How Anon, Snips and Trixie saved Equestria, pt. 4


                                            >MEANWHILE-ISH, IN THE CITY OF NEW HORSELEANS

                                            >YOU, THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE, ARE.....

                                            >Eating a big sandwich!

                                            >What?

                                            >Don't look at Trixie like that!

                                            >It's a local delicacy: a cajun fishstick po'colt with imitation imitation krab and the fanciest, most adult cheese known to ponykind: [spoiler]pepperjack.[/spoiler]

                                            >Nothing less than the most daring yet refined cuisine for the prodigal daughter!

                                            >Why is there a hypothetical observer judging Trixie!? Trixie hungry! All Trixie has had for three days is empty vitamins, with barely a calorie in sight!

                                            >So why is Trixie the most defensive she has been in several weeks?

                                            >Trixie has been actively working to save Equestria!

                                            >Trixie has reconciled with several ponies directly or tangentially connected to her ruination!

                                            >Trixie might even find out why every town within the greater Canterhorn Vale thinks she's a fraud!

                                            >SO WHY CAN TRIXIE NOT ENJOY A TASTE OF HOME, IN HER HOMETOWN!?

                                            >Is Trixie perhaps feeling guilty at the thought of eating? Neigh, Trixie is not stealing snackies, this is so healthy it's basically junk!

                                            >Is Trixie's conscience telling her to share with Anon? Why? Anon has his own money! Trixie knows this because Anon has actually been paying her!

                                            >Anon requiring a bite of Trixie's sandwich is a scenario where Trixie would not have had a sandwich to begin with!

                                            >Trixie.....

                                            >You kind of miss Snips, all things considered

                                            >He isn't quite as stoopit as he seems. His lanky friend might be even dumber than he seems, but Snips's problem stems from having too many thoughts, not too few.

                                            >More than just missing him, you're worried

                                            >Anon made a point of picking up a newspaper in every train station, and towns all over Equestria were suffering from riots and nightmare-addled ponies

                                            >Hungriness leads to grumpiness leads to terrorists, banditry and general naughtiness. It's honestly a surprise it took this long for Equestria to start falling apart.

                                            >Surviving a few months of famine was about 2.5 months more surviving than you figured when you heard the news

                                            >"THE ANCHORMARE TO CLOUDSDALE: 'YOU'RE GONNA BE CLODSDALE WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU!'"

                                            >"Manehattan citizens under constant assault from The Poker! Where is Batmare!?"

                                            >"Second Appleloosa-Buffalo War declared! Top analysts predict total defeat of royal forces! Report from the frontlines: "THEY'RE JUST EATING THE PIES WE THROW! OUR WEAPONS ARE USELESS NOW!"

                                            >And so on, and so on

                                            >You worry too much! Ponyville is resident to the element bearers, whom even you must begrudgingly admit can kick rump! Canterlot is an hour's flight away, and Anon's house could withstand a siege from Tambelon itself!

                                            >You eat with slightly more gusto, and as a patron leaves the bistro you grab the newspaper he left on his table

                                            >"CRISIS IN PONYVILLE! PRINCESSES GIVEN WHAT-FOR! BEARERS OF HARMONY IN INDEFINITE DETENTION!"

                                            >Aw, nuts....

                                            >Please, let those idiots have taken shelter!


                                            -----


                                            >Trixie continues to be The 'Fraid and Worryful Trixie.

                                            >Ponyville is now Bonyville.

                                            >Because it's boned, get it?

                                            >Trixie never ceases to amaze Trixie!

                                            >She and Anon are stranded here, in the one place where Trixie might have a home.

                                            >Forget Ponyville, she can't go back if she somehow wanted to anyway!

                                            >No train service.

                                            >It's weeks away by hoof, and she has no wagon to hide in during the long night.

                                            >She's honestly safer here in the bayou.

                                            >It's warm enough to grow sugarcane most of the year, even if there's not enough farmland to serve all of Equestria.

                                            >She can just hole up with her aunt and uncle, and ride out the end-times in luxury!

                                            >The dumdum northerners will regret mocking her, as they crawl through the mud to beg for mere pinches of sweetness!

                                            >She can picture it now- Twilight Sparkle, crawling, dragging her anorexic belly through gravel, hoping for even a single sprinkle of Trixie's charity!

