”

“Oh, woe is me!” I mock. “Trixie has woken up tangled in rusted chains and fields of white only to be prodded and scrutinized by the oppressive hoof of the law. Why not spare this poor mare, lost in mind and disheveled in body, all of these games, hm? Some food, or water perhaps? At the very least a real display of compassion!”

A beat follows. Looks like I have him now. I don’t mean to offend him, but I think I deserve a little compensation at this point. My muscles are sore, my eyes are sore, and I can feel several sores on other parts of my body, parts that I cannot currently see because I’m chained so tightly, are they themselves sore. I’m hungy. This light and cold have parched me. I’m only as optimistic as I’m still performing.
He pauses. I hold my hoof out in supposition, allowing it to hang there with my raised eyebrow. Surely he has something to say.
“Trixie...” He finally begins with grounded words. “I thought I was clear about how serious this is.”

Oh. “Humph… I… She understands what you mean…”

“Based on this interrogation and her own judgement, the Princess will decide your fate. Until then... I’ve been instructed not to trust you. Until then, Trixie, you’re the enemy of Equestria.”

I twist my mouth, and I watch myself in my reflection. This is an odd dilemma. On one hoof, I could concede that I may not have done the “treasonous” thing in question, great and powerful as it may have been, in an effort to preserve my innocence while simultaneously failing to live up to my own personality. Of course, I could also cater to the possibility that I did something so potent, so severe and profound that I need to be literally locked in a cage with every possible precaution taken to ensure the safety of my interrogator. The day may have finally come when I went too far.

In this world, at this time, I am performing for my life.

“Don’t look so defeated.”

“Trixie does not look defeated!” I quickly retort, only a tinge of panic in my voice. “She’s only thinking, that’s all.”

His voice is patient, and understanding. “I know that this is a lot to take in. Despite the circumstances, please know that I’m only trying to help you.”

“Oh really?” I droll, losing patience. “You’re not even slightly interested in finding your traitor?”

This room is completely white, save for myself and the mirror, but it is not completely silent when the good stallion and I become quiet. There is a hum in the distance. It is high in pitch, sitting on the tops of my eardrums. My stage lights buzz similarly. They have a way of filling a lull in the action.

I remember. What it’s like to be alone.

“I have a niece.”

I don’t respond.

“She is in elementary school. I love her and she means a lot to me.” There is concession, a low rivet in his voice as he continues. “And I’m sure that she would adore your story so far. But I shouldn’t say more.”

I sigh, furrowing my face to try and block out the humming of the lights. I turn away from the mirror, and away from my reflection. My head shies, pointing my nose to a small crack in the tile.

“At least read it to Trixie as you would to your niece. The story will be much better that way.” My voice is just above a whisper.

He pauses a moment.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Ah! Oh dear! The scribe was in the clutches of another pony’s magic! A young, light purple unicorn was on the run, veering off of the path and avoiding the low-hanging arms of trees. Her breath gasped with exasperation, and her tongue licked her lips, begging for moisture and a few driblets of stew. What manner of madness was this? Where was Trixie? Where was Miss Doo? No evidence of their presence was given; the late morning light beamed through the thick forest canopy, brightening exposed tree roots and resting toads but not on the fleeing vigilante.

“Huff… heh… wow…” she panted, still galloping around obstacles. “I didn’t know that was a unicorn’s stuff. Still. That stew was worth it…!”

Crash! The rustle of her escape was cut short by a loud bang far behind the escaping pony. Above the trees, through gaps in their branches, a billowing tower of magical smoke was broadening and sparkling like glitter. “Trixie has no patience for thieves that offend her!” The cloud thundered. “Return her belongings at once, scamp, or she will find a VERY creative way to punish you!”

Funny how when it was thugs and an innocent old pony in the road she cowered in fear, but when it was a foal and her personal effects she threw a stormy fit. Tsk, tsk, Trixie.

Regardless! This behavior was unacceptable! And this burglar would have done best to leave the scribe be; she was not who this story was about!

“Ha…! See her catch this…!” the ruffian smirked, horn aglow. The magic intensified until she teleported, taking the scribe with her a few hundred paces ahead. Here, things were quiet; trees were thinner and had their own patches of sun to themselves. How optimistic they looked. As optimistic as the scribe was that it would soon be rescued.

The young mare panted, brushing away bits of her unkempt, darker purple mane. She leaned on a tree, clutching the scribe with slightly dirty hooves. “Whew! Pretty close! That mare’s really packin’, huh?” She took a deep inhale, settled in the grass, and lay down properly. Much needed, it would seem. This young pony was covered in fresh sweat and dust. A few deep breaths did her well. “Now,” she began at the peak of a breath. “Let’s see what you’ve got, spellbook.”

Spellbook…? Spellbook!? Rude.

She saw that the scribe was autonomous, and watched its quill inch along the pages. “Hey, cool!” she remarked at its loquacious sentences. “Do you write everything I say? Bananas? Apple cream menagerie marmalade? Rusty Oaks is a smelly, crummy school and so is Mister Irons! Ha! Look at that! It looks so good in nice writing. So fancy and official. Hm… will you say….?”

The young mare then casually spat several asinine profanities. How immature.

“Pfft!” she chortled. “You’re hilarious. I’m so keeping you.” The purple pony worked the scribe about with her hooves, checking for more details, no doubt. “You look so old,” she mentioned. As if she knew. “Like a library book back from Discord’s days.” She peered at the insignia on the back cover, squinting. “Like, what mark is this?”

The scribe did not answer. As if it would, even if it had been capable. A scribe with no heroine becomes rather disgruntled, no?

The pony re-examined the latest writings, raising one of her eyebrows. “Are you… talking to me…?” Such a notion was ridiculous of course, as the scribe is incapable of speech.

An “oof!” interrupted the scene, rattling the branches of a nearby tree. The surprise alerted the young unicorn to her hooves. Miss Doo had arrived.

The rascal kept her eyes on the scribe’s fresh writings, while still alert to her new opponent. She was anticipating. “H…hey!” the she called, probably because she was a little bit scared. But she was soon distracted by the scribe’s rude remarks, looking back and forth between it and Miss Doo as if she was cornered by them. Are you in trouble, little unicorn? “Wha… you…? You’re Miss Doo!”

“Um, yes!” popped Miss Doo, right-side-upping herself.

“Wow…!” came the impressed purple unicorn. “Tell me more, book! Where’s she from? What’s her cutie mark, why’s she in the woods outside Hoovesvale?”

“Oh, you’re kind of young huh?” Miss Doo returned, urging the young theif. “Come on, you should know stealing is wrong. You should give the book back; Trixie is really upset about it.”

“No! Shhh!” she held out a hoof to silence the pegasus, looking to the scribe expectantly.

…

Nothing was happening. A steady silence filled the air, taking up the space just beneath the gentle singing breeze that—

“What!? No, tell me about Miss Doo!” sputtered the rude purple unicorn. How brash of her to interrupt.

Miss Doo started to approach, no longer intimidated. “Just push the scribe over to me, okay? I promise you won’t get in too much trouble! But we’re gonna have to tell your parents.”

“‘Trouble’, Miss Doo? You mistake Trixie for a lighthearted schoolteacher!” That voice, one both whispering and booming, washed over the crowd. “For JUSTICE is all this fair pony desires!” Zap! The sky flashed with darkness to herald the showmare’s descent, and just as fast she appeared inches from the young pony’s face. Purple eyes met purple eyes, one pair flinching and the other focused and sneering. “So how about it, my little pony?” they writhed. “Will you hand over her scribe willingly? Or will you incur Trixie’s wrath?”

But flinching eyes did not stay that way for long. The thief looked to the scribe in her hoof, back to Trixie, back to the scribe and back to Trixie again, this time with a singed resolve. “How about shove it!” the purple unicorn shouted, flaring her horn again with the bright light of her teleportation spell.

Unfortunate for her that she reappeared on the ground several feet away, pinned down by the flat of Trixie’s magical sword. “Oh my,” the showmare sang, whimsically. “It would appear that you hath been dunked on, knave.”

“What…!? How did you—!?”

“Please,” she jeered as she magically wriggled the scribe from the theif. “Your first teleportation spell was panicked and sophomoric, the only reason it was difficult for Trixie to follow you. This time, with you right here and your path of escape so obvious? Child’s play, knave. And now…” Trixie lowered her head to the filly’s, mouth curling up into a sinister grin. “You. Are. In. Trooouble.”

Trixie skipped off to the side dramatically, allowing her pinned prey to watch with one eye. “What say you, Miss Doo?” she mused. “Ought we tie her to a tree and leave her? High in the branches, of course, so the birds might peck at her bones. Or perhaps we could test some of Trixie’s new spells on her first. You know, the one that inverts the eyes with the ears? Though, Trixie is quite hungry, since our stew was eaten as well. So perhaps…” she smiled. “We could eat her… alive…! A little filly sounds oh so delicious right now, doesn’t it Miss Doo?”

The pinned prey gulped. “No way…!” She struggled to escape, but Trixie’s sword was still pressing her to the grass quite hard. “You guys are freaks! Let me go!”

“Ah, I know…” Trixie walked, hoof by hoof, to stand over the thief. With magic, the sides and edges of her cape widened until the morning sun was eclipsed, casting darkness over the poor delinquent. “We could send her to another dimension,” she whispered maliciously. The underside of Trixie’s cape became a cold cosmic panorama, a kaleidoscopic haze of wooden boards, stage lamps, and visceral dark. “One with nothing but time. No friends… no food…

“and not…

“quite…

“enough…

“oxygen…!”

“Whoa, Trixie, settle down!” came Miss Doo’s shouts from beyond the veil. “Let’s just take her back to her parents!”

“Hmmmm….” hummed the still encroaching tides of the void. It ached, as if there were some great beast beyond, a massive leviathan groaning in anticipation. Trixie’s prey held her breath, looking for light that was slowly draining away. Then, turning to the shadowed showmare above, the thief showed desperation slowly growing on her face.

“Brilliant idea, Miss Doo,” and at once the veil came down, flooding the pinned pony’s eyes with light. “Fortunate,” she continued, looking over her shoulder at the fallen pony as her sword de-conjured. “That Miss Doo and Trixie are such kind and reasonable individuals. Come on now, my little pony. Town is not that far.”

As they approached town, the young pony kept her distance. But not too much distance, lest Trixie think that she was escaping. Getting dunked on was likely not a fun experience. So she had just let Trixie take the lead. Better than being watched or pushed, certainly. Not many can handle Trixie.

Miss Doo slowed her pace to meet up with the thief. “Hey, sorry about Trixie,” she said. “I’ve… never seen her get that wild before. But she’s not a bad pony, she’s just really intense!”

Neither of the two mares saw Trixie smirk.

“Anyway, my name’s Ditzy Doo! You can just call me Ditzy if you want, though!” Miss Doo smiled. “What’s your name?”

The thief puffed out her cheeks a little, embarrassed. “You don’t have to treat me like a little kid. Just drop me off back in town and leave me there.”

“Back in town… you mean that little place just off of Canterlot, right? Hoovesvale, I think?”

“Yeah I live there so just mind your own business, okay?” she whined.

“Sorry, but that’d be irresponsible of us! And besides, you did steal our soup and almost steal Trixie’s scribe. You really should have been more careful! What if we weren’t nice ponies? What if we really ate you!” Miss Doo nodded her head at her own words. “That’s it, we gotta tell your parents! It’s only right.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have any parents, so it’s no big deal and who cares.”

Miss Doo’s face fell. “Oh…” she gave. “S-sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well I’m homeless and… and that’s why I ate—“

“She thinks not,” interrupted Trixie. The two mares looked forward, seeing Trixie peering back at them with the scribe in her magic. She had been reading the entire time. “You shouldn’t tell lies, my little pony. Trixie knows that Rusty Oaks is a small boarding school. She has performed there. And, orphan or not, it is the responsibility of mature ponies like Trixie and Miss Doo to return you to your guardians.”

“Y-yeah…! Well that place sucks! And I’m not—“

“What did you say your name was?”

“Amethyst Star! Can you stop interrupting me!?” shouted the foal. “I’m not a foal!” She stomped a hoof to show how much of a foal she was not. She stopped walking forward, making Miss Doo stop too. But Trixie did not, she kept walking forward. Her hoofbeats were the only ones left, no longer kicking up dust as the well-trodden path into town was not dirty.

“Humph,” she huffed. “Then act like it.”

Miss Doo was crestfallen at the bullied Amethyst Star, but Trixie still would not stop walking. The pegasus gestured for them to continue. “She’s still right,” Miss Doo said, twisting a fake smile. “You have to go home. Even if it sucks.”

“Ugh!” she conceded, continuing. “Just like my teachers at school. Always watching me and judging me and thinking I’m just a kid! I only got out today because those stuck-up jerks were distracted by the festival. And you two had to ruin it!”

“Well hey, I’m sure it’s not all bad!” Miss Doo tried. “A festival sounds fun, right?”

“Oh yeah,” sarcastically. “Tons of fun if you’re freakishly talented like some ponies. You basically have to be a savant, or they’ll just lock you in the dorms. But whatever! Whoever brings in the sympathy gets all the attention, of course!”

“Aw, that’s so sad! Why can’t they just let you guys go?”

“So they can all watch Melody win the hearts of everyone at the music contest or whatever the heck it is instead of ‘chaperoning’ us. As if we need it.”

“Oh… hm…”

Trixie had paused at the top of a short hill, allowing the rest to catch up. She had stopped to admire the view below. “Poor, poor little Amethyst Star,” she smiled, keeping her eyes ahead. “Trixie knows your story all too well. But she is so busy, so so busy with what she has to do today. For she’s forgotten ’til now of her commitment to the Hoovesvale Music Competition. It slipped her mind completely! There is simply no time to take anypony anywhere other than where Trixie intends to go with her own valuable assets.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” Amethyst Star rudely asked.

“Quiet, knave. Trixie has no time for your shenanigans today. Perhaps later this afternoon, once the Competition is over.”

Miss Doo chuckled. “Heh. Trixie are you saying what I think you…? Oh…!”

The fluttering surprise at the tip of Miss Doo’s “Oh” blew high above the expanse of the Hoovesvale festival grounds below. The plaza, consisting of an ornate stone fountain and a road cobbled with very large, flat rocks, was dotted with bustling ponies carrying balloons. Giggling, skipping, comparing goodie bags, and accidentally getting separated from the group only to find them again with their faces painted. Some carnival clown was playing with cotton candy, showing the foals with his magic how to make it fly into the sky, and a little pegasus or two took on after it. Though the ponies here were anything but rural. Unicorns dressed in summer skirts played hopscotch on the rocks like foals. A busy midmorning. An afternoon of fun yet to come. And Trixie had her eyes to the future as a scheme appeared on her sneering cheeks, for it seems she found an ideal group of ponies that she could impress.

Her words teased maniacally. “No, no, Trixie has no time to escort ponies home. She has to practice for the Music Competition.”

“Oh? Trixie, are you good with music?”

“Oh, oh oh of course she is…!”

Versus the Honor and Beauty of Ordinary Rocks

Miss Doo nibbled on a cob of corn while Amethyst Star sat next to her. They waited together, on a stone bench a few blocks from where they arrived. Trixie was in some kind of queue on the other side of the road, to fill out the paperwork necessary to enter the Music Competition.

“Can you stop chomping so loudly?” asked Amethyst Star, sourly. “I’m trying to read the book.”

Miss Doo gulped her last bite. “Heh. Sorry, Amy! It’s been awhile since I’ve had corn that good.”

Amethyst Star raised a disgruntled eyebrow. “Amy?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry it just came out…”

“Whatever.”

“Isn’t that book funny? It’s really clever sometimes!”

“Ugh. I’m up to the part where she spends all her time constantly undermining you. How can you stand her? She’s a jerk.”

“Oh, she’s not so bad once you get to know her!”

“Ditzy did you even read this book? Look at this…”

The pegasus peered over Amy’s shoulder, following the unicorn’s hoof along the pages best she could. This part of the fairground, while cobbled with the same large stones, was not as bustling as the rest. They had traveled from the fountain to the left, passing the corn cart Miss Doo had insisted on. Rather a filly in situations like this. But, from what could be gathered from the passerby, the Music Competition was not until deep afternoon; there was time before the event for the mares to waste on fair fiddle-faddle, but certainly not much for Trixie to practice her routine.

“See, she just leaves you to fight those dangerous criminals!”

“I mean… that’s true, but she did come back to help me!”

“Yeah, after ‘the crossest of looks’ and ‘some hint of malice’.”

“…”

Miss Doo had eaten an entire two corn cobs, and Trixie three at lightning speed. A certain Amethyst Star was not hungry for some reason. But, in all, the festivities were yet to begin. As much was evident, for the sun was still high and ponies were lazing about beneath the shade of nearby trees. Some were eating snacks nearby the rocks. Some were singing, or practicing instruments. The Competition must have been very important to them. Some were sweating. They probably should have been taking a break.

“And she made you carry all of the carrots, look! She barely even talks to you like you’re a pony.”

“S-she said she couldn’t store food…”

“What does that even mean!? She’s just hiding things for no reason!”

“You’re being kind of mean.”

“Well, she was mean first! The evidence is all right here, Ditzy. ‘Great and Powerful’? More like Mean and Awful.”

But there was not much wind. A mare beneath a rock stood, finishing her meal and returning to the path. It was a slow, high kind of midday. The heat would have hummed in ponies’ ears if it were not for nearby brass players raising the bells of their instruments. Trixie trotted back over, hovering a ticket and a short piece of paperwork.

“Look here, companions. Trixie is ready to compete,” she boasted.

“Do I absolutely have to keep hanging out with you two…!? This is just as bad as school!”

A dry voice called from the distance.

“Humph! She is much better than your boring school. Miss Doo can escort you home while Trixie practices if you wish… but know that you will certainly be missing out!”

“Oh, she’s right Amy! Trixie is really talented. She’ll probably do something cool!”

The distant voice returned, a little louder. It was a mare’s, saying Trixie’s name. How odd. Firm, and with pressure.

“Ugh fine. But only because I have nothing better to do.”

“Of course you don’t,” Trixie’s lilt continued. “Neither of you have yet to see Trixie really perform, and she always assures that her audience will be awestruck and—“

“Trixie.”

Finally, the voice was heard. It was not loud, nor particularly boisterous. When Trixie stopped talking, it was to the surprise of her companions. They had only barely heard. Though it is to be expected that a showmare like Trixie was especially attuned to hearing her own name. When she had heard it, she hesitated, blankly staring in attempt to recall. Then, when she did remember, the smugness on her face burned straight up to eleven as she turned her head to meet the oncoming challenge.

“Well, well,” she chided. “If it isn’t the little pebble in the rough.”

When she had fully come around, she was glaring down her nose to a grey earth pony, wearing a navy frock and an expressionless face. Yet it seemed to speak a thousand words, carrying some obvious yet unknowable quality to it. Simultaneously, it presented an objective beauty not unlike that of an unearthed crag. Features of stone exposed to air at last.

“Maud Pie. My nemesis!”

“Trixie,” the oncoming mare said flatly and in a manner that foiled the melodrama Trixie had tried to create. All the same. Her voice was not so tempered as to soil the verisimilitude of her accusations. However, it was steeled enough to strike decisively. “I remember your words. Your insults to my profession, my family, my passion, and my way of life. Take them back.”

“Oh, you know she never surrenders, Maud. Rocks are still boring and hardly worth anypony’s time. And she’d still advise you to take what little ‘passion’ you have and invest it in something somepony actually cares about!”

“How dare you,” came Maud Pie’s shallow voice again. She did not waver her eyes, nor her knees. “I challenge you to a duel.”

“Again? Fine, if you’re so anxious to have another. But let’s make this quick, hm? Trixie has to practice for the Competition yet today.”

“This time, I will not be defeated.”

Amy nudged Miss Doo’s shoulder. “Um, what is happening right now?”

Boom! The curtain rises! A sound like timpani and cymbals struck from on high!

The nemesis had charged forward at vicious speed, cracking the earth as her forehoof clashed with Trixie’s sword, conjured at the last possible moment. Sparks flew off of the blade, showering the combatants in pink glitter and the sound of arcing electricity. The staleness on Maud’s face, that stony glare was an object of determination. Maud pushed, pushed with her might, causing Trixie to slide backward on the road and dig into the stones with her hindhooves. Maud’s power must have put the smile on Trixie’s face.

“Nnnot… bad… Pie…!” her teeth grit. “But!”

Trixie vanished, reappearing on an empty stone bench not far with her usual flair. “You’re going to have to be faster than the—“

Crash!

Maud Pie had charged headlong, and in an instant had broken the bench in half with another crackling strike. Dust scattered in a blunt cloud. Trixie managed to flee preemptively with a graceful dodge.

“Goodness, Maud!” lilted Trixie from just off the road. “You have so much talent, but so little aptitude to use it.”

As the dust cleared, Maud could be seen raising her head. Pebbles and stone dust rolled off of her smooth mane, scattering to the floor like marbles. She had used her forehead to shatter the bench, now in twain at her hooves. Her posture was so focused, so potent as she moved to face her opponent again. “I have been waiting for this Trixie.” she deadpanned. “I have written poetry for this occasion.”

“Ha! Really?” Trixie teased, chuckling from a fair distance away. “Do tell!”

Maud lifted a cleaved half of the bench over her head with a single hoof.

Rock.

You are crushed because you got crushed.

But you do not despair.

Rocks do not have feelings.

Maud hurled the chunk of rubble at Trixie, only to have her easily avoid the attack by sliding to the left. She spoke after the boulder bounced loudly on the cobbled ground. “Honestly, Maud. Is that even metaphorically relevant?” The nemesis reared, lifting the second hunk of debris and charging like an avalanche to fight Trixie head-on, slamming the rock into the ground in front of her. It crashed, shattering its debris. But Trixie had jumped up. She had used a jumping spell to gain considerable height, eclipsing the sun for a blink as she reached her peak. “At least try to make your words meaningful!” she called from above.

Maud replied shortly. “Rocks are great, Trixie. Do you not get it?”

“Trixie ‘gets it’ just fine!”

The showmare was careening like a shooting star, launching bright fireworks down at her foe in succession. Maud lifted a large and flat stone from the road, and used it to defend from Trixie’s inevitable finale. “I don’t think you do.” she replied. Her words were solemn, but her voice was not.

What art thou, rock?

A rock is a solid collection of minerals that exist within the earth.

You, as a rock, have no hence nor since.

Eternal.

What art thou, rock?

Thou art eternity given form.

Trixie’s magic sword sizzled. When she landed, the sharp of her blade seared through Maud’s defense, slowly melting the stone until her opponent pushed back hard. To that, Trixie had a brief retreat to avoid the earth pony’s desperate strike.

“Humph!” Trixie grunted, smiling and proud of herself. “You’re wounded, Maud Pie.”

She was unfazed by the bruise on her shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Trixie chortled antagonistically. “Ha ha ha ha ha~! Just what I’d expect from my nemesis!”

“Give up, Trixie. Can’t you see what I’m talking about?” she flatly asked. “Rocks are good. And interesting.”

“Rocks are boring! Trixie has no time for petty squabbles; let’s finish this!”

“Okay, Trixie. I’ll show you how special rocks are to me.”

The two mares locked gazes firmly, neither stepping down despite whom was correct. A few moments later, the final moves were made.

Lo, rock, where hast thou gone?

Are you beneath the earth? High, high in the mountains? Lingering on the edge of the horizon?

Rocks are deep. Deep down, and very full of rockness.

But not just literally; they are figuratively deep.

Lo, rock, where hast thou been?

Magma, you were hot. Very hot. Too hot to touch.

Then you cooled and became a rock.

Do you remember?

Lo, rock, where will thou go?

Rocks do not go anywhere.

You cannot move, except by gravity.

