Trixie And Her Amazing Pet Changeling

by Georg

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Changelings, Trixie, Comedy, Slice of Life
Length: 19598

A lost and starving changeling encounters a broke and desperate Trixie. It works out better than expected.

Lost, starving, and hunted by the law, a lonely changeling finds a traveling entertainer who he plans on using to restore his energy by extracting as much love out of her as possible.

Too bad his target turns out to be Trixie.

After a brief violent encounter and some mutual blackmail, the two of them decide to perform together in front of the town to raise enough bits and love for them each to go their separate ways.

It works out better than they expected.

Picture credit: Ashindo (Check out his Dark Equestria)
Now on Equestria Daily
Editors: Peter, Tek, Themaskedferret, Bluepaladin42, D48

Published 2016-08-17 19:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-08-21 14:19:24 UTC

1. His Name Is Mud

His Name is Mud

Mud. His name might as well have been mud, due to the amount of mud squishing along his coat and across his hooves, each of which held enough of the sticky, cold, pestilent substance to fill a windowbox full of flowers and have enough leftover to track across the clean carpet, if he could find anywhere not filled with mud within a few days trudge from here. A cold drizzle just on the wrong side of sleet had been falling for days, soaking what could only laughingly be called a road and making it more into a sluggish riverbed that he had been mired in for what seemed like forever. Taking a well-needed break from his muddy slog, he heaved himself up onto a grassy ledge that paralleled the road and let the mud drip back down into the gooey road while shivering in the cold.

If he were the pony he looked like, the changeling could stumble into just about any pony town and find refuge for a day or two until the weather was scheduled to clear. Unfortunately, one side effect of the changeling invasion of Canterlot and their subsequent eviction was a certain hesitancy of the ponies to accept and welcome random strangers coming staggering in out of the rainy fall weather without being checked for magical disguises.

Whatever pony had crafted and distributed the changeling detection spell deserved to be slogging through the mud instead of him. There had been a rock concealed under the mud quite some distance ago which had twisted under his ankle, and that throbbing pain had followed along at his side with every step through the roads he had randomly chosen on his flight from the previous town. It was like he was being followed by a dark cloud, filled with misery and ice which just sucked all of the life out of him with every step.

The last bit of warmth he had left went away as the bitter chill of fall weather soaked into his mud-packed tail while he sat on it. There was no real reason to go forward and nothing behind him but a number of towns who had found he was a changeling and chased him away. So he sat. And dripped. And shivered.

After some time, the faint squish and slog of a pony trudging down the road he had just left became barely audible over the sound of the drizzling sleet. It could have been some guard or police pony tracking down the escaping changeling, except the last town he had visited had been several days ago and this sound was mixed with the faint creak and jingle of a wagon. A dry wagon, most likely pulled by some gullible earth pony who could be sweet-talked into giving a poor, wounded pony a ride to the nearest town. He gave a quick check to his disguise, still intact due to the effort it would have taken to drop it and put it back on again in a hurry, then tried to arrange himself into a pose which would look as pathetic as possible to the passing pony.

It seemed to take forever before the dripping wagon appeared out of the icy mist, moving at a pace which could have easily been passed by a snail in good health, if there were any who would be out in this weather. The pony pulling the wagon slogged and squished along with the slow and regular tread of somepony who knew just exactly how heavy the wagon was and how long they had been pulling it. Step by step, the wagon grew nearer and the changeling double-checked his disguise before extending his aching ankle and letting out a low groan of pain, which was remarkably easy to do.

The pony pulling the wagon had a large floppy hat draped across its head much like a melting pancake, as well as a cloak which the wagon harness was resting on, both of which were most likely a forlorn attempt to provide some protection from the rain. It seemed to be working as well as the changeling’s own disguise because either of them could have been dropped into a muddy pond and emerged dryer than they were now. He groaned again once the wagon grew closer, keeping his eyes nearly closed in anticipation of the expected burst of sympathy when he was finally spotted, because even miserable wet ponies preferred company.

Then he groaned again, louder this time when the wagon drew up next to his theatrical resting spot.

There was no burst of sympathy for him to feed on. The wagon did not stop.

He opened his eyes to look at the back of the wagon as it passed and felt a little burst of anger rise up in his chest at the inequanity of the thoughtless wagon driver. Lunging out into the mud again, he slogged relentlessly forward until he squished down the road alongside the heartless pony, fixing the blue meanie with his best fierce glare and a sharp word.

“Hey!”

The mud-covered pony did not stop. In fact, she seemed to pick up her pace ever so slightly.

“Hey!” he repeated. “I’m talking to you!”

That earned him a sideways glance and a frown, but no words.

“Didn’t you see me back there!” he shouted as he limped along. “You remember, just back over there! I was the pony sitting by the side of the road with a sprained ankle!”

That got him a word. “So?”

“So?!” The changeling tried to stomp his hooves, but succeeded in nothing more than making more squishing noises in the mud. “What kind of pony just leaves a wounded pony by the roadside?” he huffed.

“The kind who doesn’t want to pick up a parasite,” replied the wagon driver without a single change of pace in her emotionless trudge.

Deciding on Righteous Indignation for a response, the changeling let out a loud, “What?!”

The pony still kept trudging onward, but the floppy hat over her head glowed green for a long moment with the same pestilent detection spell the changeling had grown to hate over the last few weeks. His own disguise glowed a matching green through the caked-on mud before the pony said, “You’re a changeling. Or didn’t you know that?”

“Of course I knew,” said the changeling. He eyed the dripping woods they were trudging through as well as the road ahead and behind, just in case he needed to make a run for it. Well, a slow trudge through the mud for it. “How did you know?” he asked after they had walked for a while longer and the driver had not made any more responses.

“Changeling detection spell,” said the driver with a spicy touch of bitter spite and snark he could feel and get just the smallest amount of energy from. “They’re all the rage among unicorns lately.”

“No, I mean how did you cast the spell without me seeing it?” After all, the question was irking him.

“Trade secret,” she said, still trudging along.

“Oh.” As an answer, it was remarkably lacking in answer. After a while more of trudging through the icy mud, he asked, “So… Why aren’t you running away while screaming your head off, like all the other ponies have?”

The pony hunched her back and trudged a little faster with her mouth drawn into a tight line and the faint sound of grinding teeth. “That’s a stupid question. If you haven’t noticed, I have a wagon. If I run away screaming, I’ll lose it. Again.”

“Oh.” At least that was an answer, even though it was a dumb reason for doing what she was doing. The wagon appeared to be a mobile residence of some sort, with a door and a sign, along with a great deal of colorful paint which was obscured by splattered mud. What was better, it seemed to be dry while everything around was as wet as it could be without being at the bottom of the ocean. “So why haven’t you just pulled your wagon into a field and gone to sleep instead of pulling it through the mud?”

“Several reasons.” The pony seemed to be both pleased and angry at the question, which made the emotional flow from her very difficult to feed from, but the changeling nodded along while she talked anyway. “One. The road is dangerous. There are changelings wandering around if you haven’t noticed. There are ponies who would like nothing more than to take Trixie’s stuff. There are floods. Lightning strikes, particularly on innocent unicorns who happened to have perhaps accidentally offended a few dozen pegasi at her last performance. Two. Trixie wants nothing more than to get to the next town and take a BATH! Trixie is very cold and has mud where mud has no business being. Three. Due to a rather hasty departure at her last performance, Trixie has no bits, so Trixie will need to perform BEFORE she gets her bath. Four. Nopony will pay to see a muddy unicorn wave her horn around in the rain, so Trixie is doomed to be disappointed in all of her expectations, like always. Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose.” It still felt odd to be trudging down the muddy road with a pony who knew he was a changeling, but the weak trickle of emotions was at least better than what he was getting at the roadside. Still, he was starving hungry and his ankle throbbed with every step, but this pony did not seem to be terrified of him. If there was no way to trick her out of some love, maybe there was something else he could do to get fed.

“You know, I’ve got a few bits,” he started, shaking his head to get some of the accumulated water off and trying not to think about the little flecks of ice he could feel in his mane. “If you could give me a little love, I could pay you. That way you could get a room and a bath at your next town, and be able to perform. My ankle is killing me and I can’t survive for long on what little love I’ve got left, so it would work out best for the both of us. Does that sound good?”

The unicorn slowed to a stop with the wagon squishing to a halt behind them, but the flow of emotions from her cut off abruptly. “What did you say?” she asked very quietly.

“I just said if you give me some love, I’ll give you some bits, and we’ll both—”

The muddy ground seemed to come up and slug him in the face when the unicorn abruptly grabbed him with her magic and slammed him down. She did not stop at the first squishy impact, but then lifted him out of the mud by his tail and swung him down again while screaming.

“How dare you!”

The impact against the cold mud was much more stunning this time.

“What do you think Trixie is?!”

The third trip face-first into the muddy road did nothing for his scrambled thought processes.

“Trixie does not lift her tail for bits!”

He was losing track of the number of times he had been slammed into the mud by now, as well as losing his ability to breathe. Some faint inaudible noises managed to get through the mud packed into his ears when he felt his disguise fail. It did not slow the unicorn’s attempts to repeatedly smash him into the mud, though. If anything, it seemed to give her more of an incentive. The world became more indistinct with every blow, or at least the world that was not composed of chilly mud. That world was all too clear, but after several more impacts, even it slowly faded into darkness.

3. Getting Into The Act

Getting Into The Act

A thunderous hammering echoed through the cabin from an energetic and loud stallion repeatedly smashing a hoof against the thick door. “Open up! This is the police!”

The voice continued with several variations on the theme before the changeling stirred from his rest, slowly at first due to the chill which had soaked into his body, but more rapidly once the words soaked through his ears and into his brain. He bolted to his hooves and cursed not having checked the cabin for an alternative exit before shaking the sleeping Trixie.

“Not yet, mom,” she muttered, trying to pull the blankets back over her body.

“It’s the police,” he hissed into her ear just in case she missed the loud bellow from outside the door.

“This is the Trixie,” she murmured, clutching desperately to her pillow while the changeling pulled on it. “Go away and let me sleep.”

“We know you have a changeling in there,” bellowed the police officer, continuing to hammer on the door. “Come out with your hooves in the air.”

“How would Trixie even walk that way?” muttered Trixie face-down into the mattress while the changeling threw the last piece of bedding to the other side of the room. “Be a dear and tell them to go away, would you?”

“Open up this door or I’ll break it down!” bellowed the police pony.

“Hold it right there, Sheriff Overwhelm!” shouted another voice, much higher and as shrill as broken glass. “Get your hooves off my cabin!”

“You told me there was a changeling inside, Miss Prissy,” bellowed the sheriff.

“I don’t want you to break my cabin to get it out!” snapped the other voice, whom the changeling presumed to be the cottage park owner. “Can’t you… lay down traps or something?”

Trixie rolled over and blinked several times, looking up into the changeling’s eyes with a baffled expression. “Why is there a changeling in my room?”

“Because there’s a pony in mine,” snapped the changeling, pointing at the door. “There’s about to be two!”

The sheriff’s voice filtered through the door again. “Now look here, Miss Prissy. You told me there was a changeling in your cabin. A little damage is a small price to pay for your security. Now stand aside and I’ll break down the door.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” snapped Prissy.

“Good,” said the changeling.

Prissy continued, “I’ve got the spare key back in the office. Let me go get it.”

