Reinventing Trixie

Your name is Donovan Trellis. Age of 27, if your driver's license is to be believed- and if you can't trust the California DMV, well, who can you trust? Your appearance... well, you look in the mirror often enough to know that. Your chosen profession? Special effects for movies and television, specializing in pyrotechnics, stunt sequences and props.

Unfortunately, at the moment you happen to be “between opportunities”, which is what you say to people when you don't want to use that nasty “unemployed” word. Work has been harder to come by over the last couple of years, with production companies relying ever more on computer-generated special effects; what with it getting cheaper to substitute some 3D model for a valuable, squishy actor, and easier to have a bunch of pixels explode than a carefully-arranged real-world detonation, your particular craft is falling by the wayside of the march towards progress. The interminable glut of “Reality TV” shows hasn't exactly been helping, either- and heaven knows that particular genre could do with a heavy helping of explosives.

And so that's how you came to be walking down a quiet path in Equestria. You have the good fortune of living near a portal station and are on good terms with the transfer board, so you generally get to hop between realities whenever you like- and the crisp, clean air and simplicity of Equestria is a splendid change of pace from the noise and bustle of Sacramento. Last year you'd found this beautiful path that traveled near a wide lake not three miles from the Equestria-side portal station, and you've taken up the habit of going for jogs along it when troubles were on your mind... which seems to be all the time, lately. Not that you're in danger of ending up out on the street any time soon- you were smart enough to save up, to ride out the occasional dry spells of the entertainment industry- but without some sort of paid project to get the cash rolling in, it's not going to be long before you have to go back to waiting tables to keep the bills paid.

You hate waiting tables.

You're so wrapped up in thoughts of what studio to check with next, and considerations towards taking computer-animation courses and surrendering to the inexorable pull of progress, that you barely notice a strange, quiet sound coming from a half-hidden side path. A whimper of some kind? You're not sure, but it's enough to prod you into following. You note some recent lines dug into the soft dirt of this path, thin ones at that- wooden wheels, most likely, but attached to what?

You find the answer to that question pulled off to the side of the road, just past a thick bramble patch. A rickety wagon, about the size of a decent SUV back home, rests upon three wheels in a grassy field near a tree; the fourth wheel, sporting a sizable crack, is propped up against the wagon's side, a primitive jack holding up the wagon in its stead. Next to the wagon, an azure-colored female pony- of what sort you can't see, as her back is to you and her head is bowed- sits staring at the wagon; as you watch, her shoulders hitch, and she lets out a quiet sob.

The helpful nature of her species must have been rubbing off on you over the years, because you find yourself speaking without even thinking about it. “Um... do you need help?”

Your voice startles her, and she practically leaps into a defensive stance, her blue-white mane flying every which way as she does. Narrowed magenta eyes take in the sight of you, and you realize you're probably a strange sight at that- track suit, running shoes, your favorite hat. “Oh! Um.” she says after a moment, lightening up just a little. “N- no, there is no need, good human. The Great and Powerful Trixie has the situation well in hoof.”

The weirdness of her third-person self-referencing aside, you can tell that her words are edged with a mild contempt. You're not surprised- ponies have a range of personalities just like humans, and they're not all the friendly sort. You're prepared to take your leave, but pause for just a moment; there's something about her eyes- rimmed with wetness; yes, she's definitely been crying- that stands in stark contrast with the dismissiveness of her statement. You decide to go with your gut on this. “Are you sure?”

For just a second, anger seems to flash across her expression. Then her eyes flick back towards her wagon, and her shoulders slump. “Um... perhaps the Great and Powerful Trixie... does need some assistance....” she says quietly, the contempt vanishing from her voice.

“I could call for pathside service.” You reflexively pull out your phone. Three bars; not too shabby for a relatively rural area. Cellular phone service was a big hit when it was introduced to Equestria.

“Oh, um... no, that wouldn't be....” She pauses, then sighs. “The Great and Powerful Trixie... can't exactly afford a tow.”

