Trixie’s worst nightmare had come true; she needed to ask another pony for help.
She had always prided herself on being a one pony show. When you go to see Trixie, it’s all Trixie. But circumstances had conspired to make this impossible.
First, she’d needed to teach at Twilight’s Friendship School. Trixie was a wonderful teacher. Her students gave her a standing ovation! And Twilight had the gull to fire her, just because she didn’t teach anything! The nerve.
Then the bottom of her wagon fell out, after she loaded it with hundreds of brand new Trixie™ t-shirts. She managed to haul them all to her show anyway, but only sold three out of five hundred. The numbers shocked her. Didn’t ponies want to wear her face on their bodies?
Worst of all, her latest date ghosted her again. She’d made him sit in the audience and watch her perform magic, and now he didn’t want anything to do with her! Trixie didn’t understand how a stallion’s mind worked.
With all these problems plaguing her, it was no surprise that she didn’t have time to work on her new act. She had plastered advertisements across every street in Manehattan promising an exciting new act.
Showtime was in five hours, and she didn’t have a new act.
This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in this situation. The Great and Powerful Trixie was used to promising new tricks that she hadn’t fully developed. They usually worked out, but she’d always had a foolproof plan for when they didn’t. All she had to do was lie.
Unfortunately, turning over a new leaf meant that lying wasn’t socially acceptable anymore. Well, a certain kind of lying, at least.
Magic was a science, but showponyship? That was an art. And, like all art, it was made out of lies.
There was a thrill in performing impossible feats without making her horn glow. Everypony knew how to teleport, theoretically anyway, but to make a dove appear in a hat without the slightest shimmer of magic? There was something otherworldly about that.
It was no wonder at all that the most famous magicians were earth ponies or pegasi. When someone can’t use real magic, it’s easy to impress the crowd. But for a unicorn to make ponies believe that her fantastic tricks had nothing to do with her horn? That took showponyship.
Trixie was certainly sorry that she’d cheated ponies’ trust before, and resolved not to do it again because Twilight would get mad at her.
The only trick she could think of on such short notice required assistance from someone else.
Like most classic magician’s secrets, this one involved including a pony from the audience. The best audience plant was the most unlikely.
Trixie contacted the most unlikely pony she could think of.
Maud walked into the diner. It was warmer than it was outside.
Maud received a letter from Trixie asking her to dinner. This was unusual, because Maud had never spoken to Trixie before. She was aware of Trixie through her reputation. It was easy to find out about Pinkie’s friends through the news. They were celebrities, there were no issues in keeping up with her activities, even if she often forgot to write. Maud was used to it. Pinkie wrote to the family, but it was an impersonal letter addressed to them all. As a result, it was haphazard, full of fragments meant to be understood by everyone.
Maud understood the efficiency of such a system. Pinkie was an important pony now, and it only made sense to streamline her letters to the family.
Maud missed her more personal letters for purely emotional reasons. Reasons which, if she were honest, did not make logical sense. Efficiency was a good thing that should be rewarded.
So why had she agreed to meet Trixie on such short notice?
Maud didn’t have a concrete answer.
She didn’t like that. Concrete answers were the only ones she could rely upon.
So she had to agree to Trixie’s request. How else could she figure out why she agreed to Trixie’s request?
The diner was cramped, though most customers were gone. That was reasonable, considering it was three in the morning.
Trixie waved Maud over to her booth. She sat down.
“What do you want?” asked Maud.
Trixie forced out a laugh. “The Great and Powerful Trixie requested your presence for a simple reason. I... need your help.”
“Help with what?”
“With my show, of course!”
Maud nodded. “That makes sense. Except that I don’t know anything about putting on a show. So it doesn’t actually make sense.”
Trixie rubbed the back of her neck.
“Well… for some tricks, it makes sense to have ponies help from the audience who seem like they wouldn’t help. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
Trixie looked surprised. “Good. So, are you willing to help me out?”
“Yes.”
The expression of surprise stayed on Trixie’s face. “We’re in agreement, then.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
“Can you be at my rehearsal tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Trixie was speechless for a moment.
“Well, I’ll see you then.”
“Yes.”
