Reinventing Trixie

Commerce has always been one of the most changeable aspects of civilization, and it didn't take long after the Discovery for dining places on Earth to adapt to a sudden stream of non-human clientele. One trend that had started out in the South spread pretty quickly- restaurant menus now marked herbivore-specific food like flowers, hay and such with a hoof, and and omni/carnivore-specific food like meat and starch with a hand. It made ordering from a mixed menu a whole lot easier.

Of course, it doesn't help you decide just what you want to eat, and that's the dilemma you're facing now in this diner. Finally, in a fit of frustration you just randomly poke at the menu with a finger. “Okay, there,” you say. “Hash browns and eggs on toast.” It's a good thing you like hash browns and are okay with eggs. “All right then,” the waitress says. “And you?”

“Trixie will have the grilled peppers and dandelion on sourdough, and a side of hay fries.”

The waitress picks up the menus and heads towards the kitchen. You sip at your coffee while the pony takes a long drink of orange juice. “So how long have you been in showbusiness, Miss Trixie?” you ask.

“Close to fifteen years.” She leans back in her seat. “Trixie... took a bit of a break for a short while, which may have not been the best idea. Momentum is key in the business, as she's sure you know.”

You nod. “Though there's also something to be gained from starting anew.”

“Indeed.” She smiles slightly. “And what of you, Mr. Trellis?”

“Seven years. After I got my associate's degree in media, I worked my way up the ladder, taking small jobs in television programs and advertisements, building up my resume. Negativity was my big break, but I also did some work in movies, like Past, Present, Pony.”

“So you have worked on pony-oriented productions?”

“Yes. I got some good advice from a pony named Wheatfield. He told me that ponies like spectacle and action, but aren't big on direct confrontations, violence or anything that can be seen as seriously threatening.”

“True, in a general sense. Of course there is variation, but Trixie is certain you understand that.” She fixes those deep-purple eyes on you. “Mr. Trellis, Trixie believes you can be of great help to her in this endeavor. She checked your working credits before calling you. You obviously have a strong background in pyrotechnics, staging and presentation, and stuntwork, and you have experience with both human- and pony-directed entertainment. So....” She extends a hoof. “Shall we work together?”

You shake the offered hoof. “Certainly.”

You and Trixie go over the specifics after the food is served. Considering she seemed nearly flat-broke when you met her, she's promising you what really is a fairly decent wage- not Hollywood-scale pay, but at the very least it'll pay your bills and help replenish your bank account. Not to mention, working on live stage shows is something new and interesting to you.

Plus, seriously. To hell with waiting tables. You hate having to be subservient to jerks, or cheapskates, or indecisive morons like... well, you, when you've got a menu in front of you. You saw that look in that waitress's eyes.

It's when you've just finished breakfast and are waiting for the check when Trixie springs an unexpected question on you. “Mr. Trellis, are you aware of any affordable places for rent here in Sacramento?”

“I, um....” You think. “Not in the immediate area. Most of what was available before the Discovery has been nabbed by ponies who wanted to live close to the portal station for whatever reason.” You consider for a moment. “I was under the impression that you were living in your wagon.”

“She is, but....” She gets a distant look for a moment. “Trixie... wishes to expand her horizons, to see new things. Sacramento does seem to be a rather lovely city.”

“It's got its nice points, sure.” You have an idea, though broaching it the wrong way might foul up this great job you've only just managed to get. Still, it strikes you as a pretty darn good idea, so.... “I'm not sure if you saw when you visited, Miss Trixie, but I do have an extended parking space and garage.”

She blinks. “You... you do? No, Trixie did not see that.”

“Yeah. Ought to be big enough for your wagon to fit, if you'd like to park it there for a while. I don't own a car, so I've got no use for it. I wouldn't even charge rent, since you wouldn't be taking up any space in my house, or any electricity or water.”

“It... it would make collaboration much easier, wouldn't it?” Again that calculating look. You're thinking that this is a mare used to saving money where she can- makes sense, being an independent entertainer. But there's still some trepidation when she looks at you. It's not likely she's speciesist- she contacted you, and she was obviously well-aware of you being human- so maybe she has some trust issues.

Seems today's the day for practicality to win out, though. “...all right,” she says after a moment. “She will need time to prepare her wagon for the move, and of course there will be paperwork to file with the transfer agency. And she imagines the city will have forms it will want her to fill out as well?”

You can't help but chuckle. “Miss Trixie, if there's one consistency I've found between Earth and Equestria, it's bureaucracy.”

