Trixie to Bellatrix: a Bard's Beginning

Chapter 3: The Plant

Trixie wiped a bead of sweat off her brow for what felt like the hundredth time. It seemed only yesterday that the Neighpon was a place of nearly endless wonder: Long, winding dirt roads with endless golden fields on either side, with the infamous jungles always looming at the far outer edges.

Having braved the jungle (or rather, survived it) the bustling brick streets of the capital were still strange, though less intimidating. Nearness to the ocean lent a certain saltiness to the city’s air, a scent that reminded her all too vividly of the tense and nausea-ridden crossing that had initially brought her east.

“Brother Dagan,“ Trixie grunted through clenched teeth, attempting to shift to multitude of saddlebags on her back to a more comfortable position, “With all due respect, when most ponies say ‘accompany,’ they mean it in some cordial sense of the term, not ‘come along and be the pack mule.’”

“A cultural difference, I’m sure.” Dagan deadpanned, face obscured in the shadows of his cowl. “And pay the proper respect to pack mules, acolyte; they have a far higher capacity. Mastery of the arcane requires both mental and physical aptitude. In a way, this is your first lesson.”

Though exhausting, the journey into town had been relatively uneventful. With Dagan’s knowledge of the Jungle, they were able to skirt around the more hostile areas. It was almost so peaceful that Trixie had wondered aloud if certain paths were warded by magic. (“Perhaps,” Dagan had answered in that same infuriatingly noncommittal tone.)

The longer they had walked, the more Trixie felt her impression of her mentor begin to change. “Monk” had always conjured up the mental image of a group of intellectual hermits, scholars fluent in the theory of magic but unconcerned with its practice; Dagan, on the other hoof, didn’t seem to fit the mold at all. His gait was smooth and unburdened. The occasional flash of steel ringlets beneath his tunic was the only indication the diamond dog was encumbered with anything beyond cloth.

Once in town, they had had no problem drawing a significant number of stares. Foals were the most blatant offenders, small ponies clad in navy uniforms stopping in their tracks to gawk at the out of place duo before being shooed onward by an adult. Thankfully, not all of the attention was negative. Every so often few ponies would offer a friendly wave. Most notably, a small stallion had rushed out from a tapestry bazaar to greet them, taking Dagan’s paw in hoof and chittering excitedly before returning to his shop. Though the dialect was unfamiliar to Trixie, the gratitude in the Stallion’s voice was unmistakable.

“Who was that?”

“Indeed, who was that?” Dagan repeated, corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. After Trixie had been silent for some time, he prodded her once more. “I asked you a question acolyte.”

“Sorry, I thought you were being intentionally oblique.” She muttered, the weight on her back affecting her tone.

“Perhaps I was, yet I am still without an answer.”

“A Stallion.”

“And?”

Frustrated, Trixie deigned to list whatever she could think of off the top of her head. “He was either a patron of the tapestry market or a tapestry merchant himself. Maroon coat, Beige mane. Shorter than average but definitely a full-grown Stallion; the wrinkles of his face showed his age. There was something off about the way he walked. And… he… seemed grateful to you?” She offered, hoping that the list had been sufficient.

“Good.” Dagan said in a voice that suggested mere adequacy. “Now, what color were his eyes.”

Trixie grimaced, trying to visualize the brief few seconds. “I… I don’t know.”

“What was the signet around his right forehoof?”

“Wait-“ She barely had time to think before he’d already jumped to the next question

“What was the stand next to the tapestry merchant selling?”

“You can’t possibly expect-“

“I can and will.” For the first time of the morning, the monk stopped and turned to face her, eyes glittering in his hood. “If you cannot recall the simple details of a pony standing a foot away from you, how can you hope to spot an assassin, or catch the telltale shimmer of a cloaking spell? One does not find these things via spell or potion. One finds these things by looking. Too often individuals gifted in the arcane are undone by their own introspection. Attention to the outside world is vital. Power breeds enemies.”

“If that’s true, I should be surrounded by friends.” Trixie grumbled, downcast.

