The Loneliest Gypsy

by Commissar Rarity

Rating: everyone
Tags: Trixie, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2529

Trixie is lost and adrift in the prairies of Equestria

Vagabond. Gypsy. Travelling showmare. Whatever word you prefer, that's what Trixie is. She's drifted from town to town, entertaining the inhabitants, living on the few bits dropped into her hat.

But there's one thing missing from her life.

Friendship.

Written for a contest on /r/MyLittlePony.

Published 2012-07-03 03:44:04 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-03 03:44:04 UTC

The Loneliest Gypsy

The gypsy wagon moved slowly through the forest, moving even slower when it came to a bump in the road, or a particularly large log. The mists swirled around it, scattering as it rolled. The blue unicorn mare pulling it paused, panting. Her mane and coat were slick with sweat.

 Her name was Trixie, and she was alone in the world. There was a time, oh so long ago, when she felt truly loved. Those times had passed now, the memory wasted like a portrait left too long in the sun. The days of happiness were gone.

 Trixie pulled the wagon, a slow, weary process. She pulled it through the misty forest as she had pulled it through the bogs, down the valleys, up the mountains, through the snow. She pulled because there was nothing behind her and everything ahead of her.

 Through the forest, and the mist beyond she pulled. The forest receded, then the mist. Now before her stretched the prairies of western Equestria. Through the sparse clouds, the sky was coloured from shades of light blue to blazing orange as the sun began its lazy arc down beyond the horizon. The wind blew, swaying the long grasses and bringing the smell of far-off rain to the mare’s nose.

 She turned her head to gaze behind her. Past the purple-painted wood of the wagon, there was nothing but the faint silhouette of a great wood. Sighing, the mare loosed the yoke, dropping it to the still-swaying grass. As Trixie walked around the wagon, she heard the low rumble of thunder. Squinting, she looked out across the horizons, searching for the source. Finding none, she sighed again, and continued into the wagon.

 As she entered the back of the wagon, she was struck by a disorienting feeling, the feeling that the inside of the wagon was larger than the outside. Even if it was, the wagon was still cramped inside.

 With a loud BANG, she slammed her shin against the table, knocking a hairbrush off. She had some curt, unpleasant words with the table. The table stood there and took it. When Trixie was done with verbally abusing an inanimate (though entirely in the wrong) object, she limped over to her stool. She sat, eyes downcast. A shimmering blue-white aura enveloped the hairbrush, and it lifted up and began to brush her mane.

 Trixie looked up, following the sweep of the hairbrush through her tangled mane. Her eyes met with those of her reflections. Exhausted violet pools, haggard lines beneath. How long had she been like this? She sighed deeply, tossing the brush away.

 The unicorn rose stiffly from the stool, and walked a few feet down to her bed. Her head barely touched the pillow when she fell asleep.

 Darkness. Everything was dark. Trixie’s head spun; her stomach rebelled. Where was she? She stood up, legs wobbly and weak. A white fog swirled around her hooves, obscuring whatever ground may be there.

 Blinking, the mare started forward. She walked and walked and walked and walked. She knew not how long she walked; only that it was quite a while. There was nothing but the fog and the void around her. The only sound she could hear was her own breathing.

 She continued walking in an aimless fashion, the fog growing thicker. Finally, after an eternity of walking, she saw a figure slowly fade into existence. She squinted to make out the shape. A unicorn of some sort. As she came closer she saw it was

 “Twilight Sparkle, isn’t it wonderful to see you!” A white unicorn came out of the fog to stand by the side of the purple unicorn. She was soon followed by an orange pony with a ridiculous hat and a rainbow maned pegasus. To say Trixie was very confused was an understatement.

 “Hello, girls,” Twilight Sparkle said, levitating a book that Trixie had somehow overlooked away. It disintegrated upon contact with the swirling mists. “It sure is great to have you as my friends.”

 “Now what kinda friends would we be if were didn’t come an’ see ya in a featureless void, Twi?” the orange pony pushed her hat up with a hoof. “Quite a trip, hoofin’ it from Ponyville.”

 “Yes, why can’t you live closer,” the other unicorn asked, running a file over her hooves. “It’s such a drag crossing dimensions just to have tea with you.”

 “So unrainbow,” muttered the rainbow pegasus. “If we weren’t such good friends I wouldn’t’ve come at all.”

 “Well we’re all here now,” Twilight Sparkle said, looking directly at Trixie. “Let’s have a friendship party and not invite Trixie.”

 “Ugh, Trixie. So dreadfully boastful. It’s no surprise she has no friends,” filed the glamorous unicorn.