“Fewmets!” cursed the changeling.

“Oh, fudge.” Trixie staggered out of bed and stood spraddle-legged in the middle of the small cabin bedroom for a moment, with her eyes still closed and her tangled mane almost standing on end from being damp when she had gotten under the covers. “Be useful and change into something before you tell him to go away.”

The changeling looked back from where he had peeked out of the cabin’s front window curtains. “He’s a unicorn! He’s probably got that blasted detection spell!”

“Oh.” Trixie opened her eyes and blinked several times. “That changes things. You run out the front door and get captured while I’ll sneak out the back. Just let me pack a few things.” Trixie slapped her hat onto her head and her cloak onto her back before staggering into the bathroom.

As much as the changeling wanted to yell at her, he sat down in the middle of the floor and crossed his forehooves until Trixie darted back out of the bathroom.

“Bathroom window too small for your fat flank?” he asked.

“Yes!” she hissed back, actually seeming awake now. “Change into something smaller that will fit and scram. I’ll distract the sheriff.” Trixie opened the shades just a fraction and peeked out of the front window while the changeling sauntered toward the bathroom, stopping in the doorway and looking back over his shoulder.

“What are you going to do about the bits you owe me?”

“Would you rather be broke or in jail?” she hissed back. The rapid departure of the changeling into the bathroom answered her question quite well, and Trixie arranged her hat while getting ready to open the front door. “Showtime.”

“Wait!” The changeling scurried back into the bedroom in the form of a smaller young filly, looking a little panicked. “The back window’s painted shut and it’s got bars. What are we going to do?”

“We?” Trixie raised one eyebrow and scoffed. “Trixie is going to scream to the sheriff and claim I found a changeling hiding in the room. You can do whatever you want.”

The changeling laid his ears back and glared, which carried considerably less vitriol at his reduced size. “What are you going to do when I tell him we are in this together and he arrests us both?”

“You wouldn’t.” Trixie eyed the changeling. “You wouldn’t?”

The changeling kept wearing his best stern expression while standing by the window curtains.

“Yeah, you would. You’re sure vengeful about a few bits.” She let out a sigh and rolled her eyes. “All right, all right. Trixie will think of something.”

“Here’s the key, Sheriff.” There was a sound of some scuffling outside the door. “I’m going to go lock myself back in the office now. Come get me when you have that evil bug locked away.”

The changeling took a moment to peek through the curtains. “You better hurry up because he’s got the— What are you doing?”

Trixie’s magic surrounded the curtain drawstrings and snipped off a long piece before floating one end over to the changeling’s neck. “Change back to your normal form, shut up, and do whatever I tell you. Maybe we can both get out of this without going to jail.”

Although he really wanted to ask, the changeling did as he was told, shifting back into his normal shape and holding very still when Trixie flung open the cabin door to reveal the frowning sheriff with his horn already lighting up, presumably to cast the changeling detection spell.

Talk about overkill. If he can’t detect me like this, he needs a cane and a guide dog.

“Why have you interrupted the sleep of the Great and Powerful Trrrrrixie?” shouted Trixie at what could only be her full volume. “Don’t you know I have a show to put on this afternoon?”

“Ah-HA!” shouted the sheriff at a somewhat lower volume while pointing at the changeling. “You’ve got a changeling… on a leash?”

“Of course I have him on a leash!” bellowed Trixie, somehow managing to increase her already impressive volume. “You’ve got a leash law in this town, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie always follows the law!” The changeling was not sure if his ears were just growing numb or if Trixie’s volume had actually reduced while she continued, “Trixie is a strong supporter of law enforcement. Why, Trixie has had a close relationship with law enforcement for many years, and has performed at many of their exclusive events.”

As much as the changeling wanted to chime in with his own opinion about what kind of relationship it was and the probability she had been wearing hoofcuffs during most of the events, he stayed shut up while Trixie thundered onward on her presentation and the long list of charitable fundraisers she had performed at.

“…the Singleshoe Policestallion’s Benefit and Scholarship Fund, the Broken Star Fund for the support of widows, and Father Fetlock’s School for Orphans.”

The sheriff looked battered by the torrential flood of words, but he managed to respond with a weak, “Yes, but—”

“And to top it all off, just two months ago, Trixie performed an exclusive show for the Manehattan Police Department that resulted in the capture of the nefarious jewel thief Rough Diamond!”

The policestallion’s face was a study in stunned confusion as he repeated somewhat quieter, “Yes, but—”

With a flip of her hoof to push her freshly laundered and cleaned hat back on her head, Trixie proclaimed, “Trixie has performed before the crowned heads of Equestria, Saddle Arabia, and Maretonia, and for one afternoon only, she will be gracing your tiny little town with her amazing feats of skill.”

The sheriff managed to point one hoof at the changeling and weakly counter, “That’s a changeling.”

The changeling looked up at Trixie who was balancing on her hind legs. He so wanted to say, “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” but restrained himself by thinking about just how cold the prison cells in this small town would probably be.

“Not just a changeling, but a trained feral changeling,” proclaimed Trixie with a flourish of one hoof in his direction. “Behold the fierce and vicious predator of the Badlands. Much less intelligent than a regular changeling, they still can be captured and tamed with great effort by a skilled hunter and trained to perform amazing tricks. Trixie has spent many months training this fierce beast, taking her own life into her hooves by teaching him obedience, thus turning this monster into a loyal pet, totally under my command. At her performance this afternoon, Trixie will be proud to show all of your little town just how amazing a job she has done and all of the tricks he can perform.”

“Tricks?” said the sheriff.

I really need to see this. Oh, wait. That’s me.

“Yes, of course!” Trixie polished a hoof on her cape. “Trixie is still working on teaching it the more advanced tricks such like jumping through flaming hoops and juggling, but the simple tricks were foal’s play. Observe.”

With all of the places the changeling had been and all of the things he had experienced, he had never even once considered being in this position. He sat up, rolled over, jumped on command, begged and started to see a little light at the end of the tunnel once the skeptical emotions from the sheriff thinned, being replaced by just a sweet hint of curiosity.

“Well,” started the sheriff after Trixie had finished putting her ‘pet’ through his paces. “I don't see his tags.”

“Err…” Now it was the sheriff’s turn to interrupt Trixie.

“You can’t use him in a performance until he’s had his tags and shots.”

Shots?

“Trixie will be more than happy to get her amazing feral changeling registered and immunized now that he has been trained enough to perform. Do you have a veterinarian in town?”

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

“Shots?” whispered the changeling while they walked through town.

“Remember, the sheriff is watching us,” replied Trixie in a quiet whisper without moving her lips.

Instead of responding the way he wanted to since he could still feel the emotional skepticism of the sheriff lurking somewhere behind them, the changeling put his head down and whimpered in submission while tugging at the makeshift leash all the way to the vet’s office.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

“He’s on a leash!” Trixie shouted at the screaming pony running out of the veterinarian’s office and down the street. “Look! Right here! He’s perfectly safe! Sheesh,” she added, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Some ponies are terrified idiots.”

“What’s going on out here?” The voice from inside of the building was warm and comforting, much like the warm aura of affection drifting in the changeling’s direction when the veterinarian moved over to the counter and looked in shock at her unique patient. “T-t-that’s a changeling!”

The changeling put a hoof to his forehead.

Trixie sighed.

“You must be the veterinarian,” she snarked. “He’s a feral changeling, tamed by the Great and Powerful Trixie. We’re here to get his tags and his—” Trixie lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper “—shots.”

The changeling whined, which was only about half theatrical. Needles hurt.

“Um… Yes,” said the vet, blinking a lot but still maintaining her position at the counter while radiating a spicy mixture of fascination and terror. “Tags. I can see how… I’ve never had a changeling in here before.”

“He’s a unique breed,” volunteered Trixie. “A Feral Southern Shortear, as Trixie understands. Not very bright, but quite loyal when trained properly. Come here and sit. Sit! Let the nice vet look you over.”

The jail cell was looking better every minute, but the changeling sat where directed and allowed the vet to poke and prod places on his body which had never really been poked or prodded in that way before. The vet seemed to warm during her in-depth examination, even if she did not get to the depths she seemed to want because he kept his tail tightly clamped to his rear every time she moved behind him.

“He’s a lot softer than I thought, but he’s a stubborn one,” said the vet while peering into his mouth. “You do a good job with his teeth, though. What does he eat?”

Nosy veterinarians.

“I’ve kept him to a strict vegetarian diet, mostly grasses and baked goods with lots of pine cones to eat so he stays regular,” explained Trixie, who seemed to be enjoying the changeling’s examination with as much pleasure as could be possibly concealed behind the occasional smirk. “Although on occasion, Trixie likes to give him a little treat to reward good behavior. Behold!”

With a quick gesture of a bare hoof, Trixie made a pass under the changeling’s nose and a sugar cube appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

“Now watch. Trixie will put it on the end of his nose, and he won’t even touch it until I give the— Hey!”

One of the advantages of being in his natural form was he got to use his natural tongue. One quick twitch later, the sugar cube vanished, and he crunched happily along while putting on the most innocent face he could manage.

“That’s… vaguely creepy,” said the vet, still holding onto the forgotten tongue depressor.

“Yeah.” Trixie blinked once before resuming her composure, just as if she had not just been licked across the hoof. “They’re very popular among the female feral changelings.”

“I’ll bet.” The vet finally dropped the tongue depressor into the trash and went to wash her hooves. “He’s a really impressive specimen. Would you like a collar for him? Only twenty bits.”

“Twenty—” started Trixie with an indication of growing ire.

“It would help other ponies not panic when they see him, as well as give a spot to put his tags” said the vet rather cheerfully while picking a collar off the display board. “And a leash for another fifteen.”

Trixie did not say anything out loud, but she grumbled under her breath in a way that made the changeling think of a volcano about ready to erupt.

“Great,” said the vet while putting the items down on the table. “Let me just get his shots out of the way and we’re good.”

“Shots?” grumbled Trixie. “I thought you could just give him one and save some bits.”

“I’m really not sure what to give him for immunizations,” admitted the vet, “but we have a number of general-purpose shots to prevent anything which he might catch from ponies, as well as shots for the usual distemper, rabies and sup.”

“Sup?” Trixie looked up with a sharp frown. “What’s sup?”

“Not much, what’s up with you?” The vet giggled while poking the first needle through the changeling’s thin chitin, and the injector gave out a little chunking noise. It was almost painless, but after three or four of them, Trixie gave out a low groan and clutched her cape where the changeling presumed she kept her empty bit pouch. “Almost done, that’s a good boy. Here you go.”

The vet slipped a small treat into his mouth and went over to the counter where she started to fill out a form. “Looks like it’s going to be one hundred and sixteen bits.”

Now it was Trixie’s turn to whine while looking at the changeling. Since he was supposed to be playing dumb, he imitated her whine right back at her. Once he had finished chewing the last of the peanut butter flavoring out of the little pet treat, of course.

After a period of mutual whining, Trixie rolled her eyes and declared, “One of the advantages of having a trained feral changeling is his utility. Trixie uses him to carry her bits. He has been a very good guardian of Trixie’s money.”

Oh!

The changeling got the bit pouch from around his neck and began to slide bits across the table. A hundred more bits would not break him, but it would bend his cash reserves something fierce. He was about half-way done silently counting out bits when he realized he was supposed to be an animal, so he just kept pushing bits across the table until the vet chuckled. “You can stop now, little fellow.”

