Chapter One: The Proposal.
Countess Coloratura. A name renowned all across Equestria. From Las Pegasus where her name is held up in brilliant neon lights, to the city of Manehattan she calls home. The stars in the skies twinkle and shimmer all the same wherever you find yourself in Equestria: but her star shines the brightest. A pop star—a songstress of the highest caliber—with her songs playing at every young girl's (sometimes boys) birthday party, serving as a siren song to every dance floor, blaring in every car, and soft-core MIDI remixes playing in every elevator. She is adored the world over, and envied in small pockets wherever you go.
Not only a pop star, but a well meaning philanthropist? So flushed with money that most wouldn't even begin to fathom what to do with it, and she uses it to better communities, support small business, and donate to charities of all creeds? It's enough to make people go green with envy. On top of all that, she's effortlessly kind and genuine. Granted, the genuine trait was more so a recent bit of growth after a startling turn in her career... But still, her dearest fans knew that the heart was just under the surface.
It's no stretch to say so many wish they could be her. And it's even less of a stretch to say even more want to be with her. Effortlessly talented, divine in her natural beauty; Coloratura—Rara to her fans and friends—is deserving of her position as Equestria's Super-star Sweetheart.
"—once more, thank you for the spectacular show, Miss Rara," the rapturous applause nearly drowned out the host's words even with the help of his mic. He stressed upon the name after receiving sizable jeers from the audience when he had his last slip of a tongue calling her 'The Countess'. Only fake fans and posers would call the sweet Rara by that name still, and it was a harsh lesson he'd carry with him for the rest of his career. "Now I hate to badger you on and on, but I really must ask you a few things."
While she lightly huffed out the last riggers of her performance, sweat glistened at the base of her cream-tone forehead. Rara swept the sensation away with a swipe of her wrist across her forehead, fluffing the bangs of her indigo hair in the process before she moved to settle into her seat. For such a spectacular star appearing on a live broadcast, she kept her attire modest; but she seemed to always do so. Rara dressed no better than just a girl you'd see in passing on the city street; average slacks, a simple blouse. While in most likelihood they were designer pieces, they certainly smacked of her down-to-earth imaging.
"Badger away, I'm always happy to share," even with a few lingering tired gasps from her performance moments ago, Rara responded with the utmost poise and sincerity.
The host took a moment to adjust his talking points while the audience broke into another cheer for Rara; this is what the studio brought her on for after all. When they finally started to simmer down—in no small part due to Rara herself fanning her palm in their direction—he cleared his throat to start. "Rara... Pop icon. Activist... What's next?"
"I have been thinking about getting into acting," a few cheers erupted from the crowd, but Rara was quick to raise a hand to settle them so she could go on, "I don't personally think I have the chops for it. But—hey—you just have to put yourself out there sometimes."
"I know I can't wait to see you on the silver screen. But, speaking of 'putting yourself out there'..." Rara's blood ran cold at those words. A leading set of words she had heard a dozen times over in a dozen over interviews. It never got any easier, even if she learned to now keep her expression completely unreadable. On the outside, she waited for the question with the softest smile across her muzzle; but inside, her heart thumped at a breakneck pace.
Trixie Lulamoon. A name that lives in envied infamy no matter where you go in Equestria. Whether you're in Applewood where her artistry is captured for the silver screen, or in Las Pegasus where her name is a headliner at every major stage, you have heard the name Trixie Lulamoon. More likely you've heard with all manner of prefixtures and additives before it, as is her want to do. Rumor has it that she has that requirement be in every one of her contracts: that her name must be printed with at least two glorifying words about her. Great, powerful, magnanimous, enchanting, beautiful, alluring, spectacular, talented; the list goes on and on. Worst yet? Not a one can actually be said to be false.
