Selfish Things/Unselfish Things
by Ceffyl Dwr
With a violent crack the pencil splintered in two. Trixie leapt in her seat as the echo of it bounced sharply off the walls of her wagon, alarm quickly giving way to anger as the silence returned. For a few moments she glared at the broken pieces of wood before releasing them from the raspberry glow of her magical enchantment. Then she turned her attention back to the large sheet of paper unrolled beneath them, which was covered in the increasingly impatient scrawl of her hornwriting.
The more she stared at it, the faster the words lost all meaning. She tried to make sense of the abstract pieces she had connected (then unconnected, and then reconnected again) with lines, but her lungs started to betray her. She growled, massaging her temples as she fought to get the treasonous organs back in line.
Then an observation came to her, and Trixie found herself laughing.
“It’s obvious,” she announced, pulling her gaze to the starling that was still watching her from the flower box outside her wagon’s window. “I’ve become too great at this—that’s what the problem is!”
That she had been in Ponyville for far too long was clearly another problem; adopting the traits of Twilight’s—no, Pinkie’s, damn it—friends was becoming something of a daily habit.
The starling tilted its head and trilled something that sounded suspiciously to Trixie like laughter. Screwing up the page of notes, she launched the ball at the bird and chuckled as it flew away in fright. Then she levitated another page and pencil across to the desk and started again.
It was supposed to be easy—always had been. The tricks had always just slotted together to form her acts like giant jigsaw puzzles that captivated and enthralled and bought creatures far and wide to her shows. So why weren’t they clicking this time? Why were the tricks resisting and repelling each other?
Screwing her eyes shut, Trixie tapped her head with a hoof. Come on you foal, think! You have other options. Being honest to Starlight about her recent difficulties, and asking her to postpone her performance, was certainly one. But how often did one get an opportunity to perform at the Royal Summer Ball? And besides, if the Princesses were in attendance then that meant Twilight Sparkle would be there too, and Trixie would be damned if she gave her the satisfaction of seeing any sign of weakness or vulnerability. No, that wasn’t an option.
She watched a thick dribble of wax spiral down the candle on her desk. She could feign an emergency—something about her parents that would get her out of her commitment whilst ensuring she was still thought of as a kind and considerate mare—but Starlight would almost certainly insist on coming along to support her in her time of need. Illness was an option, but succumbing to that had never been Trixie’s thing. Her father had always told her that she had the constitution and spirit of an earth pony and she believed it. She had believed it when she weakened that Ursa Minor for Twilight Sparkle and she had believed it when breaking rocks for living. She refused to stop believing it now, even for just an act.
The starling returned to the flower box, chattering in disapproval.
“Yes, I know Starlight worked her flank off to get me the place,” she snapped, unsure whether she was responding to the bird or her own conflicted thoughts. “But my talents earned it; I’m entitled to bail if I want to.”
It was a weak and petulant argument though and she knew it. Even as panic uncoiled within her body at the thought of presenting a substandard (or terribly ad libbed) act, Trixie knew that she would never ever let her best friend down.
Her gaze remained on the window long after the starling had departed, finding some comfort in how her turbulent thoughts were reaching harbour in the endless void of purples and pinks. A light breeze pushed past the net curtains and nestled in her mane, and the dewy scent of ferns and heather that filled the wagon pulled Trixie back to a time when the world was hers and hers alone, and so what if her show had been bad? She could just go to a new town in a new land and try again.
Those nostalgic thoughts were intoxicating, and Trixie allowed them to erode her resolve, to whisper a simple and soothing resolution to her problem over and over again until it was all she could hear over the ringing in her ears. Then she snorted.
Oh, so what if her wheels were all caught up in vines and weeds these days? It was the life she had chosen, and it wasn’t as though she was unhappy with the trade-off. She had friends now—a best friend, even. And she had Pinkie Pie, the most magical mare in all of Equestria, which seemed fitting. After all, didn't a mare like Trixie deserve the best in everything?