                                            >The insipid PINK one, now unable to pronk, left with no choice but to make sad eyes at the city walls!

                                            >The horrid owner of the even more horrid Sofas and Quills will tremble as the customer base for luxury furnishings dwindles year over year!

                                            >That dastardly simpleton... is actually kind of nice and trying to be better. It really was just a tragicomedy of errors that night.

                                            >Well, what about that mailmare!? The one who always drops stuff.......? Or is that the one who actually managed to find Trixie and deliver her mail, late or not, when she never had a fixed address?

                                            >Applejack-

                                            >Applejack. She promised to find out what happened to hurt Trixie.

                                            >....If Trixie gives up this easily, was Applejack right about her the first time?


                                            "Applejack.... was right about me...."

                                            >Sorry, what?

                                            >Oh, right, ever the performer, you!

                                            >Gotta time it just right, even in your internal monologues!

                                            >You finish that statement with a a leaping flourish that looks kind of like a flailing jumping jack

                                            "THE SECOND TIME!"

                                            >The ponies around you give The Look and ask "what the-" in varyingly outrageous, varyingly Prench accents

                                            "Can'ttalkgottagosaveEquestriabye!"


                                            >Soon, you will be the Worn and Sweatyful Trixie from all this running.

                                            >Duck and weave through the crowded streets, towards your singular destination:

                                            >The ancient Moonpie Manor, first built by Napoleon Lulamoon, now owned by Beauregard Lulamoon the Second.

                                            >Almost there!

                                            >Hippity!

                                            >Hoppity!

                                            >You are now on your family's property!

                                            >The large oaken doors are quite intimidating

                                            >It's giving you cause for pause

                                            >"Ah, Mademoiselle Bellatrix. The lord of the estate is Expecting You." The doormat- uh DOORMARE says with a certifiable Prench Smirk.


                                            -----


                                            >The doors closed behind you with an appropriately bone-shattering creak and thud.

                                            >The carpet, however, could not be squeakier.

                                            >Nor more pliant yet resilient.

                                            >It's really amazing how they installed those big doors in the world's largest inflatable bouncy castle.

                                            >When in Roan, as they say. You take a moment to find your bouncy legs, then set off with a snoot aimed towards the sitting room.

                                            "TRIXIE!"

                                            >boing!

                                            "IS!"

                                            >boing!

                                            "HERE!"

                                            >boing!

                                            >Enough of that! You, (being Trixie), were there; you know you bounced after nearly every word uttered in this palace of temporary upward velocity. There shall be no further reminiscing on each and every luxurious hop, skip and/or jump!


                                            >"Ah say, has mah brutha's little rayut finahlly come bayuck with her tail b'tween her legs?

                                            >Uncle Beauregard sneers down at you, then up, then down, as he sits in his spring-loaded La-Z-Colt.

                                            >Every time he reaches the apex of a jump or fall, it rearranges the 50 different bolo ties strewn across his suit jacket.

                                            >Yet he never, EVER spills his mint julep, in spite of it being in an ordinary glass in an ordinary sippy helmet.


                                            "Where else would Trixie's tail be!? It's not like Trixie can gain enough traction for a gallop in this house!"

                                            >Poop.

                                            >Your first mistake was back-talking.

                                            >No, your first mistake was waking up today- we're on mistake number four, at least.

                                            >"Mighty bold words, for somepony dumb enough to try sellin' a new kind of sugar TO THE CITY'S BIGGEST SUGAR MAGNATE."

                                            "Why is that stupid!? You're not making as much money right now as-"

                                            >"Bellatrix, ah thought we raised you bettuh."


                                            >Alright, if he stops there, this can just be a normal cruddy visit.

                                            >"Not by much, considerin' you chose a life of.... flamboyant vagrancy. Suppose them apples nevuh fall far from them there trees."

                                            >He went there. Dammit.

                                            >Your facade must have cracked, just for a moment, but enough for his eyebrow to raise in condescending satisfaction.


                                            >"Ohhhhh, never you mind an ol' stallion's rambling- you were sayin'? Somethin' about the solution to gettin' these dayum crops into the city, from all ovuh Equestria, before they rot? Because, surely, you wouldn't come here to waste m'time an' taunt me with new sources of revenue just ever so out of mah grasp? Because there ain't any 'round here, Bella-"

                                            "TRIXIE KNOWS YOU PROCESS MORE SUGAR THAN LA-Z-ANA CAN PRODUCE!"