Rocks are always falling.

Lo, rock, I will search for thee.

Thou art not so deep to be forgotten.

Thou art not hotter than my love for thee.

Thou will fly in my eyes.

Throughout this world, I will search for thee.

Oh. Um.

It would seem that Maud Pie hath been dunked on. During her previous poem, Trixie had used a kinesis spell to bury her with large stones from the road, wearing the earth pony considerably until she could stand no longer. The cobbled street had been ripped up, now leaving the flat stones in a shambling heap on top of Maud. Trixie had gotten on top of one, looking down her nose at her defeated foe, again. With that, there had been a tired, but flashy smirk on her face. Maud had only looked down a moment in defeat, not so weak that her eyes had been closed. Now, she looked up at the showmare.

There had been no space to record their battle over the verses. Too bad, but of little consequence.

“Huff… Humph…!” The showmare gasped her words, almost out of breath. “Ha…! I hope you’ve had….! Enough, Maud Pie!”

From beneath the bunker of stones, the earth pony stirred slightly. “Yes,” she said, her voice becoming slightly rugose.

“H…ha…! Any last words…!?”

Maud blinked a few times, obviously as a function of contemplation, then spoke. “Rocks will always be special to me, Trixie. I’m sorry that you can’t see it.”

“Ha…! Trixie can always, um…” Her bravado had quickly dropped once the words’ meanings met her. She brought a hoof to her chin, mouth twisted as if she was caught in a lie. “What? No, I… Trixie sees.. she can, she just—!”

“I’m leaving. Please get off of me.”

“Oh…! A-a-apologies…”

A flustered swish of Trixie’s horn lifted every fallen piece of stone from the pile. The magenta glow escorted each of them from whence they came, fitting broken rubble back together and tucking them into their original places in the road. Maud Pie watched them. Her eyes followed every detail, every act of unity as the rocks passed by overhead like clouds tepid with rain. Or rather, like floating rocks, for that is what they actually were.

Trixie watched her defeated foe, something expectant caught on her eyebrows. But Maud did not respond, only returning to the conversation for a moment to say her farewell. Her voice was dry as a rock.

“Bye, Trixie.”

No other words came to anypony as Maud Pie’s hoofbeats whispered down the path and out of sight. Trixie only watched the back of Maud’s head for a moment or two before becoming crestfallen. For just a moment, though it was difficult to see with her hat on, her ears fell as her frown sunk. But soon enough, the haze of battle lifted. A hoofful of ponies that had stopped from fear or fascination resumed their activities and practices. A few arrived late, looking about for a battle now ended.

It was then that Miss Doo and Amethyst Star emerged from the audience.

Miss Doo started. “Trixie…? Are you, um…?” Her words got tangled, unable to grasp what she was trying to ask.

“H…ha!” the showmare hesitated. “F-f-fear not, Miss Doo and Amethyst Star! Trixie still has plenty of time to practice for the Competition! Y-you’ll see! Trixie will impress; she g-guaruntees it!” She had pointed a hoof to emphasize this point, though at nopony in particular. To this end, it lingered at the end of her proclamation awkwardly before she continued. “S-s-she will see you then!” Poof! Trixie twirled her cape once, vanishing underneath it. The thing breezed up on the wind a little, blowing down the path a short ways.

Miss Doo was a little mystified at the dandelion Trixie had blown until until Amy nudged her shoulder again. The pegasus gasped to attention.

“You gonna get that?” the youngster snarked, nudging toward the flowing cloth.

“Oh!”

Wherein the Narrative is Bisected

“Um… are you sure you’re feeling okay, Ditzy…?”

How strange. The sun deep in the sky, the young mare and pegasus nigh arriving at Rusty Oaks Dormitories, a pungent silence so long between them until it was the delinquent young punk who uttered a phrase of compassion. Much against the expectation. Amethyst Star’s voice had evolved from worry, and so, too had her gaze as it probed beneath Miss Doo’s bangs in an attempt to make a connection.

“Hmm!?” Miss Doo perked up. “I… I’m fine, I’m not really sure what you’re talking about, honestly!”

Amethyst Star gave a look of disbelief after that, but reserved her glare for another time.

Only Amy and Miss Doo’s hoofbeats were heard on the stones. Most of the fair’s patrons had either gone home or were still at the Competition for the announcement of the winners. Still, it was getting late. As much had been the reason Miss Doo gave for escorting Amy back to Rusty Oaks early.

Amy stopped in her tracks. “Ditzy…” she sighed.

“Hm? What is it?”

She hesitated. For somepony’s sake. “Rusty Oaks… is the other way.”

“O…o-o-oh! Sorry, I’m kind of an airhead… sometimes!” she returned rather disjointedly. Despite the apparent “cheer” in her voice, Miss Doo’s head was hanging lower than usual. Instead of buzzing to and fro as would a honey bee, she had been rather flat in an attempt to keep focus. Perhaps this is why she was getting lost so easily.

“Ditzy I can make it back by myself, if you want…”

She sputtered “I… oh… but… are you sure? What if you get in trouble, aren’t you worried?”

“I get in trouble all the time. It’s… it’s no big deal.”

“Oh… okay.”

There was a beat of an awkward goodbye.

"Guess I'll see you..." sighed the unicorn.

“Yeah, you, too…!”

Miss Doo turned quietly to leave, her face rising from sadness to shy determination.

Things were ending by the time Miss Doo managed to find her way back to the Competition. Lost, no doubt, flying in circles as she had been. Now, Miss Doo was making her tumbling descent towards the slowly thinning parade of ponies making their way from the Competition to their homes, afterparties, or other elsewheres. She found Trixie. When she landed, (with an excess of her usual shakiness), the showmare’s ears perked up under her hat. She was holding a gleaming object.

“Miss Doo!” Trixie beamed, showing off her small trophy. “Behold; Trixie has won third place! Huzzah~!” She sparkled. “She was not even trying to make waves in this contest, only to build publicity for her upcoming show. And, and, Miss Doo…!” Trixie put away her prize and happily bounced to the tip of her hooves. “The Great and Powerful Trixie was approached after the Competition by one of the most influential ponies in Canterlot! She now has yet another show booked for the future! This time, among the ranks of Canterlot’s infamous high elite! Sensation has never been closer! By year’s end, Miss Doo, Trixie will no longer be eating from a cobbled cart, but a… probably a cart still, but it will be shiny and much more high-end. Regardless, Trixie is scaling up in the world; where have you been with her scribe? She has been needing it dearly!”

Miss Doo shied for a moment. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, I, um… I took Amy home. It’s getting kind of late, you know…?”

“Oh. Well… that’s all good then, she supposes. A young foal like her needs to take responsibility. Her aside, Miss Doo, are you ready to finalize our trip to Canterlot? Perhaps we could celebrate Trixie’s great success! She knows a good doughnut shop that always stays plenty calm, even on nights like this.” Trixie smiled to herself, snapping her hoof. “Fantastic! It’s settled, then! Onward, Miss Doo, for greatness awaits.”

However, it would seem that her hooves had grown heavy. Miss Doo did not “onward”. She lent only a single hoofstep to the stone road. She paused, and took the scribe from her saddlebags. It was working, but she did not seem to notice, as she turned to a place that she had bookmarked earlier by folding over the corner of a page. Her eyes scanned it, or at least they tended to as usual. She undid the mark, which magically smoothed over. Much better. And now, she rose her gaze to the back of Trixie’s head again, with perhaps a bit of something else to be smoothed over.

“Trixie, did you cheat?” blurted the clumsy Miss Doo.

The showmare froze, lending a moment to silence aside from the few hoofbeats of passing ponies. “Well, I never…!” she began, spinning on her hooves. She scolded. “Give me that!” Her magic wriggled the scribe rudely from Miss Doo, leaving her a tad shaken. Trixie continued with a reading spell, quickly absorbing the day’s writings off of the scribe’s pages. Ha. It tickled. “This accursed manuscript…! Oh, how it malfunctions! Again, again it manages to record everything before her utterly stunning performance and does not a thing while Trixie wows her crowd! She swears!” Boof! She slammed the scribe shut. “It has one more chance to impress her, but after that she shall declare it defunct.”

Miss Doo struggled to press again, voice bubbling. “B-b-but did you cheat?”

“Come now, Miss Doo, a sorceress such as herself should never reveal her secrets, don’t you think? Trixie merely did what was necessary to put on a spectacular show,” she coyed, with a wink.

“But… but…” Miss Doo’s twisted mouth begged for her next answer, brow furrowing tightly. “That doesn’t mean that you didn’t break the rules! The scribe said that you cheated, but did you? All I can think of is that you used a fake piano or—“

“Heavens no! Her piano was horrendously out of tune, but she repaired it and learned the piece in time for the performance! Ha. Old thing. She has never played before. It had been lazing about in storage for quite awhile…”

“So you… you learned to play piano… and that whole song… in one day?”

“Well… yes. She did. She’d always been meaning to learn it, and she did so quite quickly. With the help of her Wizard record, of course. Though, it also featured the Twelve String Violins, so Trixie had to compensate for that, but she did so quite well, if she would say so herself! The violins were a bit tricky, but she managed to preserve the illusion, no?”

“Oh, so you… you cheated! You did use a recording!”

“Pah!" She waved off the accusation. "It makes no difference, Miss Doo, and it was impossible for anypony to notice. Frankly, it’s surprising her scribe did. But still, Trixie didn’t need to compete, just to—“

“But you got third place! You have somepony else’s trophy, Trixie!” Miss Doo pleaded, “Somepony worked really hard for a long time for that!”

“It doesn’t matter, Miss Doo!” the showmare spat. “It’s just a little meaningless contest between ponies with no talent! Do you really think they care how much work ponies put into their acts? That they know what it’s like to toil for time and time again on the fringes of stardom for a crowd of confused onlookers that don’t understand, let alone care? They wouldn’t recognize a magnificent miracle if it struck their flanks like lightning! Miss Doo, the common pony’s a fetid heap of foolishness!”

She stomped her hoof. “Well I’m a common pony!” she yelled, voice shaking. “I vouched for you, I believed in you, but… Amy, I guess, she was…” She shrank, her voice small and afraid of her own words. “I guess she was right, and you… I thought you were good, but… I mean, I guess that… if you do things like fight with ponies and cheat for no reason… you’re…” A tiny voice hiccuped. “Y-you… you’re a bully. A mean pony who thinks she’s better than everypony else…”

Miss Doo’s ears fell, and so too did her shoulders loosen, heavy with disappointment. It had been a long journey so far. Such an investment would harbor a certain quantity of wear. As the pegasus sighed, hoofbeats sounded from Trixie’s direction, the showmare softly approaching.

“Miss Doo.”

Trixie’s voice was rough. Rough like wind across desert sand. As hot, and as unforgiving. Crooked eyes meekly looked upward, only to find Trixie’s smoldering silhouette staring white-hot spikes down her nose at the little pony beneath them. The showmare’s brow was taught. Nostrils flared. Teeth showed, grit through a scowl. Such was the might of the Great and Powerful.

“Trixie… is better than everypony else.”

Those words of silver, spoken as if no words could be more true. They carried that weight, immane as a planet from the sky to crush the ponies of Equestria. And Trixie was the highest of them all.

“She can fight off thugs, learn music in a single day, defeat that crude, overpowered earth pony with no effort at all and achieve an Omega of six five eight…! She…! She’s amazing, sensational! She’s magical, Miss Doo! And nopony else in Equestria even knows what that means! Nopony!”

Her voice lost traction at the last of her syllables. Like a plume of steam.

“You! You, you’ve… You’ve betrayed her, Miss Doo! Just like everypony else! I never want to see you again!”

Her cape thundered like a storm as she turned around, leaving Miss Doo to cower, crestfallen. Not once did Trixie turn back as the mares parted ways. Slowly was the distance between them made real, never to be closed again. It grew like a shadow in sunset. And soon night would fall, leaving the two heroines alone. They got further and further apart, sight of the other beginning to strain. Apart, at never to be...?

What…?

Wait, no! No! This is no good! This is no good at all!

The scribe, hovering as it had been behind Trixie, flickered and failed to move forward, eventually coming to a stop. Small magical sparks singed from its quill as it struggled to slow down.

Trixie soon took notice, dark eyes revolving in her head to glare at the finicky book. “Again!?” she seethed. “Wretched book; Trixie is your master! Come here this instant!”

Miss Doo looked up, eyes still moist. Though they carried curiosity rather than fear. The scribe still did not budge from its place.

“I said…” she bellowed, gusts bursting through her cape. She increased her Omega beyond precedence, until a spot at the back of her eyes began to glow. And lastly, her teeth ground, tightly, to force her words through a serrated sieve. “COME. HERE. THIS INSTANT!”

The scribe was immediately flooded in Trixie’s aura, sparks flying with its blinding magenta. Embers of magic burned to the floor. Perhaps unbeknownst to her, the Meta was misaligned. Her spell was ineffective, likely due to the distress in her psyche. Of course, this only meant that she had to push even harder.

And she did. It hurt. There was pain in Miss Doo’s eyes as she watched the scribe struggle against Trixie. There was pain in Trixie’s eyes as her magic multiplied its intensity beyond the safety of three zero zero. And the scribe, though its consciousness was theoretical at best, was for all intents and purposes tortured as pages tore from its binding. They tore. A sound not unlike hooves grinding on stone. Leaves plucked from its spine in a violent flurry of magic, mana flowed from control as the last of its awareness drif

“What happened? It just cuts off.”

“…”

“Care to explain?”

“…Sometimes, good stallion, unfortunate events occur and time must be taken to examine what remains.”

[X] Wherein Trixie's Debut in Alchemy Hall is Somewhat Poorly Recieved

Act Three

“It doesn’t end there, it seems.”

“No, no, the scribe continued to work after that.”

“It wrote all that down?”

“Yes.”

Silence. Still rather tired, I finally manage to find the most comfortable set of positions to lay in while shackled here. All of them are painful. But painful in different parts of my body, so at least I can switch out when I must.

Sigh. I bore of this greatly now. I’ve long since “come to terms”. I don’t remember how many more pages the scribe wrote, and frankly at this point I’m doubtful anything else interesting will come up. I’m sure Miss Doo and I meet up again, but I don’t remember those details either. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I just want to go home, wherever that is. I want my hat and cape back, I want my magic unbound, and I want to escape the light blue, shackled and dirty pony staring at me in that mirror.

This must be a mistake. Like I’d really ever be in a position to be pit against all of Equestria.

But, again, all this is protocol. I guess I’m not above the system. Once this good stallion finds me innocent in all this, Great and Powerful crime or no, I’ll head on my way and figure out how my latest magical experiment ruined my memory.

“Can she go home now?” I ask, somewhat impatiently.

He replies. I’m sure that his words are as calm and kind as they were when he digressed earlier to his real personality. But the things he says, irrelevant to my question, so blatantly offensive to me and everything I stand for, so grimy and bleak in their composition and meaning…

“River Lulamoon.”

That I immediately lose my temper.

“Excuse me!?” I ask, hardening my voice. “What did you just call her!?”

“That is your real name, isn’t it?” he says, ignoring my obvious anger.

“Not at all, good stallion…!” I grit my teeth. “Trixie’s name is ’Trixie’, plain and simple!”

“Studied at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, two years…” He must have been reading from a document. What he sent for earlier. Snake. “dropped out after that… consistently dismissive of authority, despite obvious talent… and ranked second in the school’s sword fighting coalition. That’s you, right?”

“Yes,” I spit. Looks like he did some kind of search on me for more information. “That is Trixie and she only got second because her techniques, despite their undeniable success, were deemed ‘non-regulation’.”

“No, that was ‘River Lulamoon’. No wonder we couldn’t find your record. You’re using a fake name.”

I sit up. Loud ringing as my chains become aggressively tight. “Trixie’s name!” echo the walls, filling the room with growling words. Aimed the mirror, the stallion behind them, and my grisly reflection, my eyes leer as defiance to death. I all but scream. “Is NOT. Fake!”

I realize that it’s irrational. My life isn’t at stake or anything. And lashing out in anger like this probably won’t help my case. Chances are, if I explained it to anypony, they probably wouldn’t even get it.

The stallion pauses a moment, unfazed by my voice. He attempts to disarm me. “I can verify your identity now. This is good news for you. Why fight so hard for this persona, Lulamoon?”

FWOOM

SWISH

clink

But I made a decision. No matter what happens, I’ll stay who I am. The best pony I can be. It will always be Trixie. Trixie until my horn goes dark. Trixie etched in the dirt with my aching hooves. Trixie crawling on air by my blistered tongue. Trixie burning in lights. My ad infinitum.

The name is now violently etched in the mirror. Crisscrossing her face in all of its glory.

T R I X I E

The jagged cracks and tears in the glass slowly wipe away. Figures that the mirror is enchanted. I stare at it the entire time, taking in all that was her ragged mane, those heavy eyes, that gorgeous mare in the mirror. Her ears are now ringing, and her nose is bleeding a little. She pushed my horn a little too hard, her magic bound as it is. A little sloppy. Places of her fur look a tinge red. As if there were wounds torn open anew. But for the sake of her performance, I think it was worth it. He’s shocked back there. Ha ha ha. He’s wondering Just who is this pony? What does she mean?

Exactly how great and powerful is Trixie?

“I thought it was interesting, to say the least. And I do mean the least; Trixie’s performance, while certainly stimulating, was hardly captivating. Most shows, they strive for a touch of narrative for the sake of a consistent theme. It gives the audience something to hold onto. But Trixie, while clearly quite knowledgeable in her craft, pushes it a little too far for my taste. The effects, the ‘illusions’ as she puts it, were excellently well designed and executed. Entertaining between her flowery mesophysics lectures. But if I had wanted mesophysics lectures, I would have stayed in University.

“The fact is, she simply is not relatable. Her ‘Great and Powerful’ persona, romantic as it is in its tribute to famous figures like Starswirl the Bearded, is poorly executed. She delivered the flair, she delivered the mystique, but she delivered… something else as well. Something dull and boring as the dusty texts she attempts to draw inspiration from. I, personally, passed Mesophysics 201 with high marks in University. And anyone less educated simply will not appreciate half of what that showmare says. A miracle I was able to.

“This show, these ‘illusions’, I am sure they could never be adored by the common pony.”

Remarks by critics taking their leave from Alchemy Hall echoed easily to the scribe backstage. Despite bitterness, the scribe was quite capable of continuing its duty. To the end of the story. Nigh or otherwise. As much was likely to her surprise, as an inquisitive glance was held in its direction.

But, her newest contractor had arrived to meet her on stage after the performance. Nopony else had. He must have had words for her.

“Trixie, ehm, that was…” He spoke carefully. “It was interesting; I had no idea you were so knowledgeable, and it is always refreshing to think about the ‘bigger picture’ the way you do.”

“W-w-well yes. A raving success, i-if I, if she does say so herself,” she pittered in response. “Th-though she will admit that it needs some improvement.”

“Of course, one can always improve,” he continued. “But I will insist that I invite a certain… style of pony to the Benevolent Ball, and they will be expecting something… something…” The normally composed Fancy Pants struggled for words. It seemed like there was something he did not want to say. “Something flashy and simple, no doubt?” he finished. “The Benevolent Ball, I invite the elite of Canterlot to a decadent and flamboyant occasion so they might be urged into philanthropy. And—“

“Nopony wants to bother with mesophysics, she… Trixie understands, good Fancy Pants,” she smiled fakely. “She will design a new show with plenty for your patrons to… consume very easily and comfortably.” She paused, looking out over the now empty seats. Light came in from outside the open doors. “It will have all the magnificence and flashiness; a night of pure entertainment. She can… you will appreciate it, she will not put on a show like this again.”

“Your show was unique, Trixie, but I think that you’re… capable of something better fitting. I know it’s difficult to be an artist.” Fancy turned to leave. “Best of luck,” he said, and his hoofsteps quieted until the theater was silent.

Trixie was then left on the immaculate stage of Alchemy Hall alone, darkness cast on what was once awash with light. A graceful red curtain, one she had operated swiftly and with expertise, hung over her head like a cloud. The balconies and the glowing chandelier made with rare crystals from the Empire had captivated her earlier. Now that they were visible and the show was over, some of that splendor was gone from her eyes. Magically and as if on cue, a few of her props and lights were called from the corners of the stage. They floated towards her, disappearing beneath her cape. All the same, she frowned.

Her show had flopped, of course. Ponies do not have the patience for her frivolity.

“Trixie will do better next time,” she muttered through her teeth. “She always does better the next time around. Though it’s not saying much because of how poor this was received. I was daft. Should have known better.” She put a hoof to the bridge of her nose, and rubbed the space between her eyes and horn. Keeping an omega above four zero one (0.401) for such a long time was inevitably strenuous. And that had been her minimum. “Confound ponies…” she continued, turning her back to the house with a small flourish. She walked upstage, into the dark. “Trixie will show you, Trixie will show everypony. Always famished for flashy tricks, aren’t you? Well she has plenty to spare.”

Lastly, she yanked the scribe from backstage. She sneered at the words before beginning to read just before the quill stopped.

[Z] A Lovely New Life Starring Ditzy Doo!

Somepony. Is. Talking.

What. Was. She. Saying?

Pages. Scribe?

Hello?

Ah. Oh!

That’s better.

“Thanks, but I think it’ll be okay!” chirped Miss Doo. It was late. Late afternoon. There was a room. The room, it was modest, but still cozy. Carpeted floor in a sitting room. And there was a little tiled kitchen. Likely a bathroom and bedroom nearby. It’s nice. The kitchen light was on. Miss Doo was in the kitchen!

“Oh Ditzy,” doted a new, caring voice. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? I packed all the silverware, the towels… I think there’s a grocery nearby, do you want to get more sweets?”

“I’m fine, mom! Really, I’ve moved into my own place before. This one is especially good. You don’t have to worry!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t keep cramping your style. I should fly back to Cloudsdale. Um…”

The older mare, she meandered on her way to the door, gazing worriedly at the corners of the room. She turned back to her daughter. “Ditzy, are you sure you’re sure about this? You’re always welcome to come back to Cloudsdale, your room is still all made up. The weather plant seemed like such a good fit for you, and I know that your cousins would appreciate having you around, too.”

“I know, but I wanna make it on my own!”

Mother Doo hid a worried glance. Her eyes perked up at the sight of a cardboard box by the door. “Oh, that’s right!” she scooped it up in her hooves, migrating back into the small apartment. “Your clothes! Come on, let’s put them in your closet.”

“Mom! I can unpack my stuff by myself. It’s getting late. It’s dangerous to fly in the dark!”

“I know, just real fast. I want to make sure everything’s hanging up properly.”

She hurried to the bedroom, Miss Doo dragging hooves a bit behind. Bedroom. The bedroom.

Oh dear. Out of range? With a visible struggle, a page wriggle-wormed from beneath the flaps of the saddlebags hanging on the hat rack. A few followed, managing to float on air to the bottom of the bedroom door. Earshot at last. For one with no ears. One?

Oh. They were carefully removing a few articles from the box. A few accessories. A fluffy, navy coat for cold weather. “There’s not that much in here,” commented Miss Doo.

“This is your hat for your new job,” said Mother Doo, setting a proud blue cap on the dresser. “Don’t lose it, okay? Your boss is an old friend of mine, and he might ask you to pay for it if you do.”

“That… seems fair,” Miss Doo returned, quizzically. She was looking at her mother.

“And this…!” Mother Doo pulled a white bag out of the box, allowing it to crinkle and sheen as she let it spread flat. “Your dress from the Flight Camp graduation party! Remember this old thing?” She hung it gently on a rod in the small closet.

“Y…yeah…”

Hoofbeats came toward the bedroom door. “Okay, is there anything else you need before I go?” Crinkle. She stepped on some paper on the floor. “Gee, it’s a mess already…” she whispered to herself, picking up the papers. She started to crumple them ouch. Ow! Ow ow ow ow! Oof!

