//------------------------------// // Chapter Four: Awakenings // Story: City of Brass // by Beegirl Scribbler //------------------------------// In a smelly basement illuminated only by two stubby, flickering candles, Flim sipped from a cup of tea and listened intently as his brother read from the first of three books. "Bilious Brass,” Flam said, eyes narrowed. “A unicorn specializing in reality warping magic, born in the year 5 B.B.” “What's B.B.?” Flim asked. Flam turned to his brother. His tone was highly exasperated. “Before Blizzard.” Of course, he himself had had to check the footnotes to find that out. Most history books used B.E. ('Before Equestria') nowadays. But neither he nor Flim ever enjoyed being interrupted. “Ah!” Flim nodded. “That little incident the pageants cover, then.” “I suppose so, brother.” Flam turned back to the book and kept reading. “Dangerously demented, Bilious was a deadly menace to young Equestria—arguably responsible for the demise of Starswirl the Bearded, though only indirectly, accidentally, and to this day unknowingly.” Flim sipped from his cup. “Starswirl the who?” Flam pointedly ignored his brother this time. “Bilious Brass was a recurring foe of Clover the Clever, as his unending quest for chaos and blood constantly brought him into conflict with the other unicorn.” He cleared his throat. Normally, long monologues were a piece of cake. But normally he wasn't so occupied with concealing his stress. “Though his magic was inarguably stronger than Clover's, he continued, "his lack of caution or foresight allowed her to repeatedly outmaneuver him. Every time this happened, he would deploy his magic to warp reality and escape.” “So, a foolish magician with more power than he knew what to do with.” Flim set the teacup down, shrugging. “Nothing new, brother.” “I'm not exactly sure of that, brother.” Flam frowned. “The book is regrettably sparse on the nature of reality warping magic. Did it occur to you he ought to be dead by now? For multiple reasons?” “Well...perhaps.” Flim coughed. “All the same, magicians have their ways. We shouldn't exactly aspire to understand the minds of madponies.” Flam rolled his eyes. “Well, allow me to continue.” “Alright, alright.” Flim waved a hoof. “Go on and finish the story, I'll not interrupt you again.” Flam turned the page, coming to a picture of Bilious Brass facing down a familiar white alicorn. “Upon Discord's rise to power, Bilious became much less prominent, though he continued to sow chaos where he was permitted. A short while after Discord's defeat, though, Bilious was at last tracked down by Princess Celestia.” Flim chuckled. “And her alone. There certainly was not another alicorn present.” Flam smirked. “Certainly not, dear brother.” Perhaps they weren't siding with Bilious Brass, but any chance to mock Celestia's regime—one of the few dictatorships willing to put up with such impudence—was a chance always taken by Flim and Flam. Especially given what the Princess had quietly done to their business following their attempt to take over a particular town's cider market. Flam went back to reading. “A mighty battle took place between the two magic-users. The earth shook, the clouds fell, and the sun and moon flew rampant like maddened birds as the very fabric of existence was torn to ribbons and resewed again and again.” He scowled. “Really, now? Is the author trying to tell history or compose a poem? But wise Celestia quickly realized her magic was incompatible with Bilious's, rendering most of her prized defensive spells useless. And she was losing as a result.” “He knocked her out,” Flim said, trimming his hooves with a file, “and Luna takes over.” Flam gave a small smile. “So, trying a different tactic, Princess Celestia tricked Bilious, convincing him to prove his power by turning a brass lamp into something not even he could affect with magic. She then trapped him inside.” He levitated the book up and slammed it shut. “The lamp was sealed in the Canterlot vaults, and remains there to this day.” He looked up at his brother, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't expected much of a reaction, and he didn't get one. Flim looked back at him, expressionless. “And?” Flam set the book down, stacking it between the other two. And he hesitated. Just a moment, for once he said his piece, there would be no turning back. He eyed the books like a hostile hornet hive as he spoke. “The schematics are designed to emulate windigoes, brother-of-mine.” Flim picked up his teacup as he turned away. “Beg pardon?” Flam's horn sparked, and the three books caught alight. He wasn't facing them, though. His eyes were fixed firmly on the back of Flim's head. “Starswirl's memoir focuses almost entirely upon windigoes.” Flim glanced back, despite being clearly eager to appear uninterested before his mustachioed twin. Flam trotted over beside the stairs, picking his straw hat up off the floor. He'd set it there earlier, as wearing it around levitating candles had seemed an unsafe venture. “War spirits, dear brother.” He carefully dusted the hat off. “They channel anger into magical energy, and—” “Oh, I know what they are.” Flim took both of the candles in his magic, snuffing them out. For a moment, they were in total darkness. Only