Two Nights in Hoofington

A line of ponies, plus a zebra couple and a mule, had queued up before the Moffat Theater, shuffling in short lurches toward the ticket box. Casual conversation and one or two murmurs of actual excitement accentuated the warm evening air around the theater's facade. Their excitement came from the anticipation of a magic show and was taken up another few notches by the stylishly decorated teaser posters on either side of the ticket box. With bold lettering to act as an attention-grabber, some sparkles and fire to create a mesmerizing effect, and a superimposed side-view of a mysterious blue mare gazing out of the poster with one half-lidded eye, the artfully composed ad proclaimed:

Watch in AWE!

Watch and be AMAZED!

WITNESS the AMAZING MAGIC of … THE GREAT & POWERFUL TRIXIE!

Near the bottom was a mandatory sticker stating, “Two Nights Only,” followed by a list of locations to which she would be touring.

Brick, though … Hoofington had many an ornately garnished theater, but this one in particular was quite a bit smaller than the city's more renowned opera houses, and the district was just a little on the sordid side. It was one of those which welcomed small-time or out-of-town performers who didn't yet—or never would—attain the level of fame and praise that would elevate them to one of the grand, lavishly designed theaters with orchestra pits, versatile light setups, three or four levels of seating, and corridors graced with sculptures and paintings.

That was actually fine with tonight's performer despite her higher aspirations. This may not be the ideal location for the type of glory she saw herself deserving, but every great or powerful pony had to start somewhere, and the achievement would hardly be worth much if she didn't earn it. So … downtown's Moffat Theater it was.

Presently, the house manager was welcoming the attendees and thanking them for coming. Oh, they don't need to be thanked, thought the smug mare waiting patiently behind the stage's red velvet curtain. They'll soon see their admission was worth every bit.

As the house manager finally wrapped up his speech with an introduction of tonight's act, Trixie Lulamoon herself was feeling the excitement of another opportunity to display her magical prowess. Her eyes were wide and bright above a tight smile, her respiration had quickened, and her posture was straight and at attention, ready for anything. Before her nose, the curtain ruffled with movement. Her audience wouldn't be that grand, but be that as it may, there was no denying the perspiration-inducing fervor she felt from the anticipation of charming and bedazzling a multitude. She felt a few beads pop out on her coat.

And here … we … go! Rising to her hind legs and presenting a beaming smile, The Great and Powerful Trixie drank in the sight of her soon-to-be fans as the curtains parted to reveal them to her. As soon as the velvet folds were clear, a pyrotechnics display with tinted sparks which matched her body's color scheme burst to life, accentuating her onstage appearance with silver and blue flames that sizzled furiously. It was quickly accompanied by a declamatory, but not too extravagant, fanfare. The music may have been canned, and she would have preferred some lightning flashes, but it was far better than what any common showpony would have been able to put together.

Nonetheless, she reveled in the attendance, letting her immature side seep in a little as she thought: Yippee, so many ponies! Yes, this would be the result of booking a theater for my amazing shows. Booking theaters was a little more impersonal than rolling into a town, but the turnout was always bigger and she couldn't argue with the acoustics an actual building offered. She was, after all, The Great and Powerful Trixie: a deservedly impressive mare of the magical arts.

Once the applause had ebbed, she dropped to all fours and stalked through fog that was drifting in from either side of the stage and gathering in the middle. Trixie silently approached the lip of the stage where the fog spilled over while giving her admirers an appreciative smirk. She appeared to be standing on an incorporeal floor, and the quiet that followed her flashy appearance was eerie.

“Fillies and gentlecolts,” she announced, voice echoing to all corners the auditorium, “we all know what you've come for, however … the feats that The Great and Powerful Trixie is capable of tend to be more than most ponies can handle. So before tonight's show commences, Trixie earnestly requests that all ponies with children who are easily frightened and anypony with a severe heart condition make their departure at this time.”

About one-point-five seconds of silence passed. Then the atmosphere was broken and her momentum halted when a heavy and abrasively boisterous voice shouted, “Does that mean we can go?”

