Reinventing Trixie

It's 9:30 in the evening and you're helping Trixie finish packing up the stage. It's hard to hear anything above the clopping of hooves and the talking of excited ponies. The last show of the run ended ten minutes ago, but the crowd is still there- talking excitedly with each other, a few asking for autographs. And as soon as you and she are done, Trixie is all too happy to sign a handful of flyers and other paraphernalia held out by happy audience members.

With a soft chuckle, you remember her disappointment with the somewhat paltry crowds at the first showing. You reassured her that, being an unknown- in this area, anyway- act in a sleepy resort town on the tail-end of the busy season wasn't going to get you the biggest reception on day one... but wowing the crowds would net much more positive buzz during the second and third days. And tonight's sold-out turnout had definitely proven you right.

Trixie is practically hopping towards you. Her grin is infectious, and you don't even pretend you can keep it from spreading across your face in return. “So, you were right, Donovan,” she admits in a lilting voice. “I'd say today was definitely an improvement in attendance.”

You share a laugh as she helps you lock the stage back in place. Your permit for the rotunda is good through tomorrow, so there's nothing wrong with leaving the wagon for the night and returning to your hotel room. Along the way you stop for some pizza- mushroom for you, daffodil and sour cream for her- and then retire to your room for the night. “Did you get the entire show on video, Donovan?” she asks, before levitating a slice of pizza to her mouth.

“Sure did.” You take a swig of soda. “Good thing I thought to put the tripod up on a table. There were a few ponies who were actually jumping up and down during the dartboard trick.”

“That one went over better than I expected. Maybe we should expand on it. I can't wait to get back home and....” She pauses. “Huh.”

You pause in chewing. “Hmh?”

“I think that's the first time I've used the word 'home' in... quite a while, actually.” She shrugs and smiles. “But anyway,” she continues, levitating up her own cup of soda, “a toast to us. I think together we have the ability to really bring the crowds to their hooves- and feet- like nopony else.”

You grin, tapping your cup to hers. “And make them beg for more.”

(-)

You've thought it before, but Trixie has proven it to you: This mare is really, really behind in her knowledge of human technology.

That's not to say that she can't learn, of course, as you're finding out while standing in the laptop aisle of your favorite electronics store. She's picking up on the terminology fairly quickly- the words “memory drive” only came out of her mouth in that order once- and she's working out your basic explanations of how the various parts function with aplomb. For somepony whose experience with tech only went so far as a television until she chose to call you, she's managing fairly well.

As you watch her glance between a pair of placards describing the various benefits of two different models of laptop, you go down the aisle a bit to look around. To be honest, the line between “human tech” and “Equestria tech” has really begun to blur the last few years; you can't find anything with a transmitter or antenna that doesn't have a magically-aligned resonance lattice these days, and thaumatic-charge reservoirs outdo lithium-ion batteries by twenty-five percent for things that have heavy power draw. Never mind the great leaps in transportation....

“Donovan?” Trixie's voice interrupts your thoughts. “What do you think of this one?”

You go to her side and have a look. It's not a bad unit, all told; it's got all the modern bells and whistles, it's reasonably powerful and fairly lightweight, the guide specifically mentions an arcano-reactive touchpad so she won't need to use her hooves or a stylus on it, and best of all- it's on sale. It'd be an easy task to get it working with your wireless router once you got it home. “Looks good,” you tell her. “It ought to be able to get things done for you for a good while. Ready to drop the hammer on it?”

“No, because that would void the warranty.” She gives you a sly grin as you chuckle at the joke. “Yes, I think I'm ready to make a purchase.”

She brings a boxed unit up to the registers, pulls out her credit card- custom-emblazoned with her cutie mark, of course; not many ponies pass up that option, that you've seen anyway- and finishes the sale, and then you both head out towards the bus stop. She busies herself with the instruction manual during the ride, and once you get back home she's quick to get the laptop out and start charging it up. While that's going on, she flips through the various other paraphernalia that came with the computer. “Huh,” she murmurs, stopping on one leaflet in particular- a game advertisement. “I think they may be marketing this to the wrong pony.”