                                            >"YES, IT GETS SHIPPED IN FROM THE CARROTBEAN ISLES- BY AIRSHIP! Airships require specialized facilities to dock and load! Facilities which 90% of Equestria does. not. have."


                                            >Don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry


                                            "Don't yell at Trixie for not studying travel infrastructure she doesn't even use! Trixie likewise couldn't have known half the blasted country would become borderline impassible within three days!"

                                            >"YOU TRAVEL EVERYWHERE BY HOOF, FILLY!  AH'D EXPECT YOU TO BE MORE AWARE OF CURRENT EVENTS CONSIDERIN' YOU AIN'T BEEN ROBBED OR KILLED YET!"

                                            >Tears welling up. Mouth open to respond-


                                            >"On that matter- ah finally obtained a newspaper of your little escapades 'round Canterhorn. What in Tartarus were you thinking?

                                            "Well, I-"

                                            >"You couldn't just make up a monster? Here, I'll give you one for free- 'Trixie has even defeated the dreaded Platypus!' You see how easy that was?"

                                            >Trixie should not have to apologize for treating her audience like grown-ups!

                                            >Is what you would say if you weren't starting to ugly-cry.


                                            >"You realize anything you do with your name attached comes back TO ME, YES?"

                                            "a-bubub-bububu"

                                            >"All the boys at the miniature golf club heard about that! Ah couldn't get through a single hole without them snickering behind mah back!"

                                            *SNIFF*

                                            >"'Heeheehee, Tricky Looneymoon does it again!' This is the thanks I get for taking you in after your father's tragic fall into the arms of a mistress? Do you have ANY idea how mortifying it was when, on a business trip to THE PALACE, Princess Celestia herself went all wide-eyed upon hearing mah last name!?"

                                            "T-t-t-trixie is try-"

                                            >"And then you have the nerve to slink back here with your con artist "associate" and buttuh me up? Well, where's the toast!? You didn't bring the toast- your little plan is all buttuh, no toast I say!"

                                            >If Meg has mercy, going to bed tonight will be the last decision you ever make.


                                            -----


                                            >Be Anon

                                            >This place is Hell on your knees!

                                            >You've spent most of the past three days in the kitchen.

                                            >Why? It's the only room with fully solid floors in this neon rubber nightmare house.

                                            >Well that, and Beau is a fucking dickhead who acts like you and Trixie are personally responsible for a national crisis escalating and costing him a business venture he hadn't even started yet.

                                            >Naturally this means you're a ragamuffin who's lucky to even sleep under the table.

                                            >Really, WHO DESIGNED THIS? You're not surprised by the idea of a bouncy mansion, it's an idea you yourself entertained in your youth, but...

                                            >Suffice to say: you've had to use public outhouses because 'only room with solid floors' meant ONLY. ROOM.


                                            >It started out alright, you almost had the guy convinced the day you arrived- before the train service ended.

                                            >Hop off the 9am express, grab your demo kit, head straight for the manor.

                                            >Trixie gets you in the door, then she's eager to be anywhere but here.

                                            >Beau greeted her coldly (no sweet tea!) until she introduced you as a potential supplier.

                                            >After which, he was jonesing to get her out and talk to "the new family friend"- even gave her the family I.O.U. stamp and the address of a fancy sandwich shop.

                                            >The little business meeting went well-

                                            >Then the news from the north trickles in, train service cuts out, and the greedy prick's potential profits are snatched from future Beau's hooves.

                                            >The past three days since have been nothing but fights with scheduled recesses for the valet to bring in throat lozenges and water.

                                            >It's only gotten worse today- Beau already insulted Trixie's parents in their first fight, and she could barely take that standing up.

                                            >Now he's talking exclusively to a turnip he painted blue and named Good Trixie.

                                            >Every time Trixie comes up with any ideas, Beau shakes the turnip, says the same thing she just said in a mocking impression of her voice and goes 'ha ha- that's just a joke, Uncle Beau! I know we're not dumb enough to do that!'

                                            >And, in case you forgot, this is all happening with every participant constantly bouncing 15 feet into the air.