The rude shout-out had come from what sounded like a senior pony, yet one who was full of obnoxious energy and therefore definitely not at risk of the heart failure she had just cautioned them about. He had yelled from one of the balconies overhead on Trixie's left. From the same location, a similar voice, husky with age, added, “No, you dummy! We're not technically senior citizens yet.”

Trixie tilted her head to see the two hunched and wrinkled old stallions glaring down at her with beady eyes. The first one finally responded to his partner: “We will be once this show is over!”

Both contemptuous ponies erupted into spirited laughter that reached every corner of the auditorium, but that was only one part of what made Trixie's face burn. A smattering of chuckles wafted up from her audience as well. MY audience, not theirs! she thought. How dare they interrupt! Aren't there rules against this? She scowled up at them. One sported a trapezoidal face that was accentuated by a huge, protruding chin, bristly gray eyebrows, and big, gaping eyes that made him look comically menacing. The shorter one with the huskier, wheezier voice had a round head, a bushy white mustache, and saggy eyelids that gave him a constant lazy squint.

“Hey, Stalldorf, it looks like we made her angry,” said the chin-and-eyebrows pony. “Do you think she'll storm off the stage?”

The shorter wheezy-voiced one replied with zest, “We're not that lucky!”

“DOHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO!” Their head bobbed and their hooves thumbed the banister as they chortled away at her expense.

Trixie was certain she could have them thrown out, but that would mean bringing everything to a halt before her act had even started. More importantly, the assemblage actually seemed to be enjoying their geriatric antics. If there was one thing that took higher priority than her own dignity, it was making certain her audience had a memorable experience to take home. Losing one's composure in the middle of a performance was simply the mark of an amateur. Very well, then; if the crowd is on their side to any extent, I will simply have to tolerate them. Not gonna love it, though.

“No early departures?” she continued as if nothing had occurred. “In that case, let the show begin!”

Again, one of the stallions asked loudly, “It's only beginning? We already feel like we've been here for hours!”

They burst into more nettlesome guffawing, stirring up a few more laughs from the seating. The Great and Powerful Trixie bit down on her smoldering temper and pressed on by rapidly assembling a tall rectangular box in the center of the stage.

She had learned that the best way to proceed was to begin with something impressive and to continue wowing the crowd with variety and surprises rather than trying to top every trick with increasingly bombastic ones, not that she couldn't have pulled that off as well. The old stallions were blessedly quiet now, though she could have sworn that as soon as she stepped into her vanishing box, one yelled, “Quick, lock the door!” When the box collapsed and she reappeared in a flash of sparks and smoke, she was welcomed back with applause that also happened to be underscored by high-volume snores that nearly overwhelmed the clopping. She sneaked a glance up at the balcony to see that the stallions' heads were drooped and were rising and falling as they slept though her show.

Oh, whatever. At least they won't be able to harass me anymore. I guess I should be glad they're geezers. They'd probably fall asleep at a racetrack.

She was content with this frame of mind for a maximum of three seconds.

WHY CAN'T THEY BE QUIET WHEN THEY SNORE!?

Horn aglow, she gathered up the fog that was rolling across the stage floor and made it rise up from where the vanishing box had folded. The effect was similar to watching a ghost rise from its grave. With no small amount of concentration, she shaped it into a featureless imitation of herself. Whispers of awe and admiration drifted up from the ponies gathered beneath her. She lifted her hat and cloak from her own body. Reaching into the hat with one foreleg, she retrieved a bouquet of roses before the articles of clothing floated across the stage and settled on Fog Trixie's insubstantial body.

Just then, her ears twitched. They were picking up the sounds of wake-up snorting and murmuring, punctuated by an exaggerated yawn. Her facial muscles tensed as she looked up to see the two old stallions peering over the balustrade at her.

“Oh, great, Saddler, now there're two of her,” Stalldorf said, making Trixie brace for the zinger she knew would follow.

The chin-and-eyebrows pony faithfully replied, “As if this couldn't get any worse!”