(-)

Trixie had thought you were kidding about the bureaucracy thing. Five hours of standing in various lines and filling out countless forms at City Hall cured her of that notion. But when it was over, she had what she'd come for- paperwork proving herself a legal alien resident of Sacramento, California, United States of America, Earth. She can't vote yet; she'd have to be naturalized for that, and that's a MUCH longer process, but she'll be paying taxes and can take advantage of all the various services the city offers. She trots up to you- you had to be here for a lot of the proceedings, since you're essentially going to be “hosting” her for the time being- with a self-satisfied smile. “At last, this seemingly-interminable process has come to an end,” she says. “Trixie must thank you for your help, Donovan.”

You're on a first-name basis now, since you're working for her and she's subletting from you. You'd been worried that she'd expect you to repeat that “Great and Powerful” title when addressing her, but she didn't object to you just calling her Trixie. With all the legal stuff handled, you both head back to your place, where her wagon is already parked. She hops inside it for a moment to file away all the paperwork. Curiosity strikes, and you take a quick look inside while she has the door open- it looks pretty cluttered inside, lots of things haphazardly hanging off of hooks on the walls or stuffed in half-open drawers, a small flat-screen television secured next to a folding bed, and what seems to be a couple of old posters stuck to what little open wall space is present.

You're smart enough to not be caught peeping when she comes back outside. With all the technicalities out of the way, Trixie wants to get right to work on revamping her show; the pile of notebooks and loose paper she's levitating along with her is surprising. It turns out this pony is a judicious note-taker and fastidious planner when it comes to her various tricks and techniques.

It takes your living-room table to hold all of her various notes and sketches, along with a pot of coffee and a couple of mugs. In painstaking detail, she goes over each component of her act; the parts involving magic go right over your head- being a typical human, you could write everything you really know about magic on your thumbnail, and still have room for a dirty limerick- but the complexity of the physical portions of it astonishes you. Hidden hoof-pedals, small switches she can surreptitiously move with arcanokinesis, secret pockets and compartments... it's clear she either studied under a master, or did an exceptional job of figuring all this out independently. You're beginning to wonder what she even needs your help with.

But as you form a picture of the entire act in your mind, you start to see the holes. Trixie's got some serious technical chops, but she's sorely lacking in pacing. Every act is a showcase of her skill, but there's no breathing room for the audience, no buildup, no sort of narrative to follow... it's basically “Look what I can do!” played across an hour of stage time.

The hard part is going to be telling her. She's proud of this act, you can easily see that. Pointing out flaws is likely to be a delicate operation. Fortunately for you, you've worked with some of the worst prima donnas in showbusiness, even if only on a tertiary basis... there's no way Trixie could measure up to the irrational demands of some of the “stupor stars”, as you like to call them, that have decorated the big or small screen.

But now it looks like she wants to go and surprise you again. Sure, there's some anger and disappointment on her face as you detail your opinions of where the act could use some work- but she's visibly swallowing it, and you swear you can almost hear her reminding herself that this is what she hired you for. This is good, in your mind. You won't deny that you have your own emotional attachments to your work- as awesome as that scene in Negativity was, you think it would've been about twenty percent cooler if they'd left in the mannequins- but a true mark of a professional is the ability to take constructive criticism and work towards bettering the production.

The next thing you know, it's late evening, the coffee pot is empty and the sun's long since set. A long yawn from Trixie seals it- it's time to pack it in. “We've made some progress today, Trixie thinks, Donovan,” she says. “But ponies and humans both make mistakes when tired, so perhaps we should call it a day and get some rest.”

“That works for me.” You help her gather up her notes, which she levitates out to her wagon with her. She gives you a brief smile before closing the door. You have yourself a quick snack before heading to your bedroom. You're exhausted, from nothing more than half a day of paperwork and several hours of brainstorming, arguing and collaborating. You can't help but think one thing as your weary head hits your pillow:

This is going to be one interesting job.

(-)

You've noticed something over the last month and a half you've been working with Trixie. Though she said she wanted to broaden her horizons by moving to Sacramento, she certainly doesn't seem particularly eager to actually go out into the city. She does her own shopping, of course, but that seems to be about it; whenever she's not brainstorming or designing with you, she's shut up in her wagon.

It is certainly none of your business what your employer does on her off-hours. But that hasn't stopped you from surreptitiously leaving out pamphlets for various shows, events and other functions that are within easy walking distance or a few minutes away by bus. Nothing seems to have taken her fancy yet, though.

