Trixie asks out Anon


                                            Thread: https://desuarchive.org/mlp/thread/36821842


                                            "We've never even been on a date."

                                            >You blurt out your response, the surprise of your boss asking you to be her boyfriend short-circuiting any and all rational, respectable responses.

                                            >Responses like, 'you are my boss,' or 'why?,' or 'you should find a stallion instead.'

                                            >All good responses! But it wasn't the one you went with.

                                            >No, the one you went with brought a glimmer of hope to Trixie's eyes.

                                            >"Then we'll go on one!"

                                            "That's—"

                                            >"The next town has a place that serves fish!"

                                            "Trixie, I—"

                                            >"My treat?"

                                            >She's not making this easy.

                                            >You had a hard enough time finding a job in Ponyville after the chicken incident.

                                            >Trixie basically saved you.

                                            >So that means making things awkward between her and you would be bad for your living situation, even though it's fucking close to being homeless anyway.

                                            >Case in point, you're out here in the wilderness, slapping mosquitos on your neck as the two of you sit around the campfire, eating stone soup beneath the stars for the third night in a row.

                                            >Still better than being actually homeless.

                                            >"... P-please answer Trixie."

                                            "Sorry, I... it caught me off guard. Um."

                                            >The glimmer in her eyes is dying, eyes only reflecting flickers of the small flame cupping the old pot between you.

                                            >You hadn't thought about Trixie this way at all. Frankly, ponies in general still aren't tempting you.

                                            >You haven't been here THAT long.

                                            >You hope it won't be that long, either.

                                            "So, just a date, right? If things don't work out—"

                                            >"Yes! Just a date, Trixie swears. She would not part ways over something as s-silly as that."

                                            >You chew your lip.

                                            >The hope's back in her eyes, but you can't get over how she came out swinging with the b-word.

                                            >... Fuck it, maybe it'll be fun.

                                            >Good change of pace from her usual miserly attitude with the bits, anyhow.

                                            "Sure, why not? I don't know anything about the town, though, so you're going to have to guide me."

                                            >She lights up, energy filling her legs and being flung from them as she stands tall on two, spreading the other two wide.

                                            >"Magnificent! Trixie promises it shall be a night to remember!"

                                            >A smile permanently affixes itself on her face as she tends to the soup with her magic.

                                            >Your stomach gurgles.

                                            "Is that ready yet?"

                                            >Trixie giggles, "Just about! Here, give Trixie your bowl."

                                            >You happily hand it over.

                                            >She's a good cook.

                                            >The rest of the night passes quietly, Trixie quietly over the moon and you trying to figure out what you should do on a date with a horse that comes up to your waist.

                                            >No good ideas come by bedtime, so you'll just wing it.

                                            >"Goodnight, Anonymous."

                                            "'Night, Trix."

                                            >You wrap yourself in your sleeping bag on the floor of Trixie's wagon, the mare softly chuckling to herself in her hammock above you.

                                            >And you find sleep a little difficult to come by.

                                            >Are you actually excited?


                                            >The morning goes by in a blur.

                                            >Trixie practically shoved breakfast down your throat before the sun's even up, breaking camp in a not-often-seen display of magic and hitching herself while you were still choking down your oatmeal.

                                            >You gave up trying to jog alongside her and are hanging on to the wagon as she canters down grassy roads.

                                            >She's hauling ass today.

                                            >"Galena's within sight!"

                                            >Already?

                                            >Once she breaks the treeline, you see dreary fields of strange grains and of dirt, rocks, and crystals that would be blinding if the sun could pierce these clouds.

                                            >This world never ceases to amaze you with its marvels. Even a sombre landscape like this manages to captivate you.

                                            >Trixie doesn't slow her pace until you reach a large, wooden sign welcoming travelers and locals alike to Galena, which is a definite mining town. The buildings here are older and flat-faced, built of brick and marked by a gray melancholy pervasive to these sorts of areas.