Trixie's suave movements belied the venomous glare she aimed at them as she gracefully handed the bouquet to her foggy twin while straining to maintain the mist puppet's shape. They bowed to one another and executed the first few steps of an elegant dance that was well-practiced in Hoofington. It paid to research the culture and history of every stop; the audience appreciated the nod to its heritage, and the showpony, in turn, was gratified. The dance ended with Fog Trixie galloping away from the real one and all about the stage, then racing back toward her to disperse into misty fingers, allowing the hat and cloak to fall back into place with a whooshing sound effect.

This part of her act, topped off with a graceful pose and an award-winning smile, was met with heavy praise from all over the auditorium. Music to the magician's ears until someone shouted over it.

Cupping his mouth between his hooves, Saddler shouted, “Hey, magic-lady! When you saw yourself in half, make sure you keep rigid, not lax.”

“Yeah!” the shorter stallion added with a nod. “Don't even get us started on how much this show lacks!”

The magic-lady ground her teeth and held back a snarl, but continued without losing face. Yet.

A few dust-sized particles had been lost from the enamel of her pearly whites while grinding them, but she smiled anyway and lit her horn, making the bouquet of flowers from her fog trick reappear in the air before her. A dose of magic, followed by a burst of flame, and the bouquet exploded into a fluttering shower of crimson petals. Her magic aura guided them into a variety of images that she rearranged every three seconds to give everypony time to enjoy the creative shapes without losing interest. Then the petals themselves burst into sparks. Naturally, another rude interjection soon followed.

“Next time, make sure you use white lilies,” Saddler suggested boisterously.

Stalldorf nudged his companion and agreed, “They'd be more appropriate for this show!”

“DOHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO…”

Trixie narrowed her eyes and grimaced at the way them as they laughed, their heads bobbing up and down like chickens. One more interruption … just one flipping more and I'll… “Everypony has seen magicians pull items out of their hats,” she stated primly. “But how many have you seen who managed to make six quarts of water appear out of thin, empty air?”

A few expectant murmurs traveled about before they were stomped out by…

“Why don't you make some vodka appear outta thin air?”

“Yeah, we could certainly use it!”

“DOHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO…” After the hush caused by her announcement, even the sounds of their fists enthusiastically hitting the banister could be heard with their chortling.

Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Trixie screamed in her head.

Distraction notwithstanding, she managed to pull the trick off, conjuring the water and snaking it through the air around her, then out over the audience as though it were a serpent made of liquid. As a finale, she cast it away, causing a light spray of inoffensive droplets to lightly drizzle her admirers. There were some grins and chuckling. Try that in Trottingham or Canterlot and the reaction wouldn't be so nice. Try it with children of any region and they loved it.

The pony named Saddler said to his partner, “Hey, I actually liked that trick.”

“You did?” Stalldorf cocked an inquisitive white eyebrow.

“Yeah, it was a lot shorter than the rest!”

This time, unfortunately, their guffawing and banister-thumping was too much for Trixie to take in silence. The few laughs they got from her audience hardly seemed to matter anymore. “Oh, that is it!” Her audience quieted down, focused now on her outburst. Aiming her slitted eyes up at the two elderly morons, she snapped, “Listen up, you two!” They gave her their beady-eyed attention. “The Great and Powerful Trixie and these very patient ponies, who, Trixie might add, paid for their admission, are getting sick and tired of your interruptions. We would all be grateful if you would put a stop this unpleasant and embarrassing nonsense!”

They glanced at each other before staring back at Trixie and responding in unison: “That's what we've been trying to do! DAHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO!”

The showmare brought her hoof to her face and groaned.

“They paid for their admission, did they?”

“We're all paying for it now!”

Trixie detected a waning enthusiasm from the crowd, even one or two frowns. Oh sweet Celestia, I slipped and I'm making everypony uncomfortable. Didn't I promise myself never to be this unprofessional again? But defeat equated to suicide. She would have to soldier onward and salvage her act, and if that wasn't feasible, tie it up in as satisfactory a manner as she could.

