No.43244940
>>43244313
Trixie should've had an episode about negligent discharge
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>Be (You)
>Walking along a lightly wooded trail
>Beautiful sunny morning, just as scheduled by Ponyville's weather patrol
>Life is nice until you see Trixie's gaudy wagon through all the birch
>Dipshit likes to park it far away from your place on purpose
>Says she likes knowing the resident monkey would so willingly travel a long way for her
>It's kind of hot in a way
>Round the little campfire at the wagon's side and under the clothesline
>Said clothesline has multiple copies of her signature cape and hat clipped to it
>Being an ex-poorfag, you understand what that's like
>Finding the stairsteps up to the wagon's back door, you don't have to climb them to reach your fist up and--
>Several things happen all at once
>There's a sharp but loud 'pew' sound, hardly muffled by the wagon's interior
>Then a hole the size of a fingertip appears in the door's glass
>All thanks to the incredibly fast object that has since torn an equally small hole into one of those hanging capes
>Instinct takes over as you realize you're not so used to Equestria yet as to not forget what the fuck that was
>You leap away to the side a couple seconds after the fact, fighting with a mildly dry hat that blocks your vision
>"Anonymous!" merrily exclaims the offending mare
>You let your panic be known immediately as you tear the star-studded hat off its spot on the line
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT, TRIXIE!"
>Your angered shout echoes about the small forest clearing
>Trixie has her head hanging out the now open door with what looks to be a pistol floating in her pink magic
>She doesn't look amused at you shielding yourself with one of her belongings
>"Anon, please remove your grubby hands from Trixie's beloved clothing."
>She points and waves the gun at you, barrel first
>Not in a threatening way, but like she's substituting it for a hoof
>Oh this bitch
>"The only things Trixie allows either herself or her garments to be dirtied by are the screams of her adoring fans!"
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! PUT THE GUN DOWN, TRIXIE!"
>You decide to dive to the side of the wagon
>The fact Trixie doesn't follow is a blessing, but through the fearful blood rushing in your ears, you can hear her talking
>"A 'gun'? That's what this thing is?"
>Suddenly, another shot pops off
>There's a woody thud as well
>You assume Trixie isn't retarded enough to look inside the barrel and pull the trigger at the same time
>For God's sake, she's something of carpenter and a pyrotechnician to boot
>Surely...?
>Carefully, you creep closer to the wagon's corner and peek around it
>In both dread and relief do you only see the pistol lying on the first step up to the door
>Poor Trixie is standing there in the doorway, her ears folded back as far as they can go
>She has a hoof rubbing at one, having deafened herself
>How the fuck did she not do that inside the wagon?
>Shaking your head, you drop your impromptu barrier of fabric and scoop the pistol up
>"H-hey! That's Trixie's property, you ape!"
>You don't even have to look at her to know the hand you've reached out with is blocking her from lunging at you via her forehead
>That's what you get for being small, bitch
>Ignoring her, you examine the pistol
>Kind of square, all black, has a short rail in front of the trigger guard for a flashlight or a laser
>Wait...
>It could've been a Glock, it could've been an S&W, or even a 1911
"Fucking Sig Sauer, Trixie? Really?"
>You turn to her with a look of a mix of dismay and disappointment, realizing her magic probably discharged the pistol for her
>"What?" she stops her struggling, her hooves having been batting adorably at your unmoving arm.
"You had to summon a fucking P320?"
>"You think Trixie knows what that means? For Luna's sake, just give it back already!"
>Her voice turns into a grumbled growl as she renews her efforts
>Bitch can't even be bothered to use magic to free herself
>Sighing, you turn the other way and throw the little gun somewhere beyond the thick, bushy perimeter of the clearing
>"NOOOO!"
>Trixie screams, at which point you take your hand back and watch her tumble out of the wagon and onto the grass in front of you
>She doesn't protest further nor do you get a chance to help her up
>She scrambles up as fast as she can and darts after her prize like a cat with special needs, making enough noise to make it seem like she's disturbing the whole forest
>Out of curiosity, you glance back at the door's vertical window and the bullet hole she'd punched through it
>You just know she's going to make you help her replace it
>She'll probably threaten you at gunpoint now that she knows exactly what it does
>You sigh again
>What are you ever going to do with this mare?