You're a different case. Apparently the one-and-only DJ PON-3, more commonly known as Vinyl Scratch, is headlining a massive party at the Ace of Spades tonight. Club and dubstep- or dubtrot, as the ponies like to call it, naturally- have never been your favorite genres, but you became a huge fan of Scratch's while she was on the set of Negativity; the fact that the red-eyed, alabaster-coated pony was one of the most down-to-earth and friendly celebrities you've ever had the pleasure to meet only cemented your fandom. When you saw the advertisement, you likely broke a speed record at ordering a ticket.

As you're getting set to leave, you pause for a moment. It feels silly, but you feel compelled to leave a note for Trixie; she has a key to the place, one you gave her in case she needed something, and if she wants to talk to you, you'd rather save her the trouble of calling. So you quickly pen a short message and clip it to the refrigerator where it's easy to see, grab your wallet and autograph book, and head out.

The party is even better than you'd hoped for. Great music, a huge crowd, pricey drinks... well, maybe the “pricey” part isn't so good, but the drinks themselves are worth every penny. More than that, Vinyl Scratch actually remembers you from the show- “you were that guy who walked me through the stunts” were her exact words, but hey, it still counts as being remembered- and she's more than glad to give you an autograph. When everything closes down at eleven PM, you've got a sweet buzz going that survives the taxi ride back home.

Oddly enough, Trixie is sitting on the front lawn, staring up at the sky. She's obviously surprised to see you climb- well, stumble, maybe, just a little- out of the taxi. “Donovan?” she asks. “Are you all right?”

“Fine as pony hair,” you laugh. You actually learned that line at the party; it's a lot funnier to you now, for obvious reasons.

“Ahhh.” She chuckles. “Someone has sampled quite a bit of the old spirits tonight.”

“I'm not as think as you drunk I am.” You snicker, sitting down next to her. “Kind of a cold night to be stargazing, isn't it?” you ask, looking up. “Heck, can't even see the stars here in the city.”

“Trixie was... thinking.”

Her tone of voice should be a clear giveaway that she'd rather not talk about it, but you're a talkative drunk. “What about?”

She's quiet for a moment, looking away. It's just starting to dawn on you that you probably should've kept your mouth shut when she turns back to you. “Did you go to that music show tonight?” she asked. “Where Vinyl Scratch was performing?”

“Yeah.”

“Did... you enjoy yourself?”

You laugh to yourself, leaning back. “Most fun I've had in, like, six months.”

“I see.” She returns to looking at the ground. “Donovan, Trixie is... not the most outgoing pony you might meet.”

“But you've been in showbusiness for, what was it, a decade and a half?”

“Yes, but... on the stage, the Great and Powerful Trixie seeks to amaze and impress her audience. Off of the stage... Trixie is, perhaps, less able to connect with others.”

Now it makes sense. She wouldn't be the first celebrity you've worked with who felt more comfortable with others in her “stage persona”. Jed MacThury was like that at one point, you'd heard, though by the time you'd made his acquaintance he was a lot more outgoing. “Well, it doesn't gotta be that way,” you tell her.

“Yes, but....” She sighs. “Trixie is uncertain where or how to start.”

“How about the easy way?”

She blinks at you. “What do you mean?”

“Okay. You can't not have seen the pamphlets I put out.”

“Yes. Your subtlety there approaches that of a very large sledgehammer.” She gives you a smirk.

“I work with explosions; sometimes you need something big and un-ignorable.” You grin. “But anyway. Pick something that interests you. I'll go with you.”

She blinks, her jaw dropping for a moment. “You'll what?”

“Go. With. You.” You shrug. “I mean, if you're all right with that. I just figure that new situations are easier to handle when you've got someone you know nearby.”

“It... but, that... it's....” You can't help but think it's cute when she gets flustered; she's normally so self-assured. “Well! If it is you speaking, Donovan, and not the alcohol, then perhaps Trixie will take you up on this offer.”

“Good, then. Pick your poison and we'll quaff it together!” You laugh uproariously for a moment, before your body suddenly decides it hates you. “...errrgh. Right. Speaking of poison, maybe I'd better go have a lie-down.”

She snickers. “Ah, always the regrets afterwards,” she says. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, so long as somebody holds the planet still.” You manage to get to your feet and stagger towards the door, with Trixie's quiet laughter following. “Sleep well, Donovan,” she calls after you.

“G'night.” And, thank God or Jesus or Buddha or Celestia- hell, if they all want to get on stage together and take a bow, you'll applaud- you manage to make it to your bed and get something resembling undressed before utterly crashing.