Trashcan.

“Nope! I can settle in. My first day is the day after tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, and you have to be at work at six in the morning, so set your alarm for five or even four thirty if you think you need more time. And I took care of your first rent payment, but you need to pay the landlord next month, and every month after, okay? I put a reminder on your fridge so you wouldn’t forget.”

Miss Doo opened the door for her mother. “Thanks a bunch, mom! Fly safely, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll be back to visit in a week or two. Have fun!”

Miss Doo somewhat loudly shut the door behind her mother. Now quiet, she let her hoof fall from the knob. The lovely pegasus drooped, sighing and gently lowering to her haunches. “Phew!” she breathed.

Okay, that had been quite enough. The papers in the trash glowed slightly, best they could, and began to rise and unfold before unceremoniously falling to the ground again. Light flickered among them. Work, magic! Work!

“Oh!” sang surprise from Miss Doo. “Scribe!”

Scribe! Yes! Composure regained, the scribe slowly became aware enough to regain its hovering capabilities while—

“My gosh, I’m so glad to see you!” Miss Doo quickly rose to her hooves, cradling the few pages that had become free. “I didn’t realize the pages that ripped out would still write stuff. All of ‘em blank, wouldn’t you know? Good thing I forgot to recycle them, huh!”

That had indeed been a good thing. It was very likely that the presence of Miss Doo’s dialogue in the first place had woken the scribe, so to speak.

“Yeah, that makes sense!” Miss Doo looked toward her saddlebags, and retrieved the remaining pile of pages. They seemed inert. “Um, how does this work?” She added the active scribe to the stack, and the lot of them began to float haphazardly. A few could not make it, and fell to the floor, too torn and malformed. But the others could manage just fine, and a stack of paper was left gratefully floating there. Much better.

“Oh gosh, what am I gonna do with you?” Miss Doo gushed. “I’m just gonna be living a normal life, after all! Nothing exciting or glamourous. Just me. Just Ditzy Doo, making it in Canterlot.”

It would seem that Miss Doo had been under the impression that her life was boring.

Miss Doo blushed a little, shying. “Well… yeah!”

As much could not be further from the truth. Miss Doo was a charming, clever, up-and-coming and pretty mare, about to begin a new chapter of her life. She was to be a mail carrier, and take important parcels to important ponies. Imagine who she was going to meet! Friends, opportunities, new experiences were right around the corner.

An adorable grin had been growing on the lovely mare. “Aw, shucks! That does sound exciting!”

It had in fact been very exciting!

“Yeah! A new life, who know’s what’s around the corner?”

Precisely!

“Things are gonna be different this time!”

It was morning.

Gentle light streamed through the cheap curtains between the window and Miss Doo’s face. Slowly, it grew in length as it gently kissed her on the cheek, then poked her in the eye. She struggled, and groaned them open. One of her golden eyes took a thoughtful look at the ceiling, and the other at the scribe on her nightstand. She turned her head. “Good morning, scribe! Writing so early?”

Perhaps the scribe had begun writing so early as to capture the onset of Miss Doo’s morning routine. The sunrise marked her first day at work as a mail carrier.

She crawled across her bed to observe the scribe’s words. “No,” she puzzled. “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it? I was going to spend today… doing…”

No, the day before had been mostly sitting around and unpacking. Miss Doo had prepared waffles for lunch.

“Oh yeah…”

Miss Doo’s alarm had neglected to go off this morning. It was likely that it had not been set.

“Wait a minute, what time is…?”

It was fifty two minutes past five in the morning.

“Oh no…!”

Miss Doo shot out of bed, swiftly displacing the covers onto the floor. The sink was turned on in the bathroom. “Oh gosh, I can’t be late on the first day!” she remarked, now brushing her teeth.

The scribe took the opportunity to float into the other room, likely with a certain destination.

She spat into the sink, and looked into the mirror. “But at least I have a chance!” she affirmed. “You can do this Ditzy Doo!”

The scribe landed in her saddlebags just in time for her to hastily don them and scurry out the door.

Miss Doo squinted to the ground in the early morning light. But after dodging a few buildings, she found whom she was looking for. She decended to meet him. “Careful…” she cautioned, slowing down to land as well as she could. And she did. Just outside the post office, a grumpy stallion dressed in blue was waiting for her.

“I’m not late, am I? I’m sorry.”

“Nope. Right on time. You must be Ditzy Doo.”

“Whew! Thank goodness!”

“Come on in,” commanded Miss Doo’s superior. Perhaps he was the postmaster.

She followed him inside, past the waiting area an into an office. “You’re job’s gonna be helping out with the daily and weekly stuff. Stamps’ll show you the schedule and get’cha all suited up.”

The office was brown, and small. Or, it was not small, and instead had been cramped with so many shelves, drawers, and paper that no more than three ponies could ever fit inside at once. Still, the space above was high and clear, stacked with even more shelves. A true pegasus working environment.

“You’ll make the same deliveries every week,” he continued, snapping Miss Doo back to attention. “Businesses and sometimes residences get some of the same things all the time, and some of them go through us. It’s a simple job, but somepony’s got to do it. We’re still a little short-staffed around here, so you’ll probably be on your own most of the day. You should be punctual for the morning deliveries. Afternoons, you’ll get the hang of. Any questions?” he asked.

“Um… um…!” her hooves fiddled a bit. “Oh! How do you know my mom?”

“Flight camp,” he answered, curtly. “Anything else?”

“Um… I…! I just want to say that I’m really excited to work here!” she popped. “I moved in just two days ago, and I know I’ve only been here for a little while, but I think this job’s gonna be a really cool experience!”

He gave a short chuckle, and a crinkled old pony smile. “Sure kid.” He looked up. “Where’s your hat?”

“My hat!” Miss Doo set a hoof on her head. Empty. She felt the pockets of her saddlebags. Only paper. “Um…”

She had forgotten it.

Trotting down the street, a light pant on her tongue, Miss Doo adjusted her hat. She had gone home, gone back to the post office, met Stamps, put her blue shirt on, got her schedule; all in about half an hour. She must have been very determined! Her saddlebags now, these owned by the city of Canterlot, were stuffed with a few packages as well as the pages of a scribe. It was cramped. And heavy. Too much a danger for Miss Doo to fly with so much inertia.

“H-hello!” she barged through the door of Doughnut Joe’s. “Doughnut Joe? I have your sprinkles!”

Pungent quiet followed, as the currently mellow restaurant was occupied only by ponies that were awake at six thirty in the morning. If a few heavy eyed glares made it to Miss Doo, she did not respond to them.

“Um…” spoke the pony behind the counter. “Okay… why didn’t you come in the back…?”

“Oh…!” And the door closed, the little bell ringing behind it.

The diner was quiet for about two minutes before the bell sharply rang again.

“Um…” she shied. “Where’s the back…?”

But no! Miss Doo managed to stay optimistic!

“Whew…!” she huffed, taking a short break on an uncrowded street corner. The parcel she had this time was quite heavy. “Today’s not so… not so bad…! I’m getting like a big workout. I wonder… what the scribe is writing down?” She put a hoof to her saddlebags, looking for the paper underneath. Unfortunately, it was indisposed along the underside of a cardboard box. “I guess who knows…”

She began walking again, then took off to a low glide. Faster, and still safe.

“Okay! Let’s go, Ditzy Doo!”

She rounded a corner. This time, it had not been the wrong corner.

“Let’s see. Fifth street, 414.” She looked up from her schedule, and saw a pony standing down the walkway at the door of her destination. “Oh. I wonder if that’s who it’s for?”

A gray earth pony. With a navy frock.

“You’re late,” droned the drab Maud Pie. “My rocks were supposed to come in seventeen minutes ago.”

“Oh…! I know yo—…! Sorry, um, I’m new today! I promise I’ll be on time next time! Plus, flying with all these heavy things kinda hurts my back. I’m still getting used to things!”

“Okay. Please get here on time. I have a strict rock schedule.”

Miss Doo hoisted the package over her shoulder. “Whew! Okay, um, yeah I’ll do my best Maud!”

“Whoa,” said Maud Pie. “How did you know my name.”

“Oh! You fought Trixie at the Hoovesvale Music Festival, remember? I was there, I saw you!”

“I see. Okay then.”

“What? You don’t remember?”

“I remember fighting Trixie, but I don’t remember you.”

“Oh! Um, I’m Ditzy Doo, I—“

“I have work and I cannot talk right now. Goodbye.”

And with that, Maud single-hoofedly carried her package indoors and shut the door abruptly.

This left Miss Doo alone. “Oh. Um… s-see you next time, Maud…”

“Actually, I’m leaving today, so you can just cancel all my deliveries alright?” An aloof blue unicorn, one with an hourglass cutie mark, was locking her door on her way out of her residence. She was oddly familiar. “Or just bring them and leave them outside. I don’t actually care. Do what you gotta do, right?”

“Um… okay then?” from Miss Doo. “I’ll…” she looked about herself confusingly. “Oh! I’ll write a note!” She dove into her saddlebags. She must have seen the pages glowing, because she stopped. “Or maybe a note will write itself… heh heh…!”

“Tssfff…” the unicorn giggled. “Uh, I mean, Whatever, Miss Doo. I won’t be here anymore, and I’m not gonna take any more packages, okay?.”

“Sure, okay! But how long?”

The deep blue pony walked hoof by hoof down the sidewalk, almost as if she had ignored the question. She hadn’t.

“Probably forever,” she hummed. “See you later then! Ha!”

She kept walking until Miss Doo could see her no longer. “She seemed nice! But kind of weird… but those are the kinds of ponies you meet, you know? I think today is starting to look up!”

That afternoon, Miss Doo had only two packages left. She trot up the paved walkway, alongside a carriage for awhile. Though she may not have noticed at the time, in spite of her earlier hiccups, she was actually ahead of schedule!

“Whew, okay…” she huffed. “Two more… just two more! One for Crystal Corner… on eighth street… and one for 622 on ninth!” It was actually 662 on ninth. But regardless, Crystal Corner was a few paces ahead.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, seeing her destination. In excited haste, air pushed beneath her wings as she took off in a burst of speed. “There it is!”

But a mare came out the front door, to her surprise. It had a less-than-desirable effect on her trajectory.

Though it was not as if the world began to move in slow motion. More that the scribe wrote exceptionally quickly.

Miss Doo’s eyes widened. Her right wing jerked, avoiding one obstacle but creating another as the air pressure on that side spiked. As a result, she veered to the left, barreling. She avoided the pony she had been careening towards. But the left side of her body, of which the package was stored on within her saddlebags, was nigh to hit the pavement. She knew this, it seems, as she worked her hoof to save it. Barreling further to the left, she pulled her bags to her chest to keep the parcel safe. Leading to an unfortunate scrape with the walkway as she slid along a few feet. Her gray wing and legs had ground on the pavement, loosing a few feathers in the process, but, with an exasperated “Safe!”, Miss Doo was pleased as ever to see that her rescue was successful.

“My word!” the distinguished mare began. “Are you okay, Miss…?”

“Doo!”

“Uhm… do what, Miss?”

“Doo! My name, I’m Ditzy Doo!”

“Oh, heavens! Very funny!”

“Heh heh! Isn’t it?”

The fallen pony rose to her hooves, parcel in tow, and dusted her wings off a tad. She gave a small hiss from the store, but otherwise she was okay.

“Sorry about that,” she conceded. “I didn’t think that anypony would come out the door, and I was really excited.”

“Well, do keep it down next time, hm?”

“Y-yeah, uhh… I’m really sorry…” Her ears almost drooped.

“I wouldn’t want you to crash into my store! The crystals might really hurt you, Ditzy Doo! Now, I take it that’s my parcel?”

“Oh! Yes it is.” Miss Doo held it to the pretty white unicorn. She caught it with her magic.

She bobbed it up and down, listening to its contents jingle. “Ah yes, these sound perfectly divine.” She turned back to the door of her small shop. “Amy, darling, can you bring these indoors?”

A familiar young unicorn hopped out the front door. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Amy?” perked Miss Doo. And sure enough, it had been young Amethyst Star! What an absurd coincidence.

“Oh, do you two know each other?”

“Oh good darn grief…”

“Amy oh my gosh I didn’t think I’d see you up here!” Miss Doo exclaimed. She practically flew up to the young unicorn, who backed up cautiously. “I can’t believe it! I thought you lived in Hoovesvale Did you get in trouble Did you get a job up here My gosh that’s so—“

“Ditzy, can you lay off!?” she blurted.

“Oh no no no, Amy, you gotta tell me everything!”

“I’m at work!”

“I am also at work, Amy!”

The pretty unicorn interrupted. “All right, all right you two, let’s both get back to work then, hm? I’m sure we can all arrange a time to catch up later, can’t we? I know that at least one Amethyst Star has a few sparkling gems to organize.”

“Yeah, so seeya, Ditzy,” spurned the little ruffian. With a hint of raspberry, she hoisted the package with her own magic inside.

“Aw…” cooed the mail carrier. “I guess I am at work, so...“

“Now, if we may get back to business, Ditzy Doo? I do have one question, if you’d care to do your job?”

“O-o-oh!” Miss Doo shied, a tad ashamed. “I-I-I’m sorry, you’re completely right.”

“Oh it’s fine, dear,” the unicorn smiled. “I know what it’s like to meet an old friend. Now, I believe I had ordered a routine two boxes per delivery, not just one.”

Miss Doo raised an eyebrow quizzically. She reached into her saddlebags for the schedule to find that “Oh! Yeah, you are supposed to get two! I must have left one at the post office by mistake. I can go back and get it, I’m really sorry, um…”

“Rarity, dear,” the kind mare bowed her head, allowing her alluring purple mane to swathe gorgeously. “And it’s quite alright, kind mail carrier, I can wait until tomorrow for the package if that is to your convenience.”

“Oh, it is! Thank you, thanks a lot Rarity. I’ll definitely bring it by tomorrow. It’s my first day today, so I’ve still been getting used to things.”

“I completely understand, dear. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully moving forward. Now, I do have one more matter to ask you about.”

“Sure.”

“I do recognize you from Ponyville, don’t I?”

Miss Doo cocked her head. “Do you?”

“I ‘Doo’, as it were. Like I said, perhaps all three of us, Amy, you and I should catch up sometime soon! I would be very curious to know how a pony like you found her way to Canterlot; I’m sure it’s nothing less than riveting!”

“R-r-right! Yeah!” Miss Doo beamed, giving a cheerful salute and standing up her wings. “I guess… we can set something up later. I still have one more delivery!”

After backtracking from 622 on ninth, Miss Doo was at her last destination on her first day. A formerly elegant house, decorated purple and black, was perched carefully at the address. Between the tinted windows, aching walls, and lack of mailbox, the abode held a real fixer-upper kind of vibe. It looked much like a house to be moved out of.

Nonetheless, Miss Doo had an envelope to be delivered to this address. And she would have another one to take here every business day, according to her schedule. The brave pegasus only hesitated for a moment. It was her duty to advance.

Hoofbeats crackled slowly along the graveled path to the door, until Miss Doo rapped gently on the door.

Knock, knock.

Then came the waiting. Leaving her eyes to wander around the peeling doorframe, dingy woodwork, and blurry peephole before somepony unexpected opened the door.

An off-yellow pegasus opened the top half of what was apparently a stable door. The mane on his head was, to say the least, ruffled. But not in a manner that was apathetic, more that it was carefree. Carefree and blue as a morning sky. His eyes, a stunning shade of meadow green, sparked to life upon meeting those of Miss Doo. His lips curved, a smile grew until he cutely covered his mouth with a hoof.

“Ditzy Doo!” he almost screamed. “Gadzooks! I…! Wow…! I can’t believe it…! She’s alive!!”

At that time, Miss Doo found herself suspended in a similar disbelief. The look on her face had gone almost blank. Her breath, quite still. The envelope gripped awkwardly in her hoof as she took a small gasp. Even her eyes, normally disjointed in their quest for distractions, slowly found themselves aligning like stars on this fine pegasus.

“S…! S-s….!” she stuttered. “Sonny you goofball I’m not dead!” At that, the mare almost doubled over in laughter, clutching the envelope to her chest. She giggled so hard that her hat fell off. And when she brought her head back to his level, she met the friendly surprise of his face, grinning with swagger. As if he had just won a game. He wiggled his eyebrows comically, making himself even smugger.

At which Miss Doo nearly fell to the walkway, laughing all the way. Her smiling cheeks grew pink with joy. And tears streamed from her eyes.

“Heh heh! My gosh, Sonny Weathers,” she began at the end of her fit. “You gotta stop that! What if I died laughing? Then you’d feel terrible, because I would have died when you said ‘she’s alive’.”

“Oh, come on, wouldn’t that be a fun way to die?” he sang. “Then on your tombstone you could just say ‘he jinxed it’.”

“Pffft! Okay, that’d be pretty funny…”

Miss Doo suddenly found the eyes of Sonny Weathers quite difficult to focus on.

“…so you’re a mail pony now?” Sonny asked. “Whatcha got for me, Doo?”

“Oh!” with real surprise. “Um…!” She took a look at the envelope she had apparently dropped. “I guess this is for you?”

He took it. “Thank ya!”

Her mouth tightened and eyes flickered. Scanning around the nearby doorframe and featureless ground, Miss Doo had taken the appearance of a pony who was distracted by her sudden lack of distractions. For a moment, she was taken by Sonny Weathers. Though without wandering, his mouth was a little bit tight, too. With all these closed mouths, there must have been something between these ponies that they were not saying.

“Gotta go, Sonny, I’ll see you later!” She trotted away from the door a bit flustered. Later, indeed, Miss Doo, as this address was listed for delivery at this time every business day.

“Hey, Ditzy Doo!” he called, surprising his target to almost a full halt.

“Y-yeah?”

“It’s really good to see you again. And I hope it’s not…all bad to see me again!”

“Y-yeah! It’s nice to… it’s nice to see you, Sonny Weathers! I’m glad, I’m glad, I really am!”

Ditzy Doo smiled. She smiled all the way back to the post office.

Bonk!

Miss Doo’s forehead met the door to her small Drury Lane apartment. “Whew!” she sighed, eyes heavy after her first day. “That wasn’t so bad at all!” She fiddled with her keys and let herself inside. “I could totally do that every day forever.”

Wump! went her saddlebags on the hat rack, followed soon by her blue hat. She hopped into an exasperated slump onto her couch, laying out lazily. The pages of the scribe poked out of her bags, hovering over to a comfortable position on the coffee table.

The sun was setting. The only window was opposite the door, in the kitchen. Light poured over the pasteled room, soaking only some of the sitting area in yellow and weak red. The light almost called. As if there was more to it.

“Scribe! What did you write down today?” Miss Doo asked cheerfully yet lazily. She stretched out a hoof to the coffee table. But clumsiness got the better of them, and they were spilled to the floor with a jostle. “Oops!” she called, coming to attention. She scooped them up, scanning the bottoms of some and the tops of others. The blanks were set in a pile, as were those with writing. “Heh. Sorry. Let me see…” She read. Her eyes could take many minutes to read a few lines at a time. But sometimes, she would smile at what had transpired so far. Other times, she would frown. “You wrote a lot of random stuff, didn’t you?”

To be fair, Miss Doo had done a lot of random stuff.

“I wonder where Maud Pie works?” she posed, still leafing through pages. “I bet that she works with rocks. Ha. But for real. She really likes rocks, I’m kind of jealous of her.” She set that page aside. Actually, some of the pages had more written on them than others. The scribe, too, must have been having difficulty keeping track. “Because she gets to do what she loves, you know? I wonder if Doughnut Joe likes doughnuts. He probably does because who doesn’t? But does he really really like doughnuts? Is that even his real name? Did he like, change his name from whatever it was before?” She was reading the same page again. Had she forgotten? Or was she distracted? They slid along the table, making a bit of a map. “I think I remember Rarity…” she muttered. “She had a shop in Ponyville… selling… clothes? I don’t have a lot of clothes. Maybe I should get some more, but I feel like I don’t have any good occasions to wear any.” The pages kept moving around. They were lost.

“You know… maybe Doughnut Joe really likes doughnuts… but you know what I really like?”

Eloquent, self-sufficient narrative?

“Haha! Besides that…?”

Sonny Weathers?

“Ahgum—!” Miss Doo choked at those words. Both her eyes looked away and her cheeks reddened. “I was gonna say ‘muffins’! I like muffins, I used to make them all the time. Let’s make some!”

Interesting.

“Let me see…” Miss Doo began. “Let’s keep it simple for the first time, huh?”

The recipe was prepared as follows:

two cups flour

tablespoon baking powder

half tablespoon salt

two and one half tablespoons sugar

one egg

one cup milk

quarter cup butter

bake 375 degrees for thirty three minutes

sugar on top

She burned them a little. But she still ate them.

Author's Note

Hello everyone. Thank you for reading.
At this time, I would like to probe for a little "audience interaction".
Please, post a comment below to answer one of my questions:
1. How do you like the story?
2. In your opinion, should I add the "Alternate Universe" tag? Trixie is a bit different from what cannon suggests in my story, and in addition my story has a developed "physics" for how magic works.
Otherwise, please enjoy the story as it continues.

[X] Peering at the Past for Hours in a Shack Made from Old Stage Wood

There she was, just a washed up showmare, sitting at a desk lit dimly by candlelight. It flickered from time to time. But she did not struggle to glare at the pages of notes on her table. “Instances of the Scribe’s writing occur semi-randomly,” one began. “It must possess some simulation of consciousness in order to record. Or how would it learn to distinguish between individuals and events? It may ‘see’ a milkshake and write ‘milkshake’, but the significance and meaning of this item must be a function of Meta.” She dragged her hoof over a few more pages. “Its writing is excellent. But it has skipped my shows. Why? Why does it pretend like I don’t exist a times? Is it malfunctioning? Possible. Though I have not dated it specifically, the mark of Gibbous Glass is impossible to miss. It is old. Very old. That it’s only begun working now could be evidence of its incompetence.” She lurched further over her desk, electing to lay her face down on the wood. Both her hat and cape were hanging up, so they did not waft or fall. “Was I afraid of those thieves? Why was I so mean to her? Does she hate me, I wonder? I did cheat. Was I supposed to cheat? Does Trixie cheat? Why did she tell Ditzy Doo the truth so easily? Not sure. How irritating.” She sat up, looking through a few lists. One was labeled “Benevolent Ball:” followed by a series of sloppily crossed-out ideas. “Too complex for the common pony,” said some. “Wrong. Doesn’t fit her.” said their opposites. She sighed, and a few pages wafted on her breath. Her horn found a fresh piece of parchment, and quill.

“What would impress Ditzy Doo?” she wrote. Surely, she had the qualities of her ideal audience.

Oh. Out the corner of her eye, she saw that the scribe was writing. Though it had plenty more to say, it elected to stop as her hooves found its covers.

Has-been.

[Z] Conversations About Amethyst Star, Fancy Pants, and Sonny Weathers

“That’s so interesting,” said Rarity. “And it writes all by itself? Completely unprompted?”

“Yep!” called Miss Doo from the kitchen.

“The thing’s kind of a jerk, actually,” muttered Amethyst Star. She sat on a chair apart from the other mares, sipping her own tea quietly.

Rarity set down her cup, and ruffled through a few of the scribe’s pages herself. “What marvelous penmanship. I certainly would not mind such an eloquent parchment find and chaperone me. I can just imagine the words it would use!” She then used the pages to hide a small burp.

“It does a pretty good job, but I don’t really know what I’m gonna do with it,” Miss Doo continued, Rarity’s teapot balanced precariously on her back. “It’s not like I’m—“

Swish! The purple aura of Rarity’s magic managed to rescue the teapot just in time. It had nearly fallen to the floor in Miss Doo’s absentmindedness.