Trixie managed a scolding tone while separating out the correct number of bits from the pile on the table plus a five bit tip, then began to push the meager remains of the changeling’s funds back into the small bag.

“Nice ‘pet’ you have there,” said the vet.

Yes, but she’s not very well trained.

“He has been very well trained by Trixie, but unfortunately is unable to count past four.” She pulled the drawstring tight and floated the bit bag over to the changeling, who quickly put it around his neck before she found another way to deplete his cash reserves.

“You’re going to need a name for the tags.” The vet moved over to a niche in the office where an engraving machine lurked and sorted through a number of small aluminum tags. The changeling looked over at Trixie with a raised eyebrow ridge and a questioning expression, which Trixie duplicated in response almost perfectly, as if he was looking into a mirror. The vet managed to catch their mutual expressions when she turned around and chuckled again as they both promptly looked away from each other. “He’s an expressive cutie, ma’am. Looked like he was wanting to ask you a question.”

“He does that a lot,” said Trixie. “I call him… Question because he’s so curious. Quest for short.”

“Catchy.” The vet clipped a little aluminum tag into the machine and engraved for a while before bringing the completed tag back and dropping it on the counter. “That should about do it, unless you want a tracking charm for his collar.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes. “How much?”

“Well, if he’s really a pet, you’d want to be able to track him if he runs away. Twenty bits.”

“Fifteen,” snapped Trixie.

“Twenty,” replied the vet with a wink. “And I won’t say a word about how he’s reading the posters on the wall.”

The changeling twitched in surprise from where he had been reading a gruesome poster about the value of a good worming, then lowered his head and got out his bit pouch.

The vet smiled and added, “Cheer up, little guy. It could be worse.”

The newly-named ‘Question’ put his bit pouch on the table again and looked up into her smiling face. At least the emotions coming off the vet were happy ones, but then again, she was a rather odd pony who dealt with non-ponies every day. She did not feel as if she were just biding her time in order to turn them in, which would make the vet the second pony he had met in as many days who was at least a little acceptive to his true self. Still, he did not want to press his luck by saying anything, so instead, he simply whined a little with an upward chirp at the end to make the sound seem a little questioning.

The vet just grinned and shook her head while counting out the bits for the tracking charm.

“Normally, this is the point where I ask the pet owner if they want their pet spayed or neutered.”

Trixie grunted. “How much would that be?”

Question kicked her in the ankle.

4. Opening Day

Opening Day

Question and what he was beginning to think of as his pet pony, Trixie, expected to see the sheriff lurking outside the veterinarian office once the changeling had finished getting his tags and a bright blue (to identify him as a male changeling) collar. What they did not expect was to find a small crowd of about twenty ponies, ranging from a few little fillies hiding behind the legs of their elders up to said elders, one of whom had a long white beard reaching nearly to the damp and still slightly muddy street.

“There’s the critter,” wheezed the old pony, scooting forward and squinting through his glasses. “Kinda weird lookin’ but it don’t look too dangerous. What’s that outfit? It looks like somepony dressed it up like a trained monkey or something.”

Trixie cleared her throat and reached out with one hoof, gently pushing the old stallion’s nose to one side until he was looking at the changeling.

“Oh! That’s a different one,” said the old stallion. He squinted even harder through his smeared glasses and put his nose almost against the changeling. “Somepony get me a newspaper. We got some sort of huge bug here.”

“Not just any changeling,” declared Trixie while rolling right into her spiel. “Ladies and Gentlecolts, the Great and Powerful Trixie will be displaying Question, her ferocious feral changeling at her show this afternoon, but if you would like a closer look before the show, Trixie will be willing to permit it—”

Question gave Trixie a gentle hip-bump and tapped the depleted bag of bits around his neck, which could barely jingle.

“—for a minor fee. One bit to observe, two bits to touch, and five bits to feed him,” finished Trixie. The changeling soaked in the momentary burst of pleasure from all around him while Trixie patted him on the head. It seemed to be mostly coming from the onlookers, but there was a distinct thread of familiarity in the emotions too. The onlookers gave a collective gasp of appreciation when he preened under their attention, closing his eyes and buzzing his fragile-seeming wings to stretch them.

“What does he eat?” asked one of the little onlookers.

Annoying noisy foals who ask too many questions.

“Trixie has found several foods which her feral changeling will eat, but sugarcubes seem to be his favorite.” She made a quick pass with a hoof and held out a sugarcube, but this time kept it far enough away from him so that he could not lick it out of her grasp.

A few minutes later, the changeling found himself in a position he never had considered possible before.

A small line of young colts and fillies, each with five bits in hoof and a sugarcube, stood in front of him. They giggled when reaching out to pet him, but only after he had given what seemed like an obligatory first sniff of the outstretched hoof. ‘Question’ would fumble with his own hooves to open up the bit bag around his neck and hold it out for the little ponies to drop in their offering, gently nibble the delicious sugar cube out of the offered hoof, then luxuriate in a soft petting and ear-scratching that inevitably contained the words, “He’s softer than I expected.”

Each little pony glowed with enough love that he felt comfortably not-full afterwards. It was almost impossible for a changeling to get full on love, but in degrees of starvation, he had gone from being just barely hanging onto the last few dregs of his reserves when he had first met Trixie, to being good for a few weeks of exploring. If not for the alert and attentive sheriff lurking just within eyesight, he might have considered slipping around a corner and putting on a disguise to make his escape.

Then again, where else could he have ponies lined up to voluntarily give him love, and offering five bits apiece and a sugar cube for the privilege?

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

The shabby little rental cottage was starting to feel a lot more like home when the changeling and the Trixie slipped back into it. Trixie spent a few moments putting the short length of cord they had been using as a leash back on the cottage blinds, weaving it into the original so effortless and perfectly that the changeling could not even tell it had been removed.

“Hotels and hostels always find a way to bill Trixie for little things like this,” she grumbled, making sure the curtains still moved when she pulled the appropriate cord.

Question paused where he had been collecting up the now-dry laundry. “Is that why all of your towels have ‘Property of’ written on them?”

“Shut up,” growled Trixie. “And give me my bits.”

“My bits.” The changeling put one hoof protectively on the small bag of bits around his neck. It had not been plumped back to its original glory, but even as small as it was, the lingering sensation of love still clung to every little golden token. “I had to suffer through having my ears scratched for them,” he explained. “It was pure torture. I was in endless agony.”

Trixie gave a brief snort of derision. “No-talent hack. I knew I should have had you fixed. Look, you never would have gotten those bits without me.”

The changeling thought for a moment while he soaked up the emotional snack. “True. Still, why should I give you any of them?”

There was another distinct burst of love from the frowning unicorn when she growled, “Because, from the look on your face, you were sucking up love out of each one of those little crumb-crunchers. You get the love, I get the bits.”

“You still owe me for the room and the vet visit,” pointed out the changeling.

“It was your vet visit!” said Trixie. “Think of it as employer-provided medical insurance. Now fork ‘em over.”

In the end, they came to a grudging agreement. Ignoring the cost of the vet visit for the moment, sixty percent of the bits would go towards Trixie’s loan until it was paid off, at which point the negotiations would open again. The collar and tag belonged to the changeling, paid for out of his cut of the take, but Trixie owned the tracking crystal and would get it back at the end of their agreement. It was an inconvenient little bauble, and one which the changeling saw no possible use for once they had parted ways. This only left the upcoming afternoon performance and the inevitable preparations for it.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

“What do you mean, buzz off for a while?” The changeling craned his neck to look over Trixie’s shoulder at what she was writing. “And why are you drawing flames?”

“Trixie is trying to make some props for this afternoon,” she snapped, holding a hoof protectively over her drawing. “It’s only for one show until I can get you paid off, but the bigger and more impressive we can make it, the more bits we can rake in. It’s a long trip to Puerto de Caballo where Trixie plans on wintering.” Her eyes took on a far-off gaze. “Perhaps Trixie can entertain on a cruise ship this winter instead of being trapped on a rock farm again. Nevermind,” she added with a shake of her head while the changeling soaked up one last burst of sweet reminiscing. “Trixie has been in towns like this before. There’s probably a flat pad with a hose in the back of the rental cabins. Go hose the mud off the wagon while Trixie works on something to make our entrance more flashy.”

The changeling narrowed his eyes at the suspiciously spicy emotions Trixie gave off for a moment. “You’re not thinking of setting me on fire, are you?”

“No!” Trixie paused to think. “No, probably not. It will be difficult enough for Trixie to convince the audience that you’re a trained feral changeling without them seeing you on fire. Trixie has a much better plan.”

“Without fire?” asked the changeling.

Trixie put the drawing to one side and headed toward the door. “Let me get a few things out of the wagon so you can get started washing it.” She hesitated before opening the door to the outside and asked, “Are there really any feral changelings, Question?”

“Of course not! None of us are that stupid,” scoffed the changeling. He paused and considered the unicorn in return. “So, are there any feral ponies? Other than yourself, of course.”

“Shut up,” said Trixie, although she released a warm flicker of emotion while saying it.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

The wagon was surprisingly easy to pull behind the row of cabins to a flat stone slab where the washing was to take place. The changeling felt oddly naked, because he could hear the sounds and feel the emotions of townsponies in the distance when he got out the hose, but kept his practical natural body while beginning to wash the wagon. There were the occasional curious ponies peeking around the corners of buildings to watch him spray water over the muddy wagon, but they seemed to be put at ease if he tried to act as puppy-like as possible, even to the extent of cavorting around with the hose in his mouth to splash all over the area. As wagon-washes go, the results probably would not win him a tip, but at least all of the loose mud was sluiced down the drain and if Trixie wanted to soap it down or put on a coat of wax, she could come out into the chilly fall air and do it herself.

More mud than he would like to admit stuck to his glossy black chitin after he pulled the wagon back in front of the cabin. He even added the theatrical touch of scratching one hoof against the door and whining until she let him in.

“Good boy!” said Trixie with a pat on his muddy head for the distant observers. “You’re such a useful little monster, yes you are! Now go hop into the bathtub and we’ll get some of that mud off you too.” Once the door was closed and locked, the tone of her voice shifted considerably. “You missed a spot or twelve on my wagon, Quest.”

“Bite me,” said the changeling while heading for the bathroom, but he paused in front of a number of cloth swatches and clipped-out letters scattered across the floor. “You’ve been a busy little bug, haven’t you?”

“Don’t drip mud on Trixie’s hard work,” she snapped. “Besides, it’s not done. Get cleaned up and we’ll see how it fits.”

Before closing the bathroom door, the changeling poked his head back out and asked, “It’s not flammable, is it?”

“I assure you, kind sir, this outfit will be completely inflammable,” said Trixie while arranging letters against a larger piece of cloth.

“Good.” The changeling vanished into the bathroom and took a brief but chilly bath and wipe. It was made much easier by not having mud so deeply buried in the holes in his legs and horn, but after toweling off, he poked his head back into the other room and asked, “Aren’t flammable and inflammable the same thing?”

“Po-tae-toe, po-tah-toe,” chanted Trixie. “Don’t be so picky. Now put this on.”