She is all that and more. Perhaps one of the greatest performers of her generation, Trixie commands the stage and the screen with her every movement and spoken word. She's a diva within her field, but she has more than earned that right some would say. An illusionist of the highest order, an actress beyond her peers (if she even had someone she would call a peer), and jaw dropping in her beauty. She's the triple-threat everyone loves to hate; and everyone hates to love. Though not everyone has such turbulent feelings towards her. There are just as many who simply admire her and see her as a take charge sort that climbed her way to the top through her own grit.
It's simple to do magic in a world brimming with it. But Trixie Lulamoon is no mere magician. She is an illusionist; one who performs spectacular feats of prestidigitation and sleight of hand with nary a spell sparked from her elegant arched horn. She is a master of magika—as she calls it with a flourished accent nobody can quite pin down—not magic.
It's hard to not see the Great and Powerful Trixie and not lose yourself in those wandering thoughts. Thoughts of that whirlwind life and what it must be like to be the pinnacle of your craft, and what it must feel like to have people miles around yearn for you.
"—And that, my darling audience, is how you pull a hat out of a rabbit!" The silver-haired vixen knelt low as she allowed her hare companion hop from her palms off to its handler off stage. The audience cheered amidst their stunned stares, still befuddled by the odd display of sleight of hand. With no spell used, how did that top hat now adorning the blue mare's head come free of the rabbit's floppy ears? A mystery only the illusionist herself knew for certain, and she was never one to divulge her methods.
Trixie rolled her fingers along the lid of her top hat as it settled neatly against the lustrous strands of her silver-hair, settling into a lounge on the couch opposite of the host. The one running the show was still utterly gobsmacked at the wild display; he all but had a backstage seat to perhaps catch the trick to the sleight of hand, but he saw not a note that would betray what he saw. Eventually he shook the stun free so he could continue the show; the cameras only ran for so long after all.
"I just—wow," he still had to shake off some of his amazement when he addressed Trixie, "The amount of work you must put in to not only fool an audience, but the people not in the stands."
"The key to a great trick is to make it nearly indistinguishable to real magic," Trixie flourished a hand out, producing a single coin to dance across her fingers, "But obviously, the difference between real magic and mine..." as the coin flittered to Trixie's pinkie, it tipped off the edge and vanished into thin air, "Is that mine takes effort. Hours of practice and endless stumbles towards perfection... Not that the Great and Powerful Trixie ever stumbles."
The parlor trick was enough to set the crowd to cheer once more, and Trixie thanked them with a seated bow. "I mean, the proof is in the pudding, obviously. But, speaking of hours of practice, that probably doesn't give you a lot of personal time, so I gotta ask..." Trixie tipped the brim of her top hat up and around the curve of her horn just enough to obscure her previously smirking features. A glower snarled against her muzzle and fire flickered in her now obscured eyes. It was always an ambush of an interview, and they always found some manner to ask. Still, she'd never let on how much it irked her, so she steadied herself behind the veil of her hat before letting it slide back to greet her fate; the most fake of grins etched on her face.
"Are you dating anyone?"
They navigated the questions most expertly as they always had. A misdirect of a flower popping free from Trixie's blazer—subsequently drawing attention to her cleavage in the process—here, and a table-flip of asking if the host had someone waiting for them at home. The audience ate it all up, and they even got a lovely aside about how one host was trying to turn things around with his wife. They were both putting in an effort to find that spark again, and they know love takes time. The crowd was smitten by the sentiment, and Rara was graced with a safe out as cheers turned to adoring coos for the sappy story.
Soon after the gentle pleasantries and brief chatter on the next guest appearance—an appearance that would likely not happen for some time after this inconvenience—, Rara excused herself to her home. Manehattan wasn't the only city she exclusively called home, and she had a little place to call her own in every major city she found herself in. But her Manehattan penthouse was what felt the most like her true home. While she didn't indulge much in eccentric living or fancy possessions, the penthouse overlooking the whole of the bustling city was something she did splurge a little on.
Though, it was not entirely her idea to do so.