the burning books gave any sort of illumination, and their fire was already completing its short reign of destruction. “Who doesn't?” Flim went on. “I'm just curious as to—“ Flam placed the hat upon his head, careful not to let his sudden blindness cause him to place it crooked. A rakish angle would not do. “The schematics Bilious gave us are identical to the 'body' of a windigo.” “Ah! So Bilious wishes to acquire power.” Flam heard Flim laugh. “You simply must cease reading these dusty old books of yours. I think you're wasting your time here. Come, now, let's go to work. I really would appreciate your help with this project, brother-of-mine!” As Flam adjusted his black bow tie, he heard creaking from the side. Flim was headed up the stairs. Flam's eyes narrowed. He leaped and scrabbled up onto the stairs from the side. He could vaguely make out his brother standing right below him, looking a bit startled. “No.” He stomped his hoof, eliciting another series of groans from the old wooden boards. “You don't understand, brother. Windigoes don't gain raw power, they channel it straight into another function: a blizzard.” Flim's head tilted. His eyes darted from side to side. “So the aim is to create a blizzard.” “The aim,” Flam snapped, “is to redirect the anger to somepony who can use it. Somepony who gains a substantial benefit from being surrounded by anger and mayhem.” Flim chuckled, shaking his head. “Brother, who do you think would—oh, ah, hm, um.” It was beyond the nature of the pair to really trail off or pause mid-speech. That Flim had just done so indicated very reliably that he'd just understood. Flam closed his eyes, concentrating. He opened them, and his horn was shedding enough light to see by. Flim was looking back at the mess of smoldering paper. “Indeed, brother.” Flam gave a curt nod. “'Um' is exactly the brand of terminology I'd use.” Flim avoided eye contact. After a moment, Flam's expression softened. “Come, brother-of-mine. Pack what you need. We are beating a hasty retreat, before things get even worse.” Flim eyed the stairs he stood upon. “But...” His voice was quiet. “...the...well, surely it's not so bad.” Flam stared. Please don't be saying what I believe you're, in fact, saying. “After all...” Flim gave a nervous laugh. “Surely, we can come to some...arrangement. After all—" Flam grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him. “He's going to revive Discord, you crazed fool!” His voice was shrill. Manic, even. “You've got us into a rather hilariously unpleasant situation, and we're getting out of it while we still can!” Flim frowned, looking up. “I've got us into it? Why must it always be somepony's fault?” Flam glared, before releasing his brother and running up the stairs. “It hardly matters, brother.” He opened the door and glanced back. “We've got to get this information where it's needed. Then, we're going to get out of here.” His horn glowed. “Come, help me teleport.” “Where are we going?” Flim asked, as he followed Flam up the stairs. “The Salted Macaw. We know the owner, remember?” “Ah, yes. Nice fellow. Right, then.” Flim walked beside Flam. Then, he seemed to hesitate. Flam tried to keep his voice level. “What is it now, Flim?” "Well, just...” Flim tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps we should help out that Mingli fellow.” Flam blinked. “What? Why?” Flim kicked the floor, shrugging. “We can always use favors, brother. And it would be the, ah, 'right thing to do'.” Flam sighed. “Fine, fine. Just a short detour, then.” His horn flashed, as did Flim's. The two brothers vanished. —— Down in the basement, the books smoldered. The building was silent. After a few seconds, the melting ink began to stream from the ashes. Like a parasite fleeing an unsafe host, it tidily exited the pile and spilled onto the floor. The black ink turned gold. —— In the library tower, Flam, Flim and Mingli stood before an occupied cell. The door was shut, and the silver lock partially melted. Flam's horn glowed, and the cell lock quietly reformed. He examined it, then grinned. “Ah, that should do splendidly! How's the illusion look, Flim?” Flim eyed the pony in the cell. It in every way resembled Meddling Mingli. He glanced at the real Mingli standing at his side. “Not bad, hm?” Mingli shrugged. The shopkeeper had been fairly quiet as they'd explained the situation, and hadn't said much more than a word since. He clearly still didn't trust them. And he shouldn't! Flim thought, inwardly chuckling. Though he wasn't exactly sure how ironic the thought was. He did feel a bit guiltier than he was accustomed to. Had he really meant to forge an alliance with Discord? Discord, who had— “Flim!” Flam snapped. Flim blinked. “Hm?” “Will the illusion do?” Flim was silent a moment, departing from his thoughts. Then, he nodded. “Yes, brother, it will do. For long enough, anyway.” Flam nodded back. “That's what I thought. It wouldn't take much to deceive him, anyway—he's not the brightest, I'd say.” Flim smirked. “Well, then.” He adjusted his hat, making sure it was properly straight. It had been knocked a bit crooked when Flam had shaken him, and a rakish angle would not do. “Let's ready the teleport, brother-of-mine!” He began to concentrate on the spell. Just as