 “I do have friends!” shouted Trixie with a stomp of her hoof. “They’re… just not around here,” she added weakly.

 “We don’t need her,” the pony with the stupid hat said. “Not as long as we got friends.”

 “Indeed!” Twilight Sparkle agreed amiably. “Let’s all pile into our friendship rocket and be friends together on the moon.”

 “The moon certainly is lovely this time of year and a good friendship vacation spot!”

 “There’s rainbows on the moon, right?”

 A rocket suddenly appeared next to the band of friends, and they piled inside. The rocket shuddered, and shot off into the air on the back of a rainbow. The rainbow arced towards the moon, which had also appeared out of thin air.

 “What.” Trixie’s voice was the flattest it had ever been.

 The mists swirled again, rising to take the form of a pony. The clouds dissipated, the shape slowly gaining colour. Trixie let out a sharp gasp when the conjuration was complete.

 The pony standing there, in front of her, was not unlike Trixie. They wore their mane in the same way; the other pony had a cape like her (though the other’s was much fancier). The other’s eyes were a darker shade of violet, and her horn was shorter and more of a stub. Trixie’s eyes focused on the gold clasp holding the cape shut for a brief moment.

 “What an embarrassment,” the other said, trotting by Trixie. The magician noticed an array of golden earrings in both of the other’s ears. “What kind of pony doesn’t have friends?”

 “I had – I have friends,” she bristled. “I made lots of friends on my travels!”

 The other pony just raised an eyebrow. Trixie’s cheeks burned with shame and she looked away. How many times had she rolled into a town and performed her tricks? How many times had she boasted about besting an ursa major, or a dragon or a hydra? How many times did she claim she stared down a cockatrice and turned its own stone magic upon itself?

 How many times had she approached friendly-looking stallions or mares in the audience afterwards, looking for a nice chat over some tea or cocoa, only to be shoved away with a handful of bits? How many nights did she spend alone, wishing for just one pony to take notice of her as somepony, somepony more than just a glitzy showpony?

 “All the time,” the other answered with a flip of her mane. “Oh, dear Trixie, where did you go wrong?”

 Trixie looked away again, at the fading rainbow leading up to the moon. She felt something sting her eyes… tears.

 “Dearest Trixie. What do you feel when you look at that Twilight Sparkle?”

 “I don’t feel anything,” she spat, not deigning to look back at her shadow.

 “Not even remorse? That somepony like her has ponies who love her? And you’re only loved while you’re entertaining.”

 “Shut up,” Trixie said, putting her hooves to her ears.

 “This is a dream, sweetest Trixie. You can’t run from me, you can’t block me out. What do you feel?”

 “Shut up!”

 “What do you feel, lovely Trixie? What do you feel?”

 “I want to be like her!” shouted Trixie, swinging her hooves out in a blind rage. She struck the other mare, shattering her into millions of tiny shards. When she realised what she had done, Trixie took a step back, slamming into something invisible that jingled. Rivulets of blood trickled down her legs where the shards had pierced her skin. “No! No no no!” The blackness receded, revealing the confines of her wagon. The other, the mirror was broken, the glass scattered on the floor. Her gypsy drums were rolling on the wooden planks, cymbals jangling.

 “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to gather the splinters of glass. “I’m so sorry.” She paused for a moment, eyes wide as it finally sunk in. Blood dripped to the floor. With a cry, she slammed her hoof into the already broken mirror, breaking the wooden back in half. Then she collapsed, sobbing.

 And thus, another day passed.

 The noon sun beat down on Trixie. She poked the yoke, trying to dig it out of the muck. Sometime during the night it had rained, turning the dirt below the wagon into mud. The yoke was buried in mud, and it refused to budge. Despite sleeping the day away, Trixie still felt exhausted. Her magic came in fits and sparks, and all attempts to levitate the yoke left her more drained than before.

 She collapsed in the mud with a pained cry. The mud spattered all over her, staining her coat and mane. Wiping her horn clean, she stood up, legs wobbling from exhaustion.

 “Ya seem in need of help, ma’am,” came a voice. It was rough, but pleasant. Trixie turned to face the speaker. A dark copper donkey with a hat not dissimilar to that of the orange pony’s stood there, silhouetted against the sun. Around his neck was a red scarf, and he wore a brown vest with a saddlebag slung on the side. “Name’s Craggy Smiles. Don’t get cute with a joke.”

 Trixie very nearly shot off a snide remark, but something made her bite it down. “I’m Trixie. I need help with my wagon. Stuck in the mud.” She bit her tongue, pushing down her first impulse to demand he help.