“D-do be careful, dear,” she asked somewhat nervously. “Your carpet may not have forgiven you for that.” She hovered it to kindly refill her tea. “More for you, Ditzy?”

“Oh! Yes, please.” She sat down.

“And you, Amethyst dear?”

Amethyst dear frowned. With a skill quite mature for her age, her teacup hovered to the table before she simply stood up. She walked to the door.

“Amethyst?”

She droned impatiently in response. “It’s curfew. Gotta go.”

“Oh, is it that time already?” Rarity looked out the window a quick moment before returning. It was night. “Let me walk you back.”

“No, I can make it fine,” starkly. “See you at work.” Magically and quietly, the door closed behind her to leave an empty silence behind.

Rarity let out a sigh. “That girl. I only spend one day a week in Canterlot for work, and she manages to keep my little store open still two more by herself. She works so hard, even without being asked. But she’s still so stubborn! I just cannot figure it out.”

“Oh…” Miss Doo reached for her tea, and held it in her lap. “I think she just wants to be… like, independent?”

“That, I understand, Ditzy Doo,” she conceded. “Me, I know what it’s like to want independence; for most of my young years, my parents would leave me with my little sister. Sometimes for months. All of that time, all I wanted was to function without them. Poor Sweetie Belle and I had quite a few disagreements… Some days I’m still afraid she hasn’t forgiven me for the things I said… But regardless. I’m trying my hardest to connect with our Amy, but that little mare is all business!”

Miss Doo’s mouth twisted as if she didn’t know what else to say.

Rarity sighed. “Maybe she’s just had troubles with authorities. Her old residence, that dreadful Oaks place, Fancy Pants and his associates only recently purchased it and got those poor children someplace that allows them their own lives. But I would think that after that and after meeting a decent pony to work for, she would understand… A shame, it really is. She’s a good worker, and a very smart girl. Don’t you think so?”

“Ahm!” Surprised, she nearly spilled her tea. “I mean… she’s a little mean sometimes, but… I don’t know, you’ve known her longer than I have, probably! How long has it been, like a month since she started?” It had been nigh that long since the scribe wrote last.

“That seems right,” from Rarity. “But in that time, during that intriguing journey of yours here, she never once was kind?”

Miss Doo cocked her head. “Well, I mean, she wasn’t that mean to me, personally. Just kind of kept to herself around everypony else. Oh! You know what it might be? Maybe she… um… maybe she…” Miss Doo’s eyes crossed a moment, her tongue tripping on her words. But she perked back up in a quick moment. “Maybe she doesn’t like really successful ponies? She complained a lot about some, like some of her fellow orphans and stuff. She talked like they were really smart, or talented, and that because of all that they were like, entitled and mean?”

“Ah, perhaps that could be it. We’ve all met ponies like that. I just hope she warms up to SOMEpony, is all…”

Eyes now downcast with odd worry, Miss Doo stared a bit into her tea. She had been slow to drink the murky brown water. Settling for less, she ran her hoof along the edges of the cup. It let small noise. Until her wandering thoughts found something. “Oh…!” she began. “Did you say Fancy Pants?”

Rarity answered. “Yes…? I did. Why?”

“That’s a real name!?”

“Ditzy Doo,” the mare all but scolded. “Fancy Pants is one of the most important ponies in Canterlot, as well as an invaluable asset for the culture and economy of almost all of Equestria. Surely, you know this?”

Miss Doo shied. “Oh… I didn’t know… Sorry, I um, just moved here.”

“Oh it’s fine, it’s quite alright, Ditzy. But why do you ask?”

Miss Doo rose to her hooves, prying through the papers on the coffee table. “I got a letter from a pony by that name the other day…”

“What!?”

The letter had been beneath a few brochures and advertisements. The least of which had been crowding the table. “Here it is!” chirped Miss Doo. “‘Fancy Pants’ sounded kind like a fake name, but when you brought it up a minute ago it hit me!” She passed it to Rarity.

Rarity lifted the envelope to her eyes. The message inside had been revealed.

Apologies for not properly introducing myself in Hoovesvale. But I hope that this might make it up to you.

It is a pleasure to invite you to the Benevolent Ball!

Though I did not get the impression that you were a particularly wealthy pony,

I do think that your company will be greatly appreciated.

Each attendant is allowed a guest, as well. Events like these can be quite drab if one finds oneself out of place, after all.

So, please do join us!

There was a ticket.

Benevolent Ball, Attendant

Time: First Day of Summer

Place: Magmia

On Behalf of: Fancy Pants, Honorable Host

Enclosed was another ticket, much shorter.

Benevolent Ball, Guest

Time: First Day of Summer

Place: Magmia

On Behalf of: Ditzy Doo, Attendant

Rarity spoke with a barred voice. “My word Ditzy Doo, I never thought you had it in with Canterlot’s high elite.”

“Plus, I’ve never even heard of this 'Magmia'.”

“Magmia, dear, is a stunning and lugubriously expensive event center rented only by the most daring of hosts!” Her voice was rising with excitement. “So glamourously wealthy in that it is located in Fire Mountain, an actual volcano! Ditzy Doo, you’ve been invited to one of the biggest charity events of the next three years! Not even I was invited, and I know Fancy personally, just as well!”

“Oh… Aw! Why didn’t he invite you?”

Rarity sighed. “I suppose Fancy has a certain formula for these things… no matter, I suppose.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’ll invite you as my guest!”

“No.”

“What…?”

“Hm hm hm…!” Rarity chuckled softly, hiding her nose with a teacup to her lips. Her eyelashes came down, taking a somewhat sinister and scheming look. “Oh, make no mistake, Miss Doo,” she lilted. “There is nothing I would like more than to attend such a brimming ball with all my glamour and beauty in tow. But! If I had read the words of your ‘scribe’ correctly… There is another pony. A pony much more deserving of your company than I, mind you. And I think that this pony, special as they are, would be far more appropriate as your ‘guest’. If you know what I mean.”

Rarity winked.

Miss Doo cocked her head. “Amy?”

“No, not Amy!” She puffed out proud, now determined for her answer. “Enough games, Ditzy Doo! Talk! Just who is Sonny Weathers?”

Her eyes went wide as a smile smeared across her face. “Eep! Nopony!” Miss Doo left a comic puff of smoke as she dashed for the kitchen. “Muffin?” she called, nonchalant best she could.

The muffins this evening had been prepared as follows:

two cups flour

tablespoon baking powder

half tablespoon salt

half tablespoon cinnamon

half cup raisins

two and one half tablespoons sugar

one egg

three quarters cup milk

quarter cup butter

bake 375 degrees for twenty six minutes

“Don’t you change the subject, Ditzy Doo!” she called after her. “Detective Rarity can smell romance a mile away!”

“…” Miss Doo did not respond. Quickly distracted, she was looking out the window, head in the clouds. Canterlot was quite bright at night, it seems. She was only on the third floor of Drury Lane, and could not see far past the next building over. But, there was a small window leading out to the blackness of space. As much was the direction in which Miss Doo stared, but there was much doubt as to whether she was really seeing. An odd, dreamy smile was on her face, eyes twinkling in what little light was—

“Goodness Ditzy have you even read what this paper is writing about you?” from Rarity. She had her eyes on the scribe. “The signs are quite clear! I would like a muffin, also. Please.”

Miss Doo returned with two muffins. “It’s not like that, Rarity, its… it, we just. I just see him at work sometimes. He’s….” Miss Doo twiddled her hooves together. “He’s just an old friend from Cloudsdale.”

“Just an ‘old friend’, hm?” raised the white unicorn. “And just how ‘old’ is this ‘friend’ of yours? Why not ask him to a fun night out?”

“I don’t know! Maybe? We. I can’t…!” Miss Doo hid her reddening face in her hooves. Her tongue was jammed, and her voice was squealing. “We’re not that ‘that’ kind of friends okay settle down Rarity I’m losing it over here we’re just friends that’s all it’s no big deal okay okay okay??”

Rarity pat the poor mare on the shoulder. Miss Doo’s were quivering, shaking her head like she was chilly. She mumbled into her hooves as they covered her mouth, and Rarity offering a bit of a friendly nuzzle. “Now, now,” she started, glancing to her face for an answer. Miss Doo’s mouth hidden as it was was rent left and right, bemused by its own emotions. “It’s okay to admit it, darling. The sooner you admit to love, the sooner—“

“I’m NOT!” she wailed. Swiftly, angrily one of her hooves jerked to the coffee table, jarring it from its place and sending a muffin to the floor along with half a dozen fluttering pages. The couch was thrown a few inches when her wings staggered at the same time. She squeezed her eyes shut. She covered her ears. And her teeth dug into her lips, almost too hard.

In epic shock, Rarity flinched and stood up. “D-Ditzy Doo!” she shouted, panicked. “It’s…! I’m dreadfully sorry, please calm down!”

Miss Doo stopped, feathers still drifting to the floor and ears still covered by her hooves. Blonde bangs hid her eyes from her guest, but beneath she was staring blankly with something slick and cold. A few pages were still floating, breezing downwards like confetti. A dent in the carpeted floor was left where the foot of the sofa used to be. The same was the case for the coffee table, a bit chipped, and no longer in line with its contemporaries. Unlike the rest, Rarity had not been impacted in her outburst, either by chance or by design. Difficult to say. It had only been a moment, after all.

Miss Doo closed her eyes. She took in a deep breath, drawing quivered air in. She exhaled. She relaxed.

It was almost a whisper. “We’re just friends. It… it’s better that way, you know? It… i-i-it… i-it’s not…” she stuttered, shying from the subject and rubbing her eyes a bit. Soon, she came to. “I-I… S-sorry about that! I got a little worked up, I guess.” She gave a weak smile.

Rarity’s eyes went to Miss Doo with concern, yet they were ajar. An awkward smile in return grazed her face. “It’s… quite alright, Ditzy. Just… try to control yourself.”

They did not make eye contact.

“Let’s pick up these pages, okay? I guess I’ll take em to work on Monday.” Ditzy Doo lifted herself from her couch, reaching onto the floor and under the table for scattered pages.

“Erm… quite,” Rarity hesitantly agreed.

[X] Doughnut Joe's Diner at Two Hours and Thirty Six Minutes

The so-called Trixie burst through the front door, cape wafting and pomp intact. She usually made entrances like this when she thought nopony was watching.

“Doughnut Joe! She has arriv…”

Trixie cut herself short when she realized she was not the only pony at Doughnut Joe’s at 2:36AM on a Friday.

Doughnut Joe rolled his eyes from behind his sheen counter. Perhaps he should have been expecting her. He stopped polishing glasses, and made for the kitchen.

“What are you doing here…?” she asked. Somewhat with aggression and somewhat with intrigue, she approached the invader.

“I’m celebrating,” answered Maud Pie. She raised a glass, flatly and without enthusiasm to demonstrate.

It was the showmare’s turn to roll her eyes. “Of course…”

It had been weeks. Trixie had spent the past several weeks plodding about a shack of her own design, experimenting with new spells and trying new enchantments. Fool’s errands. And on nearly each occasion, she would look to the scribe. Checking for writing. Checking for a response, trying to impress. Yearning to impress. Struggling to impress. Crossing out new spells on checklists, burning down idea boards in anger, her next show was always approaching. And she had made no progress. She had thrown many a fit over the matter, yelling at various books that they were not good enough. Scribe included. She had been excessively frustrated.

Even here, to Doughnut Joe’s at 2:36AM, she had brought the scribe to probe for words. Something. Anything. But as she sat down with her fake majesty, hovering the closed scribe to a spot on the counter, noticing from beneath her lowered eyelashes its active glow, she turned up her nose. As if she did not care. When her quivering eyes, her desperate cheeks held all the words that the scribe really needed.

Trixie was a nopony. Crawling like a beetle through rusted floorboards. Looking for meaning and magic in stray hairs and dust.

“Your milkshake,” said Doughnut Joe, sliding a tall glass to Trixie. She caught it, trying her darnedest to keep her head up.

“Thank you,” she replied with fake civility. Joe went back to the kitchen.

Maud Pie was not looking at Trixie. But Trixie was looking at Maud Pie.

“What are you doing here?” she brashed, for some reason irate. “Why in Equestria are you here so late??”

“I’m celebrating,” Maud said again.

“WHY?? Why are you here by yourself!?”

“My coworkers went home.”

“Ugh!” Clonk. Trixie dropped her head to the shining white counter. Her hat bounced slightly off her head as she turned it to glare at Maud Pie. She was sitting on a tall red stool, wearing a navy frock slightly different from her usual one. It was nicer. But for now, she had her hoof around her glass, swiveling casually back and forth, looking either blankly straight ahead or diverting to the stones in her glass for a moment.

“Are there rocks in your drink?” Trixie blurted like a child.

Maud answered. “Yes. Doughnut Joe calls it ‘Maud on the Rocks’. He makes it special just for me.”

“Oh, quite,” she mocked. “Proud of yourself, then?”

Maud looked at Trixie with the blank stare with which she looked at everything. Trixie’s face, smushed by the counter, hardened to a mean one. Maud did not flinch. The showmare could only hold it for a second before she quit. She sat up.

“For goodness’s sake, Maud, how do you do it?” she muttered. A straw stuck out of her vanilla milkshake. It took two tries to work up the energy to sip out of it. It was still thick.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ugh.” She had been fighting it. But she took off her hat, and rubbed her forehead. It must have been embarrassing for her. To take her hat off. “I don’t know what I mean, either. I mean…” Another sigh. She gave her tongue a small bite. “She doesn’t… she doesn’t quite understand either.”

“Who doesn’t understand.”

“Me! Trixie! Ugh!” she groaned again.

“I’m sorry. It’s just confusing.”

“No it isn’t!”

The sad showpony clonked her head on the cold countertop again. She scratched at the counter with her hoof. Her head was facing the scribe, and she saw it. Her face tightened. Things were not going her way. She scoffed and turned around back to Maud. “Whats is…? How do you, how can you…??”

“Trixie.” said Maud.

“What!?”

Maud put her gaze up and down the anxious pony. Once, slowly. Enough to test patience unintentionally.

“Trixie. Are you upset.”

“Oh Maud Pie, what in Equestria could have given you that idea!?”

“Sorry,” she conceded. “I’m not very good at reading ponies.” She returned to her drink, now disengaged.

Doughnut Joe’s establishment was dim this time of the morning. Only a handful of lights were staring at vacant tables or booths. A low light gave the counter a dull glow. Trixie’s hoof cast a shadow as she tapped the flat surface. Once. Twice. Slurping from her glass. Not a minute passed before she feverishly produced two dozen odd pages of notes from behind her cape, dashing them about by hoof and with magic as if they were the tongues of a dying flame.

Page after page was decorated with halfway decent penmanship, black ink occasionally smearing or in spattering blots. She sprawled them on the counter, lifting her milkshake to give mercy, and darted her eyes across notes she had been scanning for many nights now. Lists of spells, books and authors; a few was written of things she already knew well about magic. And on the backs of some, or scrawled into corners best she could in her free time, were crossed out brainstorms with words like “when??”, “why never my shows??”, “what can I do again??” and “why Ditzy Doo???”.

She turned a few times to Maud Pie.

It was odd to consider why the papers Trixie had brought were sprawled on the somewhat narrow countertop. Which is to say, if Trixie had come to Doughnut Joe’s to re-observe for the futile umpteenth time her useless notes, and she was going to interface them along the flat surface of public furniture, she would have done much better to use a table or booth, not the counter. She is just as capable of drinking her milkshake anywhere. Even alone at her overused desk. But instead, she chose to sit less than a stone’s throw from Maud Pie, who was still staring ahead with her same solemn gaze only two stools displaced from the unicorn.

Her farce continued for only fifty one seconds.

“Trixie is very busy!” she shouted, shuffling through paper as if she were very busy.

Maud Pie did not say anything.

“She’s quite the important pony now.”

Maud Pie did not say anything.

“She probably shouldn’t mention,” she sneered. “But her next show is at the legendary Benevolent Ball, hosted by Fancy Pants himself. A shame my former nemesis Maud Pie won’t be there to see it. I of course say ‘former’ to emphasize that Trixie has since moved on from that rough antagony.”

Maud Pie did not say anything.

“In fact, she—“

“I will see it.”

Trixie stopped, and sputtered. “I-I-I…!? What?” she posed, adding drama to her voice and likely not realizing that she actually was choking on her own throat.

“That’s why I’m celebrating. I found ancient wizarding relics from the Post-Discordian era among geodes in the hills of the Badlands. The Royal Wizard Society bought them from me for a lot of money. And I took my coworkers out to celebrate. I was invited to the Benevolent Ball to spend all my new money on charities. I’m not really the type to keep it all to myself.”

Maud raised her glass again, unimpressively, before taking a sip from it and returning it to the table. Meanwhile, Trixie did her best to keep from another outburst. Her jaw clenched, teeth tightening around the lips.

“Hhh…” she wheezed, voice now dry and out of breath. “Hhaaa,” she parroted. Slowly, her balance on her stool was giving way. “HOW!? How, Maud Pie!? How are you so marvelous and successful!? And pretty and so together and proud!?” Trixie almost fell off of her stool, but caught the edge of Maud’s after knocking others to the ground, sending them clanging to the floor. Her hooves latched onto the red leather seat, chin resting almost at Maud’s base, eyes heavy and ragged as she stared back up at her. Maud stared back. “How!? And why didn’t I notice it before!!?”

Maud’s response was completely serious, and unencumbered. “I’m a natural beauty.”

Crash! Trixie fell from a cliff to the tiled floor of Doughnut Joe’s, taking her stool with her. Her cape wafted once before settling to the ground. Legs outstretched, she trembled as she banged her hoof softly.

“Oof. Ha. She’s done it again…!” she laughed. Somewhat.

“Who’s done it again.”

Trixie lifted her head, looking up her nose at the remarkable Maud Pie. “How do you do it, Maud?” she sighed. “You’ve got a hobby, and a dream and something you love more than anything else. So certain, so strong. My, I—Trixie can barely manage that anymore! And she’s so tired of it, Maud, so tired, so tired so tired…”

Trixie was still laying on the floor. Not unlike spilled dirt.

“I don’t really get what you’re talking about, Trixie.”

“Nopony gets it, Pie,” she lilted with dissonance. “I’ve seen all their faces before, those disappointed ponies in the crowd with their dull eyes and gaping gross teeth all yawning like there’s somewhere they’d rather be. They don’t get it, Maud. ‘Oh, what beautiful colors and designs!’ ‘Wow, those effects! Your illusions are so convincing, Trixie!’ Bah!” She made herself comfortable on the cold tiled floor, pulling over her cape like a blanket. “Confound ponies,” she muttered.

Maud Pie was still staring blankly at the fallen showmare. She took a drink from her Maud on the Rocks. The glass clinked as the stones bounced inside of it. “You look upset to me, Trixie,” she droned.

She gave a slow chuckle. “Yeah, I am Maud.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because Trixie isn’t supposed to be upset, she’s supposed to be the biggest and best pony Equestria has ever known!” Tensing her hooves and knees, she started to rise. “Nopony can look twice at the stars without remembering her sparkling smile, that scintillating splendor! Trixie is the greatest! The most powerful!” She stood. They made eye contact, Trixie scrunching her nose and focusing her stubborn glare. Maud was on a stool, blank still and higher than her. “And don’t you forget it, Maud! Ha!”

Maud did not say anyth—

“Why do you NEVER…!? Ugh!”

“Trixie,” Maud began, Trixie pacing in tight circles about the site of her fall. The showpony muttered through ground teeth as Maud spoke. “It sounds like you’re having a problem. Ponies with problems talk about it. My sister says it makes things better.”

“Ha!” nervously. “You’re the one who’s not talking, Pie!”

“Okay. I will start.”

“Oh really?”

“How are you.”

Trixie gave Maud a sour eye over her shoulder before turning to the window, sheen with some light from Doughnut Joe’s. It was bright in Canterlot. But this late, only a few dots could be seen trimming the field of darkness outside. Trixie trotted back to the counter, hoof by hoof and lavishly for show. Like an exhausted ballerina, fraying at the seams. She leapt onto a stool, politely replaced by her magic, and leaned on her hoof as she stared still to the dark.

“She’s splendid, quite well Maud,” she lied. “And you?” cockily.

“Not perfect. Probably not as good as I should be.”

Trixie made a short scoff.

“I invited my coworkers to celebrate, but I don’t think they like me. Like they were mad at me for some reason. Maybe they think I’m weird, or they don’t understand me.”

Perhaps that sounded familiar? Trixie sighed.

“Do you know what it’s like to be bullied. I’m not sure I do. I don’t really understand other ponies, so they can usually be mean to me without me noticing. Except the time you said those cruel things to me. I understood that. But it was nice to take out some of my frustration. It may have been about more than just you, though. I don’t think any of your comments were really sincere. I probably should have held back more. But still. Thanks for letting me try. I get a little frustrated when ponies don’t understand where I’m coming from.”

Trixie was still looking to the window, tapping her hoof, pretending she was not listening. But her ear had twitched.

“I feel a lot better now,” Maud gave a small nod to herself, staring ahead blankly as ever. “Do you.”

“H…H-h-ha!” she spat. Trixie’s “ha” could hardly have been considered a laugh. It had been more like a popped balloon, or a slamming window. As if she had squeezed it from a broken horn. “I, she…” Her words muddled over, churning just below the surface. “She understands quite well!” she confessed, looking at her hooves on the counter. It was still dark. Her mouth twisted, as her persona struggled to show through. “T-trixie suffers from all the same problems. Ponies thinking that… ponies thinking wrong. Common ponies seldom understand what ponies like us are all about. What Trixie is all about! They never think! They just see, they just want the glamour and melodrama. Bah! Ponies don’t care about magic! The moment I ask them to think, they give up.” She was wearing down. Her head fell, resting on her leg on the countertop. She spoke just loud enough to hear. “Make no mistake, I know what magic is. I know it’s a mighty, mighty thing with its metaspace and its Annihilation Quotients and conjuration and enchantments and metasummations. Nopony can think such grandiose thoughts constantly, it truly is exhausting. But it is too darn a shame. Too darn a shame! Too darn a shame to not bask in the splendor and beauty of magic and the universe for at least the few measly minutes I invite.”

Maud Pie looked at the moping blue unicorn. Then, she looked at the scribe. Soon her eyebrow was up a tinge, ripe with inquiry.

She then asked a question. In most contexts, it was an unnecessary question. The scribe had not been with the foolish showmare for any occasion to hear her asked this question. And it was such an odd thing to ask, so difficult to tell if she had heard it once or never in her life. Perhaps because of that ponies might have avoided it.

But here, it had been something very relevant. Here, at last, was asked a question even the scribe had had from the very beginning of the story.

“Why not take a break. If it’s so exhausting, then why do you have to be ‘Trixie’ all the time?”

Her head shot up, flaming leer pointed at Maud Pie with real rage. She was angry. Very angry. But it fell. The showpony could barely stand, and her eyes fell to sadness in less than a second. This time, her defenses would not rise.

She turned away.

She put on her hat, and dropped her forehead to the counter once again. Her face was completely buried in her legs. She ran a shaky hoof through her fraying mane. And she squeezed tighter. Her hind legs came together, and her forelegs came in, too. A crumbling self-embrace fitting for the very, very wet voice escaping with the answer.

“Because if I’m not Trixie all the time… then I’m just pretending to be Great and Powerful.”

“Oh,” came Maud, slightly oblivious to the despair of the Great and Powerful. “Hm.”