"I should fire my agent..." Trixie nearly snarled the idea, arms crossed with one lofting a flute of wine between two fingers. Standing at the window wall overlooking the glittering milling of life still abuzz in this sleepless city, Trixie continued to huff between the sips of her acrid wine. The city lights so far below looked almost like listless fireflies aimlessly drifting to-and-fro, and it oddly calmed the illusionist. If she ever decided to settle down somewhere, this is the sort of place she'd pick. Somewhere to watch all those busy souls rushing about to make something of themselves, or get a coffee to some weirdo that wanted one at two in the morning. Maybe that's why she talked Coloratura into buying it over that quaint little loft uptown.
"You don't mean that. He does a good job considering who he works for," Rara chided Trixie from her sofa between her own sips of a dark liqueur. While Trixie was furious, Rara was more wound-up. The interview was an hour ago, but she still felt every knot and twist it gave her in the small of her neck. "You know how these talk-shows go. They just love to ambush you on that one question nobody else has gotten out of you." Cascades of indigo strands flowed over the back of the couch as Rara slumped her head back with a tired huff.
"Well... It's still not nice," Rara nearly spat up when she heard the almost playground response Trixie said, "I mean... Coloratura, look at me," the Great and Powerful illusionist spun around and uncrossed her arms to give her friend an unabashed view of her splendor.
Rara didn't really need a refresher on how Trixie looked, but she still cocked a turn on the sofa to take in the offered display. Sure enough, it was exactly what Rara had come to expect: sheer confident beauty radiating from the sapphire mare. All the more of a sight with the night sky serving as a backdrop for her, as well as the casual toss to Trixie's once formal attire. The slick blazer and buttoned top Trixie had walked into the penthouse with were loosened, unfurled, and left all the more relaxed in such a way that it gave her this air of charm Rara couldn't quite put her finger on.
"Am I not Great? Does my splendid body not command Power?" Trixie rattled off what she already confidently believed, "And yet these stooges insist on asking moi if I am single?"
Rara at first only offered a kind smile and a knowing nod. She looked over Trixie for a good moment to truly appreciate just what the illusionist had to say. She couldn't argue Trixie wasn't beautiful, and she wouldn't even if she could. Who tells someone they aren't pretty when they're looking for validation? That would just be beyond mean. "I know the feeling, really," the songstress murmured before turning to look at her ceiling, searching for answers there, "I mean... I can handle a lot of questions when they come up. What happened to your last agent? Were you lip-syncing that last concert? Did you get that letter with my underpants in it?" All of them tired questions, and were all treated with the same level of boring repetition when Rara rattled them off, "But... I don't know what it is about that question, but it knocks the winds out of my sail."
"All of those things you listed are just part of the territory, that's why," Trixie sauntered her way over to Rara, polishing off her wine with a final swig before letting it settle on a passing counter, "Suspicion, conspiracy, lustful fans with no sense of boundaries. We are professionals of the highest tier, Coloratura," Rara sidled over for Trixie to drape herself onto the couch with a satisfying flop, "But that means something as mundane as 'who you are dating' because all the more personal, and all the more tantalizing for vultures to know."
There was truth to that. In an odd way, the more bombastic ideas become normal when you're so famous, but then the most otherwise normal facts become more scandalous. Rara had experienced that quite a few times over her career; like that time her shopping list made front page news. Next thing she knew, she couldn't even buy her favorite yogurt because it was flying off the shelf! It was a pretty rough month for her, but a great month for that company. They even offered her a sponsorship, which she politely declined.
"The Great and Powerful Trixie is not exactly wanting for partners, obviously," Trixie defended herself from an invisible accusation, which only made Rara titter softly, "There is not a day where I don't have someone throwing themselves at me. My social handle is always flooded with boys' hogs and sodden panties," Not that she sees much of it as her poor agent is left in charge of her social media platforms, "If I wished to have a willing partner, I could very easily have one." Trixie set her intent glare into the gentle opals of Rara's eyes, trying her best to impress her point upon her. Though, just as all the confidence radiated from Trixie, it just as soon melted into a puddle as Trixie began to flush just beneath her coat. "I just... Don't feel like it, is all..." Trixie slumped back with a pout.