                                            >Oh, shit. Trixie just spat one of Beau's plans back at him- this is going to get ugly the second he realizes he called himself a joke.

                                            >Uglier, anyway.


                                            >Enough of this. You're no stranger to the tribulations of rich, probably-inbred relatives, and you sure as hell dealt with enough of that back home.

                                            >Time to do something drastic. For Equestria. For your fucking sanity.

                                            >For your friend/employee/most interesting distraction since you saw Fluttershy's ass right after the Falling of the Leaves. (Lord forgive you for the thoughts you have.)

                                            >Out into the hallway, act casual, don't give away your intentions.

                                            >The maid is bouncing along with 5 fresh Big Gulps of mint julep- fucking unicorns, showing off with their telekinesis.

                                            >At least now you know where Trixie gets it from.

                                            >It takes longer than you'd expect- the sitting room is empty, forcing you to follow Trixie's renewed anguished cries to the study.

                                            >Cajun fuck reinforced the floor with trampolines so he can have his goddamn desk bouncing up and down on vertical rails.

                                            >He's gone beyond doing that spongebob voice bullshit- now he's got a full-ass dollhouse out, acting out a perfect little family for Good Trixie, and he's not even letting Trixie be the dog, let alone herself.

                                            >Any doubts you had on this course of action are annihilated by the sight of a stallion older than your father tying his niece up and forcing her to watch him play Barbie with a turnip.

                                            >Jump onto the desk, brace yourself on the rail, hope to God you're sturdy enough that it won't just snap you in half when it bounces back up

                                            >"I say- I say- what in the blazes is the meaning of this!?"

                                            >Stare him in the eyes, say nothing

                                            >You draw your revolver, taking a moment to appreciate the smooth draw from your holster, its reassuring heft, the satisfying clicks as the hammer is pulled into half- or full-cock.

                                            >"Nice capgun, but this playdate is invitation-only, so-"

                                            >BANG!


                                            -----


                                            >The report is followed by silence.

                                            >Nothing but the new ringing in your ears.

                                            >The gravity of what you've done hangs in the air.

                                            >Until the ringing finally subsides and you can hear a ragged, flatulent hiss.

                                            >All of this happens in the span of a breath, and the desk bounces up, bumping you harmlessly into the rubber roof.

                                            >Desk must be made of particle board or something equally light and cheap, you reckon.

                                            >"What in tarnation!? You- you.... YOU SHOT A HOLE IN MY HOUSE!"

                                            "Shut it, Schmo-regard."

                                            >"I WILL NOT! I DEMAND SATISFAC-"

                                            >BANG!

                                            >There goes the turnip!

                                            >Beau has some on his face, hehe.

                                            "This can go two ways, you old bastard- we walk away and you never bother Trixie again, or I shoot enough holes in your house that you'll never fix it."

                                            >"Why I never- these walls have been inflated for ten generations, how dare you!"

                                            >BANG!

                                            "Three holes- your staff can patch that in a couple hours."

                                            >"I DO NOT NEGOTIATE WITH VANDALS AND THIEVES, YOU RAPSCALLION!"

                                            "You don't appear to negotiate with anyone, considering you've unfairly blamed us for what any sane businesspony would consider a temporary obstacle."

                                            >"It is your fault for wasting my time! You shouldn't have even come here if you didn't have a backup plan!"

                                            "This is a national emergency. It isn't going to magically get better- someone has to actively try to fix it."

                                            >"HOW!?"

                                            "Give some extra rations to some mail pegasi, then they'll be strong enough to hitch wagons and carry the crop, letting you produce more, and hire more couriers, etc. etc. And you can write it all off as an 'Emergency Goods Forfeiture' and be in a lower tax bracket for like 10 years."

                                            >He's silent for a while, save the rustling of his admittedly glorious moustache.

                                            >Did we finally get somewhere?

                                            >"A sound plan- unfortunately, I didn't think of it, so nyah nyah." He says as he crosses his forelegs.

                                            >God dammit.

                                            >Fucking baby.

                                            >He's probably in adult diapers, too.

                                            >Just come full circle on being a useless, selfish grubling, haven't you?

                                            >Okay, time for you to be *really* unreasonable.

                                            >On your left ankle is stowed the greatest paean to Equestria's glory.