‘This’ turned out to be a vaguely tarp-like length of cloth much like a robe which draped across his wings, pinning them to his back, and hung down almost to the ground on both sides. Written across both sides in sparkling letters was ‘See The Great And Powerful Trixie’ and below in somewhat smaller script ‘And Question, Her Amazing Trained Ferral Changeling.’ It was at least marginally comfortable and warm, which with the chill in the air would be welcome, but changelings were far more used to blending into the background than marching down the middle of the street, proclaiming their changeling-ness for bits. It just felt… strange to wear, as if he were just begging to be thrown into prison.

“So, how do you like it, Quest?” Trixie pulled a little of the cloth up around one of his shoulders and gave a petulant frown, which conflicted with the smooth wave of emotions the changeling could feel flowing off her. “It could use a few adjustments, but Trixie is very talented with the needle.”

“It’s warm.” He wriggled around inside the limits of the traveling advertisement and added, “Not that I’m cold and need to be set on fire. I’m not supposed to perform inside it, am I?”

“No, no. Of course not. The more of your buggy bits show, the more the crowd will be impressed.” Trixie waved a dismissive hoof and considered Question with a focused look of concentration which felt oddly peppery and lasted for an uncomfortably long time until he was forced to break the silence by looking at the side of the outfit and comparing lettering.

“Isn’t my line supposed to be as big as yours?”

“You’re second billed,” she replied almost instantly. “Beside, your line is longer, so it had to be smaller to fit. Hm…” Trixie ran a hoof down his exposed neck and prodded at his concealed wings. “The more harmless and cute you look, the more we’re likely to pull this off without getting caught. Do you think a little dab of wax on your shell would bring out its natural shine?”

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

As it turned out, a little dab of floor wax from the cabin’s suspiciously unlocked and open (although he was sure it was locked when he first checked) storage closet did help perk up his natural gloss after his quick and fairly chilly bath. He had never really paid much attention to his unchanged appearance before, because it did not matter inside the hive and was under a disguise spell when he was out harvesting. It made him even glitter a little in the room lighting and preen in front of the little wall mirror in the cabin, looking at his reflection and being properly impressed by the handsome young changeling looking back.

Of course, the rubbing he had gotten when Trixie applied the wax was not all that bad either. At least until she noticed him leaning into the waxing rag and clouted him over the head with it.

“Stop admiring yourself in the mirror and let’s go get something to eat,” said Trixie with a confirming growl from her stomach. She held up the now-finished advertising ‘robe’ for him and draped it across his back with only a little grumbling and a few painful twists to get his wings to poke out of the new holes she had added to it.

“I feel like a walking billboard,” said Question, craning his neck while trying to read the lettering backwards in the mirror. “Did you get that spelling error fixed?”

“Picky, picky.” She unfastened the strap across his chest and removed the cloth covering off his back for a few more minor alterations on the tight wing openings, clucking her tongue at the way the cloth draped across his sides. “By the way, Trixie will need several more bits for food.”

“You look as if you could stand to lose a few pounds. Why can’t you just skip a few meals?” Question gave Trixie a good-natured poke in the ribs, which felt much like he had just punched a rock. He poked his way down her side while Trixie silently fumed, although he was careful not to poke her near the tail. With the muscles hidden beneath her soft blue hide, Trixie probably did not need to use her magic to break him in half. “I take it back,” he added after one last poke. “I’m sorry for calling you fat. Can you ever forgive me?”

“No.” Trixie tried to look away from the big-eyed changeling, who managed to wriggle back into her line of sight even when she looked down at the floor. “Wait a minute. Hold on, bug.” She picked up the changeling in her magic and held the advertising robe up against his side to see if the wing openings were large enough yet. “Let’s get something straight. Trixie insults other ponies and asks for forgiveness. Other ponies… or annoying insects, do not insult Trixie and ask to be forgiven.”

He stuck out his bottom lip and looked down at the floor, trying to figure out if squeezing out a tear or two would be worth the effort. Question did give a short sniff anyway, because you could never go wrong with a sniff.

“Ah,” said Trixie without even looking at him while pretending to be making one last final adjustment to the advertising robe. “It is only a ploy of yours, crafted to obtain love from Trixie.”

“Without tails,” said Question, “because I’m a big believer in respecting a young mare for her choices in intimate relationships.”

Particularly those mares with muscles.

“Right.” Trixie gave him a level look. “Let it not be said that the Great and Powerful Trixie is without compassion, even for deceptive pests. Trixie has very muscular thighs for a unicorn, and has been mistaken for chubby by inattentive ponies before. Trixie forgives you for your slanderous insult, under the provision that you purchase Trixie lunch.”

Question paused with his tongue planted firmly in one cheek. “You do know that while I’m romancing young fillies for love, normally they buy me lunch, right?”

Trixie nodded. “You do know I normally swat bugs I find in my wagon, right?”

“Good point.” Question turned and headed for the front door. “I suppose I can afford a few bits to feed my owner. Are you ready to go?”

“You’re forgetting something.” Trixie dangled the advertising outfit in her magic.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

If anything, their trip to the town market was weirder than anything the changeling had ever done before, including his trip to the vet. On occasion, he had acted the role of Handsome Young Stallion to a young mare while she showed him off to various friends and neighbors, but he had never been shown off in quite this fashion. It was perfectly normal for a disguised changeling to attempt to draw attention to himself and therefore gain a few tasty emotions. At times, he had even preened a little during his outings into pony society in order to attract a prospective target and engage in some mutual nibbling.

Today was different. Way different.

There was no problem attracting attention during their walk to the town market. The rumor mill must have been working overtime, and from the itching sense of curiosity sweeping over him just as soon as Trixie had ‘led’ him out the front door of the cabin, he doubted if anypony in town did not know about the odd couple of a magician and her captive monster.

Ponies were remarkably well-mannered creatures. As long as your disguise was correct, you could walk through a town full of ponies with a soup tureen on your head and get nothing more than a few curious glances. Wear a dress shirt one season too old and that’s all they would talk about behind your tail, but they were always polite. It took a lot to get ponies to the breaking point where they would cast aside their normal reluctance to pry into your life.

Apparently the breaking point for this town was a pet changeling on a leash.

Correction: A feral pet changeling with an advertising sign hanging across his back wearing a leash, collar, and jingling tags, who meekly strode behind Trixie while they proceeded down the street. All that was missing was a brass band and they could have had a parade.

In the hive, the changeling was used to being surrounded by his fellow changelings, rubbing shoulders and bumping into them with about every step. For the first time in his life, the changeling was actually afraid of being surrounded by curious ponies, all reaching out a hoof to touch him or stroke across his cloth advertising sign.

Thankfully, when he brushed up against Trixie and gave out a nervous whine, she responded almost instantly by chasing the curious little ponies back a step. “Fillies and gentlecolts! Please, give my traveling companion a little space before our command performance this afternoon. He is still a little sore, because we have just returned from—” Trixie lowered her voice and spoke in a loud whisper “—the V-E-T office.”

The changeling unconsciously whined a little, which made the crowd of ponies laugh out loud, and the audience’s fizzy wave of emotions he had been battered by smoothly switched to a sweet burst of affection. It did accomplish the desired effect, and even the littlest ponies all smelling of curiosity and fascination kept far enough away from Trixie’s ‘pet’ that he was able to calm down. Still, there was a familiar little thread of suspicion from somewhere out in the crowd, so Question kept up his behavior just as carefully as possible, even going so far as to scratch himself behind the ear with a hind hoof and giving a suspiciously-timed yawn full of sharp teeth and fangs while Trixie was bargaining for lunch and a few extra supplies to be stored in the wagon for later.

It was really interesting. If Question gave just the right bored yawn or licked his fangs at the perfect time while Trixie was trying to get the best deal, sometimes the merchant would lose track of where they were on the pricing scale. On occasion, the showmare would wind up paying just a small fraction of the original asking price for some carrots or apples, sometimes even with a free one thrown in just so the merchant could be assured the fierce toothy creature at her side actually ate vegetables instead of vegetable sellers.

As the load of groceries on his back became heavier, the small foals in the area became bolder, approaching with a bit or two in their hoof, and departing absolutely delighted when he would stick out his bit pouch to let them drop their offering in. Apparently, sugar cubes were hard to get in the area, so they experimented with feeding him various flavors of sugary candy, which he would pretend a great like for or a distaste for, depending on which reaction seemed to garner more of their youthful affection. The odd double feeding went on all during their shopping and most of the way back to their cabin. Each of them had a fairly heavy load of food, and Trixie could hardly withhold her enthusiasm.

“I think we broke even on our grocery run,” she chortled once the door had been closed and locked. “Those little brats were putting bits into your bag just as fast as Trixie was pulling them out.”

“Just remember, all of the food comes out of your end of the take,” said the changeling with an experimental heft on the somewhat heavier than he expected bit bag.

“What?” Trixie drew herself up and placed a hoof on her chest in a pose of great indignation. “You need to eat too.”

The changeling scoffed. “I could eat this cabin if I had enough love to digest it.”

“Really?” Trixie though for a while with a hoof on her chin. “So like you could eat a tree branch on stage to prove feral changelings are herbivorous?”

“If I have to.” Question struck a pose with his front teeth showing. “Should I make like a beaver?”

The warm feeling of appreciation from Trixie abruptly cut off. “No tails,” she growled. “I thought we agreed.”

“What’s a beaver got to do with… Oh.” Question gave Trixie a pensive look. “For somepony who pretends not to be interested in what’s under your tail, you certainly think about it a lot.”

Trixie ignored his cutting retort and proceeded to slice and dice a quick salad-ish thing for herself with some of the contents of their morning shopping trip, winding up with two kale leafs wrapped around a central core of various chopped vegetables.

“Impressive,” he said. “How did you get that to stick together?”

“Skill.” Trixie looked up with a scrap of tomato stuck to her upper lip. “Want one?”

“Of course.” The changeling licked his lips. “What kind of parasite would I be if I didn’t get to feed off my host?”

Trixie gestured at the remains of their shopping trip scattered around the small cabin table. “Feel free.”

“Gee, thanks,” said the changeling. “I suppose I need to clean up too?”

Trixie responded with a muffled noise that might have been an affirmative grunt, fighting to be heard through the mustard sprigs and the leaves of kale.

Question quirked his lips to one side and trotted out to the wagon, returning with the frying pan which he plunked down on top of the gas heater. A little oil, some quick chopping of the collection of vegetable scraps and he began to brown, saute and fry with all of his skill. Once Trixie had polished off her wrap, she eyed the stir-fry in process a little longingly even while Question nipped little bits of the sizzling greens off for a quick nibble, as well as nibbling a little off Trixie’s warm surge of envy.

Although he did not say anything about it.

It was a little liberating after being treated as an animal this morning, along with a little bit of resentment over the immunizations. Some of that leaked out around the edges while twirling the spatula and making the knife dance over a quick spray of onions to be minced, giving a little smile once he slid the vast majority of the result onto a plate and slipped it under Trixie’s nose with a flourish and a fork.

“Not bad,” said Trixie. She took a bite with a straight face, although the burst of affection he soaked up could not be disguised. He nibbled off the remainder in the pan while soaking up the love as a spicy additive to his lunch.

“Trixie seems to have hired herself a cook.”

The changeling continued to munch on the remainder of the stir-fry from the pan with his eyes nearly closed. “Just keep loving the food like that and Trixie will wind up having hired a fat cook. How long has it been since you’ve had a healthy meal, anyway?”