                                            >Strongly-built earth ponies dominate the late morning, many no doubt coming from their fields or mines for lunch, some still with their tools on their backs, hammers and picks and belts lined with all sorts of specialty tools.

                                            >Trixie's broken a sweat herself, panting as she slows down, coming to a stop in the town square.

                                            >And here, in the epicenter, you realize that the two of you do not look like the townsfolk at all.

                                            >Everyone else is comes in earthy tones, blue-collar or conservative dress, and there's hardly a unicorn in sight. Certainly none as flashy as Trixie and her wagon.

                                            >But, she's been here before, so you trust that this is going to be a good stop.

                                            >You hop off the wagon and come around to face Trixie, who is unhitching herself and looking quite pleased.

                                            "Where's the fire, Trix?"

                                            >"T-Trixie merely wanted to make sure there was adequate time to go on our date!"

                                            >Hard to tell the difference between a blush and being out of breath, but you think it's the former. You smile.

                                            "Speaking of, when is it happening?"

                                            >"Trixie was thinking after the matinee. The local school should be letting out in..."

                                            >She looks skyward, then frowns when the clouds hide the sun from view, "A few hours, she thinks. But that's no excuse to dilly-dally. Come, Assistant Anonymous! You must set up the stage while Trixie lets the people know that they are in for a Great and Powerful show!"

                                            >You sigh and nod. It's usually your job to get things ready, but at least Trixie has a good excuse to not help this time.

                                            >She trots around to the back of the wagon and gets her promotional materials while you start yanking at the complex, magical contraptions that keep a stage far larger flush with the wall of her wagon. However...

                                            >Matinee means foals, and foals mean a close, engaged audience. Thankfully, the runes worked into the wood let it shape itself into a form suitable for such audiences.

                                            >After that, you'll need to get balloons, streamers—ah, and the pyrotechnics.

                                            >If there's one thing all kids love, it's fire.


                                            >"What are ya?"

                                            >You pause, sweat dripping from your brow as you haul the final bench into place, alone, when a voice interrupts you.

                                            >It's a feminine voice, gravely, sort of squawky.

                                            >The squawkiness explains itself when you turn around to see a bird... cat... thing standing in front of you, looking at you.

                                            >Bird-cats are called called griffons, right? Eagle-lion hybrids?

                                            "Human. What are you, a griffon?"

                                            >Her front half is covered with gunmetal red feathers and an ink-dipped yellow beak with matching claws, her hind half a tan cat with puff of gray-red hair. And, of course, wings.

                                            >"Ya don't know what a griffon is?"

                                            "You don't know what a human is?"

                                            >She laughs at that, and it makes you laugh, too. "Fair 'nuff. I take it you're part of Trixie Lulamoon's show?"

                                            "Yup, Anonymous. And your name?"

                                            >"Garnet. Ya friendly?"

                                            "Enough to get by."

                                            >She smiles again, a twinkle in her amber eyes, "You're my kinda folk, Anonymous. I don't think ya minded the bluntness, but the ponies here were gettin' antsy and I'm on greetin' duty." She holds up sharp, black talons, "Somethin' of a sheriff, I guess, s'far as outsiders are concerned. You gonna be in the show? Permit's gotta be updated if'n ya are."

                                            "Oh, uh, yeah. You with the city? Trixie'll be back soon, I think, and she can sign whatever papers need updating."

                                            >You take a seat on a bench, getting more comfortable and meeting Garnet on her level. "A notary, yup. Also boardmember on the Visitor and Non-Pony council. Welcome to Galena."

                                            "You get many griffons or whoever coming through?"

                                            >"'Nuff for a council. Not surprisin', given how close we are to Griffon lands. Ah, there's Mrs. Lulamoon now."

                                            "'Ms.,' actually."

                                            >She cocks an eye at you, "Still?"

                                            >You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. May as well close it, as Garnet heads past you. You turn and see that Trixie is, indeed, galloping back towards the stage. She slows down when she sees Garnet approaching.

                                            >Well, while that's being taken care of, it's time for you to figure out where the hell Trixie stashed away her smoke bombs THIS time...