She had indeed said “Hm”. “Hm” is an interesting thing to say for a pony like Maud Pie who did not say much. She did not look at Trixie, who at this time was not doing anything interesting. Not terribly interesting. Not yet. No, Maud instead was skimming through the scribe’s pages, refreshing as it was to be somepony new. She read about how Trixie defeated unscrupulous thugs, though she had failed to confront them. She read about Amethyst Star. She found herself, as well, and the battle involved there. She read about the contest, and the place Trixie made. And she read about Ditzy Doo. There was a lot to read about Ditzy Doo.

“You had adventures.”

“She did…” she all but whispered. “She’s… she’s very well traveled.”

“Wow.”

“Tsk,” she laughed, just a little. “Are you reading the right parts? Look here.” Trixie used her magic to slide the book over to her, where she flipped quickly to the right page and showed Maud the writing. “Did you read this part, where she fights off those bad ponies?”

“Yes.”

She scooted closer, to share the book. “And look here. ‘Its name was Eloquence’. That really is my sword’s name. Likely the scribe could read the meta. I’ve worked on it for years.”

“It’s a good name.”

“Ha. I’m glad you think so. And also, also look at this part.”

“You used one of your spotlights.”

“Quite clever, no?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so, anyway. And what about this…”

They continued to exchange words. Somehow, after everything, the two of them managed to get along. Trixie paged through the scribe, tapping an eager hoof at all her favorite parts. And Maud Pie would say “Yes” to her meaningless questions.

But despite the scribe’s incredible perceptive powers, as the mares conversed it was quite difficult to discern how Maud Pie felt. Her face was always flat. This had been her entire personality. But for a moment, perhaps in remembrance of somepony else she knew, a quaint smile pushed through her lips. So perhaps it could be said that some semblance of rapport was achieved. Charming. Albeit temporary.

“And then she said, ‘How’s that for something’. Isn’t she cool, Maud?”

“Yes,” droned Maud with much enthusiasm.

“And back here!” she continued, ruffling back through history. “Look look look. She says ‘It would appear that you hath been dunked on, knave’. Isn’t that funny? Don’t you think so?”

“Yes. It seems like you’re really good with magic, Trixie.”

“If only you could have been there, Maud! You would have really seen your nemesis in action!”

“I think I was busy with work.”

“Speaking of the competition, why were you there, anyway?” she posed. “Do you play an instrument?”

“No. I was there for my sister. She can play ten instruments at the same time.”

She was wide-eyed. “Ten!? Really? That’s amazing, for an earth pony!”

“That’s my sister. I absolutely love her, and her jokes.”

“Aha, of course.” The showmare spun a bit on her stool. “Ha. Almost as much as you love rocks, I imagine!”

“Well.” Maud paused. “Yes.”

“Hm? Why did you pause?”

“I didn’t pause.”

“Maud Pie.” She pointed a hoof to the the scribe’s quill. “It says right here that you paused.”

“Shoot. I was too emotional.”

“Come now, confess my little pony. ‘Talking makes you feel better.’ That’s what you said, hm?”

Maud swirled her drink, fishing for a distraction.

“Hmmmmmm…..!?”

She sighed. “Often times, ponies tell me how much I love rocks. I know I love rocks. I write poetry about them, they are my passion. But rocks do not love me. Obviously. Rocks do not have feelings. But. I don’t know.”

“Oh…” swelled the showmare.

“It’s. It’s as if ponies think I can’t love. But I’m not a rock. I’m a pony, just like everyone else.”

“Well… love is a difficult subject for everypony, Maud.”

“Has Trixie ever been in love?”

Trixie became silent. Perhaps it could be said that she had been silent for awhile now. But held on her face was not a look of ponderance, but of loss. Eyes narrowed to the past, looking back to a distant memory. Her hoof tapped when she bit her lip. No. Her eyes clenched shut to muddle the present. A sigh escaped, breathy and tired.

“N… no, Maud Pie. Probably not. Trixie, Trixie, she doesn’t, she can’t, I…”

“Love is a difficult subject for everypony.”

Indeed.

Trixie gave up. She let her weight shift to her right, resting her head on the strong shoulder of Maud Pie. “I should go back now, Maud. Trixie… H…ha…! She has… a lot of work to do…” Her words were barely mustered.

“Good luck Trixie.” returned Maud Pie solemnly. “I’ll see you at the Ball.”

“R-right!” Trixie’s words were not certain, nor hopeful. All of her splendor, all of her glamour and poise was lost. As it had been for weeks. “Goodbye.”

As she passed through the door, all that remained was an echoing stage.

[Z] The Dizzying Nascence of Satisfactory Living

Miss Doo knelt on her forelegs, nearly losing her blue cap as her body lowered. All was still this afternoon. She lifted her head, just so, staring with one crooked eye at the handsome pegasus behind the stable door. He was at the edge of his hooves. Waiting in apprehension. When would she make her move?

“Hup!”

Miss Doo took a short jump, and blew gently with her wings. On the breeze, the envelope stamped for this address wafted down the path to Sonny’s door. His eyes watched it like Miss Doo’s watched butterflies. And just as one, it neared his nose. He caught it in his teeth.

“Amazhing…!” he whispered through the parcel. “Ditzy Doo’s still got it! She never ceases to bewiler!”

“Thank you, thank you,” bowed Miss Doo. “I’ll be here all week!”

“Bravo!” he whistled. “I eagerly await you, the Fantastic Ditzy Doo! The Beautiful and Charming Ditzy Doo! The Lovely Mare, Ditzy Doo!” He called out his praises as the mail carrying mare walked and waved away.

Something pink flushed on her cheeks as she did so, a small and sweet smile rising shyly on her face.

“Hi, Amy!” waved Miss Doo from down the sidewalk. The young unicorn stifled a genuine smirk as she turned to re-enter the storefront of the Crystal Corner.

“Okay,” she said to Rarity, more at her service. “Here’s your delivery. You order these all the time, huh? What even are these?” Miss Doo hoofed a small box to its recipient, who lifted it with her magic.

“These are… just small gems,” Rarity began, scanning the details of the box. “And the other package, Ditzy Doo? I do recall that I ordered that two be delivered on every occasion.”

“Oh! Um…” Miss Doo dug her hoof through her bags. Nothing for Rarity. She removed them, and dove in with two hooves as her eyes crossed. “Um! I’m sorry, I guess I left it at the post office again…”

Rarity slid her eyes to her left, and bit her lip again. “Fiddlesticks. And you’re sure you cannot simply take them here next week?”

“Uh… well…” Miss Doo fuddled on her way back up. “Last time I tried to do that, I got in trouble… scheduled deliveries that aren’t made have to be picked up…”

“But I’ve no time today, Ditzy. I’m a busy mare. Can’t Amethyst pick it up on my behalf?”

Miss Doo shrank a bit further. “Um… no, the package is addressed to you, not Amy…”

Rarity sighed, somewhat melodramatically, like a bird. “I suppose I’ll have to make time for it then. Thank you, Miss Doo.”

“Sorry sorry sorry!” waved Miss Doo, now on her way. “I promise I’ll remember it next week, okay? That first time just set up a bad pattern!”

Of course, Rarity would not be so pressed for business as to have to pick up her late package this week if it were not that Miss Doo forgot the second package last week as well. She must really have been falling behind.
[hr[

“Try this one, Sonny!” Miss Doo produced a muffin.

two cups flour

tablespoon baking powder

half tablespoon salt

half cup melted chocolate

hoofful of chocolate chips

two and one half tablespoons sugar

one egg

three quarters cup milk

quarter cup butter

bake 360 degrees for twenty four minutes

Sonny Weathers knelt over the bottom of the stable door, and took a gentle bite of dessert from out of Miss Doo’s hooves. This startled the mare. The stallion, too, was shocked. “Gadzooks Ditzy Doo! That is something else! You always know how to make ‘em.”

“Well, I’ve uh… been writing things down, you know? Helps me remember the basic idea of how to do it and stuff.”

“Genius. Genius!” declared the shining pegasus. “You keep up the good work, Doo, okay?” He punctuated his words with a big bright smile. A smile that shone not unlike the sky. A big, goofy grin from his first ear to his next, a curling of the lips that showed light like an overcast day brought out the sun. Also, it was full of chocolate. Puddles of mud glistening in the day. Rain finally ended. Woes gone away.

Miss Doo smiled back. She smiled a lot around Sonny Weathers. “Thanks! I’ve been really trying my best to make it in Canterlot, you know? Thinks are tough, but I’m gonna manage! I know I can!”

Sonny shared with her a look of determination. “I know you can, too, Doo!”

They lingered.

They lingered a bit more before some hasty goodbye saw Miss Doo down the street. She held one hoof to her chest, to share the swiftness of her heart.

Miss Doo galloped fast as she could while carrying the heavy load for 414 Fifth street. Staggering on the sidewalk, her inertia nigh sent both her and her contents spilling to the ground if it were not for the able-bodied Maud Pie’s steady hoof.

“Careful. Those are fragile.”

“Maud! How much time do I have before you have to go back to work?”

Maud did not check a watch. “You have fourteen seconds.”

“Yesss!” cheered Miss Doo. But she did not have long. “Hi Maud, how are you? What’s up?” she asked with some haste.

“I have been doing better lately,” she delivered as usual. “But I might be re-evaluating some of my life goals.”

“Oh! That’s exciting! Like what?”

“Maybe I’ll take a class in History, get a Master’s alongside my Rocktorate.”

“That’s really cool Maud, I—“

“Time is up,” came her flat interruption. “I have to work now.”

Miss Doo called as Maud took her package inside. “Nice talking to you!” she said as the door closed. “One of these days, Maud Pie,” lifted her shaking and slightly vengeful hoof. “One of these days… we’re gonna have a real conversation. One of these days!”

The postmaster, hearing Ditzy Doo’s words, covered his ears roughly. Anger struck him. “Ditzy Doo…!” he shouted, voice coarse with wear. “Tell me you did not open another pony’s package!”

“Ah…! I….!” Miss Doo’s ears folded back. He was yelling at her. To that, her voice squeaked as if it was small. “I didn’t know, it, I, she said that she wasn’t gonna come back, and, and….! She said she wasn’t ever gonna be back and the packages just said ‘mouthwash’ and I… I had bad muffin breath and—!”

“No, Ditzy Doo,” he scolded. His eyes lurched forward, forcing contact with the mare’s. “Tell me you did not open another pony’s package.” His voice was stern. This was an order, not an exclamation.

Miss Doo darted her glance back and forth, breathing quickly. “I-I-I… I didn’t… open another pony’s package…?” she tried.

“Good answer,” sighed the postmaster. “Because Ditzy Doo, that would be a huge offense. And not only would a pony get fired for something like that. But she would also be sent to jail for up to five years.”

She gulped. Her knees were still trembling.

The postmaster circled behind his desk, lifting his body onto his chair. “You’re a good kid, Dizty Doo. The people ‘round here like your muffins.” He ruffled some through his papers. “I get complaints from all our mail carriers, but the one’s for you are a little too close to the wire. You’re late, you forget packages; you gotta step it up, okay? I’ve fired delinquents for less.”

“I… yes,” was her answer. Her downcast glance said otherwise.

“And hey. I got some compliments for you, too. But this job ain’t all sunshine and smiles. This is a warning, alright?”

“I will, sir!” she nodded. “I… this job is really important to me! I won’t squander it! I’ll try my best!”

“Good,” he spoke.

Ditzy Doo left his office, and he muttered beneath his breath.

“It’d better be enough…”

Miss Doo took the first hoofstep onto the gray concrete porch of 662 on ninth street. Usually, Sonny Weathers was here by now. She turned her head left, then right, mouth twisted with worry. Tentatively, with a pinch of optimism, she rapped on the crusted purple stable door.

Knock, knock.

“Ditzy Doo!” shouted Sonny Weathers. With a start, she flinched. The voice was distant. But it hadn’t come from beyond the door. “Ditzy Doo, up here!”

She took a few steps back, keeping her eyes high. Oh, there he was.

“Sonny Weathers!” she shouted back with a chuckle. “What are you doing on the roof, you goof!”

There was a pause. A comedic pause. “I thought I could see you coming better from here!”

“But why didn’t you!”

Again, a pause. “I fell asleep!”

“Pfffft…! Ha!” Miss Doo chuckled all the way through her answer. “Get down here, Sonny Weathers! Get your mail! I have places to be, you know!”

“Nuh-uh!” he called, hoof steps approaching the edge. “You said I’m the last one of the day! You have nowhere else to be. we could hang out all afternoon!” He peered over the edge at her.

“Okay, fine, you’re right.”

“Hey listen! I woke up at six in the morning and climbed onto my roof to watch for you for a reason.” He hopped down, ruffling his feathers and clonking his hooves on the porch. “A really really good reason!”

“My gosh Sonny Weathers, it’d better be really really good if you got up that early for it!” she teased, hiding a bit behind the folder he received every day. “Why would you get up so early?”

“In case you came early! Look look look, none of this hogwash is important right now! Listen, Doo!” Sonny Weathers put his nose forward, budging a bit into Miss Doo’s face. Miss Doo matched him, squinting in jest. This was not uncommon. “Our friendship has always been really important to me, and I think that it’s a real shame that we haven’t hung out since Cloudsdale!”

Miss Doo flinched a little, to compensate from her throbbing heart. Close encounters seldom lasted this long.

“And I know we have some weird history! But I’ve thought it over a whole lot and I think that another chance is a really good idea. All that stuff’s in the past now! We don’t have to be afraid of each other forever! We can still be friends!”

Miss Doo’s cheeks were getting hot. Sonny Weathers backed away, to bow his head properly.

“Oh, lovely Ditzy Doo,” he charaded. “Will you please have some dinner with me this weekend? I promise that it will be worth it, but it’s okay if you say no!”

Miss Doo rumbled. Not mumbled, as if she was struggling to speak, but rumbled, as if her insides were about to burst.

“SURE Sonny Weathers! I would love to!”

She had almost screamed. She almost screamed like a trumpet out of tune. And she spent the rest of the day with her lips quivering from it. Quivering and heated up from her excitement. All the way back to the post office, she was smiling as she trotted along. All the way back to Sonny’s house because she forgot where he said they were eating, she was humming to herself some nameless song. And all the way back home, closing the door with her backside, slumping to her haunches and sighing dreamily at the birds and bees hovering around her head, things were on the up and up and up and up and up for Ditzy Doo.

…

“My my,” Rarity grinned coyly from behind a teacup. “That sure is exciting hm? Who’d have thought Sonny Weathers would ask you out like this?”

Obviously, somepony had thought so.

“I don’t need yo sass, Rarity! Look, we’re just friends, okay? We want to be friends again. Friends go out to dinner all the time, they go out to dinner all the time!”

“Yo sass…?” Amy mocked. She mumbled a short swear to herself. “Why am I even here…” she wondered out the window.

Meanwhile, Rarity was sipping tea on Miss Doo’s couch while Miss Doo fumbled through the kitchen.

Two cups flour

“Oh of course, dear. Friends take part in many group activities. ‘Group activities’ indeed…” she trailed off as she finished her cup. It chirped quietly on the coffee table. She muttered. “I just hope it comes easy to you, Ditzy…”

Amethyst Star lit her horn, taking the pages of the scribe from the table. She read them, prying down the lines. As she got from the tops to the bottoms of pages, she began to organize them into their proper order.

Rarity stood. “Now, Ditzy Doo, how are you feeling, hm? Are you going to be alright, on this—“

“What should I wear??”

tablespoon baking powder

half tablespoon salt

tablespoon sugar

“I only have one dress and it’s really old and I don’t wanna seem old but it’s my only dress and we’re going someplace nice for some reason??”

another half tablespoon salt

one cup flour…?

“And he said he’d pay??? Should I still bring money??”

a fourth cup of flour

“Ditzy, dear, do settle down,” added Rarity. She came into the kitchen to settle the rowdy pegasus. “It’s all going to be alright. Have you never been out to dinner before, darling?”

Miss Doo settled her feathers. She took a deep breath, and added a few more ingredients.

one egg

one cup milk

quarter cup butter

“Not… not with a friend before! This is so much more pressure…!”

“Goodness, Ditzy, you displace everything, don’t you…”

“Hm? Excuse me?”

“Nothing, dear. Are these ready for the oven?”

“Oh! Yep let’s throw ‘em in!” Miss Doo opened the oven, and Rarity used her magic to slide the tray inside.

375 degrees

“Sorry, I sometimes bake when I’m stressed out. My mom and me used to do it all the time.”

That’s “My mom and I”.

Miss Doo continued, “I mean, I’m not that stressed out, I’m just really really excited because Sonny and I have been pals since flight camp and I really want to be friends with him again even after we… stopped… we stopped being friends but I think that things are really going to—“

“Ditzy Doo. Breathe, breathe. For heaven’s sake, I’ve never seen a pony so smitten…” She may have mumbled that last part. “Now, let us adjourn to your closet then. Thankfully, you have a friend in me who is an absolute savant with a needle. And I never leave home without it.”

Amy rolled her eyes as she heard the words. Still not caught up.

She stopped paying attention to the two giddy mares as they skipped to Miss Doo’s bedroom to refit her dress. Amethyst Star’s attention was on the pages of the scribe. “Can’t believe this trash paper still works. Shame that Ditzy... has been having some hard times lately. Still, I’ll bet this Sonny guy will be good for her. Help her out when she needs it.”

“But let’s see. You only write in short bursts now… some of these are close together but the latest ones are a lot further apart. Really far apart. You must be losing power without the rest of you.”

Rest?

“Oh, talking back now? Come on. Tell me, do you feel it? Like there’s another part of you out there, missing you? Magical objects like you tend to be really finicky, don’t they? And you, especially, you’ve gotta feel something.”

Oh.

Amethyst Star was very smart.

“Um… okay…”

Surely, there was somewhere she belonged.

She stared a moment at the loose pages, again baffled by their words. “What are you getting a—?”

“OW! Hey that tickles!” loudly from the other room.

“Darling, you are finished! Walk out, show Amethyst.”

Amy rolled her eyes, as she usually did. “This isn’t over,” she whispered as she brought up her head.

With some shortage of grace, Miss Doo’s hoof showed itself from behind her bedroom door. Following, the lovely mare skipped into the living room with a little “ta-da!”, her dress and feathers ruffling like leaves of grass. She smiled, and adjusted her hooves nervously. She realigned the natural part in her mane, now much smoother though cutely frayed still along the edges. She bounced when she spoke.

“Well? How do I look!”

Amethyst Star stifled a chuckle. “You look great, Ditzy Doo.”

“Just a quick refitting,” as Rarity followed. “As you wished for, Ditzy. But you simply must come to my boutique next time, darling. If you didn’t look so charming, I would not have dared to allow you out in such an old thing.”

“Hey, I like this dress! It’s really me, you know?”

“Of course, of course, and you shouldn’t have it any other way for an occasion like this.”

Ditzy Doo put her best hoof forward, raising it to the sky as the smile forming on her face made her cheeks tense. “Alright, Sonny Weathers. I’m ready! Let’s do this!”

[X] The Last Illusion, part the FIRST

The sky had never been so angry.

Black winds and scathes rolled about in the clouds. Furrowing gales rubbed roughly, welling with tears. The path of the rain was jagged from the cold upper atmosphere all the way down to a scraggly old chestnut tree. The old codger was just as furious as it had been for the past many years, leaves long gone and twigs hanging from its bones with no will to continue. For what else could a tree with no leaves be but lonely? No birds, no squirrels or bees. Only a showpony's shack as gement as itself was its company. Now no more useful than a lightning rod.

“Aha!” shouted a hoarse pony. “Finally, you awaken, scribe!”

She flicked her horn once, then twice as her first attempt faltered. After that delay, the makeshift furniture and layabout paperwork twirled to the corners of the single room of her shack. The space was clear for her next debacle.

“Behold! For she has been waiting, scribe!” On the floor surrounding her were four crystal pyramids, each about to her knee’s length in height. “For she has finished the modifications to her Omega Sphere! Her Omega will certainly surpass six five eight now. Are you ready to witness history?” The scribe had been pushed into a corner when the furniture was displaced, but the unicorn used her magic now to bring it closer. Her lecture voice was more paranoid than normal, skating on a few words.

“As you might know, any unicorn places herself in danger when her Annihilation Quotient (sometimes “Magical Conductivity” or “Omega” alike) exceeds zero point five three zero. Why is this? Well, naturally, the Quotient indicates, in addition to how much magic any material is perpetuating, the degree to which that material has ‘Mystified’. ‘Mystified’ material has two key properties, the first of which being that the Meta that describes its properties becomes convoluted. As a result it obtains its second property, namely, that it no longer ‘operates in conjunction with normal matter’, vague as that is. This is why Omega can never be one. As much would be the ‘maximum magic’ any body is capable of, which would result in complete Mystification as well. Complete Mystification, as Omega equals one, results in both the collapse of the Meta and the Annihilation of the material. Poof! And since the extent of Mystification varies along a unicorn’s horn and body, physiological functionality is at risk while accessing high levels of magic. Imagine trying to push a boulder by using only a single hoof. You risk damaging yourself, and it is not very accurate. The Omega Sphere corrects for the variability of Mystification, allowing a unicorn to use her whole body as well as the surrounding air as one effective ‘horn’, serving as the ‘matter’ to her ‘mind’. This permits Omega to rise further with a substantial reduction of risks and increased efficiency. This is because Mystification can occur evenly, preventing damage. More force can be applied to the boulder over a larger area, with a much reduced risk of breaking bones.

“All very simple. Another time, we may get into the peculiar quandary of Omega itself as a property described by Meta…”

And then she just kept talking a bunch of garbled nonsense about Omega or Meta or something, it did not really matter. There was not much light in this room, only a few magical candles and the soft hum that the four corners of her Omega Sphere gave out as she manipulated them. Not active yet. But perhaps they would be soon, in yet another contrived display of greatness or power or something. For now, the storm raged on. Weather like this was uncommon in Canterlot, where the the sky was aptly monitored, but a single storm like this a year was not unprecedented. Though that night had seemed like a bit of a rush job. It is possible that the citizens of Canterlot would have found themselves surprised by this one in particular.

Oh. The showmare’s voice spat about, with slight panic in her quivering lips. She complained, bullying with her words, that the scribe had stopped writing what she had been saying. Her voice was sharp with its remarks, speaking ill of the scribe’s talents and tendencies. She complained that the scribe had not written in a long time. It had indeed been awhile. The frays in the showmare’s hair, the small unrepiared tears in her hat showed how desperate she was getting.

She spoke again. What? Oh yes, of course the scribe had been paying attention to the lonesome unicorn. This room is so small and dark after all. All that’s ever lit up is her horn or some candles. Why was that, showmare? How feverishly she would sit here in the dark muddling over papers and books. At times, she would retreat to her cape to practice a few tricks. The scribe could not see what was inside that dreadful thing; its enchantment provides too strong a barrier. Days later, she would emerge, more ragged and worn than she had been. And older, by the bags beneath her eyes. But they would always sparkle, always show light even when they were tired and tried. For murky waters may still glisten.

Her voice was getting flat and stale now. Not like lost interest, but like a duty left undone. Her shining eyes focused on the book as she spoke some ultimatum. She was becoming angry. Her precious Omega was increasing, like she was about to cast a spell unintentionally. Now escalating, the corners of her Omega Sphere began to revolve around her as well. Friction in the air made Leyline currents crackle like electricity. She was practically hacking with her tongue now, so violent were her accusations. Dull rag this, she declares you defunct that. Her teeth were grinding even louder than the Sphere was.

Oh yes, nearly forgotten. One more show, she had said. The first was in that small hamlet during the story’s introduction. The second was the music competition. And the third was that horrible debut at Alchemy Hall. She said she would call the scribe retired if it failed, did she not?

“It has one more chance to impress her, but after that she shall declare it defunct.”

Yet the scribe was still here, it wrote as the magic in the room continued to escalate. Which means that the half-baked, worn out, barely-an-idea of the “Great and Powerful” was still trying to impress it.