Trixie slowly ran a piece of bread around the bottom of her plate. “Since Trixie left home.”

“What, did they beat you? Keep you locked in your room? Arrange a marriage for you?”

A wave of dark sorrow swept outward from Trixie, making it very difficult for the changeling to keep his impish smile. She sat her empty plate to one side and stood up. “Trixie does not want to talk about it. Come on. We need to practice for our presentation this afternoon. The sooner we can cash in from this little town, the sooner we can get out of here and go our separate ways.”

5. One Day Only

One Day Only

It was the most terrifying sight the changeling had ever seen.

All the way to the town park, ponies had lined up along the street, from old, wrinkled stallions with long white beards to young little fillies and colts, running around with balloons. There was even the distant sound of a brass band playing from the park, which was where Trixie had planned on dragging her wagon to do the show.

His knees trembled while Trixie was harnessing him to the wagon, which suddenly felt so much larger and mud-splattered than before. Step by step, he walked behind Trixie as she bowed and waved to the gathering crowd on the way to their performance. Despite being under the garish advertisement sandwich robe/tarp/sign, Question had the horrible sensation of being stark naked in a crowd of well-dressed ponies. They whistled at him, and smiled, and more than a few small fillies and colts waved sugar cubes at him from the side of the street in the hopes that he would divert from his nervous path right behind Trixie. The weight of the wagon was all that kept him from a panic-filled flight away from the town and all of the happy ponies, although by the time Trixie had brought him to the park, that sense of pure terror had abated into just an intense desire to find a bathroom somewhere, because he had not gone before their departure from the cabin.

He had not really ever investigated the wagon further than the tiny living/storage space, but when Trixie pulled a rope and half of the side just dropped open, his jaw fell just as far as many of the crowd.

With a burst of fireworks, Trixie leapt up on the newly-revealed stage and proclaimed, “Fillies and Gentlecolts! Gather around, for the Great and Powerful Trixie is about to start her show in just a few minutes. Please be seated and prepare to be amazed, for this exclusive event will be presented one time only! Fantastic tricks! Fascinating illusions! And Trixie!” She vanished into the wagon with a swirl of her cape and to the scattered applause of the gathering ponies, then reappeared long enough to unharness the changeling from the wagon and bring him back into the wagon too.

“Shush,” said Trixie while taking her hat off and checking on the packs of cards and tricks tucked inside. “Little ponies like to crowd next to Trixie’s wagon and eavesdrop.”

Instead of babbling in panic, Question nodded and focused on the emotional surroundings. True to her word, several of the little ponies had scampered under the wagon and were lurking in wait for the show, their burning curiosity making little spots of delicious emotions for him to carefully nibble on. With the vast buffet available from the surrounding townsponies, Question had to try very hard not to gorge himself, but a little here and a little there would never be missed. He suppressed a quiet burp and nodded again, shrugging out of his warm coat of advertising and trying to look both alert and stupid, much like a golden retriever or a pegasus.

“Stick your tongue back in,” said Trixie with a shudder. “It’s like dealing with some psychotic chameleon. Yes, we’ll still do the Sugar Cube Stealer routine,” she added at his pouting expression. “Now, let’s start the show.”

Putting a record of background music onto the tattered and worn phonograph, Trixie and her ‘pet’ stepped out onto the stage to the applause of hundreds.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

It could have gone worse. It could have gone a lot better too, but as long as the end of the performance did not end with an arrest, the changeling was content. Terrified for most of the time on stage, but still content.

The trick where he was to balance the ball on the end of his nose went almost as badly as rehearsal, with several of the audience having to chase down the bouncing ball whenever Trixie turned away and Question naturally moved his head to follow her. Eventually, he just used both forehooves to hold the ball steady whenever she looked away, and quickly put his hooves down whenever she looked back in his direction, which set the audience howling with laughter.

Thankfully, the ‘Sawing a Changeling In Half’ trick went well, which was a great relief, because it was only after he had been locked in the box that he realized Trixie had an easy way to weasel out on her debt and get rid of an annoying changeling in the process. It made him very careful to follow the skimpy directions she had given him before the show and a perfect excuse to check his body for missing parts afterwards, which the crowd loved.

Question did draw the line at jumping through the flaming hoop she produced without warning in the middle of the act. He shook his head, she cajoled him and called him a scaredybug, and the audience laughed, which really did not feel very funny to him except at the end where she jumped through the hoop to prove how safe it was.

It only took a minute to put out the fire on her tail, which Question suspected had been planned simply for the self-deprecating humor of it all, and probably would wind up with more bits in the collection bin, so he rolled with it.

And he rolled when Trixie put him onto a barrel so he could move it across the stage by balancing on top of it, or falling off in one direction with his hooves flailing as fast as he could run until it ran over him.

He did not roll when Trixie had him pick a card from a deck and he could not remember what to do next. So he ate the card. The audience ate it up, giving out such a wave of positive emotions that Question had to inadvertently burp afterwards, which only set them off again.

The one trick that went perfectly as planned was when Trixie announced, "Behold, while my fearsome feral changeling displays the greatest weapon he has in his arsenal! Question, play dead!"

Clutching a hoof to his chest, Question took one staggering step forward and let out a strangled chirp. Then he staggered to his left, then right, before circling once and letting out a noise quite close to a frog's croak. Finally, he dropped to the ground, lifted all four legs up in the air, and gave off a rattling chirp which died out into a quiet gurgle.

"Are you done yet?" asked Trixie over the sound of the crowd's laughter.

Question nodded.

The audience loved it. Without performing on stage with Trixie, he never would have been able to guess something that silly would get cheers instead of jeers. His education continued with learning that Encore meant ‘Do that again, but different.’ He learned that Trixie had some tricks which were a total mystery to him, even when he was standing by her side and looking as closely as possible. He learned that some of the little brats in the audience found it hilarious to feed him a marble or a rock, and the rest of the ponies found it even more funny when he spit the inedible substance back at the tormentor, particularly if he could hit them right between the eyes.

It was fun.

The performance seemed to last forever while he was on stage, and only a few seconds once Trixie was taking her bows. Afterwards, they stood out in front of the stage in the fading light of the impending sunset and stamped autographs (at two bits each) until both of them were limping through the dark streets by the light of Trixie’s horn, dragging themselves and the wagon back to the cabin.

“Bath,” rasped Trixie while trudging to a halt inside the main room of the cabin, with her tail drooping to the ground and her squashed hat falling to one side.

Once the changeling had ensured the front door was securely locked and the blinds closed, he took off his leash and bounded forward into the bathroom. “Great idea. Let me get it run and bubbling.”

“I hate you,” grumbled Trixie, taking one slow step forward at a time. “I’m sucked dry by that performance and you’re all full of perk and pep.” She poked her nose in the bathroom to supervise the changeling’s happy bath preparation and cocked an eyebrow at the water running into the tub and the box of pink bubble bath he was holding. “You’re just doing this all as a setup to get me in a romantic mood, aren’t you?”

“Need anypony to scrub your back?” he chirped, setting the brush to one side of the tub. “Nevermind, I know your answer. You don’t have a sexy sister, do you?”

“No.” Trixie groaned while pulling used tricks out of her violet cloak, dropping them on the table outside of the bathroom door with the faint jingle of metal rings and the occasional card fluttering to the floor. “How about you?”

“Really?” The changeling considered her words while waiting on the tub to fill. There were a whole series of false stories he had been trained to use in such circumstances, or at least circumstances vaguely similar to this, but the bitter cynical taint of Trixie’s emotions made it unlikely she would accept any of them. Truth, although seldom used, would have to do. “Four, and five brothers. My parents in the hive were quite successful gatherers, and were permitted a much larger family.”

“Too much information,” groaned Trixie. The bag of bits she dumped on the floor made a satisfying thud, even after the performance taxes and something called a ‘bond’ left on deposit with the sheriff to ensure any rapid departures would not result in unpaid bills left behind. The cloak followed, soggy with sweat and with all of its many pockets empty, leaving Trixie bare when she plodded through the bathroom doorway. “Is the bath done yet?”

“Running, but slow and cold.” The changeling twitched and straightened the bathroom rug. “Lie down.”

She may have been tired, but Trixie was certainly not obedient. She glared at him through narrowed eyes, but before she could snap out some bitter response, Question added, “I’ll rub your back while the tub fills. You’re leaking ‘ouchies’ all over your emotional buffet, like somebody spread tabasco sauce all over the salad bar.”

“Trixie is fine. Besides, who doesn’t like tabasco sauce on their lettuce?” she grumbled. She looked at the slow-filling tub with a cross glare and lit her horn, making the water in the bottom begin to steam.

“Left shoulder, neck, hind hooves, right around your horn, and how can you hurt there?” asked Question. “There’s no muscles or anything to strain, just your thick skull.”

“Headache.” Trixie’s horn light went abruptly out. “I suppose while Trixie is helpless, you’re going to throw me into a cocoon and travel Equestria in my disguise.”

“Ehh…” The changeling hesitated a little because the thought had crossed his mind again, but only briefly. “I’d have to pull the wagon all by myself, I can’t do nearly all the tricks you can do, and every law enforcement unicorn in the country would be using that darned spell to spot me. Besides, we make a good team. We could even go tour the hive.”

He threw his forehooves up in the air and cackled, “Behold the Great and Powerful Question, with his pet Feral Unicorn, Trixie!” Question paused, still balanced precariously on his back hooves, and raised an eyebrow ridge at his audience of one. “Interested?”

Trixie reached out with one hoof and gently poked him in the belly, knocking him off-balance and making him stumble inside the bathroom. She followed, landing chest-down on the thin bathroom rug and stretching over most of the available floor. “Only with a seventy-thirty split,” she muttered. “And backrubs, with nothing near the tail or I’ll see if you can breathe soapy water. Get cracking, buggy-boy.”

He settled down on top of the flattened unicorn, feeling just a little uncomfortable at his role of private pool pony, but still pressing his holey hooves into every ache and pain that was filtering up through Trixie’s emotional aura. Keeping an eye on the rising water in the tub, he proceeded to work the tired unicorn into a vaguely paste-like substance which emitted grunts and low groans of pleasure, stopping only when the tub was full and he turned off the taps.

“Are you sure about that tail rule?” he asked, then grunted while rubbing down several knots in her back which he had previously reduced to inconsequential twinges. “Sorry. It’s just a reflex. Did you know you’re putting out… feelings?”

“A gentlecolt doesn’t peek,” grunted Trixie as he continued to rub her shoulders. “If you need any incentive to keep your ambitions to yourself, just think of me as a praying mantis.”

“Ooo,” said Question, overcome with giggles. “Another sexy bug. Wanna rub mandibles and make buggy nookie?”

“Only if I get to bite your head off afterwards,” muttered Trixie. She licked her lips with a loud smacking noise and turned her head sideways so she could look up at him, smiling just enough that he was not quite certain how serious her offer was, only that he did not really want to know.

It took until he had worked his way down to a double rear-ankle rub before he ventured, “Actually, you should probably get into the tub if we’re going to get out of here early tomorrow. You’ve got a long trip to Puerto de Caballo, and I need to find a good place on the road to head out on my own.” He patted his stomach and burped quietly. “It’s too bad we can’t keep this up. Probably got a couple months worth of love stored for later.”