                                            >Trixie, having got everything square with the city, helps you find those fucking smokebombs. You're turning the wagon upside-down and she's turning it inside-out.

                                            >"So, what did you talk with Garnet about?"

                                            "She wanted to know what I was and needed to know if I was part of the act for the permits, s'bout it."

                                            >"Oh, okay."

                                            >Huh. Her tone's a little snippy.

                                            >... Oh, no.

                                            >You haven't even been on a date yet and she's already getting jealous?

                                            "She's on the Visitors and Non-Pony council, came to greet me. We talked a bit, she made sure I wasn't going to be a problem, then asked for 'Misses' Lulamoon."

                                            >Trixie sputters, magic flickering out and dropping a box full of trick wands, causing streams of colorful flowers and cloth to pour all over the place, covering her

                                            >You shake your head and smile.

                                            "Don't worry, I told her you were still a 'Miss.'"

                                            >"Trixie wants to know what's wrong with being a 'Miss' Lulamoon!"

                                            >She flails her hooves, freeing herself from the rainbow pile.

                                            >

                                            >"She doesn't even need to take you on a date, you know! Trixie is perfectly fine by herself."

                                            >... Play it cool, Anon.

                                            >What should you—aha!

                                            "But I was looking forward to our date."

                                            >The way her face breaks, how it can't decide between being angry or flattered, is cute.

                                            >"W-Well, I suppose Trixie will still take you on a date with her, if you show her how much you want to go!"

                                            >She stomps around and stares you straight in the eye, "You must give Trixie an apology k-k-k-ki-smooch!"

                                            >The shift from blue to red on her muzzle is something else. You fight back every urge to smile and nod, leaning down with closed eyes and puckered lips to—

                                            >—have them be mashed by a dirty, dust-covered hoof.

                                            "Yech!"

                                            >Trixie laughs loud as you reel, wiping the grit and yuck from your mouth, "Did you really think the Great and Powerful Trixie would let you k-k-smooch her lips? Fool!"

                                            "You can't even say kiss!"

                                            >"S-Shut up! The show will start soon, and Trixie is hungry! Go get her a daffodil sandwich and salad from Herb's!"

                                            >She magically tosses a lightweight bag of bits at you, likely just enough to get yourself a salad, and sends you on your way.

                                            >Still, you recovered, and you got her good.

                                            >You're a smooth one, Anonymous.


                                            "Young and old!"

                                            >You spread your arms wide, dressed in your old suit and hat that's been given some gemstone flair, addressing a captive audience of foals and chicks (or whatever you call child griffons) circling the stage in the dirt and their parents on the benches, thankful for resting their weary hooves.

                                            "I welcome you to what you undoubtedly expect will be the greatest, most powerfulest magic show in Equestria, performed by the greatest, most powerfulest magician in Equestria, the Great and Powerful Trixie!"

                                            >You dwarf the stage with your height, the children's necks craned back to look at you. You don't HAVE to project your voice, but it's good showbiz to make noise.

                                            "Unfortunately, she's in the little filly's room at the moment, so you're stuck with me, her assistant, Anonymous the Human."

                                            >And when the repetition of silly words doesn't get them, the toilet joke does. The kids become giddy and start to laugh, their parents easing on their seats.

                                            >You smile.

                                            "You may be wondering what a human is! I'm a human."

                                            >You hook your thumbs in your pockets and smug around as if that's the long and short of it. The kids start to whisper, some giggling. One, a colt in the front wearing dusty overalls, raises his hoof and calls out, "You din't tell us nothin'!"

                                            "What? I told you, I'm a human! Okay, okay, you probably wanna know more than that, don't you? Well, let me tell you, I didn't become assistant to the Great and Powerful Trixie because of my devilishly good looks—"

                                            >You lean down and stage whisper, bringing your hand to the side of your mouth, as if it could actually hide anything.

                                            "—but they did help!"

                                            >You stand tall again, satisfied with the laughs you're getting, so it's time to start for real.