“Very well,” she declared proudly but calmly, ready to build up from her blunder. Stepping back into her flair-and-panache persona, she announced, “If you won't be silent, then Trixie shall silence all of you with a demonstration of sheer power! Prepare yourselves for the most dazzling magic trick ever witnessed by pony eyes!”

“It can't be better than the trick that got us here!”

“Yeah, we were tricked into coming!”

Her annoyance flared up again, but she channeled it this time into her latest spell. The result, though, was that her aggression showed through. Behind her, fireworks ignited and set off with a clamor of banging, whooshing, and sizzling, creating a brilliant wall of flames that turned the stage into a bursting nebula in fiery colors. Under her quick-witted magical guidance, the entire tapestry of sparkling rockets changed course and swirled up toward the roof of the theater like a kaleidoscope of fire. Some of them may have swooped a little close to the right-side balcony, but surely that was just a trick of the light. Seconds later, with a fresh surge of magic from Trixie's horn, another wave of fireworks sprang forth—these ones trailing silver, lavender, and powder-blue contrails—until the once-dim ceiling was awash in a storm of scintillating color. Trixie doubled her concentration and produced a framework of neon lines, bringing the controlled chaos to order within them as if she were filling up a giant coloring book. At last an image took shape: Trixie's beaming face, sparkling like crazy, surrounded by a wreath of fire.

The seated ponies were definitely amazed by the passionate display, but she was still putting more anger into it than she would have liked. Nonetheless, she kept it up for as long as her taxed mind could sustain the corralling and burning of the fireworks. When the spectacle at last dispersed to unveil the cool, shadowy ceiling, Trixie rose again to her full height on her hind legs.

“Ta-da!”

The applause came, just as she knew it would, but she suspected they would leave tonight feeling her show had been a little more mean-spirited than she wanted them to. And I know exactly who to blame! At least it's over with and those two numbskulls can finally shut up. No act, nothing to insult.

“Wow…” murmured Stalldorf. “Y'know, Saddler, I feel really bad about making fun of her now.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Trixie looked up at them. Had they actually been humbled by that her astonishing finale?

“Just when we thought this whole show was going to be terrible, the little lady did something wonderful,” Stalldorf continued gently.

Saddler nodded his understanding. “Yup ... She ended it!”

“DOHHH-HO-HO-HO!”

And within the next split-second, they relapsed into slapping each others' shoulders, thumping the bannister with unrestrained mirth, and bobbing their heads while they guffawed like a couple of children.

“I thought her act was gonna go up in smoke!”

“Didn't you see? It did!”

“DOHHH-HO-HO-HO!”

At this point, a careful observer would notice that there were actual, visible trails of thin smoke coming from Trixie's flared nostrils.

“Are you sure she's smoked? 'Cause I'd say she looks pretty steamed!”

“DAHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO…”

Back in her dressing room, Trixie Lulamoon angrily replayed the evening's events in her head while she marched back and forth with the zest of a caged bobcat that had a crab clutching its rear end. “Of all the theaters I had to perform in, why did I have to wind up in the one where there are two geriatric dipsticks with the audacity—not to mention the lack of taste—to mock me when I'm trying to do a show? How is it even possible for anyone to be that insufferable?”

To vent, she snatched a pillow with her teeth and tore the poor thing to shreds by violently thrashing her head all about (being sure to make the appropriate snarling noises) until its puffy white guts flurried all around her. She tried to imagine it crying, “NOOOOO!” but in her mind it just devolved into: “NOOOHH-HO-HO-HO-HO!”

She spat it out. “Feafers in my teef… Juft greap.” At least this time it's my own fault. She strode over to the mirror at the dressing table and stretched her mouth open as wide as possible to pluck the remains of her fluffy prey from between her teeth. With dignity, of course.

How could they just sit up there and make fun of me? All I'm trying to do is put on a show and make sure everypony's time and bits are well spent. Even if my on-stage persona's kinda flashy—which it totally deserves to be, considering how fantastic I am—that's hardly an excuse to yell about how much they hate it so every single pony can hear them!

Elsewhere in Equestria, a chill ran down the spines of three ponies and a baby dragon.