“For the moment,” Dagan shrugged, “all the more reason to practice while there’s time. First failure’s free, the next one costs you dinner.” The threat was accompanied with a cheery flash of teeth

It all struck Trixie as a bit self-important and paranoid, but she didn’t dare say so out loud. Even if there was some part of her that still wanted to argue, she quickly became too preoccupied trying to pick up every detail for fear of being tested to remember what she intended to argue about. Every colt, mare, and foal were effortlessly transformed into a latent threat, demanding focus and attention. As much as she disliked the game there was no arguing its effectiveness. Dagan tested her several more times, and the only detail she failed to replicate was the location of a crescent moon pendant, which he later admitted was secured out of sight around his own neck. (“Eyes are not the only tools with which one has too look,” he smirked.)

As they walked towards the Yoketo Post, the dusty brick roads slowly gave way to polished granite paths. The number of ponies compressed into one area felt much less dense, which at first appeared to be nothing more than the result of wider roads. The reality became more obvious when the average look of the populace itself began to shift. Well-groomed stallions escorted trophy-mares caked in makeup and clad in ceremonial yukatas. The merchants grew less excitable and outdoor focused, while the price of their wares increased exponentially. Every so often she caught a glimpse of a magnificent large building behind the others. While it was in many ways similar to the rest of the surrounding architecture, the gleaming golden roof left little room for doubt. Trixie had read more than enough about the capital over the years to recognize it for what it was.

“Is this… the Dynasty District?” She asked, fascinated

“It is indeed.”

“And what... is that” Trixie raised her nose, breathing in deeply There was an elusive perfume-like scent in the air. Irritatingly, she couldn’t quite narrow down what the smell was. It kept shifting and disappearing

“A good number of aromatic trees are raised and farmed in this district. You’d be surprised how big of a market there is, local and international. “

“For good smelling trees?”

“No, for incense.” Dagan corrected. “Burnable sticks that-“

“I know what incense is.” Trixie frowned, “Wait, isn’t incense kind of a monk thing?”

“Wrong monks.” He inclined his head slightly. “How’lin does have its own personal stock, but what we grow is intended for a very specific purpose… along with being significantly more potent.

Entering a small central plaza, they finally came in full view of the palace she’d been glimpsing through the buildings. Trixie’s jaw dropped. “Woah. For a place so ancient it looks like it was only built few years ago.”

“The renovations certainly go a long way in covering up old blood.” Dagan growled. “Its current ruler-“

“Empress Chii-Himei, the Bloody Lily.” A shiver racked her body, “But even the stories about her don’t raise a candle to the rumors about her fire and flame, Mar- ”

“-Best to not speak that name in this place,” Dagan interjected, with a quick glance to around to see if anypony had been in earshot. “Even if she has been gone for months, I'd rather avoid giving her the slightest excuse to come back.”

More than a touch concerned over the previous statement, she strained her neck trying to take in everything at once. A mare trotting by glared at them coldly. It was similar to the market district in the sense that they were still drawing stares, but the looks felt different than before. There was a certain understated malevolence in the air. Or perhaps she was simply worked up over the old stories and her mind was playing tricks.

Just as they’d finished their business at the post, the peace of the surrounding district was broken.

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK

It wasn’t an audible sound, rather, a rapid magical reverb she’d felt at the tip of her horn. She whipped around, ears standing on end. Moments later the sound of shattering glass was followed by an undeniably Equestrian screech of terror (“OH BAAAAAAAAALLS!”).

Dagan’s posture changed almost instantly. It was hard for Trixie to put her hoof on what it was that changed, but it did so drastically. He hugged the side of the building and stuck to shadows as he walked. There was a clever compromise in the prowl; it made him more difficult to see whilst still being casual enough to not appear suspicious if spotted. She actually lost track of him in a particularly dark passage as they made their way towards the source of the noise. The ground vibrated as a squad of heavily armored guards galloped past on the main road, parallel to the alley sidepath

“Brother Dagan?” She whispered

“Hush.” The low hiss came from below, crouched next to a decrepit fence and discarded barrel. He gestured silently for her to come closer, cold eyes staring through a gap in the boards. At first she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. A group of guards walked along the palace moat, sticking their spears at anything that appeared to move (much to the terror of the local Koi.) Eventually her eyes caught movement about a hundred yards up the canal; a pony, sopping wet and obviously injured, had pulled herself onto the bank and was now limping towards the alley.