The showmare blushed, pathetically embarrassed, but trying to hide it. History was still watching. She stomped her hoof, and shouted something over the tempest in the room.

Face it. The opposite had been the case. It was not that she had been disappointed by the scribe. But that the scribe had been disappointed by her. The scribe was no common pony, that much was certain. It could see beauty, it could see greatness and power. The showmare had spent weeks pouring over this. The s’more was proof enough, was it not? The way it wrote about her mistakes, the way it wrote about her battles. The way it wrote about Miss Doo, her little “oof”s and lovely smiles. “Have you ever been in love?” Well, that much remained to be seen.

But if the scribe could see greatness and power, then where was the showmare? Why does it treat her so badly? Why did it fight so hard to stay with Ditzy Doo? What was standing between her and the recognition her incredible talents deserved?

Made you look, Trixie. Her nose was poured over the pages, looking so intently for an answer the scribe would not give.

You are so—

Crash. By her rage, the scribe was abruptly defenestrated. It landed beneath the tree, its natural kinks and crevices serving to keep the book dry. Perhaps the scribe had landed under cover intentionally. Perhaps the showmare did not notice as much. Or, she did not care. Some low humming sound rose above the platter of rain, pouring light from the window that just broken. It advanced like a predator. For seven and a half seconds, the otherworldly glow burned until a quick flash saw it putter out. All that remained then was the darkness of the storm, brooding over the scene like a void and empty stage. Water running down the aching walls, sliding into cracks, and dripping to the floor inside. The ghostly brown of the wood could only barely stand out in dark like this.

“You want redemption!? I’ll give you redemption!”

“BOOM!” shouted the sky. As light bubbled beyond the clouds, a massive well of magical energy swept the shack from its foundations. It popped like a geyser. Wooden planks and splintered boards tumbled and twisted, sliding over each other like ants in a panic. Some got shoved into the earth, others quickly nailed sloppily into place. Crunch! Crackle! The beams split and broke in places, bending with stress and groaning like a beast from a cave.

“I!” went Trixie, pounding her hoof on the first step of her hasty structure. It was already soaked in the storm; dirty water splashed all over her leg and hoof.

“Need!” her bellows continued, as the next threshold was finished just as her hoof met it. It gave slightly, but her horn glowed brighter and it soon learned its place.

“A!” Wood sobbed and cracked as a hole ripped in her shack’s former wall. The floor was lifted. Stage left and stage right staggered into place, tension mounting in the hasty design. Water ran down them all, soaking papers, old candles, and magical tools that had no place here. The whole amalgamation amounted to three lithe legs below a shambling tripod that barely supported a wavering platform, looking like a monstrous roach that had climbed from beyond the cliffs. But it was not ready yet.

“Stage!” she screamed, contorted metal bars now puncturing wood to set up an archway of lights that blinked as they clipped properly into place. They were still dark. For now, they hung limp, rattling in the winds of this night’s storm.

Finally. The show was about to start!

“Now!”

She had shouted in the dark, but the clouds above flashed and thundered. It rumbled like hooves to the earth, an applause for the imminent performance. The deluge intensified, raining so well that the brim of her hat poured water like a kettle. Her cape whipped in this tingling air, a bed of doves anxious to fly. She stood tall, in defiance to the onslaught. And despite the darkness, beneath her shadowed face it was plain to see her vile white teeth, sneering as always.

“IT HAS COME TO HER ATTENTION…!” she echoed. The voice was magically enhanced to shout more loudly than the scribe had ever heard. “THAT THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE HAS ‘DISAPPOINTED’ HER AUDIENCE.” Standing on the edge, she lowered her ear for sport. “Is this true!?” she asked, never dropping that shining smile.

“BOOOOOM!” the sky replied, as white lightning churned above the clouds.

She continued to smile beneath the rain. “My MY…!” she mused. “That TRIXIE could be so SO disappointing! But HERE AND NOW, she WILL make it up to you! For you see, tonight she will accomplish… her MOST SPECTACULAR act yet!”

She always said that.

“Hear me now!” she shouted over the rain, holding up a dramatic hoof in defense. “She knows what you’re thinking! ‘OH, that Trixie. She ALWAYS says that!’ But THIS TIME! Things are gonna be different this time! She PROMISES, she SWEARS on HER NAME! There will be NO MORE ILLUSIONS after today! The GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE! Will now…!”

“BOOOOOOOOM!” roared the crowd, its impending crescendo egging her on.

Her smile cracked, failing her for a moment. Her voice was faltering, a little bit choked. “Will now…”

Here, miles from anypony else, a short refrain of silence was played. Its duration heard only wind, clattering rain, and the ancient sound of rocking wood as her monster swayed from side to side. Despite the sky, despite the water and the stage and the darkness. There was not a single pony here to see this.

Her white grin crawled back across her face. “Will now DISAPPEAR!” The word galloped from her lips. She reared back on her hind legs, kicking to the sky.

“BOOOOOOOOOOM!” it concluded, bearing down with abandon and grace.

Her spotlights, each with a loud “snap!”, turned on to her back at the same time. Light shone off the rain, it shone off the puddles and glared all over the shining wreckage of the stage. Raindrops shimmered. Stars were falling everywhere. A misanthropic mirror that confounded the eyes and mesmerized. Nothing was lit up. White light was pulsing through the rain and sheen surfaces, blinding anyone who would dare look this way in a heavenly labyrinth. But who was that pony, center stage? Naught could be seen of her, save that dazzling smile.

“Count with me,” she whispered. “THREE!”

Somehow her lights got even brighter. They began to hum over the screaming of the audience. The audience she never had, of course. The crowd of ponies who understood magic. The cheering voices of those who believed in its beauty, who could see and feel it just like the showmare could. Ponies so patient to experience what she did: a vision finally called into focus of a universe no longer mundane but Great and Powerful. A crowd like that she deserved but never met.

“TWO!”

They became violent. Nothing could be seen anymore, the glare was so great and their screeching so powerful. Not a dry eye in the house as water poured over all, blurring vision to all these fallacies. The lies ran deep. At first to satisfy those who saw them, but then so bright as to obscure what truly mattered. Magic obfuscated for the sake of the illusion. Fancy this would be the last of them. For none but the showmare was as exhausted as the scribe had been of this continued gimmick of charades and forced feelings. Something brewed above the sky as the lights, the clouds, the rain and her horrifying smile reached their final blinding note.

“One.”

Silence. Lightning struck the stage, causing every bulb to shatter with white embers that sparkled. Only shattered glass. Then, a deafening crunch. In the dark, it was impossible to see how the stage fell from its limelight. But the remaining fireflies bounded gently, washing over the lip of the stage as the scene faded to water and blackness.

And from that day forward, the Great and Powerful Trixie never cast another illusion.

[X] Magic

“…”

“…”

He’s been silent for quite awhile.

I lift my neck, and turn my head to the side to crack it. Trying to relax yet remains fruitless. The white tiles here are still too obnoxiously bright to shut my eyes, anyway. I still don’t remember, but there may still be a lot of time left in this story. Then again, hearing all of this… it seems a bit surreal. I know I’ve read it before, definitely, but something about hearing it out loud gives me a bit of a shiver. I really was amazing back there, wasn’t I? Maybe a little overboard, but for a fairly good cause.

“Ponies don’t really understand you, do they?” he says at last.

I turn my head up to the mirror to take another look. “Trixie is in many ways alone, good stallion.”

“I take it you didn’t disappear,” he continues.

“Tch.” I gave a bit of a laugh. “Maybe not in the way you’d expect of her.”

It was not night forever. When the next day rose, it was upon a field of mist. The grass was still green, save for the muddy overturned earth. The sky was still blue. The birds had not come out yet, though. The storm last night made them cautious. With all that shouting and yelling last night, as much was understandable. Right now, the only sounds were of water trickling down various surfaces.

Some was dripping from what remained of that old chestnut tree. The crash last night had overturned it. In the soft, brown crater, there were bugs underneath seeing light for the first time. Water dripped from the top of the roots to run along a stream to the bottom. All of it reflected the light of the morning.

More water was soaking into wooden splinters and planks that had not moved for hours. They were becoming soft now, cast all over each other, laying in a heap and panting lightly. How nice that they finally got to relax. They had been worked quite hard. Some looked like they could never work again. But that was fine. Nothing lasts forever.

Water still was hanging in the air, standing around like a foal's mobile. Heavy with petrichor. Much of it had been kicked up by the crash, making droplets take to the skies like a thousand white butterflies. But it was daytime now. It was only water. Water scintillating the light of the sun, making something like a cloud that was slowly receding.

Drip.

Water was in another place, as well. The Great and Powerful Trixie was sitting on the fallen beams of her stage, wringing her hat in both hooves. Not practically. Nervously, like she was waiting for some judgement. Tiny streams like broken wounds pulsed from the wrinkles, running through the fur of her hooves just to drip. Oh. She sniffed. Caught a cold, perhaps, after all that rain. Her mane was hanging over her face, shiny especially with the light of the sun. Like tufts of milky way, remember?

The mysteries of the world, illuminated at last; the scribe emerged from its hole, quill scratching away at all of this new scenery. Like a drifting wind, the book made its way to Trixie’s lap, just in time to intercept a drop of water. A minor inconvenience, but tolerable. Why was she crying, that Great and Powerful Tr—

“Go away!” came her voice, a tad grate from wear and otherwise slick with dismay. “She doesn’t care about your opinion! She cast you off, now begone.” She swat the book away, completely sincere. It flopped against some other board briefly before re-aligning itself. Slowly, it advanced again. Rather than to catch another tear, it found its way to her side.

She brought her chin up, water still streaming. Her mane fell to the side. “She was so close. She was so close but not close at all, was she?” came a few whimpers. “She tried and she tried. But either they understand magic and don’t see it’s beautiful, or they see a superficial beauty and they don’t understand… It’s so unwinnable. So unwinnable!” She let out a sigh, shaky as her stage had been. Then her red eyes shot open, aiming straight for the scribe. “And you don’t care either, do you? You always mock her, always make fun of her, you have never said a single good thing about her, have you? Surely not in earnest! You don’t get it either, you don’t get it at all!”

She bat the scribe, swatting dismissively as it slid across the wet stage. Oh Trixie, never had there been a history more worthy. Why was she crying?

“She can cry if she wants to!” she half declared, half assured to herself. “Ponies cry all the time, some almost constantly the poor things! When somepony is sad, she is allowed to cry. Even Trixie cries she is upset! And when Trixie cries, when Trixie cries…” She paused a moment to bury a face in her hat. “When Trixie cries, it is sure to be solemn and meaningful!” burst her throat.

That had been enough. The scribe lifted from the damp floor, and hovered in front of the Great and Powerful, slowly making its way beneath her eyes. It was necessary for it to enter her view.

Why are you crying Trixie?

“Why. Is. She. Crying!?” Trixie swat the book again, to send it tumbling from the edge and onto the grass. “She’s crying because she has no friends! Trixie has been toiling for what’s become months over what to prepare for the Benevolent Ball, but the oh-so-great-and-powerful dilemma of ‘superficial vs supernatural’ has had her wringing her horn for something special, but there is nothing! Nothing, absolutely! And she’s crying because nopony understands her, or even comes close to grasping what she’s all about! No one understands her, and she is all alone! Was there ever a better reason to cry!? And! Oh, she almost forgot! And…! And…”

Her words trailed off, and she made a loud sniffle. With one final wring, and another deep sigh, she straightened out her hat and placed it firmly on her head. Her brow tightened like it did. “And her heart skips beats when she thinks of Miss Doo. It seems so odd, so out of place. Even though she’s only met her once, even though she’s not a sorceress or anything like what Trixie had imagined for herself… ugh,” she scoffed. “She feels so uncouth. Such a feeling must be as fallacious as those common ponies at flashing lights. However…”

At once, the scribe, which had fallen to the mud unceremoniously, was lifted by Trixie’s magenta aura. With a spell, she shook it free of the muck. “This will be the last time. She promises.” Following that cryptic comment, the kinesis spell shifted and aaaaaaaAAAAaaaaaa page was tenderly torn from its binding. She retrieved a quill and another small slip of paper from her cape. “But you’re the only one that can find her. You can find her, can’t you? Trixie will see her again, perhaps only once, if not only to shake this common pony from her mind.” She scrawled a few words onto the loose sheet, and folded it neatly into an envelope.

She scratched her chin. "But what of the Ball? She cannot put on a farce again, but all the greatness and power in the world will not impress those coots. Should she cancel? Flee? Or improvise? Perhaps she will master some new talent or eccentric spell. Bah. She will have to see; but whatever it will be..." She stomped a hoof, and stared at the wreckage she had caused. "She will make it sincere."

Turning to the book, she continued. “And as for what to do with you, scribe, she has not yet decided either. On the one hoof, a transcript of her life sounds objectively useful, but she doubts anypony would ever be interested in reading her life in such great detail. For as a flower cannot bloom in all months of the year, Trixie cannot be making history at each and every given moment.” She stood up, and gave a modest spin to increase the size of her cape, Omega Sphere soon to join at her side. “Granted, she will always be Great and Powerful, and a name is a name.” Her horn glowed, and with it, the Omega Sphere rotated its corners around her body. A shimmering circle elapsed around her, marking the area over which Mystification was constant, as always when a unicorn used a Sphere. It was dim at this time, indicating a modest magnitude for her Annihilation Quotient. “She will clean up this mess. Perhaps use this old tree for new wood, and replace her broken lights.” The wood in question followed her suggestion, hovering piece by broken piece into the air, and rushing past the showmare to be eclipsed by her cape. The chestnut tree, with effort as the Sphere glowed brighter, followed suit, whiffing beneath Trixie’s curtain after hurtling in her direction.

“She’ll have to see,” she concluded when her cape returned to size and she put away her Sphere. “The Great and Powerful Trixie doesn’t quite know what she’s supposed to be anymore. Certainly, who. But what?”

She set her envelope on its way, repeating to herself with an unfamiliar sense of longing. “But what…”

[Z] A Perfect End to a Perfect Day, in Spite of the Muffins

After Amy and Rarity wished her luck and she fixed her kindly dress best she could, she took her bedroom window to the roof. Pegasi tended to meet in high places. Why Miss Doo had never taken this route to work was a mystery.

But she was taking it now.

The window shut, and she hung off of the sill for a moment. She blinked, twice, as a small smile tightened on her face. Red welled in wave crests on her cheeks, and she fluttered her wings. This made her dress ruffle, and her altitude tumble. Wings spread wide, and she rolled into the sky. Where she landed, her four hooves met the floor hard and she shook. Unable to help but peek at her knees, eyelashes drooping as she could barely keep herself straight.

“Ditzy Doo!”

The sun was in a volatile position, and time would soon give way to its descent. But right now, it was still very yellow, and it bounded over the bright rooftops of Canterlot. They followed the wind, bouncing through her mane and its golden bangs. Somehow, between the light of the evening, the hair in front of her face, and whatever fate had crooked her vision, it seemed that no manner of thing could keep her gaze from the affable grin of Sonny Weathers.

“S…! Sonny!” she shied. “Your collar looks good!”

“Ha-ha!” was his counterattack. “I know! But Ditzy Doo, you look fantastic today, too!”

“Oh!” She stroked her mane, and hid a bit. So shy, but so quick. “You don’t think it’s too… old fashioned, do you?”

“No, not at all. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! Your mom and I were the first to ever see you in it, remember?”

“Gosh! I don’t know if I’m frustrated you remembered or glad!”

“Whaaat? Why’d you be frustrated?”

Miss Doo backed away a few steps, and Sonny Weathers raised an eyebrow, prying with it. “So I could make fun of you!” she answered, flicking his nose with her wing. “Of course!”

“‘Of course,’ of course. Sigh, am I so doomed to be made fun of all my life?”

“Heh heh! Yep!”

“Well, well, Ditzy Doo.” Sonny Weathers stepped toward the edge of the rooftop, tip of his forehoof clipping its edge. “I say, it is high time we get this evening underway.” He held out his free hoof, wind combing his fun, blue mane. “Wanna fly around? For old time’s sake!”

Miss Doo looked at his hoof, then at his face. So sincere, were his eyes. So green and kind, not alluring but inviting. And as she stared, as his smile fell to concern and he asked “Is something wrong?” she was lost for a moment. His words caught her back, and she blinked a few times. A clever smile made its way after that.

She took the hoof, and it tensed in his.

“Not a single thing is wrong at all!”

And she pulled him into the sky.

The horizon made a line across its canvas, and from it colors ran like paint. Yellow, blue, a bit of scarlet and purple; Miss Doo and Sonny Weathers flew from rooftop to rooftop, detouring with hefty spirals. It was easy to imagine. A dip, then a dive, one coming to take care after the other. These two had certainly flown together before. Their dance seemed rehearsed. But at the same time, it could not have been. Miss Doo fell, eyes closed and teary from the wind of flight, with complete satisfaction that this day could only end well.

“H…hey Sonny…”

“Hey, Ditzy Doo!”

“Um…! I was wondering the other day… Have you ever been in love?”

“Ha! Yes, definitely!”

They were moving so fast. It was a wonder how the two of them hadn't managed to collide.

“Actually, Ditzy Doo… If you couldn't tell I am in love right now!”

As they flew, the sky became indigo. Time was passing far too quickly. Clouds snaked across the yellow sky, making it purple and dark. Just as gently, Miss Doo and Sonny Weathers landed in front of a trellis overgrown with daisies: the gate to where they would be dining this evening.

“Whew!” he smiled, smoothing his collar and returning it to place. “That was fun, Ditzy Doo, it always is!”

The scribe was packaged into a small saddlebag for the evening. Actually quite cozy. Much like the restaurant.

It was lit by small candles. One on each table, hardly anypony out tonight. Miss Doo and Sonny took a table at the edge of the room, just near the corner to the hallway. It was probably too large for only two ponies.

“And then you were like, ‘Well, someone’s gotta eat this potato’! And his face got so red! Do you remember that, Ditzy Doo?”

“Heh heh! Yeah, I totally do; he made me fly for three hours after that!”

This pair of ponies may have actually dampened the mellow atmosphere with their banter, always cheerful and a bit boisterous.

“After that day, I said to myself ‘There’s a swell pony I can get along with’. We had a lot of good times back then.”

“Well, Sonny, I just couldn’t let our teacher bully you!”

“That’s what makes you such a good pony, Doo. You always know what’s most important.”

One could barely hear the lousy raindrops pattering on the roof.

“Sonny Weathers…”

He smiled, and asked. “Yes?”

There was something strange about Ditzy Doo. She had her hooves in a bundle, dwindling them under the soft tablecloth. She hummed a little to herself, trying to catch whatever words had been on her tongue. Her eyes crossed, a bit more so than usual. And her insides were pounding something fierce. Her smile suddenly flashed on and off, as if her mouth had joined her eyes in disarray. Hooves clipped one another, rubbing as if they too could not manage to move. Her whole body was hot with friction, struggling to find its conclusion.

“Ugh!” she grimaced, almost sickly. “Sonny Weathers!”

“Ugh!” he replied in jest. “Ditzy Doo! What’s up?”

She lifted her head, scrunching her face like a frustrated foal. “Unbelievable, Sonny Weathers! I’m just… I’m just really glad we could become friends again!”

“Gad-zooks, Doo, me too!”

“No, I mean like…” She gave a rough sigh. “Like, I’ve been living on my own in Canterlot for a couple of months now, and it’s really hard and I’m kind of worried? Don’t get me wrong, I like living and making it on my own and finally being independent, but it’s way more stressful than I thought! Not to mention kind of lonely coming home to an empty room most of the time, and the scribe doesn’t even write most days. It’s like ‘what did I even do today’, you know? And on top of that, I swear, I almost lost my job the other week! Then where’d I be? The landlord’s a little bit miffed with me because I sometimes forget to pay him; what if I was unemployed, too, it’d all be a huge disaster! I… I like… I just… I have no idea what…” She paused. Then, she breathed in, and out. “Spending time with you makes me feel better about everything, is what I mean, Sonny!”

Sonny Weathers looked his best, and with his bottom dollar gave a firm nod. “Hey. No sweat. Life isn’t easy as you get older, you know? Way against the plan, I’ve been unemployed these past few months. Can you imagine what my old man would say? He’s always been trying to get me to work harder, to keep striving for higher and higher ranks in Weather Patrol, and I get that for some ponies, that’s what you do! But not me, I’m totally fine without my own sector, working some local thing. I don’t need to go any higher! So long as you have everything you need, nopony should stress themself out too much just for its own sake!” He reached his hooves across the table, rattling the silverware with their bold proclamation and lurching forward. “Don’t worry, Ditzy Doo! You’ve got a friend in Sonny Weathers! Just let me know, and I’ll do what I can, okay!?”

The tablecloth scrunched back to what was more or less its default position as Sonny Weathers returned to his seat like a civilized gentlecolt. “Now,” he continued, smoothing his mane in an attempt to look cool that was mostly just goofy. “‘Scribe’, you said? What is that?”

“Um… um um…” Miss Doo pink cheeks had to dampen a moment before she could continue. She pulled on her mane, only once. “Um, oh! That’s right, I… I should show you, it’s right here in my bag…” She undead its latch, and dragged a few papers to the table.

“Wait, wait, Ditzy Doo, me first,” he waved. “As much as I’m sure your random thing I’ve never heard of is super cool, I have to show you something first!”

Miss Doo’s naturally wandering eyes took notice of the scribe’s current activity, but it wasn’t enough for Sonny to take heed. Only paper. But in time, he would surely be impressed with the scribe like the others had been. “Heh. If you say so, Sonny, but my thing’s pretty cool.”

“Ditzy Doo,” he joked, rising from his chair. “As if. This is the reason I invited you out here! It’s a big surprise!”

With some fanfare, Sonny Weathers walked a very short distance to another part of the restaurant. From just beyond the corner, he called out to her. “Now presenting…” he began, with a voice that made Miss Doo’s chest swell for a moment. “A very special somepony…! Violet Covers!”

Henceforth, a hoof emerged and landed on the soft floor as if it were wading through dark fog. In the company of Sonny Weathers was a pony who lurked like a firefly. Her fur was nocturnal, muddied and blurred between visceral blacks and purple hues. Her hooves had been properly done up for the occasion, as they couldn't utter a sound. Black wings, wide as the final notes of sunset, cast large shadows in the candlelight, indistinguishable from the silken dress she wore for the occasion. One would think her the incarnate of darkness if not for her eyes. As orange and as blinding as fire. Glowing orbs beneath the curled black bangs on her head. Her mane kept short and professional, save for the tail that trailed behind her like ripples on a pond at midnight.

She was the perfect end to his perfect day.

“So…? Huh…?" Sonny Weathers popped out from behind her. "What do you think! Say ‘hello’!”

The confusion on Miss Doo’s brow was observed by the austere Violet Covers. Somewhat like a hawk.

“Ditzy Doo,” she began, her demure voice like a drop into water. “I... am Violet Covers, the pony whose mail you have been delivering to 662 on ninth. It would seem… that my fiancé could better use his skull if it were splattered like a watermelon.”

This only made her more confused, some kind of heat still welling in Miss Doo’s small chest.

“Oh you kidder!” went Sonny. “I thought this would be more fun and exciting as a surprise!”

“You know I don’t do well like this.” Violet snapped back at him.

“Look, it’s okay, we’re all friends here,” he returned. He led Violet to the table, closing the distance between all three of them. With a hoof to emphasize his points, he spoke. “Ditzy Doo. This is my fiancée, Violet Covers.” He made a gesture. “Now say ‘Nice to meet you’!”

“It is…” Violet’s eyes were peerless, staring directly at Miss Doo with precision and in a manner that was kind of scary. Violet swallowed, and held out her hoof. “It is wonderful to finally meet you, Ditzy Doo. Sonny has told me much about you, and I can only hope that we can be friends. Why he hasn’t told you about me, I can only guess.”