(-)

You've never admitted it to her, but the way Trixie has rigged her wagon to drop loose a fully-functional, if rather small, stage has always amazed you. She insists that no magic is involved, that it's all engineering and machinery, and the chances you've had to look over the rigging seem to confirm it- but that doesn't make it any easier to understand. You figure she's not likely to tell you how she built or got it if you ask, though, so you've resigned yourself to this being one of life's little mysteries.

At the moment Trixie is setting that stage up, and you're prepping a piece of human technology she hasn't had access to before- a video camera. You've explained to her that there's nothing like watching your own performance from another perspective to give you insight, and she's willing to give it a try. You've directed her to go through a snippet of her usual performance, ten minutes of various tricks, with you playing the part of audience volunteer.

Your impressions were right- it really is a long demonstration of “look what I can do”. And when Trixie sees the playback on your television, she starts to understand it as well. “But... I....” she stammers, watching herself prance across the stage. “This... this isn't how Trixie intended the show to be....”

You pause the playback. “Have you had anyone help you with your act before?”

“No. Once I....” She clears her throat. “Once Trixie left home, she worked mostly alone. She sometimes performed with other acts during the early days, but never with a partner.” She sighs. “It shows, doesn't it, Donovan?”

“I'm afraid so.” You lean back a little. “Look, Trixie. I'm not criticizing your technical or magical abilities. Truth be told, you've got a lot of skill. But if you want to perform for others, human or pony, there are expectations they'll have that you need to meet if you want to really hold their interest.”

“Trixie has always wanted to show others her skill.” Her voice is small now, and it actually kind of hurts to hear it that way. “But... she's little more than a braggart. She thought she'd learned from Ponyville....”

“What happened in Ponyville?”

The question shocks her out of her state, and she immediately clams up. “Trixie... would prefer to not speak of that incident,” she says sharply.

And that pretty well sets the tone for the morning, thanks to you managing to put your foot in your mouth with four simple words. It's a long few hours until lunch, with communication limited to short sentences back and forth as you install a few of the new pyrotechnic emitters you and she developed on her stage. You're finished a few minutes before your usual mid-day break, and you both decide to “punch out”, as it were, early; she immediately retreats into her wagon, and you head into your kitchen. A leftover burger goes in the microwave, and you pour yourself a glass of cola to go with it. Once it's done reheating, you take the burger back out, set the plate on the stand-up bar, and are just setting yourself down on one of the stools....

“Donovan?”

You look up. Trixie is there in your kitchen, looking pensive. “May... may Trixie sit?” she asks, pointing at the other stool. You nod, and she nimbly hops up onto it, barely moving it as she does. It seems they all can do that; earth, pegasus, unicorn- it's some pony trick you've never figured out. Once she's settled herself, she takes in a deep breath. “Donovan, Trixie must apologize to you. Snapping at you like that was impolite, to say the very least. You meant no harm by your question.” She offers a meek smile. “Will you forgive her?”

You chuckle. “What's to forgive? I was more upset at myself than you. I should know better than to pry.”

“Not at all, Donovan. If we are to work well together, we must be open with each other. Though Trixie does not wish to speak of... that particular place at the moment, she can at least be understanding if asked of it.”

“Well... no harm, no foul. Good call for you?”

She smiles. “A good call for her, indeed.”

You grin. “Okay then. How about lunch?”

She gives your meal an uncomfortable glance. “So long as you don't proffer this pony a hamburger,” she says.

“Please, everybody knows better than that by now. I've got salad.”

Turns out Trixie likes green peppers and tomatoes as much as you do. Not so big on ranch dressing, though, but oil and vinegar are fine. And so you have lunch together, and as you head back out to the wagon, things seem a little lighter, a little more comfortable, than they had before today.

You're okay with that.

(-)

It's like this mare is a never-ending fountain of surprises. The leaflet she's laid down in front of you wasn't one you'd selected- in fact, this is the first you've seen of the event. “The Rhythm In Darkness Tour: Fighting Gravity and Team iLuminate”, the title reads. Now, you've seen these guys on television, and their acts were incredible- but you'd had no idea they were touring, let alone together. But that leaves some questions. “Have you heard of these guys before?” you ask Trixie.

“Not until she found the leaflet.”

“Have you heard the music they use?”

“Yes. It is... not exactly what Trixie customarily listens to.”

“And you're aware they play it loudly. And use flashing lights.”

“If the videos she has seen are any indication, very much so.”

“But this is what you want to go see?”

“Absolutely.”

“...why?”