                                            "No, I became her assistant because I, myself, can perform magic!"

                                            >"You ain't got no horn!"

                                            >"Where's your wand?"

                                            >All manner of kids balk at your claim, You wave your hands, getting them to focus on those spindly digits, settling them down.

                                            "It's true, I have no horn, and after an incident with turning a certain Great and Powerful magician's rabbit into a toad, I'm not allowed to use wands anymore. But!"

                                            >You draw your attention to your hands, bringing them to your face and curling each one at different intervals.

                                            "I have these magical hands. With them, I can make anything disappear~!"

                                            >The kids stare at you, in that way an enraptured audience of children does.

                                            "What? You don't believe me? Okay, watch this."

                                            >You pull a white handkerchief from your suit pocket, then begin digging around in your other pockets as you talk.

                                            "With me, I have two pieces of cloth. One is white, like the stars at night, and the other is—"

                                            >You make a big show of checking all of your other pockets, looking worried. You jerk your head backward so your hat slips, your other cloth sticking out from the back of your head.

                                            "The other cloth is red, like—Um, one moment."

                                            >You turn around and begin unbuttoning your suit. And on cue, the children start hollering


                                            >"Behind you!"

                                            >"It's under your hat!"

                                            >"You're silly!"

                                            "Huh?"

                                            >You whip your head around just right, the hat going askew. There's no danger of the red kerchief inside falling off, since it's pinned, but that should have made it come out all the way.

                                            "You're saying it was stole by a cat?"

                                            >You adopt a low, wide stance, bringing your hand to your eyebrows as you scan the horizon, looking for this so-called cat burglar. Naturally, you turn around far enough that the red cloth trails with your movements.

                                            >"It's under your HAT!"

                                            >"Yeah, your hat!"

                                            >"Hat, hat, hat!"

                                            "Ooooh, it's tucked in the SLATS!"

                                            >You drop down with catlike grace and begin prying open the false floorboards, making the kids get even more excited, all of them shouting 'hat!' now.

                                            >You make an exaggerated, grumpy face and stand up, towering over the kids all shouting.

                                            "Y'know, if you keep lying to me about where my cloth is, I won't have a show at all!"

                                            >By now, the kids are practically bouncing in the dirt, screaming 'hat!'. You cup your ear and listen carefully, nodding, your head twisted so your kerchief flails around and riles them up even more.

                                            "My hat?"

                                            >You look at the audience and they're on the edge of hopping up on stage and showing you by force.

                                            >Good.

                                            >You scratch the back of your head, looking puzzled.

                                            "Now, why would my kerchief be under my—"

                                            >Realization slooowly crawls across your face as your hand touches the cloth. You press the pin against your head and slide it, freeing the cloth, before sliding it back.

                                            "—huh! How'd it get up there?"

                                            >The kids finally get the release they needed, exuberant laughter no doubt disturbing everyone in town by now.

                                            >That's good PR.

                                            "Well, no matter. Finally, on to the show. One cloth is white—"

                                            >You pinch the white kerchief and wave it.

                                            "—like the stars at night, and the other is red, like the sky before bed."

                                            >You tuck the red one into your suit pocket and proudly swirl about the white.

                                            "Watch carefully, as I make the red one disappear."

                                            >And the kids start getting riled up again.

                                            >You have to stop yourself from smiling. It'll ruin the act.

                                            >...

                                            >No, you're not great at magic, but you do show them a few real tricks instead of looking incompetent the whole time. By the end of your short routine, they're all primed for enjoyment.

                                            "And now, for my last trick, I'm going to make myself disappear, using nothing but my hands!"

                                            >You hide your face and call out to the kids.

                                            "This trick only works if all of you close your eyes and count backwards from ten!"

                                            >The kids laugh, but when you peek through your fingers, you see most of 'em follow your instructions.

                                            "Hey! You! And you!"

                                            >You point to all of the kids that don't have their hooves or talons in front of their eyes.

                                            "You're going to ruin the trick! You gotta close your eyes!"