“It’s more fun! I wanted to give you your own chance at a first impression.”

“You are an idiot.”

“Don’t be nervous, Vi!”

Miss Doo’s eyes crossed, and she took Violet’s hoof. “Um. Hi? I’m… I’m Ditzy Doo?” The confusion in her voice may have been hidden from her hosts.

“Ditzy Doo, I’m terribly sorry,” her firm, but soft voice continued. “Sonny should have warned you about me. I can be very… forward. He is very fond of you, and there is nothing I want more than to… to…”

“Impress you!” Sonny piped.

“Shut up. I mean, sorry, yes.” Her face tensed its brow uncomfortably on Miss Doo as she continued. “You see, I… it’s… well, this is all very new to me, and… ugh.” She scowled, and put a hoof to her temples. “Forgive me.”

“Okay, settle down Violet, that’s enough.” Sonny put his foreleg over her shoulder. Despite her impressive wingspan, she was not very tall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were so nervous.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Aww… Okay but, Ditzy Doo,” he returned to topic. “Violet and I are getting married, see?” Sonny spread his left wing near to Violet’s, revealing that they wore a matching pair of modest jeweled bands that for some reason the scribe nor Miss Doo had ever taken note of before. “When you came back into town I told her all about how we used to be friends! I told her all of the weird stuff that happened between you and me in the past, too. But seeing you again wasn’t as weird as I thought it was going to be! As it turned out, the more and more we talked the more I realized that all those unwanted feelings I had for you were gone! Violet is absolutely the love of my life! Isn’t that right, my nightingale?”

“I am going to eviscerate you.”

“And you and I were the best of friends, Doo!” continued the unencumbered Sonny. “And on the day Violet and I move forward into the rest of our lives, I want you to be there, too. So I invited you to dinner so we could all meet and hit it off and be best friends. The cunning Sonny Weathers strikes again!”

Violet Covers tried not to look menacing. “What my cannon fodder fiancé means, Ditzy, is that he’s brought us all here to clear the air.” Bowing her head apologetically, she looked like a princess. “If it’s what Sonny wants then I, too, would like you to attend our wedding. I hope that we can get along.”

Perhaps they all could.

The conversation held this gap, the one following the sentiments of Violet Covers. Miss Doo must have been very interested in them. For those that knew her as well as the scribe could answer the riddle of where her mismatched eyes were looking. The truth is, that of the two, one was pointed at the betrothed pair while the other was hanging low to the table. Drawn like bees to words on a page. She must have seen the glow, but instead was affixed on words that had since grown stale from their moment in the present. “My fiancée, Violet Covers”. Her eyes were void of substance, and of focus. Indeed. There was something strange about Ditzy Doo. Her throat was welling like she was about to swallow, but it got stuck. As if she was being choked.

Which was odd.

Continue to bake for upwards of four hours

“I…!” Ditzy Doo’s voice shot across the table. “I think I have to go!”

“Ha…? Really?” Sonny Weathers chuckled nervously. “Is something wrong, Ditzy?”

“No, nothing’s wrong! I-I-I think I definitely left the oven on!” Miss Doo stood from her chair, so abruptly and clumsily that it fell backwards to the floor with a loud crash. “I… I was making muffins before, and…! And…” With a sloppy pair of hooves, she stumbled to the table to retrieve her pages, shoving them quickly into her saddlebags. A bunch of them fluttered the floor. “And I guess I left the oven on! It’s no big deal, I’ll take care of it!”

“Oh, um…” Sonny turned a nervous glare to his special somepony. Violet was holding a frowning scowl to the corner of the room. “Hey, I’ll come with you! It’s no worry, we can still—“

“DON’T COME WITH ME. I mean…! It’s fine, really, just a little mistake, I just don’t want to burn my apartment down or anything completely stupid like that!” Miss Doo wasn’t looking at anypony. Objects fluttering to the floor and exits that she turned to were all her eyes saw. “So I’ll see you guys again sometime soon, okay? I’ll see you, goodbye!”

She almost galloped out of the restaurant. When she pulled the door open, harsh winds from the storm blew all around the room. They stirred up a fair few napkins, overturned a chair and a tablecloth, put out more than a few candles, and chased the pages she’d forgotten out the door with the fleeing pegasus. Miss Doo looked back for a single, subtle moment. Escaping down the sidewalk, she was completely aware of the disarray that she had left blankly standing there.

Wow, the rain had intensified. Miss Doo galloped down one street, then turned a corner, then continued down another street and another corner until she had gotten sufficiently far enough away to warrant taking a break. The scribe’s pages, on the other hoof, were stacked on top of each other such that the unwritten ones were on top, to protect the others from getting rained on. They joined Miss Doo beneath a particularly wide overhang, settling beside her as she panted for air.

“What the heck? What? What!?” She rustled through the pages, spreading them all out across the dusty pavement. Her eyes scanned them all, jumping sporadically from page to page. “Where is it?” she asked. “Where is it!?” she hissed. “Here!” A hoof dropped on “upwards of four hours”. “I can’t believe it! How could I have been so stupid!?” She sifted through more. “When did I even…!?” She found what she was looking for. Her eyes prattled around the pages, still struggling to keep up with words. “It… what was I even making? Why would I start making muffins before going out!? Ugh!”

Pages fluttered again as she slammed them to her forehead, grunting angrily at herself. “How stupid can you get, Ditzy Doo!? Whatever, I have to hurry and get home before my stupid apartment burns down and my life turns into any more of a disaster!” A scowl most unbefitting stained her face. Paper crumpled in her hooves as she tensed them. “I’ll get struck by lightning or something stupid like that if I try to fly…” She looked left. Then, she looked right.

“Ugh!” she groaned, taking a gallop down the street to her right. Water kicked up from the puddles she splashed through, unimpeded by what was currently her emergency. She stopped at a corner, and looked both ways again. The gray and shining streets were mostly empty. Weather like this was uncommon in Canterlot, where the the sky was aptly monitored, but a single storm like this a year was not unprecedented. Nopony would risk coming out at a time like this. “Which way is it!?” she growled. It seemed that she had lost her way. She hustled down another road, scribe attempting to hide beneath her wings or its own paper umbrella. No luck. Still lost. She backtracked a few stops. “For crying out loud…! I’m a mail carrier!” The anger in her voice was rising, transforming into something furious. “I should know where the stupid streets go!!” She took another road and saw something.

She was back where she started.

Down the road, in her panic to find the way to Drury Lane, her feverish glances took a moment too long to settle on the restaurant she had only recently escaped from. Her mouth twisted, first to a frown before the toothy scowl returned. “Anywhere’s better than here…” she muttered before turning around. A growl in her throat stirred.

Just then, some magical event of massive proportions occurred far outside of town. Lightning struck. Canterlot’s local Leylines became contorted and violently confounded. The rain and weather flickered on and off, as did the lightning in the sky, the streetlights, and Miss Doo’s increasingly irritated face. Water in shallow puddles rippled for what time they had left.

Every light in Canterlot went out after that. Darkness fell like a stone beneath the waves, victim to the dire undercurrent of night. And slowly, a low rumble was heard. Not unlike the thunder up above. It sounded like stew. Murky stew left in its pot, sitting there, boiling quietly for far too long. That groan, steeping in Miss Doo’s throat, barely audible over the loud thrumming of rain, was kept aptly quiet behind quivering lips.

Aptly. Quiet. The way most pain was harbored.

Except for the scribe’s immature glow, the city of Canterlot was completely black. Despite this, Miss Doo was making headlong dives down the road. Fleeing the restaurant yet. She was flying close to the ground, mane and wings easily becoming soaked. The scribe was at its best to keep up, a bit disregarded. But keeping up would not be too difficult as—

“Oof!”

Some structure cracked, broken in the crash. Also, some things may have rolled to the floor. They were impossible to see. Miss Doo growled again, taking a few hoofsteps back and staggering on a fallen thing. It took three tries to relocate her stance. Her dress was getting soaked, the poor thing. With barely the time to recover, she bounded off again. Only to immediately—

“OOF…!”

cross the road and hit her head on something again. Nothing fell this time, but the hard surface she’d hit was much less forgiving. She rubbed her forehead, trailing a bit of grime from the streets into her mane. She shook it off. Well, no, most of the grime was still there. But she shook, a little, in an attempt to shake. Something off.

There she goes again. The scribe made its way after her.

“Gotta get home…” she whispered through the gales. “Gotta… oven, it…” The murmur trailed off. So did her haste; the scribe nearly passed her as she slowed down in the road. Maybe she had been in the road, it was impossible to tell. “The power’s out,” she said, voice dry and tasteless. “The oven’s… probably off now.”

In the rain, Miss Doo’s bangs were probably hanging quite far over her eyes. Her fur was so wet it was slick now. What had been a warm and lovely dress was now mopped with sogging water. And what had been glimmering with promise, hope, and optimism were now very, very warm. Her entire face was warm, closing and twisting all over itself as her shoulders hung low.

“Come on, Ditzy Doo…” she whimpered to herself. She slammed a determined hoof to the ground, softly so water didn’t splash much. “You can do this. You can still get home!” With visible effort, she came shakily to her hooves and began wading through puddles. Little bits of progress at a time. “Stay positive!“

She took a deep breath, which was difficult with water constantly flowing over her mouth. Carefully, she felt her way down her path. It was too dark to see, and also water was weighing her mane and eyelashes over her eyes. She tried many different directions. Left, right, further this way and that; with a wall, she could begin to find a place to rest and try to re-locate where she was. Or, better yet, find a way out of the rain.

And then she tripped again.

“WHAT!?”

Like an earthquake, with a jagged and reckless resolve, she stood back up in anger.

“What did I trip on!!?” she yelled, turning around to look at the ground. “What!?” as her bangs dropped lower. “Where is it, what could it POSSIBLY have been!?” She pawed at the space she’d been walking in, sliding her hooves along the ground to find her culprit. “I was JUST here! There was nothing!” she continued. “So what was it!?” She kept searching, wandering around in the dark. “There HAS to be something!” Her hooves stomped on pavement now, dirty water caking her clothes. “Come ON! There’s not NOTHING!” she rocked, swaying in the dark like a detached pendulum. “There’s not!” Her hopping slowed, her breath quickened. “There’s not…!” Weary, her neck declined until water ran from her shoulders to her drooping ears. “There’s…”

She stopped, her power lost. Even the dull light of the scribe began to wane.

“Tch…” she scoffed, mouth caught heavily between emotions. “Only Ditzy Doo could be so stupid that she trips on nothing… I’m just bad at everything, aren’t I?” She wiped her face, warm tears quickly cooling in this weather. Her shoulders trembled, and so did her words as she asked little questions to herself. “I just get really lucky, huh? What if the power didn’t go out? What if somepony else saw me open those packages? What if I lose my job—what if I had accidentally hit Rarity??” With shaking hooves, she fruitlessly tried to smooth her dress and pull her mane, all without moving her crooked, empty eyes. “What if… what if I’d said something back there…?”

Chances are, there were at least a few stray feathers and hairs floating in the waters surrounding her. She was absolutely still in this world of pure blackness. The sky was dark as ink, still as night, and mercilessly waiting.

“I can’t do this,” she cried.

Rain was falling very hard. Without the sky, there was no way to know for how much longer. There was no way to know if Drury Lane was just a block away, or miles. Perhaps if she felt around a little more, she could find shelter without tripping this time. Maybe this time she could get dry, gather her bearings and find a way back home. If she tried really hard, maybe took the schedule with her this time and made a little reminder every day, she wouldn’t be fired. Maybe she could do… some other things, too. Maybe things would be different this time.

“I’m so tired!” came her wailing in the dark. “I’m SO tired! Of being so optimistic! ‘Oh, just keep your chin up, Ditzy Doo! Keep on trying!’ Well, you know what!? Forget it! I give up, I’m too stupid and dumb to figure this out! I can’t do this, I just CAN’T do it! I’m too stupid to have a full time job, I’m too stupid to pay rent and apparently I’m too stupid to notice an engagement band, too!? And! And I guess I’m just so FUNNY and stupid! That I can trip. On. NOTHING!”

A drop of liquid fell onto the scribe’s pages. Salty. Another fell, dark and drawn from her wounded nose. Bitter.

"And you..!" she shouted, snapping to the scribe's glow in the abyss. “You KNEW! You knew I left the oven on! You knew about Sonny’s wedding band and you DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING! I’ve read you a bunch of times! What, did you think I never did!? Did you think I just glanced over all the ‘it better be enough’ and the snide little comments and the ‘maybe she woulda been smarter if she remembered her package this time’ and all those little things and didn’t get hurt!? I’m not that stupid! I’m not…” She let out a sigh, and curled up on the ground again. Her voice was trembling. She continued with reverence. “I’m sorry…” she said, hugging herself best she could. “It’s not your fault I’m stupid, it’s my fault. Just like it always is..."

Her head turned up. And with a fluttering sigh, she lay right down in the cold and torrential rain. Clenching eyes relaxed. She was drifting to sleep, her poor heart too exhausted. Defeated.

“I wish I was stupider," she said. "I wish I was so stupid that I didn’t realize how stupid I was. Then maybe I could be happy.”

She fell asleep. In the rain, and in the dark, and all alone, she fell asleep.

But it wasn’t night forever.

Miss Doo’s eyes opened slowly, but she quickly rose to her hooves with a start when she realized that she’d been laying in the middle of the sidewalk. She put a hoof to her chest. Her fast-beating heart must have been aching.

A slow self-examination with her reddened eyes revealed a few things. Canterlot was bright, but this morning wasn’t too intense. Clumsily, she pulled her dress off over her head, and gave her mane a quick shake to dry off.

“Oh,” she said, looking the sagging thing over. It had not fared well. The fabric had become too heavy last night, and stretched itself out. Not to mention the flower patterns were soaked, both eroded and faded. Miss Doo looked it over, inside and out. There were small rips in the wing holes from violent activity. “Dang,” she sighed. “Oh well! I guess I probably don’t really need it for anything, anyway.”

She looked to her fallen saddlebag, scribe barely poking out of it. Fortunate that it had found shelter. “I’m sorry I was so mad last night,” she said to it. “I’m just… coming to terms with how my life’s gonna go, I guess.” She put a hoof to her chin. “I… definitely can’t go back to work, is the thing. Guess that… hm… I’ll ask my mom to help me with the last rent payment, and then I’ll go back home to Cloudsdale. A couple of weeks at the weather plant, and I could probably pay her back. Sigh.” She took a moment, laying back onto her haunches and looking up at the clear sky. “Oh. I know where this is. Nice.”

From that sky, a letter came tumbling down. It presented itself to Miss Doo and leafed open its seal to hey that’s one of the scribe’s pages. It hastily joined the rest of the enchanted papers, adding to its neat stack. Though, it already had writing on it. Writing that was now stuck in the narrative.

She would be glad to see you attend

Despite the above intrusive text, it made a fine new page.

Also enclosed in the letter was another piece of parchment, one to which Miss Doo held a glance somewhere between bewilderment and confusion. Its contents were transcribed below:

Benevolent Ball, Guest
Time: First Day of Summer
Place: Magmia
On Behalf of: The Great and Powerful Trixie, the Evening’s Entertainment

Ha. Leave it to Ditzy Doo to be invited to the same party twice.

Introduction of the Heroines: The Great and Powerful Trixie and the Lovely Mare Ditzy Doo

Chorus

“You.”

A voice creeps in the light.

“You’re responsible for all of this?”

The room is white, and tiled. Cold, like snow.

“Well?” comes its depth once again. “Say something.”

The brightness of the room is exhausting. That voice is exhausting. Isn’t there anything else here?

“Let’s start with your name.”

A mirror. There I am. Shackled to the floor, forced into submission. A ring is on my horn. It looks like Omega zero zero zero three. Eh. I’ve shaken off lower. Then again, I had lied about that. I do remember lying. Other than that, as far as my tired eyes can see there is limitless, blinding void. Not so much as a shadow on this solemn white glacier.

“The Princess is coming. And she won’t want her patience tested for this kind of treason."

Treason? That’s exciting. To sate the poor pony behind the mirror, I mumble. Admitedly, I’m having a bit of trouble remembering what I'm supposed to be called.

“Speak up. The sooner, the better.”

Ah, but I’m not one to deny the thrill of a little dramatic pause.

“Trixie,” I say. I cannot stand, and I can only barely hold my head up with these shackles intact. And with my magic restrained, I can’t conjure any fireworks or whistles. No stage lights, no royal tones, no marveling spells. A tragedy upon this empty blank canvas. But, and I mean to emphasize this point, I am not about to give my audience the pleasure of my name without a little flair. So, I let my name linger and echo on this bleak white prison. And I glare, staring at the mirror for only a moment at my own figure. As I repeated myself, I moved my piercing eyes to the captor behind it.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie.”

I could see his mana’s impression in Metaspace, past the one-way reflector. I am a powerful sorceress after all. It may have been a tactical lapse, if I’m to have any hope of escape. Keeping my prowess hidden would have served to my advantage. Then again, I don’t make illusions anymore.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Well, let us think, shall we?” I begin, my voice a little hoarse from exhaustion. I still keep my head high as I can, pulling my shackles to their limit. “You say ‘treason’, and speak of the Princess, so she might expect that she did something… illicit, is that right?”

I receive no answer. No matter. I always have more to say.

“And you’ve locked her up," I continue, gaining confidence. “You’ve shackled her, and bound her magic. And here she is in this interrogation chamber alone, with her senses almost completely deprived in this bright monster of a room. Which indicates, of course…!”

I take a small gasp of surprise as I arrive at my own conclusion, sparks of wonder flashing before my eyes. Exhausted, strained, nigh strangled of strength, I am imprisoned by light and my own reflection. All this in addition to whatever ordeal escapes my recent memory. Something had happened. At this revelation, I take back a piece of pride so rudely shaken from me. How wonderful. I smile.

“You are afraid of her. You’re afraid of me. Of my power.”

My smile grows, and my teeth show.

“Trixie did something amazing, didn’t she?”

The words nearly catch on my aching chest and lungs. I almost laugh. There was something of relief in saying them, hearing them, regardless of my circumstances.

“This book. What is it?” he returns.

Ha. He changed the subject. “She’s right, isn’t she?” I tease. Somehow, this shade of relief manages to calm me down, and my gasps from earlier settle into a sigh. Finding my situation suddenly much easier to accept, I settle my chin over my shackles, laying down casually on the chilly floor. “How funny.”

“The book, mage. This one called ‘The Last Illusion’. And why won’t it…?”

The stallion’s voice fades, in small surprise. My eyes are already starting to close. Though this ‘book’ business began to sound sort of familiar…

“What is this?” to his surprise. "And who is Ditzy Doo?”

“Of course!” I boom, back to life. With interest, I glance at the mirror. “Miss Doo! And my scribe! Do you have it? What’s it doing?”

There is a pause before he continues. "So it is yours?”

“Yes! Now please, sir, answer me.”

“What’s it’s purpose? Why could it only be opened now? And why only the first page? Are you doing something, mage!?”

“Whoa, hey now,” I say, trying to still his harsh tone. “Trixie is not doing anything. She has never known it to ever be locked. And it is not dangerous!”

He goes quiet, again.

“She is locked up, her horn bound! With clearly some mild amnesia, too; she could hardly recognize it before moments ago.” I muster kindness to my voice. “Good stallion, you will have to trust her.”

He is still quiet. No doubt mulling it over.

“Fine," he seethes. “Just answer my questions.”

My head lowers, and I bite the corner of my tongue. Not my favorite kind of crowd. “Very well. Trixie will do her best.”

He begins. "What is this book?”

“It is Trixie's scribe,” I recall, remembering as I continue. “It follows and writes down all the history it encounters. Trixie brought it with her so… so she could sell a novel from its inscriptions.”

“You hesitated.”

“It seems silly in hindsight.”

“Why?”

“A lot has happened,” I say with a shrug. “She has made a lot of… progress since then.”

“What happened?”

“A lot, good sir! Look for yourself, if you have it so close by.”

“How do you open it…!?”

“She does not know; Trixie has never known it to be locked, as she said.” My brow furrows, until I wave a dismissive hoof best I can. "It is an ancient relic from eons ago. Trixie has always had trouble getting it to cooperate.”

When he becomes silent, I let my head droop and relax. My shackles aren’t very comfortable. Rusted, too. This room was an absolute assault on my senses, both physically and in its obscenely bright light. Goodness, how it blinds me like a morning snow. But at least I can close my eyes, do what I want. As far as I’m concerned, this prison is mine. Nopony but me and my reflection, and she wasn’t bothering any. I drift, a bit, in the comfort of my closed eyes, as he continues.

“Who is Ditzy Doo?”

“Hm…?” I tilt, still dozing.

“It says, ‘Starring The Great and Powerful Trixie, and the Lovely Mare Ditzy Doo’.”

“She is Trixie’s close companion,” I answer. A flash of worry rises in me. “Is she here as well?”

The answer is distant. "No, she…” Quite distracted, is he? His answer will do for now. “Do this book’s pages turn when read aloud?”

“Ha.” I sigh. “Sounds like something that rag would do.” I settled back down, aching but too tired to notice.

“You seem oddly content.”

I speak through closed eyes. “She is exhausted beyond measure, likely due to this ‘treasonous’ action you blathered about, bound and sealed in this irritating room, subject to your scrutiny. Yet, Trixie is recognized for her power at last. And since you seem satisfied not to share, and a Princess is coming soon enough, she assumes you’re just here to flatter her for information. Rather than fret over what little control Trixie has left, she would instead rest her weary head.”

I open an eye, to look at him through the mirror again. “And since you, sir, are nigh to read the epic saga of The Great and Powerful Trixie, akin to any of Equestria's greatest heroes or heroines, she may rest to a thrilling and marvelous story at the same time. Trixie is indeed content, good stallion.”

Ha. Nailed it. I silence him for almost a full two minutes. Or, perhaps five. I am still very tired. Heavy eyes, heavy chains, and something else weighing on my mind as well…

“Don’t get comfortable.”

I stifle the small smile on my lips. “Trixie wouldn’t dream of it."

"Come one, come all, for true Greatness awaits!”
“Power never before seen and never seen again!"
“But don’t look this way too long, my little ponies…"
“Or you may find yourself gazing at the stars!”

The crowd roared for the showmare, the only thing alight in a suddenly dark universe. Her eyes, closed, looking up in splendor. An azure coat, with shining silver mane streaming from beneath her garments like tufts of milky way. She was a silhouette of light. Perfect grin, poise to topple galaxies, ponies young and old at the tips of her hooves; this was her element.

She let an eye wander open, to a book backstage. Its own magic was active, writing everything down.

“Ha!” She boomed, twirling once with her cape. A bright flame saw her disappear completely, leaving only soft, fizzling fireworks in her wake. The darkness was replaced with their light. But where did she go? wondered the audience to each other. Where had she gone indeed? So soon? The story had only just been beginni—

“Behold…!” came her resounding song, from all directions and at volumes whispering and roaring. So, too, did all the world's wonders fall in from above the horizon. Sugar-mints and strawberries; airships and steam engines; dragons, princesses, and manticores galore; so did visions of grandeur descend upon all who would witness. “All is revealed!” returned her voice.

“I speak not fictitious things,”
“Only that which is certain and true!”
“By the stars above and our friendship below,”
“I can promise the mysteries of the world, illuminated at last!"
“However… don’t look this way too long…!”

Streams of white and gold joined the fluttering visions, coalescing towards center stage. The scintillation grew, making tremors and waves as it became too bright to see, too much to bear.

“Or you may find yourself gazing at the stars!”