“Because Trixie must immerse herself in new and different things if she is to grow, yes?” She gestures at the leaflet. “She researched these two groups. Young men and women, who worked hard and developed shows that are unique and breathtaking. Trixie wants to see that, to feel that energy firsthoof. If she must endure flashing lights and loud music, so be it.”

You glance back down at the leaflet. “But it's tomorrow night. Probably sold out by now.”

“Which is why Trixie took the liberty of purchasing two tickets when she found this advertisement six days ago.” She levitates them out from underneath her mane and shows them to you. “Fifth row, center-right. Not a bad vantage point.”

“But it's down in San Mateo,” you tell her. “Going to be a little tough to get there by bus.”

“Ah.” She frowns. “Perhaps you might rent a car? You would, of course, have to drive.” She gives you a grin. “Trixie does not have a motor vehicle license.”

You think it over. Renting a compact car for a trip down to San Mateo wouldn't cost much at all- it'd be cheaper than a taxi, at the very least. And your driver's license is still valid. Finally, your “what the hell, go for it” gland kicks in, and you nod. “Tomorrow it is, then. Be ready at five; there'll probably be traffic.”

“Certainly.”

(-)

Now, you've seen some pretty good shows in your day. But the thing is, due to a variety of reasons, you've always gone to those shows alone. Sure, you talked about them with friends afterwards, but you never had someone you knew there in the audience with you to experience it alongside you.

Turns out that makes it even better.

Trixie can hardly sit still in the passenger's seat. She's flitting between bouncing ideas off of you and chattering about the show like she's a crazed moth in a spotlight testing area, and you want to get the car back to the rental agency before she shakes it to pieces or something. She actually volunteers to pay for a taxi from the agency back to your place- she's in such a hurry to get some ideas down on paper that she doesn't want to wait for a bus.

She practically throws the fare money at the taxi driver before leaping out and galloping up to her wagon. By the time you get inside the house, she's brought in a notepad and pen and is scribbling furiously. She quizzes you on lighting techniques, on blacklights, on setting routines to music- things you haven't had a whole lot of experience with, but you're willing to brainstorm and research. You figure that once she gets all this new stuff out of her brain and onto paper, she'll calm down a bit and begin looking for sensible ways to work this into her act. In the meantime, though, it's hilarious to see her writing like a madmare.

You've brought her coffee and toast and left her to her devices, taking the opportunity to get changed into more comfortable clothes. Her writing binge lasts well past eleven at night, and both of you are yawning heavily by the time she finally stops. “Trixie... can barely hold up the pen,” she groans, letting the writing instrument drop onto the table. “Perhaps it is time to sleep on all these ideas, and develop them further in the morning.”

She packs up her notepad and pen, and starts towards the door, then stops and turns. “Donovan,” she says, “Trixie... very much enjoyed herself today. She doesn't know if she would have gone without you.” She smiles. “Thank you.”

“I had a lot of fun myself,” you tell her. “We should do it again sometime.”

She nods slowly. “Yes... we definitely should. Good night, Donovan.”

“G'night.”

The next morning dawns way too bright and way too early for your tastes, bringing you out of a sound and restful sleep- but hey, you're still alive, and that's the best way to start a new day. The first thing you notice as you get out of bed and get dressed is the smell of... coffee? You don't remember setting the coffeemaker last night.

The answer to the conundrum is sitting on your couch. Trixie looks up from her notepad as she levitates a mug to her lips. “Good morning, Donovan,” she says. “Trixie hopes you don't mind- she took the liberty of brewing some coffee. She wanted to get an early start on the day.”

“I don't mind at all.” You don't, really. All else aside, the look of relaxed contemplation on Trixie's face is a welcome sight... in fact, it has the unexpected effect of making you smile. You sit down next to her with your own mug of coffee, and the two of you get to work.

(-)

There is, of course, a downside to having a pony in your home for extended lengths of time... and at the moment, you're vacuuming up that downside off of the couch. Fortunately, pony hairs tend to be very light and don't easily get caught on fabric, so it's just a matter of doing a thorough run of your vacuum across the living room.

Your vacuum happens to be loud, so it takes you a little while to hear Trixie trying to get your attention; finally, her voice gets through the whir of the motor, and you look up to see her waving a hoof at you. You click off the unit and wait for the noise to die down. “Sorry,” you tell the unicorn. “What is it?”

She looks a little sheepish. “Trixie has apparently forgotten to inform you that she has a spell to remove stray pony hair.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You're kidding. There's a spell for that?”

“Of course! Shedding is not exactly a new problem for we ponies.” She gives you a teasing grin.