Her lips were the first to rebel against her worries. Curving gently upwards, the movement was so pronounced that it jolted Trixie from her daydreaming and reminded her that she still had work to do before Pinkie arrived. Besides, sitting around like a lovelorn filly wasn’t going to help her finish her act any quicker.
The darkening sky played into her hooves as she worked, its waning rose-licked light gradually allowing the candle at her desk to dominate the wagon’s interior. When it came to planning her shows she always preferred the flame of a candle to the sun. Candlelight was unnatural and dishonest; it made shapes from things that weren’t there and changed expressions and intent with a single flicker. Trixie had found such things to be important over the years.
She continued writing and tweaking and adjusting until the sun had crept beyond the view of the window, leaving behind the barest smudge of amber amongst the twilight hues, and then she sat back and nodded. Her jaw ached and her brain felt jittery and needled, but she had done it. What was written down on paper would no doubt become the greatest magical show the Princesses had ever seen in their combined years. All of her greatest tricks, cajoled and encouraged—and when that failed, forced—into one long glorious procession of spectacle and excitement. It probably needed some further refinement, but it was late and Trixie now had more important priorities to manage. She pushed herself from the desk, put the kettle on the stove, pulled out the ice cream from the freezer box and then sat out on the porch of the wagon.
Waiting had quickly become one of her most favourite things about being with Pinkie Pie. Waiting and anticipating. Trixie had made a fine career of making—no, demanding—that ponies stand with baited breath and trembling hearts as she layered trickery and spectacle into grand climaxes, and yet rarely did she get to experience those things herself.
Her eyes flicked between the well-trodden path towards her wagon and the two dense, flower-flecked borders of White Tail Wood straddling either side of it. Then they checked the canopy above.
Pinkie gave her that opportunity; she gave it to her in spades. And it was delicious.
When her marefriend finally made her appearance, bouncing in barely perceptible arcs down the path, Trixie found herself surprised by how mundane her arrival was, and yet at the same time not surprised. She had earlier walked past the party Pinkie had been throwing for that young colt, and it was clear from a quick peek in through the window that her marefriend was going to be exhausted. Which was precisely the reason why Trixie had delayed her plan to work on her act until the evening, so that she could track down and buy Pinkie’s favourite type of tea and ice cream.
Because Trixie was a selfish mare, particularly when she was in love.
Pinkie Pie slowed her pace as she approached the wagon—to the point where she almost, almost appeared to be bouncing on the spot—and smiled toothily.
“Hi honey, I’m hoooo-oooome,” she sang, though her voice was thick with sleep. “Heh, you know, I’ve always wanted to say that.”
Trixie smiled as she trotted down the steps of her wagon to nuzzle her marefriend. “And yet you always do.”
“Well I guess because it always feels like the first time, y’know?” Pinkie pulled a party popper from her saddlebag. “Ooh, we should celebrate the occasion, right?”
Trixie snorted as she turned back to her wagon. “What, celebrate you mooching off of your famous and popular marefriend every night? You do have your own home to go back to, you know.”
A flock of birds leapt from the trees above as the party popper split the twilight air. “Eh,” Pinkie replied around a yawn. “Home is where the heart is. Get it?”
Trixie looked over her shoulder. Her confusion must have shown on her face, for Pinkie rolled her eyes and stepped forward. “Where the heart is?” she tried again, winking and giving Trixie a slight nudge.
“I’m... pretty sure that’s just a regular saying.” Trixie cocked her head, a smirk on her lips. “You know, these long party nights are definitely blunting your jokes, and if you aren’t the premier Ponyville prankster anymore then I don’t know what you bring to this particular party.”
“Well if that’s the best my competition can come up with then I ain’t got much to worry about.” The sly expression on Pinkie’s face melted into a pout. “Sooo... you didn’t get my note?”
Trixie’s eyes darted to the ramshackle mailbox Applejack had helped erect outside her wagon. “No?”