“She’s not going to make it.” Trixie realized. “…Why do you suppose she’s running?”

“A fleeing ember,” The words were marred with a thorough distaste. “Newly initiated, judging by the cloak. Not marked yet. If she’d made it to the temple we could have offered her sanctuary.”

Anypony who’d done basic research on the Hime Dynasty had heard more than a few sordid stories of the empress’ favorite toys. It was enough to make Trixie’s skin crawl. “What do we do?”

Within seconds the Diamond Dog’s look morphed from a somber expression to an odd smile “An excellent question. What will you do, Acolyte?”

This time Trixie audibly groaned. “Really?”

“Nothing like a good conundrum,” He continued, standing upright and rubbing his paws together with a look of smugness. “That pony is unimportant. You have your own agenda, and getting on the wrong side of the Empress isn’t going to make anything easier. She is, in essence, a sidestep.” His grin widened to Cheshire proportions as he continued to slowly walk backwards. “Every sidestep taken will move you further from your goal, some more than others. Not to mention, you know nothing about her. She could be a worthless individual. Perhaps she ran away because she was displeased with the Empress’ subpar dinner-wear. So what will it be acolyte? Will you save the pony, potentially putting your own goals at risk? Or will you walk away?”

The moment she realized he was intending to fade into the shadowy background, Trixie’s ire finally reared its head. “WHAT THE BUCK IS THIS? A CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE STORY?!” She shrieked incredulously, watching as Dagan put a finger to his lips before smoothly disappearing into the nothingness.

Worst. Mentor. Ever.

Another glance through the fence revealed that things were only getting progressively worse. She wanted to help desperately but couldn't think of a solution. Something was wrong with the unicorns leg, there was no way she’d be able to run. With so many guards they wouldn't be able to sneak out either. It was hopeless. Why did he just leave her alone? Why did everypony always just up and leave her alone? A wheezing breath was the only warning before she felt her joints locking up as they always did moments before a panic attack. She felt herself slowly begin to topple over.

***

Warmth.

Rays of sun peered through translucent curtains illuminating her tear-stained face. Trixie rolled over, levitating a soft feather pillow on top of her head. For the first time in her long seven years of performance, she had just been laughed off the stage. It was a single heckler, an awful, terrible stallion who had deemed himself as the self-important prophet of truth to her little sideshow.

On a whim, her hoof had landed on Mareheim as the place in which her tale would unfold, a village on the far west side of the Everfree Forest. It was a tiny thing on the edge of the Equestrian border, a place nopony in the audience was likely to be from. Or at least, that’s how it should have been. Then he had to go and ruin everything.

The door groaned open with a high-pitched whine and she felt herself jump, ever so slightly. Selfish as it was, she found herself hoping the intruder was not her sister, but braced her body anyway for the set of four hooves bouncing about her bed. A more substantial weight set down on the bed beside her. A tingly feeling in her horn alit just before calming tendrils stroked her hair, combing it gently.

Somehow it was worse. A sister she could simply bellow at, banishing from her room. Her mother would have the truth. She always did. With every comforting caress Trixie could feel her barriers breaking down.

“What’s bothering you my little pony?

”Nothing.”

“Something.” Mother would chide gently. “Cleo says you’ve been up in your room all day.” Mother was near-infinitely patient, waiting their quietly until her daughter was finally ready to speak.

“It’s just… I don’t like being called a liar. My lies don’t hurt anypony. They’re stories.”

“Of course they are. No one goes to a show and expects to be told the full truth. Even “true” stories always have a bit of poetic license involved.”

Trixie was trying to be strong, but she couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking. The stallion’s jeering face kept appearing behind her eyelids to mock her. “So why are some ponies so set on calling other ponies liars?” The rest of the account came out in a shamble of tears and anger. She recounted how he had laughed at her, shown every part of her story to be mere fabrication. ‘Mareheim’s never mined a day in its life, he’d mocked, when she told the story of how The Great and Powerful Trixie had saved the city from the Trolls and Gremlins below. By the time he was done the townfolk were laughing and all she could do was flee in tears.

All throughout the retelling her mother had continued to stroke her mane; every once in a while stopping in silent anger at a particularly embarrassing or hurtful part. She waited until Trixie was finished and her sobs had begun to subside to speak.