Rara was in roughly the same boat, in all honesty. She was still between managers, so she largely didn't have the same filter of 'unique' fan interactions that Trixie had. At times she would debate shuttering her online accounts or passing it off to some third-party handler; but the wholesome, genuine praise from adoring fans did outweigh the more interesting offerings. So, she continued to hesitate and weather the unsolicited crotch-shots and 'tribute' videos. Not that anyone doing that would ever be her type, or that she even indulged in looking at them for more than a cursory second. Some names and faces flittered to mind—charming people she wouldn't be against coupling herself with, for sure—but she was not exactly interested in doing that at this very moment.
Far less so when she's being hounded over the matter.
Neither of them were props or simple idols to be ogled at or meticulously scrutinized. They were women with their own desires and freedom. If the limelight came with something they both couldn't stand, it was the probing into their personal lives. If they were all to just leave them alone, then maybe they'd get their answers when they were good and ready. But they both knew those questions would never end just like that. It was the Holy Grail for paparazzi as well as any talk-show host: the break the story on a celebrity being in a relationship. They all just ate it up. Nothing else would... sate them...
A stillness settled in Rara as gears ticked in her head. Looking up towards the ceiling at the white void only broken up by the light fixtures dotting here and there, the songstress considered that very idea. The impossibility of stopping all the probing... Until they got what they wanted. No, it seemed impossible, but what if there was a way...? Gradually, a gleeful smile rose from Rara's muzzle, and her ears batted with excitement. Oh, this could work.
Just as soon as the idea only barely began to bake in Rara's head, the songstress tossed over to look headlong at Trixie. Trixie continued to nurse her draft of wine, tilting it to her lips even as she met Rara's beaming stare. It was an obvious solution, and brilliant in its simplicity.
"Will you date me, Miss Lulamoon?" Trixie near filled her glass back with the very wine as everything in her seized up at the question.
Rara greeted her surprise with sheer glee, an innocent smile broad on her face; while Trixie felt her heart pattering at the back of her throat, and every hair of her body pricking as a flush surged just beneath her features.
"I...! S-So... So sudden...! What?"
There are very few instances where the world collectively holds still. There are times when a great tragedy rocks the world; like when National-Terrorist Tirek announced his return by unleashing a torrent of magic in the center of a busy town. While nobody was harmed or worse, the damage and sheer terror it instilled shook Equestria at large. At times, a grand, historical moment centuries in the making finally occurs, and the world collectively cheers. Such a time being when Princess Celestia announced the long-awaited return of her sister from parts-unknown. The world was aflutter with cheer, tears, merrymaking at the news for months. Debatably, they still celebrate considering what a smoke-show the new princess turned out to be.
But one instance of history decimated those paltry moments of minor significance. It downright made them look like page four stories in the newspaper; tucked away at the corner and relegated to a two-paragraph blurb. A moment so grandiose, news networks all across Equestria and beyond cut to it as it was in progress. A snapshot of history so momentous, there were whispers it would be a national holiday by week's end. The world stopped, holdings its breath like never when the press-release of the century hit the airways.
The day Countess Coloratura announced her secret two-year romance with Trixie Lulamoon.
"Will you date me, Miss Lulamoon?"
Ringing. Ringing and the thunderous stampede of a heartbeat rumbling in her ears—dull, numb, but impossible to ignore—was all Trixie could hear. She felt her skin burn from the tip of her nose and down across her chest as her throat felt both hollow and stuffed with cotton at the same time. She was a wash of contradictions, and she couldn't even tell how that made her feel. Was this really happening?
Did Coloratura really...? Well, who could blame her? And it wasn't like Trixie thought the lyricist wasn't pretty. But... Trixie's fingers flexed against her pattering heart, trying to squeeze sense into it so she could at least breath for a second. When she finally did manage to pump a fleeting gasp of air into her burning lungs, she stared headlong into Rara's eyes, meeting her still blissful, bright smile.