I may be a tiny bit of an egotist, but those geezers were complete and total jerks! Oh, for the days when I was just a little filly and could just throw stuff at the mean kids … But I'm a professional now, and that won't work here. Sure would be fun if I could, though…

She stared back at her reflection, a normally proud and talented unicorn pony who now had a sour grimace lurking just beneath her straight face (and behind a mouthful of white fluff). “I need a drink.”

A pub that resided a few blocks away had been recommended to her. It was summer, so she abandoned her flashy garments before heading out. The warm evening breeze felt refreshing against her exposed coat as she made her way through Hoofington's downtown district. Finding the pub and entering, Trixie recognized Scooter, the Moffat Theater's Executive Director. He spotted her as well and they sat down together.

“I liked your performance tonight,” Scooter complimented her as she took a seat and surveyed her surroundings. She decided the place was decent and returned her attention to her company. He was an orange-coated earth pony with a darker vermillion mane and round glasses. “You were really good.”

“Thanks. If only everypony else agreed,” she replied sourly. She was frowning, but one eyebrow was arched curiously. “Just who are those two elderly … uh, fellows … in the balcony?”

“Oh, everypony knows them,” he answered, tossing a careless hoof. “They're friends of the ponies—oh sorry, people, not all of them are ponies—who own the theater. They attend performances now and then.”

“To shout insults down at said performances to the point where they ruin one's act?” Trixie asked with a flat glare and barely any inflection in her voice.

Scooter shrugged. “Well like I said, everypony knows them. The locals are used to their jokes and we've never had anyone escalate the issue. They're just, you know … there.”

“I guess they're not so bad,” Trixie responded. Inside, however, she was thinking, How does one put up with that heckling? I want my audience to be astounded or at least entertained, but those jokers keep distracting them and turning it into a comedy act! And since they got laughs, everypony's on their side. Asking for them to be kept out is out of the question, so I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. She levitated her drink up to her lips and took a sip. Using magic while her mind was lucid always helped her think. In fact, it was often the source of brilliant ideas. I need to do something that will knock even those two idiots off their walkers. But if I know anything at all about them, it's that they're impossible to impress. “Have they ever been to a show they actually liked?” she asked aloud.

Scooter rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Nope, that's just how they are.”

Trixie sighed and mulled things over, vowing to start actually talking to Scooter as soon as she was finished working these thoughts out of her head. I certainly won't shut them up with spectacular feats of magic. I would need a plan of action that's more subtle, more devious, more…

An idea occurred to her just as she was about to take another sip. A subtle idea. A subtle, devious idea. So don't even bother trying to astonish them, she thought as her eyes lit up and a self-satisfied grin appeared on her lips. Do something they won't even see coming! I'll just wait until they start insulting me and—

“Something on your mind?” Scooter asked with a polite smile.

“Yes, sorry. Trixie was just thinking of what she's going to do tomorrow—”

NO! Better idea! Her eyes sparkled with fiendish delight, and a sadistic grin smeared her features further as a far less subtle way of dealing with those two presented itself. I'll set things up so they won't ever make it to that balcony to mock me. She sipped her drink contentedly, comfortable with the plan forming in her tricky little head. After all … accidents happen every day.

“Ah … Trixie? You there?”

“Yes, sorry!”

Curtains parted on The Great and Powerful Trixie's second night performing in Hoofington. Everything kicked off as it had before, with fireworks erupting, ponies clopping for her, and Trixie welcoming her adoring public with a winning smile. The crowd was about the same size as before. Looks like I might not have to put up with them tonight, she thought upon noticing the balcony was empty.

She dove into her arsenal of tricks, dazzling and surprising the new crowd while expecting every minute to be interrupted by a snappy remark. Some of the ponies in the seating were anticipating the same; there were a few who kept glancing up at the balcony. Jerks, Trixie thought, slightly embittered toward them as she finished off an illusion. Did they come to see me or a couple of prune-faced jokers? Well, joke's on them, because those geezers are—

“Hey, sorry we're late,” called Saddler as he shuffled up to his seat in the balcony. “We felt like giving you a head start.”