“Some ponies don’t like stories darling.”

“Why?”

“Oh, there are different reasons, but more often than not some part of them is deeply unhappy. Everypony grows up being told that they’re special, that they’re going to do big things, and that simply isn’t true. If everypony did big things, we wouldn’t think they were big, would we?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“And some ponies are so angered by this disappointment, so hardened by how they feel they’ve been cheated, they take it upon themselves to poke holes in any story that reminds them of how ordinary they are. Because it’s upsetting to them to hear that somepony else could truly be special. That’s a big part of why ponies gossip, and lie, and cheat. Jealousy.”

“So what do I do?” Trixie rolled over to take the hoof stroking her mane, holding it anxiously to her chest. “How do I stop them from hurting me?”

Mothers hoof traced the argyle pattern of the comforter idly. “It’s simple enough, I suppose. The best stories are those closest to the truth.”

Trixie felt her nose wrinkling. “But the truth is boring.”

A cloud crossed over the sun, casting eerie shadows throughout the room. A look of sorrow flitted across Mother’s face for a fraction of a second. “It is. But to properly tell a convincing story, one must know the truth of things better than anypony. The more truth you know, the cleverer the story, and the harder it is for somepony to refute. Once you’ve properly muddled truth and fiction it’s a simple matter of repetition.”

“Rep-iwhatsit?”

“Repetition. After researching the truth and deciding what parts of it to change, the best storytellers tell themselves their story is true over and over, until eventually, they themselves are certain the story is real. Then, they simply tell the truth.” A hoof tweaked Trixie’s nose playfully. “If you do it right, you’ll be so convinced that even when the most cynical pony questions you, you’ll give them a shadow of a doubt that, maybe, they’re wrong. And that shadow of a doubt is all you’ll need.

Trixie’s heart raced a mile a minute. She rolled off her bed to retrieve her notepad, eager to write down the advice and put it into practice as soon as possible. But something her mother had said suddenly clicked into place, happiness faulting into concern. She placed the notepad and feather back on the desk with a careful thud as turned to ask one last question.

“Mom. You said some ponies are bitter because they’re lied to. About being special.”

“I did.”

“But you tell me I’m special all the time. Is that true?” It was a question with no sure answer.

Her mother smiled, rising from her bed and trotting over. Blonde locks obscured her vision as the older pony leaned down to grace her forehead with a kiss. “I would never lie to you dear. You are meant for great things. Amazing things. Your Father and I both knew before you were born. You’re going to change world, darling…

One way or another.”

Trixie’s eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks. She could feel her pulse in her neck, her chest, rumbling at the base of her skull. Her course of action was suddenly crystal clear. A shadow of a doubt is all you’ll need. The alley filled with a warm tinge of blue as she began to work swiftly, beginning with a few key alterations to her appearance. Once she was in costume, it was all a matter of props. Cloak, Cutie mark… Now where are those tomatoes?

***

Vinyl’s escape hadn’t gone terribly well in the same manner funerals aren’t terribly funny. The tiny, extremely marginal upside was that she had in fact landed on soft grass. The downside was that it was nearly a four story plunge, and while the bank was soft and angled she had badly sprained (if not broken) her back hoof on landing, knocked the air out of her lungs and picked up speed on the decline before coming into contact with the sole boulder of the hill, which had, for some reason, taken a strong dislike to the smooth, intact nature of the back of her head. From there she had rolled into a moat where the Koi were obviously trained to nibble on bleeding ponies, nearly drowned, and somehow made it to the alley she figured she was probably going to die in.

At first, she thought her life was flashing in front of her eyes. The first miniature figure that approached her was her father, clad in silver armor and a stony disposition. Trotting up in the stiff uniform manner she remembered from long ago, he stopped in front of her just long enough to give a disapproving glance and turned to leave, tiny tail somehow seeming equally judgemental. Only he could be so small and still look down on me. A miniature version of her mother trotted up next and took her foreleg tearily in both hoofs before letting go, trotting away despondent before Vinyl acquired the mental acuity to speak. It wasn’t until the red, anthropomorphized canteen walked by and gave her a thumbs up that Vinyl reached back to feel the now softball sized bump on her head and realized she was probably hallucinating.