                                            >They join in, too. You let them peek around, of course; the joke wouldn't work if they were all ACTUALLY not looking.

                                            "Okay, start from ten! TEN! NINE!"

                                            >"EIGHT!"

                                            >"SEVEN!"


                                            >By the time they read six, you start making as much noise as possible as you run off the stage.

                                            "DON'T LOOK! THE NOISE IS PART OF THE TRICK!"

                                            >You still have your hands covered as you purposefully run into the side of the wagon, doing a controlled fall backwards. So you begin rolling in a circle to get behind and out of sight.

                                            >The kids love it.

                                            >The world is upside-down and Trixie dominates your view, a hoof to her mouth as she giggles, standing over you in her stage costume.

                                            >You give her a thumbs-up.

                                            "Knock 'em dead, Trix."

                                            >"Is there ever any doubt that Trixie would not?"

                                            >There she is. That's the Trixie you know and lo—

                                            >Hold on now, that's too cheesy.

                                            >You get up and dust yourself off, getting to the controls at the back of the wagon for the added stage effects not controlled by her magic, which are few, but important to the show.

                                            >One of which, a new addition, is enchanted speakers that give you a powerful voice.

                                            "Fillies and gentlecolts, the darling of the magical world has arrived. I'm going to need you to give your greatest, most powerfulest applause to welcome her! The one, the only..."

                                            >And once the audience cheers, Trixie teleports herself in a plume of turquoise and violet smoke, the pyrotechnics shooting flames and her horn casting intricate patterns of light. "The GREAT and POWERFUL TRRRRRIXIE!"

                                            >You'll come around to help her on her cue. For now, it's time to get yourself a drink of water and take five.


                                            "It was an accident, Trixie."

                                            >You exit the courthouse six pyrotechnic devices poorer than when you entered, sad showmare at your side, her ears floppy and cape dragging on the ground.

                                            >Trixie's hat was collateral damage, much like that young griff's tail-puff—too burned to be worn anymore.

                                            >Her parents were furious, everyone else's parents were upset, the kids were crying, and not only did you not earn a single bit, you had to pay out what you could in damages and fines. What you couldn't was 'repossessed' by the Galena police for payment.

                                            >Not like Trixie could've kept them, anyway, with her explosives license revoked.

                                            "How were we supposed to know the kid had a bird phobia? She's a griffon, for Christ's sa—"

                                            >"Anonymous, please."

                                            "Look, don't blame yourself, I was the one that set the fireworks up—"

                                            >"Anonymous!"

                                            >She stops. You stop.

                                            >"Trixie does not want to talk about it."

                                            >So you don't.

                                            >Trixie retires to the back of her wagon while you break everything down.

                                            >Not like you're going to have a show tonight, anyway.

                                            >It's a slow process, giving you plenty of time to think.

                                            >It's not the first time a show has gone awry, but it's the first time anyone's been hurt.

                                            >Really, all of her shows have a goof-up or two, but she always plays it off without anyone being the wiser.

                                            >Except you, since you help her practice.

                                            >In fact, whenever something goes wrong during practice, it's your fault.

                                            >You've actually gotten comments that her acts have been going better by the repeat customers you've met the past few months, compared to what her show was like before.

                                            >You'd think a professional would've gotten over stage fright after having toured for a few years, but shit, who are you to judge?

                                            >Your first few shows were absolute trainwrecks. Honestly, you wish you could stick with kids.

                                            >They're much easier to handle.

                                            >Well, usually.

                                            >"Anonymous, Trixie is going to visit somepony. She will be back within the hour."

                                            >You turn your head from latching the stage to the side of the wagon, Trixie exiting the front.

                                            >She looks miserable.

                                            >There's a sting in your heart.

                                            "Who are you seeing?"

                                            >"I-It's none of your business."

                                            "It very much is. I have no idea where I am, and you running off after that—after what happened makes me worry."

                                            >You walk around to meet her at the steps. Her bravado and ego are thoroughly deflated, leaving her scratching at the ground with a hoof.