The show had been perfect so far. The rabbit out of the hat was always a crowd pleaser, but was only a warmup for her new trick; reappearing after appearing to explode.
Trixie received rousing applause, as usual. It was only a rehearsal, so she had to supply tha applause herself, through the soundsystem. She let the cheers run long so she could take a few extra bows to the empty seats.
“For my next trick, I need a volunteer from the audience.”
Maud raised her hoof, alone amongst a sea of empty chairs.
“You, the gray one!”
Maud came up to the stage.
“What’s your name?”
“Maud.”
“Now, Maud, this is your first time meeting me, right?”
“No.”
Trixie sighed. “You’re supposed to say yes.”
“I’m supposed to lie.” Maud had a way of asking questions without putting question marks at the end of them.
“It’s not lying. It’s razzmatazz.”
“Razzmatazz.”
“Showponyship! Magic! Acting! You know, performance? You’re not really Maud when you’re up on stage. You’re an actor. A servant of the masses, adored and beloved by all!”
Trixie took a step forward and addressed the empty stands.
“For what is an actor, if not the ideal version of one’s self? Truly, we are all players, when we decide who we want to be. This, my friend, is the essence of the theatre. The core of razzmatazz.”
For good measure, Trixie turned on the applause and took another bow. She gave Maud an expectant look.
“Now do you understand?”
“No.”
Trixie sighed. “Well, that’s fine. Just lie.”
“Okay.”
Trixie cleared her throat.
“Now, Maud, this is your first time meeting me, right?”
“Yes.”
Trixie gave her a knowing smile. “Tell me, Maud…”
“...have you ever exploded a pony before?”
A few stifled laughs came from the crowd. Even when her jokes weren’t funny, some ponies felt the need to laugh anyway. It was a good sign. It meant they wanted to like her.
“No, but I have volunteered at various mines and quarries to plan controlled explosions to safely clear igneous structures and formations.”
Someone coughed.
“Well, it’s easy. All you have to do is push this button when I give the signal. I’ll climb into that box, there, which, as you can all see, is filled with dynamite. Once you hit the button, it will explode. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Is there a trick to this that will help you survive?”
Trixie cleared her throat. “Um… we’ll just have to see, now won’t we? Now, my lovely assistant, if you would be so kind as to hold this button while I get into position.”
Trixie handed Maud the remote.
Trixie climbed up the ladder and turned toward the audience.
“Now, cover your ears. This is gonna be loud.”
She jumped into the box of dynamite.
This trick needed an audience plant because, if the button was pushed within ten seconds of her entering the box, Trixie would die. She needed time to crawl through the escape hatch and get far enough away from the blast.
It occurred to Trixie that her life was in Maud’s hooves. This didn’t really bother her that much. It’s not like Pinkie Pie’s sister would be tempted to blow her up.
The drumroll sounded, and Trixie made her getaway. Maud hit the button, and the box exploded.
It was almost as deafening as the applause she faced when she sauntered onto stage, completely unharmed.
Trixie had packed everything up in her wagon, and was almost ready to be on her way. She invited Maud over to pay her. They stood in the alley behind the theatre, a secluded spot in the bustling city.
After using a plant once, you Trixie can never use them again. If a single pony attends multiple shows, then it ruins the illusion. That would be unacceptable.
So it was time to say goodbye to Maud. Trixie paid her a few bits and sent her on her way.
With money in hoof, Maud stood there with an unblinking, blank expression on her face.
“Is there something else?” asked Trixie.
Maud blinked.
“Why did you do that trick? The one with the dynamite?”
“Because it’s exciting!”
“I could have killed you if my timing was off.”
“But you timed it right, and I’m fine.”
“Yes, but it seems… unnecessary. Wouldn’t that be a strange way to die?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s why I only put the detonator in the hooves of ponies I trust.”
“You trust me?”
“Of course!”
“Why?”
Trixie didn’t know how to respond. It was true that she didn’t actually trust Maud. They had just been a day ago. But she hadn’t thought twice about testing her with her life, and she didn’t know why.
Trixie had dozens, maybe even a hundred different ponies help with various life-threatening tricks over the years. She didn’t even remember most of them. And she had trusted every last one with her life.