“Pssst. Wake up.”

Seeing as how the last two figures had been her parents and assuming the red thing had been a fluke, Vinyl was fairly certain she knew who this next one was. The last pony she wanted to see. “Go away ‘Tavi, it’s too late. I don’t want your pity.” I can just see her there, sticking her lip out… but Vinyl suddenly realized she couldn’t. After near endless line of grey and black ponies, somewhere along the way their faces had all muddied together and she couldn’t remember what Octavia looked like. She opened her eyes in a panic just in time to see the hoof come down.

SLAP

“Ow! I’m awake, I’m awake- you” She stopped, confused at the face above hers. “You aren’t ‘Tavi.”

“I’m Trixie.”

“What?” Vinyl snickered loopily, “Are you clever or something?”

When the unicorn only stared blankly in response, Vinyl wondered if the head injury was affecting her sense of humor.

“I’m here to save you.” ‘Trixie’ said flatly, and Vinyl found herself wondering if her newfound friend was an angel. She certainly looked the part of cherub in disguise: wavy white hair, almost colorless blue eyes and an orange cloak the color of the sunset. All she was missing was a halo. However, this was around the time that Vinyl remembered she did not believe in angels and snapped her eyes shut once more.

“Nope. Can’t be real. You’re just going to up and disappear like my parents and that walking canteen.”

“Oh boo hoo, like you’re the only one in the known world with unresolved parental issues,” The angel snorted, understandably missing the context. “Tell me, if I’m not real could I do this?”

In a moment of freak clairvoyance, Vinyl could see the hoof pulling back and opened her eyes to defend herself. “Okay, okay, you’re real!” She admitted loudly. The other unicorn (Trixie, was it?) shushed her furiously and lowered her hoof.”

“Let’s get down to brass tacks. Regardless of what you’ve done to get here, I assume you don’t want to be the Empress’ plaything for the rest of your life?”

Somehow, the harsh words cut through her thin veil of fog. Just thinking about the Empress’ emotionless gold eyes was enough to make her skin crawl. “…No. No I don’t.” Vinyl said, finding herself the most lucid she’d been in months. “But I don’t exactly see a good way out of this. There’s a lot of them, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I have a plan. But…”

“But?”

“You’re going to have to trust me, and play along.” Trixie’s eyes were moving back and forth as she spoke as if her mind were somewhere else entirely.

“Not like I have a choice. What do I have to do?” Vinyl winced as she struggled her way up to a sitting position. What looked like a modified saddle bag was placed around her waist

“Wear this. And look scared.”

Vinyl had less than a second to ponder the instructions before she was tossed from her hiding place into plain view in the middle of the street. Despite a relatively soft landing, lights and dots swam in front of her vision on impact. A foreleg went up to shield her face from the sudden brightness of the sun. Surprised shouts sounded from either side were followed by the sound of galloping hooves and clanking armor, rectifying any doubt of whether she’d been spotted. Helpless and confused, she looked back to the alleyway waiting for her eyes to adjust.

A single hoof stepped out of the dark alley methodically, followed by a second. Vinyl’s blood went cold. As a dark cloud covered the sun, the pony she had thought to be her savior stepped towards her. Technically nothing had changed, same colors, same frame… but her eyes… her eyes were the stuff of nightmares. There was no trace of the concern or frustrated compassion that had been there mere moments before. It was like looking into an abyss frothing with more loathing and hatred than she could possibly to imagine, yet somehow worse. Step by unhurried step the mare that had called herself Trixie grew closer, lips pulled taut in a wide smile that whispered of madness. Vinyl would have run to the guards and begged them to take her back had she not been paralyzed by the display. Then again, seeing as how the surrounding guards seemed as terrified as she was, they probably wouldn’t have been much help.

After what felt like an eternity the unicorn reached her, putting a hoof that felt as if it’d been dipped in ice on her chest. Her lips quivered as Trixie leaned downward, face unchanging, leer growing more and more disturbing. This was not the same pony she’d spoken to in the alley. It simply couldn’t be. When Trixie finally spoke the voice was low and monotone, occasional alterations of pitch giving it an almost alien quality. “YoU ThInK… YoU CaN DiRtY mY EmPrEsS… ThE fLaMe Of My FlAmE… AnD jUsT dIsCaRd HeR LiKe SoMe ReD DiStRiCt… DiSeAsE rIdDeN… CoMpAnIoN MaRe?”