You put the vacuum aside and lean against the couch to watch. Her horn glows, and her off-white aura seems to envelop every last one of her azure hairs still left on the couch and rug; after a moment, they levitate up and gather together into an indistinct clump- like a dandelion's seed puffs in reverse- before Trixie floats them into the kitchen and deposits them in the trash can.

It's magic. Mundane, utilitarian magic, not unlike everything you've watched her do while working on her act... and yet you stand there utterly floored. She notices, and chuckles. “You've seen Trixie do this sort of thing before,” she reminds you.

“Yeah, but....” You shrug, rubbing the back of your neck, trying not to look too embarassed. “Sorry. I've just never seen magic used quite that way before.”

She chuckles again, but in a less teasing way, giving you a slight smile. “Trixie sometimes forgets that you humans still aren't quite used to magic,” she replies. “At least, anything more complex than the basic arcanokinesis unicorns use.”

“Yeah... you'd think as long as it's been since the Discovery, it'd be less 'new', but....”

She nickers quietly. “Trixie doesn't mind. That look of wonder is rather enjoyable, all things considered.” She seems to consider for a moment, her expression going from amused to thoughtful. “And as far as the shedding... well. Perhaps Trixie has been... neglegent. You allow her into your home; it would behoove her to partake in its upkeep. From this point on, she will handle cleaning of the living room and kitchen every Wednesday.”

“You don't have to, really; it's no bother....”

“Please. Trixie insists.” She levels a serious gaze on you now, and you realize this is a point of pride to her; she wants to contribute. “All right then,” you decide. “But if you're going to handle the kitchen, then that should entitle you to full use of it. Refrigerator included.”

She seems to think for a moment, then nods. “The coldbox Trixie uses is rather... insufficient. It would be nice to be able to buy in bulk. Thank you, Donovan.”

“Sure thing.” You glance up at the clock; it's half past noon. “Speaking of the kitchen... feel like lunch?”

“Trixie could absoutely stand a bite or two to eat. What do you have?” She follows you into the kitchen to see.

(-)

It's seven in the evening, and you and Trixie are ready to start your first serious dry run of her redesigned act. For six days, the two of you have been refitting Trixie's stage, installing new light fixtures, and tweaking various concepts. She's agreed to start small for now, incorporating new ideas into her previous repertoire. You have the camera set up, and once you've got it recording, you nod for her to start.

She starts off with a few simple tricks. Basic card tricks, illusionism, prestidigitation- is there a different word for that when you don't have digits? Mental note to self, look that up- all done a little slower than normal. After a plain runthrough of that, she redoes a couple of the tricks with the improved lighting. You're not in an optimal environment- street lights and neighbors' porch lights are giving more illumination than you'd like- but when she does that card-shuffle trick in front of the blacklight, and it makes the cards look almost otherworldly as they flit by, you realize that you're onto something here.

Next up is her image-crafting. She's let you in on her secret, here- the lines she uses for her floating art are arcanokinetically-formed strings of colored smoke, and the sparkles are just levitated behind them. With that in mind, you came up with the idea of using different types of smoke in combination with colored lights and blacklighting to provide three-dimensional appearances to her images, and allow for color-shifts and movement much more complex than she's currently capable of.

For the first test, Trixie is going to use a couple of the hoofpedal-rigged lights. With care, she forms a complex series of smokestrings behind her that are barely visible- and would be invisible in optimal stage lighting for this- then begins to lean forward. The effect is to make her look as though she's looming over the audience, but it also hides the fact that she's gently pressing the hoofpedals. The deep-red spotlight just in front of her gives her an almost demonic glow as it brightens, and the blacklight just behind her begins to illuminate the intricate smoke-sculpture- a spooky-looking tribal mask of some sort, struck with bright greens and yellows and deep reds, looking for all the world like it had been painted on a backdrop instead of crafted from particulates. Then Trixie brings the spotlight up to full and opens her eyes wide, while dissipating the smoke-mask with a soft “puff” of displaced air, spreading multicolored wisps all around behind her to be whisked away by the breeze.

It is quite honestly impressive, and you can't help but clap.

As she releases the hoofpedals, she actually smiles shyly. “Was it good?” she asks. “Oh! Show Trixie the recording, Donovan! She wants to see how it looked!”

You're more than happy to oblige, and the result is a thrilled pony stomping her hooves on your carpet. “It's even more impressive than Trixie imagined!” she exclaims. “She shivered just watching it! Oh, there is so much we can do with these techniques!”