Splashed across the back of the ad is an artistic rendition of several species geared up in modern combat attire. “Worlds At War 3: Combined Ops” is printed along the top in a military-stencil font. You were actually surprised to read once that more than a few ponies played games like this- though they typically selected the “no gore” option whenever available and tended to gravitate towards support roles, rather than frontline combat.

Trixie doesn't seem much the gaming type to you, though, which leaves you wondering why she's examining the leaflet so intently. “You know,” she says after a moment, “this was probably the most difficult thing to understand about humans.”

“Video games? Badly-done advertisements? Glossy paper?”

She snickers and shakes her head. “War, actually. Or... your dual nature about it.” She lays the pamphlet down on the coffee table. “We ponies aren't exactly new to the concept; it's believed that before the rise of the Alicorns, the pegasi had a military society not too far off from some early human ones. And, of course, there's the griffons and their mandatory service for fledglings. But it's always struck me how good you humans are at it, how you can embrace it and yet hate it at the same time.”

“You know, I think it was just a few months after the Discovery that all the pony psychologists and philosophers asked their human counterparts that, and we basically said 'we can't figure it out either'.” You chuckle.

“Well, nopony will ever say that your own philosophers never tried to work it out.” She gives you a smile as she repacks the assorted packing materials into the box. “I remember there being a lot of talk early on, about how ponies couldn't possibly trust a species so capable of violence. I'm ashamed to say I agreed with them at first, until I saw one of the TDRC's 'Let's Have A Look' films.”

You're unfamiliar with the acronym. “TDRC?”

“Trans-Dimensional Relations Council. Princess Celestia set it up shortly after the Discovery, to help dispel rumors and falsehoods. Their films were usually shown as shorts before feature films and sent to classrooms as educational material.” Trixie puts the box aside and leans back on the couch next to you. “The film was apparently the third one in the series, filmed by a pony cultural exchange group, but it was the first one I'd seen. I wasn't sure what to expect- but it certainly wasn't three adorable children smiling into the camera.” She chuckles. “It just floored me how much they were like any foals you'd see in Equestria. Running around, enjoying themselves, not a care in the world. And I saw how curious they were about ponies, asking so many questions of the film crew. I remember thinking to myself 'How can these delightful creatures grow up to be the monsters some ponies think they are?'.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I remember seeing a documentary video that was shot in Trottingham. The foals were exactly the same way- when they filmed in a classroom, the teacher basically had to suspend class for the day because none of the kids could concentrate enough on it. She just let it turn into an extended Q&A session.”

Trixie grins. “I can't even pretend to be surprised,” she says, settling her legs underneath her body to lie down. “I'm sorry to say I never really met many humans during my tours through Equestria, though that was more due to my habit of keeping to myself. And I never found any particular reason to visit Earth.” Her expression becomes sheepish. “You may have picked up on that when I went with you that day we met.”

“Maybe a little.” You can't help but chuckle. “I have to say, though, knowing that... I'm even more surprised now that you approached me with your job offer. It can't have been easy.”

“Not really, no.” She gives you a slight but honest smile. “I've found since then, though, that it was worth the effort.”

You can't help but smile at that. “Well, if you don't mind me asking... what's your opinion on us humans and Earth now?”

“Strange, chaotic, mystifying, sometimes a little frightening, but overall... intriguing.”

You look at her for a moment. “So is that your opinion of Earth, or of humans?”

A cheeky grin spreads across her face. “Yes.”

You shake your head as you laugh. “I walked right into that one, didn't I?”

“Wide-eyed and smiling.” She nickers. “Let's have some lunch while we're waiting for this to charge up. I've been aching to try those four-cheese enchiladas.”

“Sure.” You follow along behind her into the kitchen, thinking. It seems that every time you talk to this mare, you learn more about her- and every time you learn more about her, you like her even more.