The pure threat in the voice broke Vinyl’s momentarily paralysis fight or flight to kick in on full “flight.” All four legs pinwheeled to no avail, cries of “LEGOLEGOLEGO” suddenly silenced with a flash of lightning followed by a monstrous roar of thunder.

“YoU… DoN’t KnOw WhO I aM… Do YoU?” Somehow, the demon’s already freakishly wide smile managed to grow wider. Vinyl couldn’t speak, only quiver; It was like all the oxygen had been vacuumed out of the circle of guards that now incased them. The demon looked down and underwent an almost seizure-esque convulsion. “Huhu. Huhuhahu.” Its cackle started small and steadily grew into a sickening guffaw. “HuHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH HAH Hah aha ahm hee… hee… ho… ho… ho…” Raising a foreleg to wipe the spittle from its mouth, it leered down at her, once more extending the awkward silence.

Vinyl was only vaguely aware of the throng of guards around them. She heard one whisper in the pause, “Shouldn’t we-“

Another guard shushed him violently. “Quiet idiot. Look at her mark.” Vinyl twisted to get a look. On her flank was a rabid looking Hyena in mid-cackle. It didn't mean anything to her personally. Regardless, was without a doubt the most disconcerting Cutie mark she’d ever seen.”

“Nah. Ah. My EyEs aRe Up… HeRe.” Everything else disappeared from her mind as it started to speak and she was helplessly pulled back into its gaze. “My name Is Mildred the Maleficent, but you,” she tapped a new rib with each title, “may call me: Miss, Ma’am, Milady, Mistress, Miss Mildred, Mistress Maleficent, or My Goddess if you’re feeling mirthful and moderately milquetoast.” The circle of guards around them seemed to visibly recoil in response.

“Didn’t her mane used to be black though?” The dumbest pony in the Yoketo Guard wondered aloud, only to be shushed in panicked unison by every guard in the circle.

“Whooooo said that?” Mildred hissed, staring directly at the guards for the first time, “I’ll have him next.”

There was a slight shuffling of hooves as the guards nervously tried to hide behind each other like foals huddling together. The collective response was a jumbling overlap of various low mumblings. “Nopony… what… naw… it looks good, better even… white’s in this year… totally kawai… still some black in it… we really don’t taste good…”

“May I have the speaking stick now?” Mildred asked in sickeningly sweet tone. The guards nodded their immediate support and began looking around in case she was being literal and there was an actual speaking stick… all except one.

The dumbest pony in the honor guard stepped out of the protective huddle, nearly staggering as three of four sets of teeth tried to pull him back by the tail. “Mare-eater Mild-“ He was immediately interrupted by the entire circle of guards erupting in random combination of “Humanahumanahumana’s” “Kahkaw, Kakaws,” and “LADEE-LADEEDEELADEEDA’s” in a chaotic attempt to cover up what, judging by their panic, was a life altering faux pas. Instead of retreating into the circle, the stallion who was now being considered for the Dumbest Guard in the Known World award cleared his throat and tried once more while Midred’s gaze calmly burned a hole in his forehead. “Miss Mildred. We were instructed to bring this pony back to the palace so the empress could decide her fate… I don’t mean to interrupt you… but… “

Mildred leaned down, nose almost touching Vinyl’s. “Now. You be a good little pony, and stay.” The last word was spoken in the sort of happy force tone one would use to train a dog – Though Vinyl imagined if Mildred had ever had a dog, it hadn’t “stayed” anywhere on any plane of existence for very long. With a crack of her neck and a stretch, the demon raised herself to full height, looking the guard up and down with fake interest. “You fascinate me ser. Please, come closer.” Somehow the completely normal tone of voice was more frightening than the inequine inflection had been. The guard, who was perhaps now realizing he should have kept his big mouth shut, took a very slow, half step forward. “Cloooser.” Another half step. “A little mooore.” A somehow even smaller step. “now, remove your mask.” The earth pony removed his mask, entire body trembling.