"D-Do you want to run that by me again?"
"Will you date me, Miss Lulamoon?" Rara repeated herself like it was nothing. It was so easy and so naturally flew from her lips like she was asking for the wine to be passed. But there was no wine to be passed. If there was, Trixie would have forgone her flute and just start mainlining from the cask. Maybe that would have stopped the flushing, or at least give it a plausible excuse beyond the obvious. "It's perfect, Trixie!"
They were perfect? Surely this girl was trying to blow a gasket out of the illusionist! And she was well on her way to make smoke and steam start billowing out of the sapphire ears of the stunned actress. "I was thinking about what you said... And it hit me!" Rara's joy was palpable as she clapped her hands, as if she was trying to summon some thought-board that Trixie was meant to see. Beyond the fact Trixie was just seeing her entire life flash before her eyes in a waking coma, Rara was not so gifted as to be a unicorn; make-believe was all she had. "You don't want people badgering you about your relationships, and I don't want people badgering me about my relationships. But we both know that's not going to just happen. So... How do we solve it?"
Rara was talking to a rock. A rock filled with molten slag bound to burst any moment. Though Rara paid it no mind, or perhaps she simply didn't grasp the heart racing state she left Trixie in. I mean, it was Trixie after all. She never cracked under pressure, so surely a playful little question wouldn't leave her catatonic or questioning her entire life choices up to that point. "What if we pretended we were a couple?"
A switch flicked in Trixie at that magical word. A word crafted by her ilk to dominate the world of screen and stage: pretend. Her ears flicked to attention as beads of her blush faded away with each passing word. "We announce we've been a couple for a while now..."
"We've been seen together quite often enough..." Trixie joined on the train of thought, already clicking into place for this masterful scheme.
"...And we simply wished to preserve our privacy..." Rara rolled on with her scheme with Trixie nodding along with a most devious smirk coming together.
"Yet now we realize our fans deserve the truth..." The flute of wine found its way back into Trixie's hand for her to sip from, now fully indulged in this grand design.
The tingling joy Rara radiated brought the cream of her coat to almost prick as she vibrated in her seat. She never did anything so devious, but she was excited to have Trixie's clear vote of confidence in this. If there was anyone the songstress could trust to reliably pull off a masterstroke of an 'illusion', it would be The Great and Powerful Trixie. It was like competing on a cooking show and being partnered with renowned pâtissier Pinkie Pie. It almost felt like cheating... And if so, then maybe Rara should cheat more often, because it felt intoxicating!
"The audience will get their closure, the paparazzi will get their scoop, and no interviewer will ever be able to catch us with that question again..."
"Meanwhile..." Trixie swirled her backwashed wine between her fingers akin to some diabolic villain, "We'll be free to privately continue pursuing our romantic interests unabated..." And there was the prestige of the plan. It was the most common trick in an illusionist's arsenal—even the most petty of street magicians wielded it with ease: the misdirect. It took on many different forms depending on the performer, but the basic formula remained the same. You keep the audience's attention on the trick itself, so they never notice what the hands are doing. The ball was never under the cup, it was always up the sleeve. They watched the deck shuffle so meticulously, that they never saw the assistant slip behind them to plant the ace in their pocket. Trixie learned it all before she could crawl...
"Or, just be free of the questions. That's a good enough reason too," Rara added, which Trixie hurriedly nodded along to. They weren't looking for partners or anything, after all. It would be enough to just not be bothered, obviously.
"It's downright devious, Coloratura. I'm surprised I hadn't devised it myself," a slip of wine passed against Trixie's lips as she considered the plan, "However... This will no doubt draw a different sort of attention to us," the questions would stop, but the hunt for them out and about together on dates would be the new hit-piece for every vulture with a camera.