“Aww, ponyfeathers!” Pinkie’s ruffled and slightly askance mane undulated for a few seconds—as though two small woodland critters had crept inside and started a brawl—and a small scrap of paper slipped out from between the airy curls. “I guess I must have forgotten to break in last night and plant it. Um, too late for a do-over?”
“I imagine so—wait, break in?” Trixie blinked. “You break into my wagon?”
“Well only when the door is locked,” Pinkie sang, taking the note in her mouth and thrusting it towards Trixie.
Trixie grinned as she took the note. There wasn’t any other pony in Equestria who could keep her on the edges of her horseshoes the way Pinkie did, and it felt great.
“When you rise and shine out of the bed, walk three paces and lift your head.” She lowered the note. “Huh, what’s this? Some kind of too-early-in-the-morning-for-a-treasure-hunt treasure hunt?”
“Bingo! That’s exactly what it is.” The topmost curl of Pinkie Pie’s mane dipped in front of her mouth as she yawned again. “Or at least, it was supposed to be. It’s late now though, so let’s skip to the end. Check behind you.”
With a question on her lips, Trixie turned around. Behind her, resting against the door of her wagon, lay a stuffed felt heart embroidered with the words I love you that had definitely not been there a few moments ago.
“See?” The grin in Pinkie’s voice was obvious. “Home is where the heart is. Get it now?"
Trixie opened her mouth to respond with one of the pithy comments that wondrously studded her relationship with Pinkie Pie, but the words ballooned to an unpronounceable size. She felt a sharp scratch behind her eyes but ignored it because she absolutely, definitely refused to let Pinkie Pie win this time with such a cheesy, tacky, wonderful declaration of love.
“I got you pepperberry ice cream,” she blurted out. The shaky echo of her voice was dashed instantly against the nearby trees. “With those disgusting caramel and mint nugget things you love. And there’s roseleaf tea brewing—that’s your favourite, right?”
The air was suddenly and violently pushed from her lungs as Pinkie Pie half-bounded forward and enveloped her in a tight embrace. Hot white spots burned into her vision, removing everything from sight until Trixie was left only with the glorious sound of Pinkie’s breathing beside her ear and the sensation of her heart pounding against her chest.
“You went and got me ice cream and tea?” Pinkie repeated, her voice shivering and hot. “That’s like the nicest thing anypony’s done for me today. This week, even.” She pressed her lips to Trixie’s ear. “Thank you!”
Trixie waved a casual hoof as she squirmed free. “I-It’s fine! The Kind and Generous Trixie saw you were tired earlier and thought she might treat her favourite pony. Just... Just wait there a minute.” She stepped inside the wagon briefly to make the tea, and then carried it and the ice cream back out onto the porch. Passing a tub, spoon and cup to Pinkie Pie, a satisfied smile rose to Trixie’s lips as she watched her marefriend gratefully tuck in.
She knew she was selfish, and Trixie cared enough about Pinkie Pie to know that she shouldn’t be. But for her the most wonderful part about these quiet moments—when a tired and subdued Pinkie Pie gradually came back to life, like an old spell suddenly imbued with fresh wild magic—was the fact that nopony, not even Twilight Sparkle, had ever really witnessed it. It was a type of magic she had never before encountered, and Trixie treasured it like the secrets of the greatest of stage tricks.
“Mmm... This is super nice,” Pinkie murmured, reflecting Trixie’s thoughts. Her body, slowly—bizarrely—regaining a more vibrant hue, was almost statue-esque, though her eyes were quick and wild.
Trixie inclined her head but stayed silent, her eyes on the cup of tea suspended in front of her lips. She honestly thought she’d have grown tired of it all by now, but making Pinkie Pie feel good made her feel good, and Trixie had found that she loved feeling good. She’d never tell Pinkie that though, because then Pinkie would be happy that she was making Trixie happy, and Trixie didn’t want that in the slightest. Not right now. In moments like these, Trixie wanted it to be all about her, because she was a selfish pony and being in a relationship was never going to change that.