A red glow originating from Mildred’s horn levitated the mask and placed it on top of her upward facing foreleg. She cocked her head, still leering at the guard before bending down and biting off one of the metal helmets ears before bringing her head back up, never breaking eye contact. “And here you are. Now, I’ll now your face and your helmet. Wherever you go, wherever you’re assigned, I’ll always be able to find… you.” The guard replaced the maimed helmet back on his head, shivering.

Strangely, Vinyl was almost certain she’d seen a flash of light when Mildred bit down.

“Now, Suuuurely I’ve not been gone for so long that you’ve all forgotten my position here. I am the flame of the Hime Dynasty, the keeper of the hearth, and the ward of embers. What does that mean little guard?” She asked, casting a crooked smile in the direction of the shaking pony.

“It means… y-y-y-y-ou, y-y-y- you’re – the … the… buh… buh..”

“Bu-bu-boss. She’s the bu-bu-boss.” One of the other guards whispered emphatically

“You’re the b-b-b-b-bub-boss.”

“Cooooorrect. Bravo.” Mildred waked around the circle, animated her story vividly. “I was on my way back here when I was thinking to myself; I’m finally home, a little peckish; Haven’t had anything since that duck I found wandering around in the middle of nowhere – and come on, that’s really more of a itty bitty appetizer – then suddenly it hits me: it’s been soooo long since I’ve had a guard – “ She paused with a sudden glare, as if daring anypony to laugh. “to. eat. Just to be clear. But every one of you I stalked in the shadows was too busy running about like a foal with its head cut off to pay attention to me!”

A small spout of half-hearted apologies were uttered.

“I… know! Ridiculous. But then I got word of this juicy little ember with the spine to defy the Empress, and do you know what I thought?”

“ …What a terrible life decision?” offered one of the guards quietly after an extended period of silence.

Mildred’s head whipped back around to the unicorn at her hooves, and deep within those dilated pupils, each the size of satanic gumball, Vinyl was certain she saw the flames of tartarus itself. “TRAITOR. SOUNDS. FABULOUS” The cackling started again as Vinyl was picked up by her back two hooves and swung around like string less piñata, her ears popping before she felt the force of magic bring her down like a sledgehammer. She closed her eyes, waiting for the skull-popping impact-

-Which somehow never came. Despite the incredible force with which she was swung downward onto what should have been stone, there was no pain, not even the slightest thud. Instead, it was like landing in the world’s biggest waterbed. For a moment she wondered if she died on impact before daring to open her eyes. Mildred’s look of mania was still preserved on her face, save a single eyebrow that was bobbing up and down like a pen in an earthquake.

Oh. It suddenly occurred to Vinyl that she was previously instructed to act. She spasmed, flailing her forelegs outward and banging her head against the ground. It would have been an incredibly convincing performance, had it come on time.

As a unit, the guards began to slowly back away.

“Did you see…”

“She was slammed so hard, it took her that long to feel it?

“Empress save us all…”

Once more Vinyl’s back legs were magically pulled out from under her as her body gyrated around; She caught Mild – No, it’s Trixie, stop calling her Mildred – Trixie’s eye in midair again with a look that said “once more with FEELING.” The unicorn brought her down hard.

In a moment of poetry in motion, Vinyl sold it like dubstep: She froze on impact, mouth wide open and forelegs straight up. Every second she would jolt closer to the ground only to stop.

Until. She. Finally. Let. The. Beat. Drop

BOOM

Her head fake-slammed against the ground, tongue lolling out, eyes crossed.

“Th-They’re, THEY’RE BREAKING DOWN REALITY!” A couple guards ran away screaming. Vinyl was tossed into the alley as the rest were nervously deciding if it would be worse if they ran or stayed. Trixie landed squarely on top of her, eyes less wild now that her back was to the rest of them. Her position squarely blocked the view of the guards from seeing Vinyl directly. Trixie removed two of the altered, now dark red, pressurized tomatoes from the saddle bag and placed them on the unicorn’s stomach. With a feigned vicious looking tear motion the fruit exploded, sending it’s dyed content upward in a fleshy geyser as Trixie raised her fore hooves to sky and opened her mouth. “Sooooo goood.”