"Right... I did think about that..." Rara curled against the sofa, pulling her legs loose against her chest, "But I feel like that'll be far more manageable than the badgering. I mean, it'll be a little much for a few weeks, and there may be a few lingering photographers a while after..."
"But... Once they get their pound of flesh, they'll get tired and move on," Trixie rounded off the thought, given a nod from Rara.
It was true enough. Once these pesky little gnats drew their blood, they'd move on to a new, more tantalizing target. A few candid shots of the two out on a date, some late-night images of Trixie lounging in Rara's home, maybe a snap of Rara sitting in private seating at one of Trixie's shows; it'll go on for weeks, maybe a month or two. But with the secret out, the well will become old news, and the excitement will simmer. Eventually, it won't even be printable on a second-hand rag magazine.
A few months of bother seemed a lot better than an eternity of snooping and probing questions into their personal lives.
"Countess Coloratura... I would love to date you..." Rara smirked a playful look at Trixie's flourish of a response, seeing her bow like some posh prince with wine delicate to balance in their hand.
"Perfect! But..." Rara raised an objecting finger, letting it tap at the tip of her muzzle as she considered their next step, "Before we make any sort of announcement... We should probably do a little prep-work about how we should play our parts in public..."
A feat of masterful misdirect was now introducing the artistry of acting. Trixie was loving this plot more and more with each passing moment. A good charade called for poise, perfect, and most important of all: practice. You had to study your role down to the letter to really know how to do it. That's why Trixie's one-woman performance of "Les Misérables" was so well regarded. That and her use of magic to make a dozen copies of herself to fill the stage. If you asked Trixie, however, the magic was a means to an end; it was the magika of her performance that truly sold it!
"First, when we're 'dating', you should probably not call me Countess or Coloratura," Trixie was literally the only person Rara never corrected when she said that name. In a way, it grounded her in some small part. It was the name she had when she met Trixie, and it remained a part of who she was even if her fans moved away from it. Also... It just sounded charming the way the bombastic illusionist said it. It wasn't to praise her, it wasn't to collar her to her work, it was just her name when Trixie said it. In a way, it was oddly comforting.
But only Trixie could say it. Because nobody said it like Trixie.
"I see... A fair point. I've seen how your fans sic themselves upon fools who say otherwise..." Trixie saw the last show, she knew how things went outside of their private little meetings, "Very well... Rara."
It was just a single block of text backdropped by white on some social media platform. Questri, Maresplace, Neighersayer; nobody could really remember the exact site it was. Because not a second later, the news was spread across every space of the internet and being announced over every airway. The original post was copied by fan-accounts and bots across every platform like a roaring inferno. In moments it was trending wherever a hashtag could be found.
A text with a simple picture linked just beneath it.
"Just a quiet night in with my girlfriend Trixie Lulamoon. #Rara #Trixielulamoon #<3"
Trixie was all smiles, winking to the waiting audience with mirth and cheer; not letting on how masterful this scheme was about to go off. Her arm wrapped around the woman who posted it, who's expression was something not wholly there with the plan. Cheeks flushed a delicate pink beneath cream, and opal eyes were wide as saucers and brilliant with a luster as the picture was taken. The world devoured the endearing picture of two lovers enjoying one another's company.
They saw a cocksure Trixie proud of her 'catch', and a flustered Rara embarrassed to be 'shown off'. It was everything the silent shippers had thought it could look like. Unbeknownst to them, the picture was taken under a far different context.
Trixie Lulamoon, riding the high of their scheme coming to play.
Rara, her heart fluttering out of her control after hearing the way 'Rara' rolled off Trixie's lips.
Author's Note
The plot begins! I have many a twist and turn coming! Who knows what's to come? WHO KNOWS!?
But, uh... I might need to change the cover image... Maybe... I have backups though. But also, things might get a little hot and heavy soon, so... Keep that in mind. We might be needing to switch of the T to an M. Y'know what I'm sayin'? This guy does.