She gulped down the scalding liquid and felt a little better. Hopefully Pinkie would understand if she ever knew, maybe even feel the same way. Trixie certainly found herself hoping so. For all her bravado and pride, parity seemed desperately important in matters of the heart.
“So did you manage to get the day off?” she asked. A squirrel darted across from one side of the woods to the other. Its tiny body trembled as it crossed the exposed path and Trixie felt her own body mimic the movement.
Pinkie wiped ice cream from her muzzle and grinned. Her smile seemed wider now, as though it too had woken up. “Yup! As soon as I told Mr Cake about my totally awesome marefriend blagging a spot at the Royal Summer Ball he gave me the day off. The day after too, just in case it goes badly—I mean, really well!” she poked out a tongue at Trixie’s affronted expression.
“You’re hilarious. But thanks. To tell you the truth—the absolute, unrepeatable truth,” Trixie added, brandishing a spoon—“I’m feeling a tiny bit... nervous. Having a friendly face in the crowd is going to be nice.”
Pinkie raised her eyebrows. “Not to mention a friendly body and tail too. I mean, you are with me for more than my cheerleader-grade good looks, right? Otherwise I should probably just give you one of these and we part as friends.”
Trixie recoiled as a crudely drawn paper mask of Pinkie’s face was thrust under her muzzle. “I prefer my marefriends without incurable diseases, thanks,” she replied, pushing the mask aside. A grin danced upon her lips. “Plus, if we parted however would you manage without me bringing magic and wonder into your life?”
And then, because she hadn’t said it plainly enough: “I love you.”
Pinkie Pie’s eyes widened and locked onto hers, and to Trixie’s relief her marefriend didn’t joke or laugh or leap into a succession of Pinkieisms. Instead, the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly and her eyes grew calm.
“That’s super good news,” she whispered, sidling closer until her hair was brushing against Trixie’s. “Because I love you a bundle.”
She took Trixie’s hoof then, and pressed it tight against her chest. Beneath the calm, slow moving surface, Trixie could feel the erratic beating of her marefriend’s heart. In that moment Pinkie Pie seemed suddenly real, vulnerable; she had become something tangible that Trixie could hold close and cherish, or drop and break upon the ground. Breaking was the easy option of course, always had been, and before she had met Starlight Glimmer Trixie had done her fair share of breaking and running. She didn’t want to anymore, and certainly not to Pinkie Pie, the most amazing pony she had ever met.
Pinkie Pie grinned then, and buried her head in the remnants of her ice cream carton.
“Mmph, mmph, mmph!”
Trixie shook her head as she settled down beside Pinkie Pie and pulled the heart and her own carton close. “That was... intelligible. Want to try that again without the ice cream?”
Pinkie pulled her head free, pepperberry ice cream clinging desperately to her grin as she swallowed. “I said, ‘Mmph, mmph mmph’,” she replied. “It’s a really old Pie saying. It means: this is mouth-fillingly awesome!”
“I’m going to put a ban on made up adverbs in my wagon,” Trixie snorted. “Honestly. Mouth-fillingly?”
“Aww, s’totally a word! You know, when something is just so so great and yummy that you can’t stop eating until your mouth is full and it’s really hard to swallow without spit-spraying it everywhere?” She drew a line across the porch with her hoof. “Mmph mmph mmph!”
Trixie blinked as a sudden grimace creased her marefriend’s face. “What’s up? Indigestion?”
“From just one tub of ice cream? You must be joking.” Pinkie stretched out on the porch, rubbing her hind legs. “Just achy legs; Tender Taps’ birthday bash was a blast, but I really should have worn some padded horseshoes or something. I’m an overbaked Pie.”
“You want a rub down?”
Trixie froze. The words had crept from her mouth so quickly that it didn’t even feel as though she had said them. They drifted up to the canopy above the wagon, leaving a tight blanket of silence behind. As she replayed the question in her head, Trixie felt heat spill up into her cheeks and quickly scooped up a mouthful of ice cream to cool them. She didn’t want to say anything else for fear of further embarrassment, but she wasn’t going to back down. Meeting Pinkie’s gaze, Trixie held it and waited.