 “Easy work, looks like,” Craggy said, spitting out something brown and viscous. He walked around the wagon, a few times, eyeing the sunken wheels and the mud. “Yup. Get ’er out in a jiffy.”

 Craggy went to the back of the wagon and began pushing. “Missy you might want to move outta the way. You don’t likely aim to learn what bein’ run over feels like.”

 Trixie hobbled out of the way as the donkey continued shoving. With a wet glop! the wagon shot out of the mud, sending geysers spewing.

 “There ya go,” Craggy said, shaking himself to dislodge mud. “One free wagon. If’n you don’t mind, what kinda wagon’s that? Ain’t ever seen one quite like it.”

 “It’s my m- it’s mine. It’s a gypsy wagon.”

 “Well now! You buy off ’em?”

 “No,” Trixie replied, stepping around to the yoke. “I inherited it.”

 “Didn’t strike me as the gypsy type.” The donkey rapped on the wagon.

“Probably not,” Trixie said. “I don’t advertise being a gypsy, especially a Lulamoon.”

 Craggy let out a low whistle. “Lulamoon, eh? Well I certainly am sorry, truly from the bottom of my heart.”

 “Everypony is.” The magician mare once more tried to levitate the yoke up. Magical energy sparked around her horn and around the yoke. With a loud pop, the energy flashed and vanished. Trixie fell to the ground, tears in her eyes. The magic backfire had pierced straight into her brain. Her head throbbed, as if some diamond dog was in there mining away for precious gems.

 “Allow me,” the donkey said. He stepped over Trixie’s body and lifted the yoke over his neck. The pony stood on unsteady legs.

 “You – you don’t need to–”

 “I do.” His voice was stern. “Just follow alongside. Ain’t ever met a gypsy before.” He began to walk forward, the wagon beginning to follow in fits and start. “Might you be inclined to answer a few questions of mine?”

 “No,” Trixie replied curtly. “I am the Great and Powerful Trixie. I don’t talk of gypsies to commoners like you.”

 He laughed. “Last I checked gypsies weren’t liked too much, and at the very least donkeys are respected as hard workers. After all we ain’t characterized as fillynappers.”

 “Lies!”

 “So you do talk of gypsies to commoners like me?” He smiled from under the shade of his hat. Trixie simply scowled and looked away. “Now I ain’t quite an expert on the pony condition, but you seem a mite upset about somethin’.”

 Trixie was about to snap back, when something clicked in the back of her mind and she found herself keeping silent. What was she upset about? It wasn’t just the exhaustion, or the frustration over the trapped wagon.

 Twilight Sparkle’s face floated to the top of her mind, followed by her three marefriends. They faded and were replaced by her, alone, searching the crowds for somepony to stay and talk awhile. But nopony did. They drifted away when her show ended. Oh thank you for the show ma’am have a bit you poor girl. These fleeting moments of interponysal contact flitted by too quickly for her to grasp, leaving the void in her heart unfilled.

“I feel lost,” Trixie said, pushing those feelings down. “I have no friends. All I’ve done is either perform parlor tricks to make ponies like me, or swindle them with my fakeries. I… I’m tired of being a pony with nothing to live for.”

 “I once felt the same way.” Craggy stepped gingerly over a hole in the grass. “Then I met a stallion, a powerful one. He gave me purpose.” He paused, and fished a small card from his saddlebag. He waved it in Trixie’s direction, and she took it, careful not to touch her lips to his. “If you ever feel the need call on him. He has a purpose for just about anypony.”

 They walked through the day and part of the night, chatting about the towns they’d visited. The ponies they’d met. The strange things they encountered on their travels. Trixie found herself smiling more and more as she talked to him.

 When they finally reached the town, Craggy had parked the wagon by the local watering hole, lowered the yoke down and stretched his neck.

 “’Fraid this is where we part ways, ma’am. I’m a busy donkey, and you’re doubtless a busy pony. Don’t forget about my friend there.”

 “I won’t,” Trixie promised with a little smile. Craggy nodded, bade farewell and began to walk away. With a flush, Trixie cried out, “You… we are friends now, are we not?”

 The donkey paused and looked back over his shoulder. In the purples and blues of twilight, Trixie could make out a faint grin. “I reckon we are, missy. Happy trails now.”

 With that, he walked out of her life. Trixie looked down into the watering hole, still blushing. The Trixie in the water smiled at her, face red.

 “I used to wonder what friendship could be,” she whispered. “Until you shared its magic with me.”