You're back outside within a minute, right back to work. Although lately you're having a hard time calling it “work”, what with all the fun you're having.

(-)

“Donovan! You're back!” Trixie hops up off of your couch and practically canters up to you as you come through the door, eyeing the large envelope in your hand. “The posters were ready?!” she gasps. “Let Trixie see!”

You open the manila envelope, and Trixie levitates one of the 27-by-39-inch posters out. The glossy sign hangs in midair as she gazes at it. “This... this is so much better than the posters Trixie has had made before,” she says quietly.

“Well, I don't imagine you had access to digital image manipulation software then,” you reply with a chuckle, taking out another poster to give it a good look. The image of Trixie seems to practically leap from the paper- springing for the professional photo shoot was definitely the way to go- and the background is a nice abstract montage of the various tricks you and she have come up with for the first of her new acts. She's decided to start somewhat small, a “hoof in the water” as she called it, a half-hour show over three days in Mareheim. Depending on the reception of the new act, you and she will decide on how to adapt and expand upon it.

The days slip by quickly as you fine-tune and double-check every aspect of the act, and before you even know it, it's four days before you're due in Mareheim. You're a little nervous- you've never actually done much traveling in Equestria, only visited from time to time, and only the area surrounding the portal station. Still, you should have no trouble with the trip, with Mareheim being a mountain resort town with both its own nearby portal station and human-sized lodgings.

Funny thing, though- ever since early afternoon, you haven't seen Trixie. She seemed a little worried this morning, but pre-show jitters is hardly a rare occurrence; you're not immune to them yourself, and unlike her, you've never actually appeared before an audience. A free day before the show is welcome enough, and you busy yourself puttering around your place, doing some cleaning and such you've been too occupied to address recently.

At some point while sitting down for a break you must have dozed off, because the next thing you know, it's nighttime and there's a key clicking in the front-door lock. You're blinking yourself into awareness when the door opens and Trixie comes stumbling in, her eyes half-lidded and more than a little bloodshot. She looks up at you in surprise. “Oh! Hello, Donovan,” she slurs. “Trixie hopes you weren't waiting up for her.”

Oh, she's drunk alright. Not to the “plastered” stage, but not terribly far off. “No, I just dozed off a while ago,” you tell her. “Went out to enjoy yourself, I guess?”

“Uh-huh.” She closes the door and slips the key into the little pouch she keeps under her mane. “Trixie apol... apologizes for not leaving you a note. She meant not to be rude.”

“Not a problem. You're a full-grown mare; you don't have to be home before curfew.”

She laughs at that. “Trixie must use the 'little fillies' room', to... ah... freshen up. She will be right back.”

While she's gone, you check the time. 9:45PM. Was she out partying all afternoon and evening? You didn't think she had it in her. At the very least you'd have liked to have been invited along... but hey, everybody needs a little time away from co-workers, you suppose.

She's taking longer than you expected in the bathroom, and you're just starting to wonder if you should go check on her when you hear the door open. She sort of weaves her way back into the living room, and... has she been crying? Her eyes are watery, and it looks like she tried wiping away tearstreaks from her face, only to fail miserably. But she's still attempting a smile. “Donovan... may we talk?” she says in a wavering voice.

“Sure.” You indicate the couch with a tilt of your head, and she carefully climbs up. Obviously too drunk to hop up like usual. She takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a quiet sigh. “Donovan, Trixie has not been fully honest with you,” she says slowly.

“How do you mean?”

“Do you remember when she told you that her last show had given her enough profits to hire you and redo the act?”

You nod.

“She... she lied, Donovan. The last show was a complete failure. It didn't even recoup costs.” She stares down at the couch, her lower lip quivering.

“Then... then where'd you get the money to pay me?”

“Trixie had to sell a couple of mementos that were dear to her to raise new funds.” She lets out another sigh. “And... those funds are running low. Donovan, if this show in Mareheim doesn't do well....”

You're quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. “What will you do then?”

“Trixie will probably have to sell her wagon and return to Equestria, and... find some way to start over once again.”

“Once again?” Something clicks in your mind. “Ponyville?”

Her eyes widen for a moment, then close. “...yes.”

You gently lay a hand on her withers. “Tell me what happened in Ponyville, Trixie. Please.”