(-)

Trixie seems to like surprising you with unexpected suggestions now and then. This one's a doozy, though. “You want me in the act with you?”

“Hmh, there's your self-depreciation kicking in again.” She chuckles. “I'm serious, Donovan. You have a good stage presence when we practice, you know the act as well as I do, and you can certainly be funny when you try. Some of the ideas I've had really need two bodies on the stage to pull off well, and since I have a reputation as being a little... well, dour, you can play off of that.”

You consider this. “What about the behind-the-scenes stuff?”

“We've practically got that automated now, don't we? And you can move props just as effectively while on-stage with me as from behind the stage. If we work it right, we can make it all a part of the show.”

You look down at the MC/AC converter you were in the middle of installing in her wagon. The old one was giving out, and with the profits from the Mareheim show, you could finally afford a decent replacement. You go quiet for a moment as you finish hooking up the leads to the thaumatic storage crystal. “I need to think about it,” you tell her. “I'm not as comfortable in front of crowds as you. I'm a lot more used to being off-camera, so to speak.”

You expect her to argue her case at least a bit more. Instead, she gives you an understanding smile and gently puts a hoof on your knee. “Certainly, Donovan,” she tells you. “I can understand that. I just think you're holding yourself back.” She leans back. “I'll tell you what. I'll write out two of the ideas I've had for duo tricks, and we'll practice them on-camera. Then tell me what you think and if you would like to give them a try before an audience. Our next couple of shows will likely get about the same attendance as Mareheim did, so that would be a good time to see how you feel in front of a crowd if you decide you'd like to go through with it. Deal?”

You open your mouth to argue against it, but nothing comes out. It's an entirely fair and reasonable offer, and the only thing keeping you from agreeing readily is your own discomfort with being the center of attention. And all this time I've been working to help Trixie break her bad habits... don't I owe it to her to let her return the favor?

“...okay. Deal.” You shake her hoof. “Good!” she exclaims with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, I do believe it is lunchtime, and I'm going to go heat up some of that leftover macaroni and cheese. Do you want some?”

“Sure.”

“All right, then. Come in as soon as you're done, I'll have a bowl waiting.”

“Sure thing.” And as she leaves, you watch her go for a moment, then return to installing the converter. And you can't help wonder exactly when the precise moment was that this turned from a professional relationship into a true friendship. Try as you might, you can't pick out a single moment that cinched it- it's been gradual, building understandings and working through issues together.

And you decide that it doesn't really matter, at the end of the day. Trixie is your friend. You're more than okay with that.

(-)

It's 6:45PM and you're tugging at the collar of your dress shirt nervously. You're still not sure how it is you agreed to do this, but here you are, sitting on a bench, getting ready for your first live performance on-stage with Trixie. It's only for about seven minutes of a forty-minute act, sure, but still- first-time jitters are entirely valid in this situation.

Trixie notices, and walks up to you. “Nervous?” she asks gently.

“I almost feel like I'm about to go out in front of a firing squad, not a bunch of ponies.”

She gently pats your shin with the side of her foreleg, careful not to smudge any dust from her hoof on your nice, clean dress pants. “I felt like that once, too, you know,” she tells you. “So, a little trick my parents passed along to me when I was first learning the trade: In your mind, envision that it is only you and I out there. That the audience is only a painted backdrop, that their sounds are nothing but a recording.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, building the illusion in your mind. “Backdrop. Recording. Okay... I think I can work with that.”

“I know you can, Donovan.” She hops onto the bench next to you and gives your cheek a gentle nuzzle. She's never done that before, and it feels nicer than you might have thought. “Now, let's go get ready for our... practice run-through,” she tells you.

The show starts off much the same as the last one did, though you did notice that here in Neighperville, your first-day turnout is a fair bit better than Mareheim had been. Maybe word has been spreading already? Your thoughts are interrupted when you realize your cue is about to come up, and you wait expectantly.

“...oh, well, I suppose I'll need the help of my assistant with this. Oh, Donovan?”