It was rare for Trixie to be at a loss for words, but Maud had managed it.
Trixie had thoughtlessly given lots of ponies the ability to kill her. Did that say something about her? Should it concern her that she had been so lackadaisical with her own life? Was this a manifestation of some kind of deep trauma, or was she just a dumbass?
It took Trixie a while to realize that Maud was still there. If she was bothered that Trixie had been silent for minutes during a conversation, she didn’t show it.
“What was your question again?” asked Trixie.
“Why do you trust me?”
“Most ponies are trustworthy by default,” Trixie lied. She wanted the conversation to end, and hoped that spouting a platitude would do the trick.
“Is that razzmatazz?” asked Maud.
“What?”
“Razzmatazz is lying for the benefit of the audience. Is that what you were doing just now?”
Even though Maud had called Trixie a lair to her face, it didn’t feel like an insult.
“That is a good definition,” said Trixie, skillfully dodging the accusation.
“I don’t understand it.”
“Razzmatazz?”
“The truth is better.”
“Well, for some things, sure, but there are all sorts of fun lies in the world. Don’t you read books?”
“I read excavation reports, histoires of famous mineral deposits, poetry, and--”
“Poetry! There, those are all lies, and you read them anyway. See what I mean?”
“That’s an incorrect assessment. The beauty of poetry comes from capturing a truth that is hard to otherwise convey. To call them entertaining lies is reductive.”
“When I say that, I mean the literal events of the poems didn’t happen, but they capture the truth anyway. We can agree on that at least, right?”
Maud nodded. “That is true.”
“Well there you have it! Lying is good sometimes.”
“That was never in question. I wanted to know why you lied to me just now.”
Trixie clenched her jaw. “About what?”
“Your answer to my previous question about why you trusted me with your life did not have a satisfactory answer.”
Maybe some righteous indignation would help end this conversation.
“Where do you get off saying it ‘wasn’t satisfactory?’ Are you calling me a liar?”
“You called yourself a liar earlier.”
“That was different and you know it!”
“It’s not as different as you realize.”
Trixie sighed. She pulled up a box from her luggage and sat down on it.
“Sometimes, lying is good. Sometimes it’s bad. It isn’t that hard to understand.”
Maud was content to stay standing.
“Who is the audience?”
“What?”
“You said that razzmatazz is for the benefit of the audience. When the two of us are talking, who is the audience for the lie? You or me?”
Trixie knew the answer to that question, but she didn’t want to say it. She tried to come up with something else. Trixie could always think of something to say. She didn’t want to be honest with Maud, but she didn’t want the conversation to end, either. There had to be some way to keep her here without opening up.
Fortunately, Maud didn’t seem to mind Trixie taking her time coming up with a response.
“Why are you willing to put up with me?” asked Trixie.
“I am interested in talking to you.”
“Why?”
“I am enjoying our conversation.”
“Really? I’m not bothering you?”
“No.”
“Not even the lies are getting to you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They aren’t for me.”
They looked into each other’s eyes.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” asked Trixie.
“Yes,” said Maud.
The hint of a smile formed on Maud’s face. Trixie had the good grace not to mention it.
Trixie was happy Maud hadn’t left yet. She had the feeling that, maybe, she didn’t need to lie to her to get her to stay. Did Trixie know how to make friends without it?
On their walk to the restaurant, Trixie noticed a lot of things about Maud. How her eyeshadow perfectly complemented her mane. How her eyes glistened in the light. How her hooves barely made a sound as she walked.
Trixie realized that ‘friends’ wasn’t what she wanted to be with Maud.
And, unless she was lying to herself, Maud felt the same way.
Trixie was good at lying to herself, but she was better at seeing through other ponies’ lies. Maud didn’t have an ounce of razzmatazz in her body, and that was why Trixie loved her.
Trixie stopped Maud in the street. “Hey, I, uh… is this a date?”
Maud looked her in the eyes.
“Yes.”
For the third time in one night, Trixie was speechless. She could only think of one thing to do.
Evidently, Maud had the same idea. They both leaned toward each other’s faces.