                                            >"A-A friend."

                                            "You have friends here?"

                                            >"Of course Trixie does! Trixie is very popular, she'll have you know. She has friends in every town she entertains!"

                                            >She stomps with her scratching hoof, "And Trixie would not abandon her assistant, either! So stay put while she attends to her business, by HERSELF."

                                            "H-Hey, I'm just worried about you—"

                                            >"Worry about getting the wagon ready to leave!"

                                            >And before you can reply, she storms off, going the same road out from town as you came into it.

                                            >Well, shit.

                                            >She's too fast to catch, so you'll just...

                                            >... go back to packing up.


                                            >You are the Stupid and Pathetic Trixie, and you have just narrowly avoided letting Anonymous see you cry.

                                            >This isn't how today was supposed to go at all.

                                            >You messed everything up.

                                            >Like always.

                                            >It's a long walk to be stuck with yourself, so you gallop to the only place in Galena where you have friends.

                                            >A friend. One of few. Anywhere.

                                            >Far, far, on the outskirts of town, to the family rock farm where where Maud Pie lives. You stop at the fenced fields to catch your breath and dry your eyes.

                                            >You really, really wish you had your hat right now to hide them.

                                            >Thinking about your hat makes you start crying again.

                                            >You huddle down by an old post, getting your barrel dirty as you lay there, having a pity party, feeling sorry for yourself.

                                            >"Trixie. I didn't know you were going to visit today."

                                            "Maud..."

                                            >Your voice comes out a creaky whine. She walks around the post and lays beside you, a foreleg over your withers.

                                            >"Take your time."

                                            >...

                                            "—and so Trixie ran away to you, leaving Anonymous all alone. But what was she supposed to do?! She couldn't handle being around him!"

                                            >"Accidents happen, Trixie."

                                            "It's all Trixie's fault!"

                                            >You bury your head in your hooves and make an ugly, chugging sob.

                                            >"It partially is." Maud stands up, her warmth leaving your side. "You shouldn't let foals on the stage near fire hazards."

                                            >Somehow, hearing that is relieving. Like you're being told you're right, in a cruel way.

                                            >"Don't do it in the future. You can go back to Anonymous now."

                                            "W-What? No, I—T-Trixie can't!"

                                            >You hop up and glare at Maud with red eyes.

                                            "Didn't you just hear ANYTHING Trixie has said?! You even agree with her that she has committed a grave mistake and can never have another show again!"

                                            >"I didn't say that."

                                            "You may as well have!"

                                            >Your foreleg reflexively reaches for a hat you know isn't there and you wind up bonking yourself in the head. You grunt in pain.

                                            >Maud puts her hoof on your leg and pulls it down. "Trixie, it doesn't matter that you made an accident. What matters is what you learn from it."

                                            >You open your mouth to argue, so Maud boops your snout and makes you scrunch.

                                            >"There are three lessons you should take from this."

                                            >She boops you again.

                                            >"One: even tricks you consider safe could become dangerous under the right conditions, so modify your acts accordingly."

                                            "Trixie should have known—"

                                            >Another boop.

                                            >"Two: your show was very successful up until the accident, which means you are good at your job, despite this mistake."

                                            "B-But I—"

                                            >You try to dodge the third boop, but Maud is the bigger, faster mare and makes you scrunch anyways.

                                            >"Three: you have a good friend waiting for you back in Galena."

                                            "..."

                                            >"And a date."

                                            "Y-You can't seriously expect Trixie to go on a date after that disaster, right?"

                                            >Maud takes a purse out of her smock and hoofs it over to you. "I'll lend you some bits."

                                            "T-Trixie can't—"

                                            >She pushes it against your chest. "Are you going to ignore the lessons you learned?"


                                            "Trixie isn't stupid. She just objects to charity! She works hard for her bits, so—"

                                            >"I'm paying you for a private show tonight."

                                            >You purse your lips, look down at the purse, and snort.

                                            >You take it in your magic.