Leaning out from behind his partner, Stalldorf added, “We also wanted to give you a chance to break a leg!”

BIGGER JERKS!

She dropped back onto all four hooves and calmed herself. Drat … obviously, the chewing gum I carpeted the floor with didn't do its job. Maybe if I had chewed faster the whole thing would've stayed wet longer.

Either way, Trixie was prepared for their interruption this time. “What a coincidence,” she called up with an air of nonchalance, “I was wondering if you two had broken your hips on the way here.” Some mild tittering from the audience. For her. About time. But the elderly hecklers weren't about to be outdone.

Saddler huffed, “Gee, that joke sure made us ell-oh-ell.”

“'Laugh out loud?'”

“No, 'lose our lunch.'”

“The Great and Powerful Trixie has another suggestion,” Trixie called up to them. “How about, 'look out, losers?'” She lit her horn and brought a huge globule of water into existence over the two ponies' heads. Just as they looked up, she dropped it on them, splashing against their upturned faces and soaking them clear through their suits.

The geriatric jokers gaped down at themselves and their dripping attire for a few seconds.

“We're soaked!” Stalldorf exclaimed in disbelief.

Saddler replied, “We're drenched!”

“We're all wet!” they shouted together, then burst out laughing again.

Yeah, you'd better be able to take it as well as you can dish it out.

Trixie simpered knowingly at her audience. “Now that the peanut gallery has been put in its place, The Great and Powerful Trixie would be honored to show her lovely admirers the tricky art of … mist manipulation!”

“Oh, boy, not this again,” Stalldorf moaned. His head sank into his hoof. “Somepony have the usher throw her out.”

Glancing around the seating as if in search of an usher, Saddler replied, “She can't! She's too busy keeping ponies in!”

The showmare decided to bring up a good point. “Trixie can't help but notice that nopony is keeping you in.”

“Hey lady, there's a reason we have this balcony reserved.”

Trixie raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “And what reason might that be?”

“So we can jump anytime we want!”

Trixie addressed her audience with mock urgency, “Quick! Somepony put a glass of water under them!” She earned a few mild chuckles from that, even though that joke was hardly deserving. Cartoon physics jokes were overrated anyway. “Actually, you two can go ahead and jump. Trixie has an ambulance reserved for you as well.”

Trixie had been forced to put up with insults before, but never to the extent on changing her act from a magic show to a standup comedy routine. The most important part was making sure it was balanced with the magical side of her performance, but she still found the experience of conjuring up off-the-cuff remarks to be more fun than she would have given it credit for. Although she wouldn't admit it, she wasn't as good at this type of heckling as the two elderly stallions. To convince herself otherwise, she would punctuate her insults with offensive attacks. She even materialized some pies to throw at them, which they ducked. And so the night proceeded.

At last came the grand send-off. It ended as it had the night before, but with less fury and more precision. Over one hundred ponies had their heads tilted skyward to witness her own scintillating visage being burned into their retinas. Trixie stood in the spotlight, center-stage, perspiring a little and feeling great. Her much-deserved ovation died down enough to hear some last-minute critique from those whom she could now call the most responsive spectators she'd ever had.

“Boo!”

“Get off the stage!”

“You're terrible!”

“Somepony throw a tomato!”

Sighing, Trixie dropped back to all four hooves and pretended to contemplate their razzing. “Hmm … It seems there remain a few neigh-sayers in my otherwise beloved audience.” Her eyes brightened as if hitting a gold mine of inspiration. “Well! If that is to be the case, then The Great and Powerful Trixie has no choice but to repeat each and every stunning act you have all just witnessed with renewed energy and pizazz!”

“It was wonderful!”

“We loved it!”

“Bravo, bravo!”

Well, I've proven it yet again, Trixie mentally congratulated herself. The Great and Powerful Trixie can upstage anypony no matter what their special talent may be.