                                            >Your sawed-off shotgun, totally illegal in the libarbl US, but totally legal here because God saw fit that this land doesn't even have gun laws.

                                            "You see this? It's not like my little capgun. Each barrel shoots a cloud of little pellets that spread out the further I am from my target. Untie Trixie, let her keep the IOU stamp, and write us a note guaranteeing free use of your processing plant."

                                            >"BOY, I-"

                                            "Or else I go outside, start ventilating walls, and don't stop until I run completely out of ammo."

                                            >"This is banditry, boy!"

                                            "Yeah? Who're you gonna call, the princesses? The guard? They're all laid up because the famine's getting that bad- you think they'll side with the guy who refused to help just because he was jealous he didn't think of it first?"


                                            -----


                                            >What follows is the most awkward hour of your life.

                                            >A gun-toting wackjob, a tear-stained illusionist and a crotchety old miser waiting for the notary public to arrive.

                                            >The walls are still farting out their bounciness for a half-hour, when the bouncesmith comes in, looks at the wall, casts Mending 3 times and charges Beau 100 bits for the house call.

                                            >"I'd have done it meself, but the National Smiths' Clubhouse keeps those spells a trade secret. Ahem."

                                            >More awkward shuffles, coughs and attempts at small talk follow.

                                            >You're pretty sure Hell is just this, forever- the lakes of fire are the fun stuff for all the virtuous pagans and heavy metal enthusiasts; the bad people just have to sit in a room with their in-laws.

                                            >Finally, the butler announces the arrival of Ever Accurate, Certified Witness to Events and Validator of Parking.

                                            >A smallish earth mare with a rather mousy hairstyle and thick, round glasses bounces into the room, loses control and faceplants into the desk.

                                            >Wow, she looks REALLY familiar-

                                            >And that sing-song voice

                                            >"OOF! OW! Ah, hello, please, just call me Eve or Evie, uh- right, pleasure to meet you... Mr. Lulamoon, your runner told me you needed a contract notarized?"

                                            >She almost looks like....

                                            >"Yes'm, got it all written down here."

                                            >Like someone took Trixie's horn, painted her the wrong colors, aged her 25 years, and slapped some cute glasses on her-

                                            >Wow, you're starting to recognize ponies by their facial structure- you're really going native, huh?


                                            >"A-a-a-l-l-lrighty then, I'm supposed to read it aloud- let's see here, blah blah right to access facilities blah blah not to be restricted blah blah for a period no less than 'the duration of the current yet-unnamed national crisis (which began in the year of our Tree 03 A.L.R.)'"

                                            >"Yeah- it's hard to define these things when there isn't just one jerk causing all the trouble."

                                            >She chuckles, "Of course- now, I'm obligated to ask Mr. Lulamoon, and please answer honestly- are you making this extremely one-sided contract under duress?"

                                            >Beau's eyes trace Trixie's magic field from her horn, to the shotgun she's holding, to the load-bearing wacky inflatable arm-flailing tubeman she's aiming it at-

                                            >Fuck, Eve noticed that-

                                            >"WHAT THE BUCK DO YOU THINK!? LOOK AT THESE CADS! LOOK AT THAT LITTLE BLUE NAG! LOO-"

                                            >Oh, Beau, you need to learn to be polite. Especially when talking to government agents who might be the birth mother of your brother's illegitimate child.

                                            >"Obviously not- you're a big, powerful stallion and you'd never be threatened by your own niece like this. And, hypothetically, if you were- it would be your word against mine. Shall we sign? I've got a fresh stamp, you'll be its first!"

                                            >"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE PEN-PUSHER? I'LL HAVE YOUR BADGE! I OWN THIS TOWN! I-"

                                            >"I don't think I'm anypony; I *know* I'm somepony with a royally-appointed position. Now, I have some concerns with the wording of the preamble- in it, you describe the past three days which led to this proposal? It could easily read as an admission of kidnapping an adult mare? I'm sure I'm just paranoid, but it's my job to make sure both parties are giving informed consent!"

                                            >Beau damn near pops a vein. He might have noticed the resemblance by now.

                                            >He finally just eats the damn contract, shouting his victory through a mouth full of paper.

                                            >"HA! Try and say anything now- you gots no pro-OOF! MMMMF!"