Just a practice run. Nobody here but Trixie and me. It doesn't stop you from feeling a lump in your throat as you walk out, trying not to show that you're shaking a little. But... is that applause? Just a little, but there's some ponies out in the audience are clapping or stomping at your entrance.

Okay. Okay. You can deal with this. Backdrop. Recording. Just you and Trixie.

And the most hilarious, unbelievable thing is that it's working. You slip so easily into the routine that you don't even have to tell yourself to forget the crowd- it's like they've faded into non-existence. You do look their way a few times, such as during the card trick, where she's shuffling the deck through the air, and then into her hat... and then levitates the spare deck out from your sleeve in a long stream of flapping cards, making it look as though it had gone from her hat to there. You even nail the “how'd that happen?” look as you pretend to search through your sleeve for some evidence, holding it open for the audience to see. But it's still all play-acting to you, just that practice run again.

It's when your part in the act finally ends and Trixie sends you off the stage that reality re-enters your mind... and you realize you're being applauded again, heartily this time. And you stop for just a moment to give a smile and a wave to the audience before you hop down off the stage and back into the shadows.

And you have to admit it... that applause feels good.

Trixie is not above teasing you after the show is over. “Told you so, told you so,” she chants in a sing-song voice, giving you the biggest grin you've ever seen on her face. “Come on, Donovan, tell me how it felt! Tell me how it felt when they applauded you off the stage!”

“Okay, okay! It felt....” You pause for a moment, searching for words. “Like... a jolt of energy right up my spine. Like I was making out with a live wire, like... ugh! I can't describe it, it was too intense.”

She chuckles. “It's okay, Donovan. I know just what you mean. I felt the very same thing the first time I went on the stage. And the second. That rush is one of the main reasons I perform.”

“Man. That....” You run your fingers through your hair. “That was amazing. You were right... it was easy to treat them like a backdrop to get over my nervousness.”

“The Grrrrreat and Powerful Trixie knows all! Even how to get neophyte illusionists over their stage fright.”

“Your most impressive feat yet.” You kneel down and pull her into a gentle hug, which she returns eagerly. “So, I have an on-stage assistant now?” she asks playfully.

“I do believe so,” you answer in the same way.

(-)

Wasn't it just last year that you were eyeing your bills with trepidation and considering going back to waiting tables? It's hard to remember now. Five shows you and Trixie have done together, each one more complex and showy than the last, and those bits have been rolling in. Your bills are on auto-pay now, those horrid, colorful envelopes no longer violating the sanctity of your mailbox, and your bank account practically sings with its fullness. You're by no means fabulously wealthy, but it's been a long time since you've felt so financially secure.

At the moment you're in the garage, helping Trixie break down her stage for maintenance. Complex machinery needs to be tended to regularly, lest it fail when you need it most; wires, cables and springs all come out to be examined and replaced as required. The two of you are chatting over the work- she's interested in having a couple of shows here on Earth, playing to primarily human audiences instead of pony ones. There's a couple of set-pieces she's come up with that might not play well to her species, but would be more likely to engage yours. “What I really want to do,” she tells you, “is come up with an act that appeals to both differently.”

“Well, it's doable,” you answer, twisting a ratchet wrench back and forth to loosen a light fixture. “Tricky, but doable. Just a matter of finding that sweet spot between 'scary to ponies' and 'boring to humans'.”

“Curse your kind and your natural aggressiveness.” She grins to show she's kidding, before turning her attention back to the power cord she's unthreading. “Hm. What's this thing stuck on?”

You come over and have a look. “Dunno. It's one of the ones we put in together, though. I thought we'd kept it clear of all the moving parts.”

“Nothing saying it couldn't have shifted, though. It could have gotten caught in a hinge or spring.” She gives it a couple of more tugs with her magic. “Maybe if I go under-”

There's a sudden creak of wood and metal, a harsh “snap”, and something springs up from the rear part of the stage. You look up just in time to see a jagged piece of wood flying straight towards your head.