She's silent for a long time, eyes closed. You wait patiently. Eventually, she begins to tell you the story in a quiet, small voice... how she'd barged into a small rural village named Ponyville and opened her act with wild boasts and abject humiliation of several audience members. On top of that, her stories had apparently inspired a pair of impressionable young colts to go hunting down an Ursa Minor- now those you've heard of, a very nasty beast if riled, and rile it those colts certainly did- and draw it back to Ponyville for Trixie to defeat. Only Trixie hadn't actually done such a thing, and she was as helpless as anypony else to stop the creature- until an unassuming purple unicorn used powerful, versatile yet subtle magic to soothe the creature and deliver it away from the town.

“The Ursa Minor smashed Trixie's wagon,” she finishes. “She lost everything that night- all her belongings, her very home. Because of her own arrogance.”

“But at least you came through it alive,” you remind her.

“Yes....” Another deep breath and a shaky sigh. “Trixie didn't find out until later who the purple unicorn was. As it turns out... she was Twilight Sparkle.”

You blink in surprise. “The Twilight Sparkle?”

“The very one.” Trixie wipes away a tear. “Trixie made a foal of herself before the very Element of Magic. She humiliated the friends of Celestia's own student. She hasn't been able to bring herself to go back to Ponyville since.”

You slowly rub your fingertips between her shoulders, trying to comfort her. “So after that... you started over?”

“With absolutely nothing to her name but... her name. Soiled due to her own arrogance.” She paws at the couch for a moment. “But she was relentless, determined to once more have that name in lights. She called in favors, worked at odd jobs, saved every bit she could get her hooves on until she could replace her wagon and get back on the road. It took her more than a year to do that.”

“Then what?”

“Then... she simply went from show to show, doing her same old tricks, suffering from her same old conceits. She took a few months off to try to rework her act, but her first show after that... well. You know that part of the story.” She looks up at you. “Then on the way to another scheduled appearance, a wheel on her wagon cracked. And that's where you came in, Donovan.”

You can't help but chuckle. “I've always wondered what made you call me out of the blue after that.”

“Trixie realized that she couldn't reinvent herself by herself. We are our habits, in a way, and it can be difficult to break them alone. She... sold some mementos, bought a cellular phone, and used a library computer to look up your information.” She manages a chuckle. “You were her very first phone call.”

You're kind of touched by that, in a funny way. “So now you're worried that if this show doesn't go well, you're going to have to start up from the bottom again.”

“ 'Worried' is not....” She looks down again, after a moment burying her face in her forelegs. “Donovan, I'm terrified,” she whimpers; the fear is plain in her voice, and you instinctively press your hand against her side to reassure her. “I don't want to start over again. I... I don't think I even can. I've worked so hard, tried so hard, but....”

She looks back up at you with her reddened, tear-rimmed eyes, and all you can do is pull her close to you and hug her gently. She sobs into your chest. “Shh,” you tell her quietly. “You don't need to worry, Trixie. This show's not going to be your last. This time is different.”

She's quiet for a moment, and then she pulls back a little to look up at you. “Donovan... I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”

“Keep me humble. If you see me beginning to get haughty, or insulting, stop me. I trust you to be subtle about it.”

“I can do that.” You wipe away a tear from her cheek. “So I've finally gotten promoted to first-pony references from you?” you ask teasingly.

“...old habits die hard. It wasn't my intention to keep you at foreleg's length. I'm sorry.” She places her head against your chest again, sniffling. You stroke her mane gently for a moment as you consider. “Trixie,” you say quietly.

“...yes?” comes her reply, muffled by your shirt.

“You don't have to go back to Equestria if you don't want to. You can stay with me.”

You can actually feel her breath catch in her throat, and she once more leans back to look up at you. “Do you mean that, Donovan?” she asks.

“Yeah.” You smile at her. “That's what friends are for, hm?”

She closes her eyes and lays her head back on your chest. “And a good friend you are to me, Donovan,” she murmurs. “Perhaps the best I have had.”

You're not sure how long the two of you are sitting that way- you just don't feel like turning to check the clock- but a little snore from the pony alerts you that she's fallen asleep. Briefly you consider carrying her back to her wagon, but realize that you'd barely fit inside, let alone be able to place her on her bed without dropping her sixteen different ways... so instead you gently lay her down on the couch, get your spare blanket and pillow and tuck her in, gently slipping the pillow beneath her head. Then you turn off the living-room light and are about to head for your bedroom when something makes you stop and turn back around.

There's a sliver of pale white light coming in through the window from the streetlight outside, and it's laying across Trixie. The light seems to pick up every single one of the fine hairs in her mane and frames her face gently, showing the barest trace of a smile on her lips.

There's been plenty of times you've thought of Trixie as cute, or adorable, or sweet. But this is the first time you've ever come to see her as beautiful.