At the end of every theater performance, Trixie enjoyed indulging in the spectators' appreciation on a more personal level by mingling with them as they passed through the lobby. She shook hooves, accepted praise, and chatted pleasantly with everypony she met. She hoped not to see the two geriatric hecklers ever again, and therefore experienced a moment of consternation when she saw them doddering toward one of the exits. She wondered for a moment if it would be best to ignore them, but then remembered: there is always more to a pony beneath the surface. Perhaps they had been pretending to be jerks by putting up a facade. Just like she did up on stage.

She walked up and politely summoned their attention with a gentle cough. They turned. “Now, let's all be honest with ourselves,” she said as the two elderly ponies stared back at her. “It's clear you enjoy your put-downs and insults as much as I enjoy performing, otherwise you wouldn't have shown up two nights in a row. But it should be obvious that The Great and Powerful Trixie has put a high level of consideration, practice, and effort into what she does, and surely it must show.”

The two stallions slowly exchanged glances. A decision seemed to pass between them before they nodded in agreement. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that,” said Stalldorf with just a hint of what may have been sarcasm.

Trixie ignored it and brought a hoof to her chest without smiling. “Trixie was taught early on to respect and draw wisdom from her elders.” She leaned in secretively, and they mirrored her movements. “So gentlemen, please tell me, just among the three of us, what was your personal, sincere opinion on the quality of my performance these past two nights?” She raised her eyebrows and gave them a hopeful smile.

“Well, when you put it like that…” said Saddler.

“I guess I'd have to say…” pondered Stalldorf, stroking his chin.

Saddler gave her an earnest bump on the shoulder. “What a fantastic show!”

“It was a horrible travesty,” Stalldorf said with a sad shake of his head.

The magician's brow went rigid again. The old stallions paused at her reaction, then continued.

“You were pretty good.”

“There was nothing to like about it.”

“The act could use some work, though.”

“Although in hindsight, you weren't half bad.”

“It was pretty lousy, now that I think about it.”

“I actually liked it.”

“It was disgusting!”

“You're wonderful!”

Trixie's face remained frozen in time. As the two stared at her with their expectant, beady eyes, she reached a conclusion: some ponies were just born to be trolls. Deciding that she had put up with more than her fair share of shenanigans, her expression flattened out into a stern glare. She swished between the two and marched into the night with grim determination. “Trixie needs another drink.”

As she left the lobby lights behind in favor the Hoofington nightlife, her ears caught the very last of what she would ever hear from the two geezers: “Just imagine how we feel! DOHHH-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO!”

The next morning, Trixie packed up her collapsible stage wagon and strapped on her harness with a sense of relief before heading out of Hoofington. She magicked a map up to her nose and consulted it as the shade of the Everfree Forest fell over her.

“What a wonderful life I would have if I were never again forced to deal with any more nincompoops like those two.” She sighed. “I'm still tired.”

It was at times like these, the night after an exuberant performance, that she felt the need to relax with a more self-serving show in which she could throw her weight around and give herself a cheap but gratifying ego boost at somepony else's expense. She felt especially deserving of one this time. The omnipresent problem was finding an audience that would accept having their inferiority thrown in their faces—as Trixie liked to think of it when she was in a bad mood—while being entertained. Children certainly didn't count. Luckily, there appeared to be a small town ahead that would fit the bill.

“Hmm … Ponyville. Small place, middle of nowhere, hideously unimaginative name. Sounds like just the kind of isolated, underdeveloped, easily-amused little town that would be totally blown away by some simple tricks and maybe even a nice Trixie-centric tall tale. I'll bet myself ten bits nothing ever happens there.” A small grin creased her features. No doubt it's also filled with talentless schmucks I can show up without lifting a hoof.

She folded the map and tucked it into her saddlebags, now proceeding through the forest with her chin held a little higher and her hooves carrying her along at a brisk trot.

“And if there are any more ponies who decide it's okay to downplay my show while everypony else is trying to enjoy it, I'll know just how to deal with them.” Besides, she thought, recalling the final barrage of insults before she'd strutted out of the Moffat Theater lobby, the world needs to be reminded that, within reason, I can do anything better than anyone.