                                            "If you are going to be so insistent, then Trixie supposes she will take your reserva—"

                                            >Maud swipes the purse out of your magic and opens it, pulling out a rounded, dark rock with a flat bottom. "You aren't what ponies mean when they say 'hard cash,' Boulder."

                                            >Maud hoofs the purse back to you.

                                            >You snort.

                                            "That pun was terrible, Maud."

                                            >Then you laugh. Like a pressure valve letting off steam, you start laughing so much it hurts. It's so stupid.

                                            >A small smile graces Maud's lips.

                                            >Soon enough, you give your hugs and say your goodbyes and start your journey back into town, feeling much better about everything.

                                            >You'll have to apologize to Anonymous for keeping him waiting.

                                            >It's not Great or Powerful at all to be late to a date.


                                            >You are Anonymous, and you finished packing the wagon up a while ago.

                                            >Trixie's still gone.

                                            >You sit on the stairs, drinking water.

                                            >No telling how this is going to impact the show, so you're quelling hunger with liquids.

                                            >You've been meaning to tone up, anyhow.

                                            >And the hunger is a small problem when your mind roils with how Trixie's taking this.

                                            >You could tell she was excited for today.

                                            >Like, you were too, and now today sucks, but for a pony to go through that?

                                            >For HER to go through that?

                                            >Right before the date?

                                            >She probably thinks there won't even be a date.

                                            >Well, without bits, you aren't going to be going out to eat. Or eat at all.

                                            >But you're sure you could still do SOMEthing together.

                                            >But what?

                                            >Walk and talk? Stargaze? Maybe she knows some free entertainment, although, by the looks of this place, you're the only fun ones around for miles.

                                            >And that may explain why a group of kids are havering around a jaunt away, talking amongst themselves while sneaking glances at you.

                                            >You look at them for a bit, then struggle to smile and wave. The bravest one of the bunch, a little yellow filly with more hair than body, trots up to you.

                                            >"Are ya gonna have anudder show soon?"

                                            "Mmm... I don't think your parents would like that. Plus, I already packed everything up. We'll probably be leaving as soon as Tri—the Great and Powerful Trixie gets back."

                                            >You rest your head in your hand and your elbow on your knee, gesturing to the empty field beside the wagon.

                                            >"Will ya do anudder show when ya come back, den?"

                                            >You purse your lips and think about how to respond.

                                            >In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

                                            >You probably made the local headlines, but the worst that happened was some superficial damage to Trixie's property and the chick getting a small burn.

                                            >Not ideal, but not unsalvageable. With patience, Trixie and you could build your reputation back up.

                                            >You already apologized to the parents (Trixie even saved their kid by swatting the fire out with her hat before going after the flaming streamers), but apologizing again wouldn't hurt, nor would checking up on the kid.

                                            >But...

                                            >Whether or not you perform again all depends on Trixie.

                                            >While you were thinking, the filly's friends all grouped up around her, looking just as expectant as she.

                                            "Hard to say, kid. I'd love to perform here again, but—"

                                            >"—Trixie and her assistant have a very busy schedule ahead of them. There are many other towns desperate to see the stupendous and magnificent acts of magic and might that The Great and Powerful Trrrixie and her assistant, Anonymous the Human, have in store for them!"

                                            >You look up to see your boss, back to her old self, grandstanding for the kids.

                                            >It puts you in a state of shock.

                                            >This is a complete face-heel turn in her mood, in just an hour?

                                            >Did she score some drugs?


                                            >"Although she's said all of that, Trixie promises that she will grace Galena with her and her assistant's presences again... your parents willing."

                                            >The children are excited and ask her all sorts of questions, some of which earn cryptic answers to protect trade secrets, others twisted truths and embellishments, yet others still complete honesty.

                                            >Two break off from the crowd, more interested in asking you questions and getting your autograph. Thankfully, they brought sticks of charcoal for you to sign with.

                                            >"How didja turn the red cloth white?!"

                                            "Weren't you paying attention during the show, silly filly? With these magic hands!"