Slowly, beautifully, Pinkie Pie’s face caught alight. “That sounds just super,” she said with a squeak, and flopped her body across Trixie so that her head was resting against her flank. Trixie grunted, but her marefriend’s weight against her body felt good. She ran her gaze down the thick curves of Pinkie’s hind legs, watching the tremble of muscle coiled tightly beneath the soft skin.
Then she realised that she hadn’t the faintest idea of how to give somepony a massage.
Come on now, she rebuked herself. You’ve been to a spa before. How hard can it be? Pressing a hoof down against Pinkie’s skin, she exhaled as the tight knots parted slightly under the contact. So far so good. Encouraged, she lowered her other foreleg.
Pinkie suddenly writhed as though she had been struck by lightning, a chorus of giggles exploding violently from her mouth. “Ooh, that tickles, you big meanie!” she gasped. “You gotta press down harder than that, Trixie-wix. Really pound my pony posterior!”
Trixie withdrew her hooves, cheeks white hot. “W-well it’s your fault for wriggling!” she snapped. “Just be grateful that I’m even bothering to try!”
“Hey, I didn’t say it wasn’t good,” Pinkie retorted, the dying light leaving an alien glint in her eyes. “Juuuust, not quite what a sleepy ol’ mare needs. Don’t stop though, ‘cos I really don’t wanna fall asleep yet.”
Trixie tried to steady her breathing. Feeling out of her depth and exposed like this was the absolute worst. It was different to when some part of her act hadn’t quite worked out on stage and she had to just run with it. Ponies in the audience were strangers; she wasn’t watching them. It didn’t matter what they thought.
“Fine,” she said eventually. “As you asked so nicely I’ll favour you with another attempt.” She moved her hooves more firmly this time, pressing down and not giving the knots any quarter. Pinkie lay in silence, her eyes closed but fluttering enough to let Trixie know she was still awake.
Gradually feeling more at ease, she stroked her marefriend’s mane. “I don’t know why you don’t ask for help tidying up after these late parties. You’re always so tired, and I’m sure it’s the least other ponies can do.”
Pinkie Pie purred at the contact and turned her head appreciatively. “Why, are you volunteering? ‘Cos I offer a prett-ty good remuneration package.”
“Hah, no chance. I’m a famous showpony. I don’t clear up garbage.” In the silence that followed, Trixie studied her marefriend from muzzle to tail before turning her attention to the felt heart and the words upon it. She briefly imagined a late night full of bin-bags and hoof-trodden cake, of spilt cider and juice and finding streamers in places where streamers had no business being. She briefly imagined her helping Pinkie Pie and seeing her marefriend's pleased and excited smile.
“Though I suppose, if you asked me nicely...”
Pinkie laughed. “It’s fine, really. Most ponies don’t like to tidy up and stuff, but it’s actually kinda fun, you know?”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “Yes of course. I can’t imagine anything more fun.”
“Heeeey,” Pinkie jabbed Trixie lightly in the side and opened her eyes a crack. “I heard those eyes rolling about, missy! And it is fun. Plus it gives me a chance to actually experience the party. I’m always so busy planning and making sure everypony has a fun time that I don’t always get to myself.”
“And picking up the leftovers helps?”
“Of course!” Pinkie’s eyes latched onto Trixie’s. "You can hear the laughter still in what’s left behind. This one had streamers a good hack down the road from the hall, and there was even a small pile of leftover cake and pop by the bridge. That's a totally good sign, it means ponies didn't want the party to end and so they took it with them."
After a moment of silence she shifted slightly. "So, you all ready for your show?”
“Yes!” Trixie beamed as her page of notes appeared on the porch amid a puff of smoke. “It’s going to be fantastic, though I don’t mind admitting that I was worried I’d never pull something together in time.”