“Well... uh.” An idea pops into your head. It's a lot more involved than you really like to get with a stranger, but you've been down on your luck in life a few times yourself, and a friendly helping hand would've really been welcome. So, “be the change you wish to see” and all that.... “Well... you know, I might be able to fix that for you.” You point at the wagon wheel.

“You- you could?” Her expression is at once suspicious and hopeful. You can understand- some stranger blunders along who just so happens to be able to solve her problem? But here you are, deus ex machina in a track suit.

“Yeah. Part of my job involves woodwork. I have saws, wood glue, setting tools. I don't know that I could manage a permanent fix, but at least you could keep rolling for a while.”

“I... I see.” She's calculating now. “How long would this take?”

“I use modern epoxies. I'd say....” You look at the wheel with a critical eye; you're not exactly a wagon expert, but years of propmaking have given you a decent amount of experience with woodworking. “Probably half an hour to remove the damaged part and shape a replacement; six hours minimum to set the epoxy well enough to take the stress of travel.”

“I see.” She hesitates for a moment. “Trixie... cannot offer very much for your services, Mister...?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Donovan Trellis.” You offer a hand, and after a moment, she places her hoof in it, and you shake. “We can work something out. I'm reasonable.”

“Well, Mr. Trellis. This... is a generous offer, and Trixie is in need of being mobile. But she would ask that she be able to see your work area before deciding on an agreement.”

“Sure, not a problem. Familiar with Sacramento?”

“Not especially....” Her expression is unreadable for a moment. “Trixie does not visit Earth much.”

“I'm not too far from the portal station. Ten-minute bus ride, tops.” You make to grab the wheel, but a luminous white aura surrounds it, and it lifts off of the ground. You turn to see Trixie's horn glowing. “Allow the Great and Powerful Trixie to handle that, Mr. Trellis,” she says.

She could be looking to help, or she could be nervous about allowing a stranger to handle her property. Either way you can understand. As she escorts you back towards the station, you realize it didn't even occur to you to ask if her wagon would be alright; there's not many large wild animals by the river, and it's unlikely that a wandering pony- or any human who passed evaluation for unrestricted travel here- would do anything to it. So you figure everything will be fine while you and your new customer are Earthside.

The clerks at the transfer station seem surprised to see you. “Mr. Trellis, back already?” Snowshoe asks, tilting his ears in confusion. “You're usually here for a few hours when you're jogging.”

“Unexpected customer.” You gesture to Trixie, who nods. “Indeed,” she replies. “Perhaps you have heard tales of the Great and Powerful-”

“Trixie. ID confirmed.” Cloudwisp, the other clerk, looks up from his retinal/cutie-mark scanner. “You're cleared to travel unrestricted, ma'am.”

“...well. Yes. Thank you.” It's clear she's a bit of an egotist, but it's not like you're unused to dealing with that type in showbusiness. At least she isn't demanding that you carry her coffee or something.

(-)

Living in Sacramento for a while meant you learned how to spot tourists, and Trixie is definitely a tourist when it comes to being Earthside. She's trying to hide it, of course, but the wide-eyed gazes at various landmarks and buildings through the bus's window belie her masquerade.

It's not as though she has to worry about being the only pony in town. Last census pegged the Sacramento pony population at just under 13%; more than a few equine-run businesses have popped up along the streets, plenty of them seeing as much two-legged traffic as four. The bus passes an intersection with half a dozen ponies amongst the crowd waiting for the light to change, all of them underneath umbrellas or raincoats to fend off the afternoon cloudburst.

Fortunately the rain is tapering off as you and Trixie disembark. Your home-slash-work-area is just up the road from the bus stop, and it's a quick walk to your side door, leading to the work room. You hold the door open for her. “After you, Miss Trixie,” you say.