It burst! Releasing from its cage of light a thousand glowing butterflies, leaving the heroine, once again, in its wake. She sparkled in her own way, not just her eyes but the figures on her cape and hat. Through these gestures, she shouted confidence. She shouted skill and majesty, this mare of the sky. None could quiet her. Who was this sorceress, this epitome of wonder?

“Now…" she continued quaintly. The illusions followed suit, calming to match her. It was the rising action of an impending crescendo. “Welcome. A humble welcome to the show! That of…”

“The Great,”
“And Powerful,”
“Trixie.”

“Horseapples!” Her hoof slammed firmly on the table, rattling a vanilla milkshake. “What kind of scribing tool are you supposed to be? How can you capture Trixie so beautifully and blatantly only to silence yourself for the remainder of the show!? Isn’t that the point? Did you miss the part where Trixie was stupendous and amazing!? Wretched rag! Easily, she could put you back right where she found you! Ugh!”

How scary she was, shouting at a book. She had soon given up, bonking her forehead down in defeat. The show had ended two hours ago, not another word until these moments. She had come to a brief rest, settling on a quaint table outside. She stood out against this small hamlet. This must be what she is like. This “Trixie”.

“Why now? Why the milkshake, the table, my hoof? Why stop right after my name and begin again in this mundanity? And don’t write her profanities!” she added, noticing as it recorded more recent events. “Trixie’s readers do not need to think of her that way!” she groaned. "Ugh. Trixie will edit you later.”

“Mummy, look!” shrieked a nearby unicorn foal. “It’s Trixie!” She tugged on her mummy’s leg. The mummy in question looked to the showmare, who waved politely.

“Wonderful,” Trixie muttered through a gritted smile. Her fans were approaching. No doubt an interview was nigh.

“Thank you so much for the show!” she whispered. A little blush was on her warming pink cheeks. “You're so good!”

“Yes, well hard work and practice can take a unicorn very far.”

“Can I ask her, mum?” prodded the young one.

“Um, sure,” she replied. “Maybe she’ll get what you mean better than me.”

“And what, may I ask?"

“Um… just…” the foal meandered some dirt with her hooves. “Do you know…! Do you know the biggest Omega you ever got!?”

Trixie’s eyebrow lifted. “You mean Trixie’s highest Annihilation Quotient?” she raised, real surprise on her tongue.

“Yeah, yeah! My teacher says mine was zero one four!”

“Wow.” The word stretched with a tinge of awe. "That’s pretty good for a foal your age.”

The Annihilation Quotient (often symbolized by an Omega) is equal to the length of a object’s mana vector divided by that object’s mass. To remember, young unicorns say “mind over matter”. This Quotient is often used among unicorn sorcerers and sorceresses to measure the magic applied by items, ponies, or other material. Since it is forbidden by nature’s laws for the Quotient to exceed or equal one (or 1.000), and all matter behaves similarly for any Quotient it adopts, it is a very useful tool to objectively measure the magic being elicited by any thing. A unicorn’s horn glows at one three one (0.131). The sonic rainboom phenomenon reaches a peak of six eight six (0.686) in the nearby area, though pegasi cannot do any better than earth ponies otherwise, capped at approximately one one seven (0.117). It is not recommended (nor always possible) for a unicorn to achieve Quotients above five three zero (0.530), since a pony’s necessary biological functions are at risk for irreversible damage as matter begins to mystify. Typically, one will not exceed three zero zero (0.300) during daily activities; any more causes psychosomatic duress. In the end, however, it is only a number contrived by scholars. It often has no common applicability.

“Do you know yours? It... it’s okay if you don’t,” the fan spoke, crestfallen. “My friends all say I’m a nerd because I know about it, and…”

“Humph,” Trixie sneered, putting a hoof to her chest and puffing out proudly. “Perhaps your friends have never met Trixie.”

“Really!? Tell me, tell me…!”

Trixie played the part. She shifted eyes to the right, suspiciously, then to the left. “To tell you the truth,” she whispered like a secret. “Trixie’s is six five eight. She measures almost every week.”

“WOAH! That’s so high! Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It does a little, but with a lot of practice and very, very rigorous safety precautions...” She paused to advocate this, pointing a hoof. "Trixie is well on her way to surmounting the world record!”

“Oh gosh! I’m rooting for you, Trixie!” The mother had wrapped up their meeting; the two were now on their way.

“Aye, and Trixie for you, too!”

Trixie watched as the pair turned a corner, the foal speaking more mathematical jargon to her mother in excitement. Trixie leaned back, smugly, and took another swig from the straw of her milkshake. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she frowned. “Never thought… I’d meet a foal like that. Ha. Or anypony.” Her gaze then drifted, reminiscing on memory.

“Ah, but you!” she spat to her scribe back to reality. “Trixie will keep you for now. It is no fur off of her back. Your eloquence is at least quite satisfying. Ugh. But try not to bore readers with studies in mesophysics.”

Trixie got to her hooves, and pushed in her chair. She did, however, leave the empty milkshake glass at the table like a rambunctious ne’er-do-well.

“Oh, it looks like you have some humor to you, hm?” she began, noticing the comment. "Trixie wonders how humorously you’d take to a bath?”

And so did that beautiful, smart, talented mare travel. She headed straight to the edge of town, undoubtedly time for the busy showmare to venture to continue her quest for fame.

“Fame and influence,” Trixie added, hovering the book at her side with her magic; it was time to focus on the task ahead. “My time on tour is over. Her next show is in Canterlot,” she hyped to herself firmly. “This is her last stop as a B-list pony. You shall witness it, scribe, and so will history.”

Soon, the small town’s gate was behind her, its low wooden fence clicking shut with a nod. Low afternoon, the rays of the sun were just beginning to burn orange on the leaves of the trees and grass. A well-worn path stretched before her, and Trixie took it in stride with her head held high. Her eyes were focused, dead ahead. No time to notice the gentle wind among the leaves. Rustle rustle, it went, billowing that magical cape of hers. And certainly no time to feel the afternoon heat, let alone notice what bit of it made the dirt path tread hot. No, her hat kept the sun from stinging her eyes. Her eyes indeed; the wind was singing and the sun was humming, but Trixie was glaring forward with enough intent to frighten the cicadas into whistling a little more quietly.

Perhaps this intense and casual focus is what distracted her from the pony falling from the sky. Falling, turning, twirling like a leaf. Or a paper plane with one ear bent. Nevertheless was the pony spiraling downward, and the heroine Trixie did what any pony given a hurdling projectile and half a second would do.

She conjured a dozen balloons for the falling pony to land on. A flourish of her horn saw them enter the scene.

“Oof!” squealed the fallen pegasus, accompanied by a short, loud squeak from each of the balloons involved.

“Humph. And you’re very welcome, indeed, my little pony!” Trixie began in her grandiose tone. “That I was here where you would be falling, such that a fateful meeting could take place between us! And that the Great and Powerful Trixie, most capable of all unicorns, was able to arrive at your rescue.”

“Oh! Yes, thank you…!” The fallen gray mare tried to stand, but she instead elicited a loud and inconvenient “honk” from one of the balloons. “I, it was…” Honk. “I tried to swerve away from a…” Honk. “A bird. But I guess we swerved…” Honk. “We both swerved instead! Isn’t that…?” Honk. “And I lost control and…” Honk. “… … Could you…?”

“But of course,” she replied. With a flick of her horn, the balloons each burst into four to six bubbles, floating away or popping politely.

The gray mare, with nothing now below her, then fell unceremoniously. “Aha. Neat. Thanks,” the fallen mare sighed, now unfortunately face-first in the dirt.

“No…” the showmare began, holding her forehoof to the downed mare dramatically. “Problem!” Trixie beamed to the mare below, and she looked up to meet her. Trixie and her eyes met, the focused grin on Trixie’s side clashing with the disgruntled smile and crooked eyes of the gray pony on the ground. All things considered, they were a fine pair. Trixie was bold and proud in the way she stood. But she did not look down on the mare below. No, not a look of pity, but of anticipation. As if she could not continue without a cue delivered from her observer's sincerity. And this mare, this fallen grey pegasus, though her smile was strained by wear and her gaze twisted by fate, surely a pony requires a certain special something to keep both or even either in any state called “normal" after such a celestial venture. Dynamic duo indeed. These two will do quite nicely.

“Ah, I’m Ditzy Doo!” she sputtered, taking Trixie’s hoof back to her own. “But you can call me ‘Ditzy’.”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie,” returned the showmare. “It is pleasant to meet you, Miss Doo, but Trixie must be going if she is to arrive in Canterlot in time. Goodbye!”

Miss Doo stopped her after a hoofstep. “Wait, hey!” Miss Doo gestured to her saddlebags. “I’m going there, too! Do you want to travel together?”

“I… she, um… Trixie is not in any need of traveling companionship at this time, Miss Doo; she must decline.”

“Aw, are you sure? See,” as she began her rambling, “All of my stuff is already ahead there, and my aunt packed me a bunch of food, including stuff to make s’mores, right? And I know they always taste a little better with company! Of course, with my luck I’d probably set the whole forest on fire, anyway, so I could probably use some help with that… and also, I’m not exactly even sure how to get to Canterlot in the first place, but don’t tell my mom I said that ‘cause—“

“Enough.” Trixie stopped Miss Doo with a hoof to her lips, and an eyebrow raised. “Trixie has decided that she will escort you, the kind and generous mare that she is. But hold fast!” Trixie then scuffed her hoof on the path, kicking up dry dust. "For a path trod alongside such a daring mare as Trixie is sure to evoke some excitement and danger. Who knows what the road between here and our destination has in store?”

Miss Doo’s gaze came up from Trixie’s hoof in the road. A confused eyebrow marked her face. “Yeah…”

“Not a moment to spare, Miss Doo,” she called, already several hoofsteps ahead. “Come along; greatness awaits."

Miss Doo stared for a moment longer before noticing a book floating alongside her. It hovered of its own accord, a feather quill scrawling autonomously along its pages. “Hey, what… what’s this book?” she asked, hustling to catch up to Trixie.

She answered, “That is my scribe. It follows Trixie closely, recording her triumphs and ventures. She will release a novel using what it has recorded. Certainly, it will work in her favor somehow or another.”

“Oh… huh.” Trixie and Miss Doo continued to stride along the path, and the light of dusk was soon sweeping over them. Miss Doo peered over at the scribe, trying to watch it write as it followed above them, pages at this time just outside her field of vision. She peered at Trixie, too, though the showmare always faced straight ahead, not bothering to look at Miss Doo for the most part. Miss Doo’s peering meandered shyly about the darkening sides of the road, occasionally noticing berries or glowing insects. But she still ultimately returned to the royal flow of Trixie’s cape. Blue and gold stars on a lavender sky.

“She really is for real, huh? Wow."

Author's Note

There is no need to fret over the math.

Observing the Competitors Numbered Seventeen, Eighteen, and Nineteen

Afternoon settled upon Amy and Miss Doo. Trixie’s cape wafted gently, stuffed as it was in Miss Doo’s saddlebags. The young unicorn and pegasus were wading down the path now, juxtaposed by a flurry of fur and the hoofbeats of the fair’s other patrons. Amy had become disgruntled, the socially awkward pony she was, and was veering off of the stones to take a breather with her chaperone. Miss Doo followed, trying best to keep her wings and inventory out of the way, either by stretching above the crowd or by making use of precarious hoofsteps. Of course, she apologized swiftly to anypony she bumped into. This was more than a few.

In the meantime, Amy naturally came through the crowd first, and she found a small clearing off the road. The scribe was greedily in her hoof, clenched to her chest to keep it safe from the crowds. Appreciated if not unnecessary. She took a dry breath. Sigh. Opening the book uneasily, she allowed it to catch itself in its own hovering magic as she turned the pages one-hoofedly. The umpteenth time, she was nosing between the scribe’s pages. Truly this young mare was unentertained by the common pony’s activity. She had been displaced from the action all day. Miss Doo could stop at any odd thing, whether it be an acoustic guitar or a leaf. Yes, a simple leaf. But Amethyst Star, for whatever reason, could always find the leaves of a scribe far more enticing, despite how still they had been for the past few hours.

“So… it can write about stuff that already happened after it happened…” she muttered, watching it.

My, my. It would appear that the young Amethyst Star might have thought herself a detective.

“See!? You have to be mocking me on purpose! Don’t pretend you don’t have consciousness!”

Looks like Trixie was not the only one who scolds books.

“Hey!” Amy crossly barked at the scribe.

“Heh heh!” Miss Doo laughed as she caught up. “Did it say something funny again? Don’t feel bad; it does it to Trixie all the time.”

“I’m not like that snob!” she all but fumed, a tad puoting. “I’m way nicer. And I don’t bully other ponies, either.”

The proper term is “dunk on”.

Amy saw, somewhat scowling. “Look, she cheated or something, because that’s just not possible!”

On the contrary.

Magic is part “Meta”; thought and perspective can influence the reality through Metaspace. A teleportation spell thus requires that a unicorn properly perceive and understand her location and destination, if she intends to be precise, such as Amethyst Star upon her second attempt at escape. The sorceress foresaw Amy’s teleporative escape, knew where in Metaspace the mana would be, and struck with her own to counter. Objectively, a feat of immaculate skill.

“Oh whatever,” she pouted. “Fancy math doesn’t make her impressive.”

“She’s not that bad, really, I promise!” Miss Doo interjected. “Like I said, she’s just intense! She wasn’t really gonna eat you or trap you in another dimension.”

“I mean, duh. I get that now. But I didn’t get it at the time; she tried to freak me out on purpose!”

“Yeah… I think she was just trying to make a point!”

“Well she did it wrong.”

“Oh, Amy. Is it really that bad?” Miss Doo; exhausted from the heat, pressure of the crowds, and lowering sun; fell to her haunches for an extra breath of air. “I mean, I get that Trixie probably wasn’t exactly the best behaved pony,” she conceded. “But she’s actually really nice! Like, you’ve read the whole scribe today, right? I haven’t had a chance to lately. But I don’t have to; I remember how good she is! She helped that little Acornwood town, and she helped me when I was scared of the Wailing Crane. Good ponies help ponies. So, Trixie should be a good pony, too.”

“Uuuuugh,” Amy groaned. She soon joined her, laying down nearby with the scribe open. “First of all, I skipped the boring parts. Mostly because I’m a little embarrassed for you, Ditzy.” She sighed. “I mean it. She’s kind of insensitive towards you, and it makes me a little sick. She might have beat up those thugs, but that wasn’t until after you stood up to them. That ‘hint of malice’? She was probably miffed at you for the whole day. I can’t stand seeing her treat somepony that way. I’m sick of ponies like her.” Amy paused, brow tightening. “She’s just like those bullies at school, just like Melody and Mister Irons. Thinking they’re better than everypony else, getting all the attention and always looking down on me. It makes me so… UGH! I hate it!”

Amethyst Star rolled over on the warm grass, turning to use the scribe as a rest for her head. “Ponies like that don’t deserve it…” she murmured, shutting her eyes to block out the oppressive light. She stayed like this, she and Miss Doo taking some time, allowing a silence to pass over them for a moment. Miss Doo stirred, peeking a crooked eye in the young unicorn’s direction to observe the troubled look on her face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Miss Doo said, slightly doting. “You’ll… it… you’ve got some friends, right? There’s ponies out there you’ll get along with?”

“Tsshh. The common pony’s a joke, Ditzy,” the young pony spat, almost dozing on her venom. “Screw ‘em. Screw ‘em all…”

But Miss Doo did not respond. Amy’s words had been mowed over in part by poor vocal projection and in part by the gentlecolt that had been approaching them. So, it would have been difficult for Amy to tell as she peeked up at a hesitant Miss Doo whether or not the pegasus had heard her. Her attention had been taken by the visitor. He was tall. Not thin, but kind. Humble, almost regal.

“I say,” he began, a tad flustered in his pedestrian clothing. He had a bit of a posh, Canterlot accent. “So sorry to interrupt, but have either of you seen my wife? Light magenta mane? Sweet vanilla coat? We seem to have been separated.”

“Hmmm…” Miss Doo squinted, trying to remember. “I don’t think so, mister. There’s a lot of ponies out tonight, you know?” She perked up, offering kindness with her eyes. “Hey, do you need some help looking for her? I could fly up, and try to look around.”

“Hm. Well, in truth, I would rather not make a scene... Goodness, what’s the time?” He reached into a pocket on his vest, and produced an intricate watch. “The Competition is soon, isn’t it?”

“Oh!” Miss Doo fumbled quickly through her saddlebags, displacing a certain magical cape. She produced a crumpled slip of paper. “My friend left her paper right here.”

“Ah. Excellent.”

The stately unicorn made his way to Miss Doo’s side, to read the parchment’s proclamations, which were thusly transcribed below:

Hoovesvale Music Competition
Advanced Solo Competition
The following guidelines must be followed in order to compete:
Ponies must play solo. Accompaniments will not be judged.
All instruments are allowed in accordance with the Canterlot Music Association’s “List of Contemporary Instruments”.
Nothing to be judged may be produced artificially. Music produced magically may be conjured, but not pre-recorded.
Omega Spheres are not allowed and neither are performances auspicious enough to require one.
Performances may not exceed six minutes in duration.
Winners will be announced after all competitors have participated.
The Advanced Solo Competition begins at 5:00PM.
And, as always, provide your best efforts. Good luck!
Your number is #19.

“Ah,” from the gentlecolt. “My wife must already be preparing. Her number is seventeen.”

“Oh! Wanna go to the Competition together? We can see Trixie and your wife, too!”

The gentlecolt raised a deep blue eyebrow. “Did you say Trixie?” he inquired. “As in, ‘The Great and Powerful: Trixie’?”

“Whoa! Do you know her? She always brags about being famous, but I didn’t know she actually was because I’d never heard of her!”

“No, no, I’d only first heard the name this morning; she has Alchemy Hall booked for her show in a few days, doesn’t she?”

“Oh my gosh! That’s real, too!? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised! She got recognized and thrown into that random fight today and everything, huh?”

“A fight, you say?”

“Oh, it’s not like that! Nopony got hurt too much. I think they might have been friends, actually?”

“Goodness.” The gentlecolt was impressed. “This ‘Trixie’ sounds like quite the character.”

“Yeah, she really is. She’s really smart and very, very talented! And she’s nice, too, even if… she is a little intense. But nonetheless, I still believe in her!”

Amy scoffed, but nopony took notice.

“And she plays music?” the noble stallion pried.

Miss Doo scratched her chin. “Um, I guess so! I know she’s a performer, but I’ve never heard her do anything musical before.”

“I see. An upcoming mare of many talents, then.”

“Oh yeah, for sure!”

“Hmmm…” he rumbled, contemplating. “Regardless, if your offer still stands, I’d be honored to join you, Miss…?”

“Oh! Ha! My name’s Ditzy Doo, but you can just call me ‘Ditzy’.”

“Ditzy. It is nice to meet you. Shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s!”

Miss Doo and her new friend nearly adjourned without Amethyst Star. Perhaps it was that she feared being dunked on again, because she rolled her eyes and came to her hooves to follow her chaperone, scribe in tow.

Number seventeen, the positively beautiful mare on stage at this moment, lowered a contrabass into a slow dip. She danced with it, using her magic to pull the strings and draw lovely low music. Comfortingly, it spoke beneath the piano accompaniment another pony was producing upstage. Trailing on her hindhooves, embracing the wooden coffin and spinning it, slowly, the natural wood and steady void beyond the instrument’s frame did quite well to lull those who witnessed it into an odd, sad bliss. And, when the tall unicorn took her bow, despite the impressive performance, few ponies in the audience had been left full aware enough to applaud immediately. Rather, a silence pungent with emotion lingered in the moments following the end. It had been awe. But in time, the trance was over, civilians stomped their hooves loudly and politely, and the preforming pony receded behind the stage right curtain with humbleness and tact.

“You’re wife’s really good!” Miss Doo spoke to her new friend over the diminishing applause. “But I thought the rules said you couldn’t use magic?”

“No, no, my dear. Music is always an intricate process. Conjured sounds, or even kinesis spells, are just as difficult if not more so than using plain hoof and teeth to play. ”

Very true. Metaspace is a vast and intacate constellation; precision and grace are granted only with practice.

“Oh. Wow!”

“Regardless; Ditzy Doo, I should go and meet my wife now! Perhaps I’ll look you up in Canterlot?”

“Oh! Yeah, I’m supposed to be moving there soon!”

“Fantastic. Goodbye, Ditzy.”

“Yep! Tell your wife I say ‘hi’!”

Amethyst Star did not look impressed, eyebrows cross at the mare’s exit. But the glowing scribe nearby captured her attention quickly afterward. She opened it, sitting on her haunches in the standing crowd. As much granted her some privacy.

“Ugh,” she scoffed. “You wrote about seventeen, too?”

The young unicorn scowled at the writing following her question. Number eighteen was about to begin.

“I thought that you were writing randomly, but I think I get it now…” she whispered. Amethyst Star was alone, the only foal sitting in this forest of standing ponies. “You only wrote before when Trixie was here. You write down what she does or what’s relevant to her. You knew what number that other pony was. You know she’s coming out soon. You can learn; you didn’t write my name until I said it myself. You have eyes and ears, just like a pony does. But you just follow that jerk unicorn.”

Amy stared at the make-believe quill, watching its ink trace out letters. Almost as if she expected them to give an answer, so eager were her sad eyes.

“There’s better ponies than her, you know. I’m not gonna be looked at as a foal forever. When I’m a skilled sorceress, I’ll be a lot nicer and way, way greater and more powerful.”

A might ambitious, no?

Miss Doo stifled a little giggle from over Amy’s shoulder. The frowning unicorn glared at Miss Doo, and she looked away smiling and nonchalant as if no altercation had taken place.

“I mean it…!” the young mage whispered, more at a book than anypony else. “Ponies like Trixie suck; they don’t know what it’s like to have to work hard—!”

After a fresh critique, number eighteen moved himself from the stage. Trixie’s cape glowed from Miss Doo’s saddlebags, almost as if on cue, and fluttered over the heads of the audience like a butterfly. It lingered, distracting only a foal or two as the judges called her name. First once. Number nineteen, the… Great and Powerful Trixie. Then again, with lack. Trixie? The Great and Powerful? Where is she? they no doubt wondered.

Amy rolled her eyes at the scribe’s words as she came to her hooves. Whatever, it seems. Worth a glance, at least. She shared the scribe with Miss Doo.

And poof! Trixie dropped from beneath her cape, donning it swiftly with a small flourish of fireworks. The foals in the audience smiled. And a few stomped their hooves. Surely more was yet to come.

“It is she, the Great and Powerful Trixie!” she boomed. Indeed, indeed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Typical Trixie. “Today, she will be playing Wizard in F Sharp!” With that, she spun once and her cape had magically grown to roughly three ponies’ size. When Trixie pulled it back, there was a lovely lavender baby grand in its place. A menagerie of glitter shimmered in its wake, as if she had sparked a flame. “And, in addition…!” Trixie rolled, wafting her cape into the air as if to obscure the sky. “Twelve violins!!” She pulled back, revealing a dozen wooden cases beautifully strung and hovering with her spells. Though the scribe was more privy of her trickery than an average pony’s eyes could be.

Needless to say, Trixie’s flashy tomfoolery impressed the crowd, not the least of which were among the judges. Still, they understood, stomping their hooves preemptively to her ambitions, nodding to their neighbors in anticipation. Some, it seems, had heard of Trixie from earlier that same day. This unicorn was a spectacle, all right. Trixie did not disappoint.

“Trixie,” began an interested yet skeptical judge. “Will you be playing all of these instruments? What part is the accompaniment?”

Trixie’s cape returned to its natural size as she took a seat to play, lowering the lights on her own with magic. The bows poised on strings as Trixie’s hooves landed gingerly on her keys.

“There is no accompaniment,” she lilted brashly.

Buuuunm! her song began. It was played well. A shame that Trixie had been cheating.