“Ooh, is that your act? Lemmie see.” In an instant Pinkie was sat up, her muzzle pressed against the paper. Trixie turned her gaze down to the cold remnants of tea in her cup, feeling conflicted. No doubt Pinkie would love the content—those tricks were her best after all—but it was surprising how vulnerable sharing them in this form with her felt.
As the minutes dragged on, Pinkie’s eyes mirroring the chaos on the paper, those feelings increased twofold. Trixie tapped a beat on the porch with her hooves before eventually turning to her marefriend.
“Well?” she demanded, the uncertainty plucking at her voice. “Isn’t it going to be the greatest performance Canterlot has ever seen?”
Pinkie lifted the paper in front of her face, her eyes peeking round the side. “Sure! It’s goooo-oooood,” she replied slowly.
Trixie felt her chest tighten. “What?” When Pinkie didn’t respond she tapped her hoof loudly on the porch. “Hey! Talk to me already.”
Pinkie jumped at the sound and lowered the page to the floor. The smile on her face was wide but clearly forced. “Nothing!” she replied, her voice rising in self-defence. “It’s good. Good with nine ohs, in fact!”
Trixie narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like my Pie’s deception filled,” she warned.
“Hey, I am not being a false-filly,” Pinkie folded her forelegs, her muzzle turned defiantly towards the sky. “I meant what I said. It’s good.” Then her voice dropped to a near whisper. “It’s not great, but it’s good. Nine ohs.”
“It’s not...” Trixie shook her head, her ears ringing. It felt as though all the air in her lungs had suddenly started to swell outwards. Her earlier doubts returned in force, crawling under her skin until her whole body itched and ached. Pinkie never lied—sometimes she had to be cajoled into saying something she was clearly reluctant to, but she never lied.
She closed her eyes. She had deluded herself. Her act in front of all the Princesses—in front of Twilight Sparkle!—was going to be average at best, and the show was in just three days. How was she ever going to produce a worthy spectacle in time? Or a worthy spectacle full stop. Unless...
She took a breath, and then looked at Pinkie Pie. “So how do I make it great then? Or... Or at least get another few ohs on that ‘good’?”
Pinkie’s grin shimmered in the dull light, as though becoming alive again. Trixie couldn’t place her hoof on the reason why, but the sight of it returning to its previous brilliance filled her with relief. “That’s super easy, you just gotta cut out some of the big guns.”
“The big guns?” Trixie looked down at her paper. The paper full of the big guns. “These are my best and most spectacular acts,” she retorted. “Why on Equestria would I want to get rid of them?”
“Some of them,” Pinkie replied, smoothing her mane into a style usually worn by a pony who Trixie did not want to be thinking about right now. “Somebody’s got cotton candy in her ears. Or perhaps I gotta do one of my patented Princess lectures.”
Trixie’s eyes narrowed. “Do it and you’ll be sleeping out under the stars tonight.”
“We do that every night, silly. You really think that a roof changes that?” Pinkie’s hoof swiped across her face, removing the smile and the offending manestyle. “Back to serious stuff though. Don’t you ever reflect on your shows?”
“Of course I do!” Trixie sat up and pressed a hoof against her chest. “It’s hard not to hear the applause that fills the air at the end of each of them.”
“Heh, I do love my overconfident Trixie, but I kinda don’t want to talk to her right now.” Pinkie tapped the page lying at her hooves. “These tricks are great because they're at the end of your shows. Just throwing them all together in one great big baffling buffet isn’t the same. That’s not what ponies love about your shows.”
Trixie felt her jaw tighten. “I think I know what ponies want from my shows.”
Pinkie blew a raspberry. “Well clearly not this pony. I mean, of course I’d enjoy it, but if you watched me—super muzzle-touching-muzzle watched me—then you’d see that my legs wouldn’t be trembling and my frizz wouldn’t be bouncing. I say this to foals every time they wish that Hearth’s Warming Eve would last forever: the build-up is the best part!”