Vinyl added her own two bits. “Oh, no, I’m being torn apart!: (It didn’t sound nearly as dramatic as it had in her head.)

The galloping of hooves and squealing of full grown stallions signaled that most of the group had finally left (“SHEEEEE’S A MOOOOOOONSTER!”)

The world’s – No, The Universe’s Dumbest Guard remained at the end of the alley, paralyzed with fear. Vinyl could tell judging from the exhausted look on Trixie’s face that she was close to running out of material. The tip of a potato sticking out of the saddlebag caught her eye; she lifted it, some small part of herself still annoyed with the large amount of energy it took her to move something so small, and passed it off to Trixie who looked at her quizzically.

“Spleen” She whispered. The other mare shrugged and dug her head into the potato.

“OH CELESTIA, NOT THE SPLEEN!”

“HER SPLEEN?!” Shrieked Universe’s Dumbest Guard.

“MY SPLEEN!” Trixie roared.

After a few moments Vinyl stopped flailing and went limp. Trixie took a few disturbing sounding bites and turned, placing the nibbled on potato soaked in tomato juice in full view of the Universe’s Dumbest Guard, preparing for the coup de grace of her performance.

Mildred Looked between Guard and Potato several times before she finally let out a shrill, girlish giggle.

“HaLfSiEs?”

It took approximately 3.7 seconds for Universe’s Dumbest Guard to do the smartest thing he’d ever done: He galloped away, screaming bloody murder before running head first into the nearest wall.

***

The How’lin monk watched grimly from the rooftop above as Trixie and the other unicorn collapsed next to each other. Dagan wasn’t a particularly lax teacher, but even he understood the difference between a difficult task and an impossible one. Both were tools with different uses: difficult tasks built perseverance, impossible ones revealed character. He knew from his short time of observation that Trixie could barely lift anything bigger than a pony. He knew she was short-tempered. He knew she wasn’t brilliant and had a tendency to panic. Yet he had watched, ready to swoop down and grab them, smokebomb in paw, as Trixie had taken on an impossible task as if it were merely difficult. The method bothered him, yes: it was anything but subtle, crude, and more than a little disturbing - He still wasn’t sure how she’d picked up on Mildred’s schizophrenic diction: as far as he knew it had never been documented - What truly concerned him was how she had gone so far for a pony she’d never met before. A certain mixing of morality that didn’t set right.

In his experience, it was always the naive, inexperienced ones who were willing to dive in and play hero and as a result, always ended up in over their heads. The corrupted ones, the ones like Trixie, those able to utilize abilities with such a strong undertone of darkness didn’t bother, they tended to be completely self centered - and he didn’t buy that her darkness was simply an act. Nopony is that committed to a role, and he had seen the genuine article far too many times to be fooled by a counterfeit. The bottomless rage, the hint of insanity, they were both real.

The true paradox was that she had never shown an inch of it in training.. Not the morning before when the weapons master was tossing her around like a ragdoll to the point she had to stay in the Sanare pool nearly the entire day while half her bones mended, Not during the initial climbs, which were infuriating to anyone.

He couldn’t get his head around it, that the only time she had allowed that terrifying darkness loose was for a moment of simple kindness.

The monk shook his head. He would have to push her hard to test the waters. Incredibly hard.

But what if she didn’t break? What if she didn’t surrender to the temptations within? What would such a pony be capable of in the future?

An unfamiliar, prickling sensation started at the base of his shoulders and worked its way up his neck. It took a long time recognize the emotion, a feeling the esteemed Brother Dagan of the How’lin monks had not felt in quite some time:

Fear

***

AN:Um. yeah. I'm not sure I've ever written such a tonally bipolar chapter of anything before. It was fun to write, it just got way out of control The comedy and drama elements kinda got all smashed together and mixed up, and scenes I thought would be serious ended up funny, (I hope), and Vice Versa (I hope). As a side note, I realize I kind of put a giant Chekhov's gun on the table with Trixie's Mildred interpretation and I just want to be clear, if I do introduce Mildred she won't be nearly as disturbing as Trixie's characterization made her out to be. Consider that interpretation just taken from the "rumors" and "stories" of Mildred, many of which are likely hugely exaggerated or untrue. Anyway I have no idea what to think of this chapter, so I look forward to your comments.