Trixie coughed once, then rolled over on her side so she could look back at him. Both of her thin eyebrows were drawn together until they nearly touched and her lips were pursed up into a tight pucker, almost as if she were considering kissing a lemon. She breathed in, then let it all out in one huge rush of air that might have concealed the words “Thank you” in the middle of it, if one were to listen very, very hard.

“You’re welcome,” he responded, and to his great surprise, meaning it. He offered a hoof to assist her rising up from the floor and into the tub, and soaped up the back brush while she was descending into the warm water. No more words were exchanged while they each took their own baths, with Trixie excusing herself once Question had descended into the slightly murky water and offered her the back brush. Instead, he could hear her counting bits in the other room while he polished his shiny chitin to a clean gleam, then treaded carefully into the other room to retrieve each of their clothes and gave them a good washing too.

As he was hanging up the damp ‘Feral Changeling’ robe, he considered the wording on the bottom, measuring the distance from the hem with one hoof and a faint frown. “The Great and Powerful Trixie only needs to trim off this bottom section with my name on it, and she has a warm jacket for the fall weather.”

“Trixie has enough money to buy her own coat.” Trixie put two bags of bits out onto the floor, one somewhat larger than the other, but both a respectful size and many more than he had started with just yesterday. She carried her bit bag out into the wagon and returned in a few moments with a small package, which she sat next to the bed.

She could not get into the bed, because it was already occupied.

“Get out,” she growled.

Question peeked out from the edge of the blanket. “But it’s warm in here.”

When angry, Trixie had a way of tucking her bottom lip under her teeth which made her look a little like a bulldog sitting on a sandbur. “I just went out to the wagon and got a nice new wool blanket that I had tucked away for emergencies.”

“Keep it,” said Question, hiding his grin with the edge of the comforter he was under. “This one is just fine, and has space enough for two under it if we snuggle.”

“Trixie does not like bedbugs,” she said with a sharp frown. “If Trixie does not get her sleep alone, she will be very cranky in the morning. She will not be filled with warmth and love.”

He peeked back out from under the blanket, trying to control a severe case of the giggles. “Wool itches.”

“I’ll let you keep the sheet,” said Trixie levelly.

Question decided that was probably about as good as he was going to get. He wordlessly crawled out of the bed and onto the floor cushions, leaving the warm comforter behind. Trixie tucked the sheet and the wool blanket around him before climbing into her own bed under the pre-warmed comforter, curling up without any more words.

Hearing no response, Question braced himself to dodge a pillow and tentatively asked, “Are you sure we can’t share?”

“No.”

“You can’t blame a bug for trying, can you?”

There was no response other than a brief snort.

“Could I get a bedtime story?”

6. Fare Thee Well

Fare Thee Well

Question liked mornings, or at least mornings like this one.

Well, except for the chilly clouds full of sleet that the weatherponies were stacking up in the sky about three deep. The resulting sharp gusts of chilly air blew in underneath the fringe of his garish coat, making the changeling only that much more aware of what a long, cold, and muddy trip he had ahead of him.

He had a lot of time to think about it while standing in his warm advertising robe on the front step of the shabby rental cottage with his leash loosely tied to the nearby wagon. As a ‘guardchangeling,’ all he needed to do was wait for his ‘owner’ to get back from a few quick chores this morning before the two of them were to hit the road and be on their way to warm Puerto de Caballo. Or at least that was where Trixie was headed by herself, once they had gotten far enough away from this town to go their separate ways.

Every few minutes between the chilly gusts of wind, a group of the young townsponies who had not managed to meet or feed the ‘fierce feral changeling’ yesterday would sneak by and go through the ritual of depositing bits into his pouch, rubbing his ears, and feeding him a sugarcube. Then they would scurry away, chattering to each other the way young children of all races and types did whenever unsupervised by far more serious adults.

He was going to miss this, but he knew that trying to stay in town after Trixie left was a Very Bad Idea that would wind up with him inside a frosty jail cell when they found out his true nature. They would probably send out an arrest warrant for Trixie too, and that would suck, because he was just getting to like the crabby blue pest with the complicated emotional aura, who was much like a traveling multicultural buffet without nametags on the food items.

The faint scent of wasabi and white peppers wafted over the emotional sea of the town, leaving Question to sit attentively on the cold cabin step and gaze longingly in her direction, much like a dog pining for the return of his master. The tip of her purple hat came into view above the thin crowd of ponies first, rapidly followed by the chunky blue unicorn and a small flurry of last-minute purchases floating in her magic.

“Good boy,” cooed Trixie, untying him and opening up the wagon door. “Now hop in. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, and no chewing on the furniture this time.”

As requested, Question hopped up into the wagon, followed by Trixie. She closed the door and concentrated, her hornglow filling the small room with a cheery pale glow. “No eavesdropping spells.”

Likewise, the changeling also was concentrating with his eyes closed. “Nopony within range to listen in. Did you get the map I asked about?”

“Yes, yes,” grumbled Trixie, shoving the unfolded piece of paper over into his hooves. “There’s a crossroads just a few dozen furlongs outside of town.” She scowled while the changeling rapidly folded the roadmap back up and studied the thin lines of dirt roads headed in all directions.

“Sheesh. This isn’t the end of the world, but I’ll bet you can get there from here,” he groused. “Hope I’ve got enough love socked away to make it to the next food source… I mean pony town.”

“The news is far worse.” Trixie threw the newspaper she was carrying onto the floor of the cramped room.

“What?” The changeling turned his head almost upside-down to read. “Oh, no! There’s a sale on pickled beets at the market! What shall we do?”

“Not that!” Trixie picked up the paper and folded a few pages back, revealing a page that was mostly covered in symbols of ice cubes and snowflakes. “The weather.”

“Rain, snow, rain, snow, sleet, hair, that must be a misprint for hail,” said Question. “More sleet, and even more sleet. What, was Cloudsdale running a sale on misery?”

“They’ve got freezing downpours scheduled all over every single one of Trixie’s southern paths out of town,” scowled Trixie. “Even the muddy track this corner of inequanity calls a ‘highway’ to Baltimare.” She muttered under her breath. “Make one comment about Commander Hurricane being a blowhard, and every pegasus get so pissy.”

“Do you think we could cut north for a few days and head for Vanhoover?” Question held the map next to the newspaper weather report and cross-checked the schedule. “Once we get just outside of there, you go one way and I go another. It would be just like we planned, only a little colder.”

“A lot colder.” Trixie pulled her cape a little closer around her shoulders to the sound of a well-concealed bit pouch giving off a heavy clunk. “Trixie was looking forward to a nice, hot spa with her bits.”

The changeling flipped a few pages on the local newspaper and paused. “How about a hot mud bath?”

“Certainly,” murmured Trixie. “And a hot jacuzzi.”

“Hot young spa employees?” said Question.

“Oh, yeah,” sighed Trixie. She paused and gave him a sharp frown. “I meant… steam baths. Yes, steam baths.” She craned her neck to see what the changeling was reading. “What’s that?”

“Oh, now you’re asking the questions?” said Question without looking up from his close inspection of the advertisement.

“Let me see that,” snapped Trixie. They struggled over the paper briefly until reaching a compromise position. “Crystal Empire,” murmured Trixie.

“Spa!” said the changeling, tapping one holey hoof against the small print in the advertisement for the distant city/state/empire. “And they allow pets.”

“Trixie remembers her good friend Twilight Sparkle once performing some small act of heroism there.” Trixie fidgeted slightly while adding, “It was in all of the papers.”

“The Crystal Heart protects the empire with the power of love,” said the changeling while reading the small print. “It says the entire city is kept warm under a dome of magic even during the coldest winter. Hm….”

Trixie nodded. “You know, that sheriff seemed determined to keep Trixie under surveillance in the futile hope of finding some law she has accidentally broken. He may have even sent word to the surrounding towns. Perhaps someplace distant and exotic would be a nice change.”

“If nothing else, there’s a pet-friendly spa there.” Question held a hoof to his collar and bounced it, making his registration tags and vaccination records jingle. “There’s going to be a lot of ponies there who have never heard of you. Or us. Both of us.” He jingled his collar again.

With a distant look, Trixie murmured, “Rich tourists, looking for entertainment. Gullible locals, trying to see something new.”

Question nodded. “Small local foals lined up with bits and sugarcubes, in awe over the Great and Powerful Trixie’s pet changeling.”

“Feral changeling.” Trixie paused, looking contemplative. “Seventy-five, twenty-five?”

“Fifty-fifty,” said Question, trying not to smile at the warm burst of love Trixie was emitting.

“You get love out of the deal,” pointed out Trixie. “Seventy-thirty.”

“It’s going to be very cold on the trip, and changelings don’t do well in the snow. Forty-sixty.”

“Deal,” said Trixie. “Provided you pull the wagon. It’ll keep you warm.”

“Me?” Question pointed at himself with the most innocent expression he could muster. “That thing is heavy. It takes a really powerful pony to pull it.”

“Hm…” Trixie made a great deal out of stroking her chin. If it were possible for her to grow a beard just to have another prop, Question was thinking she would have done that ages ago. “Perhaps I should find a stronger changeling. One who can keep his holey hooves to himself.”

“I’ll pull part of the time,” said the changeling. “Otherwise, I would just be burning love. And I’ll cook.” He stuck out a hoof. “Deal?”

With apparent great reluctance, Trixie stuck out a hoof and shook, although she scowled at the expression on the changeling’s face.

“Why are you grinning at Trixie?”

Question could not help it. His grin grew broader. “Aren’t you going to say it?”

“Say what?”

Question waggled an eyebrow ridge. “This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Shut up and pull the wagon.”

Author's Note

There is space in here for a sequel if it is popular enough. Perhaps Trixie’s Crystal Empire Tour, or Now You See Them, or even The Good Cadence, The Bad Trixie and The Ugly Bug.

Question was following along at the end of his leash, looking around the glittering crystalline buildings and the sheer sparkle of happy emotions covering up a cold and ominous dread beneath it all. He had heard stories about the Crystal Empire as a little bug, but the reality of the situation was far more than he had ever dreamed of. King Sombra was the kind of ruler who would have enjoyed having changelings in his kingdom, just so he could pull their wings off and burn them. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, or Cadence as she was calling herself now was a far better ruler, being kind, compassionate, and providing a free buffet for visiting changelings to boot. Nothing could be better, although the thought drew a chill up his back when he heard the panicked cry from the street ahead of them.

“Changeling!” screamed a bright pink alicorn who could only be Princess Cadence, pointing at Question with one hoof and dancing around on the three hooves she had left to dance on.

To the panicked princess’ side, a white unicorn in a casual shirt looked directly at Question, with a burst of hostile emotions so hot they could have fried an egg. His horn lit up with a surprisingly feminine pink magic, a nearby trash dumpster flew up into the air, and he called out, “I’ve got it, honey!”

Before Trixie could even open her mouth, the trash container slammed down. The changeling had managed to shed his panic-stricken paralysis long enough to dash away, but unfortunately, Trixie had also decided discretion was the better part of valor, and her path to freedom was in the opposite direction Question had fled. More unfortunately, the leash tying them together was slightly elastic, which meant both changeling and unicorn bounced back together just as the trash container slammed down over the both of them and a powerful alicorn-level antimagic spell followed.

After the ringing in his ears had died down, Trixie spoke up. “Question, say something.”