She doesn't look impressed, but she does spare you a slight smile as she levitates the wheel through the door before proceeding after. Upon seeing your workspace, she pauses for a moment, looking at the various tools, the workbench in the corner, the pile of wood shavings next to it, and a handful of projects in various stages of completion. “Mr. Trellis, what is it you do for a living?” she asks. “Trixie does not believe she has asked you that.”

“Special effects and props for various media. I'm not sure how much movie or television viewing you do....”

“She does watch some television.” Trixie sets the wheel down against a leg of the workbench.

“Ever seen the series Negativity?”

That gets a blink of surprise out of her. “She... watched it regularly until it was canceled.”

“I was on the stunt-coordination crew. Do you remember the episode 'Inbound/Outbound'?”

You've got her absolute attention now. “Jed MacThury's last episode? A guest appearance by Vinyl Scratch? Who could forget it?!”

“How about the chase sequence?”

Her jaw drops. “That... that was your work?”

“A large part of it. Spent the better part of a week lying awake at night, working over how to get a Bugatti to drive through a packed nightclub and flip over the DJ's table just so.”

“And then Jed gets out of the car, and looks at Scratch, and says in that deadpan drawl of his, 'Do you take requests?' ” Trixie is laughing a little now, her haughty expression reduced, and you notice it makes her look rather cute. “...yes,” she says after a moment, re-composing herself. “Trixie does remember that. It was an impressive piece of work, she must say.”

“Thanks.” You're not really the type to brag, but that was one of your best efforts, and seeing a fan of the show acknowledge it feels pretty nice. You hoist the wheel up onto the workbench and give it an examination under the table light. “Okay, good,” you say. “The rest of the wheel is still pretty sound, for the most part. With a proper replacement piece it should last for a while yet.”

“Trixie is glad to hear that.” She pauses for a moment. “What is it you charge for your services, Mr. Trellis?”

“My usual labor rate for woodwork is forty dollars an hour. But... I haven't gotten to work with my hands for a while, so I'll halve that and add in materials. I'll need to use one board-foot of hickory, a small amount of epoxy- let's call it twenty-five dollars, or....” You do the mental math quickly; Equestrian bits are pegged at about 1.3 to the dollar, and always round up... “twenty bits.”

She lets out an almost inaudible sigh of relief. “Trixie finds that entirely fair, Mr. Trellis. May she watch you work?”

“Sure.” And so she does, sitting in a dignified fashion on a stool as you cut away the cracked wood, trace an outline of the shape of the wheel, and then cut and lathe the hickory to match the missing piece. It looks like you haven't lost your touch- it only takes you three tries to get the new piece to fit in tightly. You cut a couple of small grooves into each side of the piece, then apply a layer of epoxy and wedge it back in. “There, now it's just a matter of waiting,” you tell the pony.

“You said six hours, yes?” She glances out one of the windows at the late afternoon sky. “It will be dark by then... perhaps Trixie could stop by tomorrow to retrieve the wheel and give you your payment?”

“That wouldn't be a problem. Extra time for the epoxy to set, too.”

“Indeed.” She hops down from the stool, starts towards the door, then stops for a moment. Then she turns, doing an only marginally-adequate job at hiding a look of chagrin. “Trixie is... unfamiliar with the public-transportation routes here. Would you see her back to the portal station?”

You sort of anticipated this. Tourist. “Sure.”

The sun has already disappeared behind some of the skyscrapers and is well on its way to the horizon by the time you arrive at the portal station; you can just see Venus in the sky, and the lights on Tower Bridge have kicked on. Trixie seems to admire the sight for a moment before turning to you. “Trixie thanks you again, Mr. Trellis,” she says, reaching up with a hoof; you shake it gently. “She will return at nine in the morning tomorrow... that should be ten here, yes?”

You nod. “That's right. I'll bring it here and have it waiting for you.”

“That would be most appreciated.” She's genuinely smiling now, and you can't help but think that she ought to do it more often; it really softens her face, making her look almost sweet. “Trixie will see you in the morning, Mr. Trellis. Until then.”