                                            >That was the beautiful sound of Beau being socked in the gut and muzzled by his doormat- DOORMARE, now wearing full golden plate and a deliciously evil grin.

                                            >"I also know I'm talking to somepony who just destroyed a government document.(1)"

                                            >"Now, our undercover agent here has some questions regarding, uh-"

                                            >"The disappearance of one Alister Lulamoon, the forging of documents and submission of false testimony regarding the adoption of Bellatrix Lulamoon, the failure to forfeit inheritance and estate to Bellatrix Lulamoon upon her maturity and subsequent termination of your regency, the very concerning activities of the last three days, and the unlawful destruction of one Temporary Government Document."

                                            >"Right, that! Have fun, Mr. Lulamoon! Try the donuts- the guard station has a special contract for them, they're to die for!"

                                            >Once more, the room contains three bouncing occupants, as Beauregard flings every insult he can think of at the mole in his operation.


                                            >(1)Hint: any document currently being read by a government official automatically becomes an official document until such time as she is no longer looking in its general direction. Celestia got REAL tired of nobles thinking they could just burn their report cards right in front of her and get off on a technicality. - Eve(2)

                                            >(2):Yes, my governmental powers include making footnotes in other creatures' internal monologues. Don't buck with the bureaucracy, 'kay?


                                            -----


                                            >Be Trixie

                                            >Be standing in the kitchen of.....

                                            >Wow.

                                            >YOUR house?

                                            >Guess you also own the sugar factory?

                                            >And some of the plantations?

                                            >You allow yourself a moment of smug pride at the thought of being on par with Applejack-

                                            >Except, that's a ton of work you have little training and no interest in doing long-term.

                                            >You were always happier on the road. But, what if Anon-

                                            >"No. I could never live in this nightmare house, not to mention I actually like Ponyville. Thank you for offering."

                                            "Trixie did not-"

                                            >"You were thinking of it."

                                            "...Trixie was. Trixie also recalls you saying your alternative sugar would be easier to sell in a place where you didn't want to strangle the residents?"

                                            >"Yeah, because it's a town full of small, private-owned farmers who're very set in their ways, and I was trying to sell them a new idea. I'd ALSO been living there for about 15 years before the famine, silly."

                                            "Oh."

                                            >"Yeah, I just had no reason to keep trying before, when they could tell me 'it just works!' and be 100% right."

                                            "Speaking of Ponyville- loathe as Trixie is to admit it, Beauregard was right."

                                            >"....Shit. How so?"

                                            "Regardless of who rightfully owns his industries, we have no means of transporting perishable goods long distance, no means of returning to Ponyville, and-"

                                            >"I still think my plan will work- we just need to find some pegasi willing to fly out that way."

                                            "-And considering the crisis, we can be almost certain that your farm has been ransacked by starving refugees."

                                            >"Jerry wouldn't-"

                                            "Jerry is a single dog. He could guard one's home effectively, but not an entire planting field, certainly not against, say, Derpy raiding his outdoor not-fridge."

                                            >"Nah, Jerry's no ordinary dog- he always knows where he's gotta be, he'll come through for us somehow."

                                            >You sit for a while at that. Anon's confidence still manages to be contagious, even if this whole affair has diminished its effect.

                                            "Anon? Did you notice that the notary mare looked a lot like me? Do you think I should-"

                                            >"I did, and I don't. Not yet. She's a government worker, she wasn't your legal guardian, she's going to have to testify against your uncle- it's better if you don't complicate her job right now. I'm sure she wants to talk, but not yet."

                                            "Ok."

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >"That's it? Just 'ok'?"

                                            "Yep. Dunno how to feel. Sad? Worried.. about... the hundreds of workers... in.. Trixie's... ohcrudohcrud"

                                            >Your? butler enters, delivering a message in that special butler tone that's both completely servile and utterly condescending:

                                            >"Ma'am, if I may- I have served your family for my entire adult life, and am quite capable of running the estate in your name. I require but your verbal assent, as I am already employed by the estate. Also, a very loud group of neonates have arrived in a very loud wagon, claiming they have a shipment of luxury vegetal objects for you?"

                                            >Snips barrels past him-

                                            >SNIPS!

                                            >"HI TRIXIE! You would not BELIEVE what we've been through!"


                                            -----