“Why?” said Question. “Ouch!” he added as Trixie punched him in the darkness.

"So I can tell where you are," said Trixie. "I blame you."

2. Leaving The Light On

Leaving The Light On

Once the world slowly faded back into his awareness, the first thing he became aware of was the loss of his disguise. The welcome warmth of pony fur, even soaking wet, had become so familiar during his last few years out among ponykind that he felt oddly naked. Still, thanks to a thick blanket draped over him, he was warm, even if there was still mud packed into the back of his sinuses and a gritting of sand in his teeth. The world swayed slowly with little jolts of impacts and creaks of stressed wagon parts which did not grow louder as he expected. After a moment, he managed to get one eye open to see if the unicorn was going to drag her wagon over him instead of drowning him in mud.

Since he could see the inside of the wagon, that seemed to be a fairly low probability, although baffling.

There was the weak glow of a firefly lantern somewhere above him illuminating the cramped interior of the fairly small wagon, along with a substantial number of boxes, bags, wads of crumpled paper, and a few crates marked with stars and comets packed against the walls. There was even a half-collapsed box of pine cones spilling its contents out across one end of the floor and marked ‘Emergency Rations Only.’ Above, several posters of ‘Trixie!’ were hanging and tacked just about anywhere he could look, but they all seemed tattered and worn, with frayed corners and little mended rips, giving him the impression of being stared down at by a vast crowd of wounded showmares.

To the rear of the wagon, a tiny brass stove with an empty coal scuttle sat next to a small desk, which used the seating cushion as a pillow for the thin and entirely too lumpy flat cushion/mattress he was lying on. It was a remarkable conservation of what limited space was available on the inside of the wagon, and even though he probably could have stretched out enough to touch his jagged horn and rear hooves to opposite ends of the space remaining, it still was larger than the little cell he had lived in for several years at the hive.

The sticky mud which had been packed into every orifice of his body and a few he did not like to think about was mostly gone, or at least smeared away until only a thin film remained over most of his body and drying lumps still stuck inside the chitinous holes. The mud was not totally gone, because a number of muddy towels had been jammed next to the mattress and still dripped a little when he gave them an experimental poke.

Well, I haven’t been out for long, but I’m a prisoner.

He eyed a coil of rope hanging on the side of the wagon, as well as a large number of hoofcuffs and chains hanging next to them and revised his original status.

I have no idea why I’m not a prisoner, but I’m fairly warm and dry here, and it’s wet and cold out there, so what the hay.

Fluffing up the threadbare pillow, he settled back down and tried to relax. His entire body still hurt, but something had given him a little bit of emotional energy while he was unconscious, and if he held himself very still, he could feel just the least little trickle ongoing while the wagon lumbered onward. Even the little bit bag he had tied around his neck was intact, which was yet another thing he had not expected. Tossed out into the mud and stripped of his remaining bits, he certainly would have been dead in a day or two. As it was for now…

He snuggled down into the frayed blanket and enjoyed the sensation of just being comfortably warm for a while.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

The swaying and creaking of the wagon had lulled him into a fitful sleep, which he awoke from abruptly when the wagon slowed to a halt. The low hiss of continuing rain had not abated, but the clatter of a harness being released sounded from the front of the wagon, which coincidentally had the only door out of the enclosed space unless he decided to try squeezing out of one of the fairly small and not quite changeling-sized windows. The rattle and thumping continued for a few more minutes until the door creaked open and the blue unicorn from before stuck her sopping-wet head into the doorway.

“Oh, good. You’re up.” The unicorn eyed the bag of bits hanging on the string around the changeling’s neck as if she had originally been planning on lifting them if he had still been sleeping when she opened the door. She recovered quickly, though, and returned to looking the changeling right in the eyes with no visual indication of the fear and residual anger she was radiating other than a faint shiver traveling down her sodden flanks.

“Yes, I’m up,” said the changeling cautiously. “Where are we?”

“We are not anywhere,” said the unicorn, still dripping rainwater over the floor. “Trixie is in the friendly town of Soapstone, cottages for rent, weekly rates and pet-friendly rooms.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you still have your bits?”

“Yes.”

The undisguised changeling eyed Trixie. It was a unique experience for him, because he had never been face to real face with a pony before without there being a certain amount of screaming or wild panic involved. For a moment, he even considered that she might be a changeling herself, except for the emotions she was giving off for his consumption. In any case, he really had very few options. He was tired, cold, and nearly out of energy. The unicorn could have just left him in the mud, and in the same situation, he would have, but she had dragged him out of the mud and even dried him off a little before throwing him into the wagon, so he was willing to extend a little un-changelinglike trust. Besides, she radiated enough confused emotions to snack from and he was still incredibly hungry.

“Good,” declared Trixie. “That’s the first thing you’ve said to me that isn’t a question.” The unicorn cleared her throat in what could almost have been the beginnings of a terrible cold, but seemed instead to be a very skillful attempt at manipulating the changeling’s own emotions. “The Great and Powerful Trixie finds herself in need of a small loan to pay for a room.”

“A loan?”

“And your record is broken,” said Trixie in a perfectly flat deadpan. “Yes, a loan.”

The changeling barely had to think about it before responding, “What’s in it for me?”

There was a distinct burst of sweet emotions at that, just enough for the changeling to soak up another little bit of energy. The unicorn must have been emoting while pulling the wagon too, because now that the changeling had a little time to think about it, he actually felt a little better than before his enforced mudbath. The unicorn looked a little better too, because the last bit of the road going into town must have been paved and the ongoing rain had washed some of the mud out of her coat. Still, she maintained her snooty attitude and lifted her nose while replying.

“What’s in it for you? How about not getting thrown out into the mud while I scream for the town police about finding a changeling in my wagon?”

“No, no, no,” said the changeling while waving a hoof from under the warm blanket. He was at least reasonably comfortable, if not for the itching and lumps in the thin mattress. He had no desire to return to his involuntary freezing mudbath. “I mean what kind of interest rate would you be willing to pay? Five percent?”

This time, the flicker of delicious affection he soaked up was stronger. Still not enough to fatten him up, but it was at least promising. “Three,” responded Trixie.

“Five,” responded the changeling with a small cough tasting too much like mud. “And maybe a bath?”

“Four, no bath, and you’re gone by the time I come out to my wagon tomorrow,” countered Trixie.

“How will you pay me back if I’m gone?”

The affection she released this time was a sharp burst that matched the miniscule raising of the corners of her lips, even though the rest of her expression stayed discouragingly stoic. “Three, you can have what’s left in the bathtub after I’m done, you stay in the room until after I perform tomorrow, and get lost after I pay you.”

It was tempting, but he thought he could get just a little more out of the deal. “I get the bed?”

There was a short burst of suppressed violence leaking out from Trixie’s emotional walls while she replied, “You get the floor. Trixie needs her beauty rest if she is to perform at her best tomorrow.”

He nodded hesitantly. “Can I at least lurk by the bathroom while you’re soaking and feed on your love for hot water?”

“Yes, yes.” Trixie waved a dismissive hoof. “Do we have a deal?”

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

While staggering away from the muddy wagon, the changeling tried his best to balance the load of cushions, a small suitcase, and the warmed comforter. It was only a few steps, but he stumbled in relief when he passed through the open door of the rental cottage, closely followed by Trixie. The rain had barely dampened the top of the stack, but Trixie stopped just inside the door and dripped while peeking back outside.

“Good, I don’t think anypony saw you.”

“Really?” The changeling glared at Trixie while dumping the pile of bedding on the floor. “It’s dark, I was under a blanket, and it’s the middle of the night. Anybody out this late in the rain deserves a kick in the head. Is this it?” he added, looking around the tiny room.

It was a starkly simple room with a bed, although calling it a bedroom would be a bit of a stretch. The air inside had a faint scent of something the changeling did not want to think about, but covered with pine-scented cleanser and bleach to the point it was merely cosy instead of a smelly hole. It was also cold, because the gas-fired heater was barely lukewarm from the pilot light. Thankfully, it lit with a soft whump when Trixie turned the knob, shedding a welcome warmth across the floor next to the bare bed.

Trixie took advantage of his distraction and vanished into the bathroom with a quick call of, “Dibs!” After a moment, a brief shriek from the bathroom was followed by, “This toilet is cold!

He shrugged and began to sort through the muddy towels and clean blanket from the wagon. After a nice warm bath, correction, both of their warm baths, the towels would need to be washed in the dirty water remaining. They could hardly get more muddy, and it was not like there was a laundry in the vicinity. In fact, now that he thought of it, Trixie would make a good distraction while he went about the process of feeding on the townsponies. She knew he was a changeling already, and did not seem too upset at the idea. Even if he had to hide in the wagon most of the time, he could still soak up the love and adoration from her performances. Maybe she was some kind of weird pony who actually liked the strange and bizarre, and keeping a changeling in her bed would be something she actually would be excited about, instead of being revolted by the idea of his presence like most normal ponies.

And if things don’t work out, I can always put her in a cocoon.

He thought about it for a moment. There were far too many unicorns with disguise detection spells running around to use the normal changeling backup plan, even if he wanted to.

Things better work out.

The bed was actually large enough for two, and he put Trixie’s blanket on top instead of the nearly translucent cottage blanket which he suspected would be slightly colder than nothing at all. A little bit of time to fluff the pillows, an additional sheet slipped under the similarly thin cottage sheet, and the leftover cushions he dropped by the side of the bed so they could be stood on while getting under the covers.

The sound of running water began to emerge from the bathroom, along with a brief and descriptive series of swear words.

“What?” he called out, trying to calculate if leaving both pillows on the bed would be too much of an obvious attempt at seduction or if he should just lay next to the bed on the cushions and make obvious shivering noises until she invited him under the covers.

“The hot water isn’t yet,” said Trixie. The toilet flushed and Trixie stuck her head out of the bathroom doorway. “Do changelings use the toilet?”

“Duh!” The changeling pulled his bottom jaw in and stuck his upper teeth out as far as they would go before adding in as much of a country accent as he was able, “What’s this ‘indoor plumbing’ we got in there?”

Trixie rolled her eyes with no trace of a smile from his attempt at humor, even though a little emotional bubbling of sweet happiness leaked through her control. “Hurry up. I want to take my bath.”

“All right, all right,” he grudgingly assented, vanishing into the bathroom to do his business while the tub was filling. Before he left, he stuck a hoof in the half-filled bathtub and called out, “How warm do you want your bath?”

“Third degree burns.” Trixie poked her wet head into the bathroom. “Is it heating up yet?”

“Depends. What do you consider ‘heating up?’”

She barged forward and stuck a hoof in the water, then immediately yanked it back out. “Colder than a tax collector’s heart,” she scoffed. “And I’m too pooped to heat it up with a spell.”

The changeling considered his situation before putting forward, “I suppose you’re not going to be giving off much love while freezing in the tub, are you?”

“Questions, questions, questions!” snapped Trixie. “What are you, a changeling or a quiz show? Of course I’m not going to be giving off any love while freezing my delicates off.”

“Would you like me to heat it up for you?” The changeling hesitated and winced before adding, “I’ll need a little love for energy.”

Trixie glared at him, much as he expected. “Do you want a quick trip outside and a dunk in the nearest mud puddle?”

He glared back. “Do you want to float around on the top of your bath along with the rest of the ice cubes?”