“G'night.”

(-)

This is the moment of truth. You're standing there, in casual clothing this time, watching as Trixie sets the wheel back on the axle, then secures it with the bolts. Not even a creak from the wood as she removes the jack and lets the wagon's weight sit on the wheel. She settles herself into the harness and pulls it around in a couple of circles experimentally, then goes back to the wheel to give it a look.

And then you're treated to what might be the most hilarious sight you've ever seen: This dour, haughty pony is literally bouncing around, yelping “Yes yes yes yes!”. Then she seems to remember you're there and hastens to collect herself, clearing her throat. “Ahem. Well, Mr. Trellis, it appears that your work is indeed of good quality. Trixie is....” She seems to search for words for a moment, then her expression softens. “Trixie is very grateful for your help. You have saved her no small amount of difficulty.” She climbs up the back of the wagon and returns in a few seconds with a small bag. “Your payment, as agreed upon,” she says, levitating twenty small golden coins out of the bag and into your hand.

You really hope that the bag doesn't hold the entirety of her funds, because you notice that it seems much less weighed-down without her payment. You sort of feel guilty even taking it, despite the fact that you can use the money yourself- but it's pretty clear she's the proud type, and refusing the payment would probably be seen as a slight. You pocket the coins. “Thank you, Miss Trixie,” you say. “Glad I could be of help.”

She gets back into her wagon's harness and begins heading down the road, and you make your way back towards the portal station, feeling rather happy with yourself.

(-)

It's three in the afternoon and you're busy looking through want-ads. Job prospects aren't looking any better and your bank account is not as healthy as you'd like. In fact, fixing a wagon wheel is the only solid income you've had in the last month, and twenty-five bucks is not exactly a windfall.

On a lark, you'd looked up information on the “Great and Powerful” Trixie. Google.equ had quite a bit listed- seems she's a showpony and illusionist, something of a rising star at one point until she almost entirely dropped off the map, with only a handful of references to an issue in Ponyville a few years back giving clues as to why. But there's a few recent billings featuring her in a couple of relatively big cities, so maybe she's got a comeback planned. You hope it works out for her- sure, she's got the typical starlet attitude, but beneath that there seems to be a halfway-decent pony.

You're interrupted by your phone ringing. An unlisted number is calling you; used to be you'd let the voicemail service catch those, but you've got your contact information out on enough recruitment sites to where you don't dare skip a potential lead. You take the call. “Donovan Trellis speaking.”

There's a moment of silence, and you begin to wonder if it's a prank call, before a familiar voice speaks up. “Ah, um... yes. Mr. Trellis? You speak to the Great and Powerful Trixie.”

Well, here's a surprise. “Miss Trixie? Good to hear from you again. I hope the wheel is still working well?”

“Yes, yes, quite so- almost like new, thank you. It has served Trixie well.” Another pause. “Mr. Trellis, Trixie would like to offer you an employment opportunity.”

“I... see. Is there something else you need repaired?”

“No, no. Are....” There's another pause. “Perhaps you are not a regular visitor to Equestria and do not know of Trixie's reputation as a master showmare.”

“Actually, miss, I did look you up recently. From what I've seen, you're a traveling illusionist and magician?”

“Yes, that is correct. And... well.” Another pause. “Trixie has decided that she should... reinvent her show. Modernize it, after a fashion. Something that could appeal to both ponies and humans.”

“I see. And you'd like my help with this?”

“Y... yes, Mr. Trellis, she would.” She sounds almost... scared? Maybe she's just not that used to dealing with humans, or maybe she's trying to overcome her pride. “She can pay you a fair wage for your expertise, Mr. Trellis, as well as a percentage of profit from shows. If you are free of other obligations, of course.”

You look down at your want-ads, and note how you were getting desperate enough to circle listings from restaurants seeking wait staff. “I am amazingly free of other obligations at this current time, Miss Trixie. When would you like to meet to discuss this?”