                                            >You ruffle her mane and she squeaks in surprise, but smiles all the same.

                                            >"Whewe did the Gweat an' Powewfuw Twixie find ya?"

                                            "On a dark and stormy night, the Great and Powerful Trixie bid me to heed her call, pulling me from another world to aide her in fearsome quests of magic and might."

                                            >"Is she yer marefriend?"

                                            "Buh—"

                                            >Trixie levitates their little notebooks and signs them with a magical quill, leaving behind a purple, glowing name sparkling with stars and comets.

                                            >"Anonymous the Human does not have the pleasure of being The Great and Powerful Trixie's special somehuman quite yet—we shall have to see how tonight's date goes."

                                            >The foal's question was the probing left jab to Trixie's right hook; you lost your mental footing and had been knocked clean off the rails of thought as all the fillies started giggling and the colts made yucky faces.

                                            >This prompted the fillies to start teasing the colts with kisses, and the group soon scattered, leaving you and Trixie alone.

                                            "I want to know what the hell you smoked to be bouncing back like this, because I could use some."

                                            >"The Great and Powerful Trrrixie does not partake in illicit substances!" She flourishes her cape and takes a seat beside you on the cramped stairs, her legs against yours. "And Trixie finds it quite insulting that you believe she went to get high rather than meet a near and dear friend to her heart!"

                                            >You absorb her playful punch with mock injury, rubbing the 'sore' spot on your arm where she struck you.

                                            "Well, alright, then. I take it everything's gone back to normal?"

                                            >"Quite so. It wouldn't be prudent to have another show here, but Trixie believes we can make up some of our losses tonight by doing a private showing for said friend's family tonight... after our dinner date."

                                            >She levitates a purse of bits with a sheepish grin, "She paid us in advance for the act."

                                            >You smile at her.

                                            "That must be some friend if they're doing all of this for you."

                                            >"Trixie received tremendous help from her in the past when Trixie's show was... not as successful as it is now."

                                            >She rests her hoof on your arm.

                                            >"But Trixie has also received tremendous help from another dear friend of hers. A friend that she quite fancies—"


                                            >You silence her by holding her hoof and pulling it off of you.

                                            "Layin' it on a little thick there, Trix. We haven't even started dating yet."

                                            >You play with her emotions for a moment—long enough for her heart to skip a beat.

                                            >Instead of breaking contact with her hoof, you put your other hand over top of it.

                                            "But I have a good feeling about tonight."

                                            >"J-Jerk! Do not toy with Trixie's feelings like that..."

                                            >You kiss her hoof, properly this time.

                                            >She doesn't sputter or squirm, though.

                                            >She just takes on a beautiful blush and quietly enjoys the moment.

                                            "How may I make it up to you, my Gorgeous and Charming Maiden?"

                                            >The showmare powers through her embarrassment with a haughty laugh, "Trixie will have you h-hold her hoof all the way to the restaurant, and treat her with the respect a lady deserves for the rest of the night!"

                                            >You smile.

                                            "But of course, Mademoiselle Lulamoon."

                                            >And as you walk her, a few thoughts enter your head.

                                            >You aren't opposed to the idea of being something more to Trixie, not at all.

                                            >She's endlessly entertaining to be around.

                                            >You work beautifully together on the stage.

                                            >And you want to see her happy.

                                            >It'd make you happiest if you were the reason she was happy, too.

                                            >Yeah, you have a good feeling about toni—

                                            >"Anonymous, Glacier's Grill is the other way."

                                            "Well, why the hell did you ask me to lead you to the place when you knew I don't know where it is?"

                                            >"Do not quibble with a lady over such minor details! Come, Trixie shall tell you where to go so that you may lead her like a proper gentlecolt."

                                            "Gentleman."

                                            >"You have the same equipment, don't give Trixie any lip."

                                            "Alright, no kisses for you tonight."

                                            >"T-That isn't what Trixie meant!"

                                            >You engage in playful banter all the way there.

                                            >Yeah, you have a good feeling about tonight.


                                            --end--