“I am not lifting my tail for a bug,” snapped Trixie. She lowered her voice to a low growl and added, “The mare in the office asked me if I wanted hourly rates for the cottage. She thought I was slipping a stallion into her little flea-bitten hostel.”

Trying his best not to remind her that she did slip a stallion into the room, just not a pony, the changeling said, “I don’t need you to lift your tail! I just need you to think… loving thoughts. I’ll soak them up and use them to heat up the water. You take your hot bath and I can soak up the love we agreed on. No tails involved.”

The sour sensation of tense anger eased somewhat and the fierce scowl on Trixie’s face faded into a simple frown. “No tails?”

He let out a huff of measured exasperation. “Why do you think I want to get under your tail? If it were that easy to get love, we would just put a bunch of female drones to the Equestrian cities and run houses of prostitution! Do you want somepony under your tail?”

It took a few seconds for Trixie to splutter, “No! Trixie has done just fine without a stallion under her tail so far and does not need any stallion under her tail, ever!”

There was a moment of embarrassed silence, which the changeling did not fill. He was too busy soaking up the sweet burst of confused emotions she had put out after speaking and redirecting the incoming wave of energy into the form of a warming spell. Besides, he was experienced enough to know that nearly any comment he could possibly make would only be treated as a reason for physical violence, and the cold mud was far too close outside the front door of the cabin. Still, her delicious emotions began to taper off far too quickly and he had to say something to keep her going.

“Would you like me to look like a mare?” asked the changeling. “It takes a little more energy to change gender while shifting my form that way, but some ponies prefer—”

“No!”

“There we go. A little more.” He swirled the warming bathwater with a hoof and tried not to look at the flustrated unicorn. It was beginning to look like he was going to sleep on the floor tonight no matter what form he took, but at least he was going to get a warm bath first.

“You’re doing it?” Trixie brushed past his shoulder and stuck a hoof in the tepid water. “I mean, of course you’re doing it. Trixie would normally be able to heat the whole bath in moments, if not for being so tired. It’s not very hot, though,” she added.

“Consider the source. You’re not putting off much love. Could you try telling me how wonderful and powerful you are again? Narcissism works just as well as regular love.”

Trixie wiped her wet hoof on the nearby towel. “Suck it.”

It was such a deadpan delivery that the changeling chuckled despite himself. Shifting his throat around to sound very young, he said, “Gosh, Miss Trixie. You’re such an amazing unicorn! I’ve never seen anypony do all the fantastic and terrific things you do. All I want to do is sit here and bathe in your magnificence.”

“Suck up,” she added in the same low tone, although she poked a hoof back into the water briefly when it began to steam from his channelled warming spell. “Tell me more.”

“I’m going to tell all my little friends just how amazing you are! Maybe we can get the newspaper to write a story about you, with pictures and a big headline, and even have a big parade in your honor! You can ride on the float and wave at all of the little ponies as we cheer and throw confetti.” He stuck a hoof in the water and promptly yanked it back out again. “Okay, it’s hot enough now.”

“I didn’t tell you to quit. Oh.” Trixie coughed and nodded towards the bathroom door. “Get out. Trixie needs her tub time.”

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

Romantic Love is a powerful thing, but Hot Bathtub Appreciation ranked very high on the list of emotional experiences to draw changeling sustenance from. Because the soap provided with the cottage was indistinguishable from granite, the changeling kept himself busy while Trixie was scrubbing and singing by bringing in some bubble bath from out of the wagon. Since it was parked just outside the door, he also grabbed them both a quick snack of some dry crackers and some drier cheese during a second trip.

As the singing grew in volume, he had to admit, although not out loud, that Trixie had a nice voice when she was not snapping or growling at him. Between the warm gas space heater and the warm steam floating out of the partially closed bathroom door, he was finally getting the last of the chill out of his insides that the mud had left behind, even if there was no romance in Trixie’s constant emotional stream of gratitude and love for the warm water. The situation inside the cabin was even just the tiniest bit nice, because whenever he was with a pony before, he had always been worried about losing his disguise or making a mistake in his performance, and when he was with other changelings, there was always the possibility of a little social climbing over him to consider.

“Oh, I could soak in here forever,” called out Trixie while he finished tidying up in the bedroom.

“Wouldn’t that make you the Great and Pruney Trixie?” he asked. “If you go to sleep in there, can I have the bed?”

“You’d probably drown me in my sleep,” she responded. “Trixie is used to being poorly treated by others.”

“Really?” He felt just a little… well, a lot disrespected by her words, but this beat being out in the mud by a substantial margin. Theoretically, her feelings of betrayal and distrust of her fellow ponies should make her more vulnerable to exploitation, but at the moment, he was just looking forward to the leftover warm water.

He looked over the bedroom, which through diligent changeling effort and the contents of a small supply closet had been tidied up to about as neat and tidy as it was going to get. The bed had been made with both the thicker of the two blankets from the wagon and the thin piece of gauze that came with the cabin, even though he had considered stuffing the frail piece of cloth under the bed in case either of them needed to blow their nose sometime in the night. He had even given the annoying unicorn the larger and fluffier of the two pillows and placed the dim firefly lantern next to the bed where it would be easier to cover when she decided to go to sleep. He turned off the cottage lights and evaluated the scene in the dim lighting that remained from the drowsy fireflies. His instructors at the hive would have given him high marks for the ‘Rustic Romantic Getaway Cabin’ environment that the room was supposed to capture, even if the end result was going to be a little lacking in harvesting potential.

“Far, far better,” said Trixie after opening the bathroom door the rest of the way. A gust of humid air billowed out, along with some more delicious joy. Her mane had been dried to mere dampness and lay in a long wet plait down her back while her tail still had a towel wrapped around it. “Trixie can brush herself,” she added when he scooped up a manebrush and stepped forward. “Trixie knows you are only sucking up to me because you want to feed on my emotions.” She sniffed. “Just like ponies.”

“Actually, I was going to get into the water while it was still warm,” said the changeling while walking past her on his way into the bathroom. “I’ll wash your towels when I’m done, since they’re so muddy, and let them dry until tomorrow. Do you want to scrub my back?”

He smiled to himself and flicked his tail seductively while posing in the bathroom doorway. After all, there was no reason he could not show Trixie just what she was missing by going to bed alone.

Unfortunately, he did not look back at his seduction target, or he might have been able to dodge the powerful snap of a wet towel on his rump that sent him tumbling into the bathroom.

He had to scrub his own back.

~ ~ ♠ ~ ~

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, feeling cleaner than he had in months, the bedroom was dark with only the light from the gas heater’s blue flames flickering around the small room. The laundry was done, all of the wet towels were dripping dry across the tub, and his own dark chitin was dried to a fine gloss, leaving him to hesitate in front of the gas heater to toast each side of his body to get the last lingering bits of dampness evaporated.

It was a wonderful feeling, being dry and warm for a change, much like baking on a rock back in the Badlands. Pony lands were uniformly too wet and green for his taste, but with winter coming on, that green would turn to cold sticky snow, a far worse environment. If it were possible to find a warm pony home to hole up in for the winter and create his own cocoon in their basement, he would be perfectly happy to sleep through the entirety of the cursed season and only emerge when winter was properly wrapped up. There was not nearly enough space to do that in Trixie’s wagon, and with the way the wind whistled through the cracks in the wagon sides, odds are he would freeze into a changelingsickle long before spring.

“Stop blocking the heat,” mumbled Trixie from under her blanket. “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs her beauty rest in order to perform feats of amazing skill tomorrow. Trixie has a pest to pay off.”

“With interest,” he added, setting down into the cushion on the floor.

“W’interest,” muttered Trixie in agreement. After he pulled the thin blanket over himself, the changeling felt an exploring hoof from above touch him on the shoulder and rub gently. “Y’know, you’re softer than Trixie expected. Less of a monster too. Trixie would have been far more uncomfortable by herself, even if she had the bits to rent this cottage. You cleaned, you washed, you hung up my cape to dry.” The unicorn’s hoof gestured to the drying outfit, carefully hoof-washed and spread out across the otherwise empty coatrack by the door. “You changelings aren’t that bad.”

“Yes we are.” The changeling shifted positions, remembering just how close he had come dying in the bottom of some frozen mud on the road. “I could have used a mind-control spell on you and sucked out all of your love when we met. ‘Trixie’ would have continued her tour, but you would have been stuffed into a cocoon in the back of your own wagon.”

The hoof remained on his shoulder, but it stopped moving while the silence in the darkened room remained. After the longest time, Trixie shifted in the bed above him and the blue hoof retreated back under the covers before she asked the question he was afraid of. “Why didn’t you?”

“You mean other than the absolute certainty of getting caught? It’s… cheating, I guess.” The changeling suppressed a shiver as he attempted to tuck the thin blanket around his bottom. “It’s quick, it’s easy, and now it’s the fastest way to get a screaming crowd of ponies chasing you out of town with torches and pitchforks.”

“Ha!” Trixie’s voice was muffled by the blanket, but he could feel a sharp pain of sympathetic regret. “You’ve never been blamed for having a couple of simpletons drag a giant space-bear back into town, or used an ancient evil amulet to take over a whole town and rule it like some sort of deranged psychopath.”

“No, I don’t think so.” The changeling considered his position and listened carefully for the sound of a mob outside before asking, “Neither of those was in this town, right?”

“No.” Trixie rolled over and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “Both Ponyville.”

“Ah. That explains it.” The changeling shifted positions on the cold floor and tried to get comfortable, or at least less uncomfortable. It was working too, until Trixie tried to get in the last word.

“There’s nothing wrong with cheating. Although not on Trixie. Trixie would never have fallen for your kind’s weak and feeble attempts at mind control in Canterlot, like Shining Armor did. Through great study and effort, Trixie has developed an extremely strong will.”

“Don’t you mean a stubborn streak?”

“Willpower,” corrected Trixie.

The changeling chuckled despite the cold draft across the floorboards and eyed the bottom of the bed. “Prince Studly. Would you like me to change into him and keep your bed warm?”

Trixie harrumphed, which was educational because he had never actually heard a proper harrumph before, but the burst of warm lust from the bed damped out quickly. “Trixie is far too intelligent to fall for such a ruse.”

The changeling could not come up with a particularly witty comeback for that, so he just remained under the thin blanket and shivered. The gas heater did not do a particularly good job of heating the floor, and the little cracks and crevices in the floorboards did a particularly good job of un-heating the floor, neither of which helped him go to sleep until an idea came to mind.

After a few minutes of intense effort, the sound of shivering from the floor intensified until the faint rattle of the changeling's teeth filled the air. It took a while, but eventually Trixie poked her nose and horn over the edge of the bed and looked down at the trembling changeling, who was shivering so hard his teeth were rattling together.

“Can’t you keep it down?” she muttered. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“C-c-c-cold,” he muttered, crossing his forelegs against his body and wrapping the blanket even tighter around himself, but still keeping one eye cracked open for the expected invitation into her warm bed.

After heaving a great sigh, Trixie lit up her horn. “Well, we can’t have that. If you keep making that horrible noise, I’ll never get to sleep.”

Guided by Trixie’s magic, a washcloth floated over from the drying laundry and stuffed itself into the changeling’s mouth. Turning back over with a satisfied grunt at the resulting quiet, Trixie vanished under the covers again.

“That’s better. Goodnight.”