She moved closer to Trixie and nestled her head against hers. “You should totally take a leaf out of my Pinkie Pie Party Pine (Tree) and watch your audience more. You’ll learn loads. I’m sure you know that already though,” she poked Trixie’s head. “You probably just forgot since you’re such a big shot these days.”
Trixie frowned in thought, her gaze tilted up towards the hoof-ful of stars that were starting to wake in the night sky. Was that true? Had she honestly allowed herself to get so wrapped up in her own spectacles that she couldn’t identify what ponies were enjoying about her shows? Greater showponies than she had fallen victim to such pitfalls, and the thought of it happening to her was terrifying.
“Let’s say you’re right.” Trixie looked forlornly down at her map of acts. “Just for argument's sake. It’s still too late now to do much about it; the show is this weekend.”
“So then make it up as you go,” Pinkie replied. “Let the tempo of the party tell you what to do next. You used to do that so much, and I always loved that about your shows.”
Trixie tapped a hoof against her temple as she thought. “Maybe I could—” She looked up as the night air was broken by the sound of chewing. The last corner of the page was disappearing into Pinkie’s mane, and Trixie was convinced she saw the slightest flash of something green in there.
“Oops,” Pinkie giggled. “Guess you’re going to just have to make it up now, eh?”
Less than an hour ago Trixie knew she would have completely freaked out at the sight of her act being consumed. She still felt a small flutter in her chest, but that had been quickly overshadowed by the grin splitting her face. Pinkie knew her too well. Far, far too well.
“It would seem so,” she replied, giving Pinkie Pie a playful shove. “Though it still would have been nice to have been able to practice the style of the new show.”
Pinkie’s eyes darted between Trixie’s and the floor, the colour of her cheeks darkening slightly. “Yeah I thought you'd want to do that. You know, suppose there was a certain pony who didn’t mind watching an act or two tonight or tomorrow? A pony who happens to like ice cream, tea and showmares, for example?”
Trixie leaned forward and pressed her lips against Pinkie’s cheek. “I think I might know a pony who fits the bill. You sure you don’t mind?”
Pinkie shook her head, beaming. “You kidding? I love watching you perform. It makes you so happy, and seeing you happy makes me happy. And I like being happy.” She paused then, looking awkward and embarrassed. “Huh, I guess that’s a teeny bit selfish of me, huh?”
“Hah, it totally is!” Trixie could hear the relief in her laughter. “But I find being selfish sometimes is okay.”
She embraced Pinkie and gestured for her to head inside, then turned to collect the bowls, cups and the heart. As she reached the door, Trixie felt something tight in the air give way and she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes followed the curve of the path as it continued into White Tail Wood and beyond. The open road was still there, somewhere, calling out to her. It still felt easy to turn and run, and perhaps it always would.
She shrugged and turned her gaze to one of the front wheels of her wagon. The call of the open road might still be there, but so were the vines and weeds holding her in place. And that meant that the trade-offs were still there too.
And they were still worth it.
Most definitely worth it.
Author's Note
Obligatory "thanks for reading" bit!
I hope you enjoyed reading this short story. I've written several fics featuring Trixie and Pinkie Pie, but this is the first time I've written them together, let alone as being in a romantic relationship. I sincerely hope I've done their characters justice, not least because I enjoyed writing this piece so much that I plan to return with a longer Pixie romantic adventure. Because I realised writing this that I always tend to write stories with characters already being in an established relationship, rather than stories about characters coming together. So that needs to change, and who better to change it with than my new favourite ship? 
As always, I drafted a lot of the structure, tone and characterisation whilst listening to a specific album. This time round it was the work of Alice Francis, and in particular this excellent piece, which I thought encapsulated the personalities of Trixie and Pinkie Pie pretty nicely.
Thanks again to Themaskedferret for pre-reading/feeding back on things that worked/didn't. You're a gem and this story is all the better for your input. Thanks also to Phaoray for requesting me to write some Pixie. If you enjoyed it at least half as much as I did writing it then I'll consider the story a success.
See you all next time!