it began, though, it was cut off by a calm voice. “Why are you doing this, again?” Flim scowled as the magic faded. He looked at Mingli, whose face remained blank. “Well, Discord hasn't done any of us any favors.” He shrugged. “And if that buffoon Bilious means to raise him...” “Then we'll be doing what can be done to stop that from happening,” Flam finished. He paused, tilting his head. “Without endangering ourselves, of course.” “Of course,” Flim agreed. Some things never changed. Flim did feel awful—awful enough to seek out the Princesses to warn them, and that showed a pretty awful scenario—but this was as far as it went. War profiteering wasn't their business, and they'd not be privy to Discord's schemes, but wars period were not their business, either. “Besides, Meddling Mingli's Measured Magics is a nice shop.” Flim grinned. “Be a shame to see it collapse into ruin.” “Yes, nice place,” Flam agreed. “Hm.” Mingli cocked his head. “I guess those are good reasons.” “Alright, Flam.” Flim started to cast. “Get ready to teleport.” He looked at Flam, then at Mingli to be sure the earth pony was ready. Their dual-teleports used little energy, but those who didn't help cast tended to end up a bit blackened. The shopkeeper was smiling. "I expect it's appreciated,” he said. His voice was slow and smug. Flam's horn began to glow. “Hm?” “I'm sure Mingli appreciates the effort.” Mingli's grin widened. “I'll be sure to let him know.” Flam's horn dimmed. He blinked. On the other side of Mingli, Flim blinked. His horn's glow also died. Wordlessly, Mingli spun and bucked Flim in the face. Flim was knocked away like a rag doll. Mingli spun back. His second target was backing towards the wall as he kicked out—and the shopkeeper's legs seemed to stretch, covering the distance between them. Flam was slammed solidly in the chest and sent flying in the opposite direction. The brothers smacked into their walls at the same time. They slowly slid to the floor, groaning, as Mingli's features reoriented into those of Bilious Brass. “Stupid, stupid.” The unicorn giggled. Mingli's coat vanished, replaced by Bilious's garish golden fur. “Very, very stupid.” Flim was content to lie there and hope he wouldn't get kicked again. It felt like an anvil had fallen on him. But Flam was trying to get up, and Bilious bounced over. “Need some help?” he asked. “Where's...Meddle?” Flim found it hurt too much to talk, so he didn't say anything more. He was fairly certain his jaw was broken. Bilious grinned, turning back. His horn flashed blue, and Flim found his jaw no longer hurt. The rest of him was still aching, though. “Oh, he's fine. I relocated him when I noticed Flam reading those books. Even a non-bright buffoon could work out what would happen if I gave him those books!” He jabbed Flam in the side, and the unicorn yelped. “See? This is what happened.” Flam took a deep breath, scowling. “You will...you'll not be able to pull this silly little stunt of yours off, you know.” “Oh?” Bilious rolled his eyes, turning back to Flim. “But I've got the best in the world working at it!” His eyes swirled many colors. “Are we clear, then? I can kill you whenever I want. I don't because I need your help.” He was suddenly standing right over Flim, wearing a sympathetic smile. “But I don't need it that much. In fact, I think there might be a pretty alternative coming up soon." He jabbed Flim, eliciting a yelp identical to Flam's. "Stay on my good side.” Flim and Flam lay in silence. “Is that understood?” Bilious beamed at them. There was no uncertainty in Flim's mind as he nodded. He saw Flam slowly do the same. “Great!” Bilious giggled. His horn glowed, and the strange lizard creature on his back levitated up and landed in front of Flim. The lizard stared straight into his eyes. It was then that Flim realized the lizard's eyes were yellow, with bright red pupils. The lizard spoke, in a painfully familiar voice. "I do understand you don't like being cooped up. Like me, and like the idiot behind me, you're free spirits.” The lizard gave a disturbingly equine grin, showing hundreds of sharklike teeth. “So we're going to give you a break. We have a job for you.” “For the record,” Bilious remarked, turning away, “you've both showed some nobility in your black little hearts. You get points for that.” He vanished from sight, cackling. “But this isn't a game. Points don't mean a flying feather.” —— Luna took a deep breath, clearing her throat. It was true that the ability to brandish when necessary the official Royal Canterlot Voice was a great responsibility. She generally reserved it for only the most particular of occasions—sending fell forces fleeing from the field of battle, giving momentous speeches, the annual Nightmare Night celebration. “...you...did...” Or whenever she lost hold of her temper. “WHAT?” Three minutes ago, Luna had been awoken and informed of a great many ugly occurrences by a highly agitated Captain of the Royal Guard. She'd remained sitting in her bed throughout the explanations, and she sat thusly now. Her room was dark—she distrusted windows—and held absolutely nothing but her bed and a sparsely-populated bookshelf. And her, of course, and Captain Steady Rate II—a slight pegasus with an ashen coat and a dust-brown mane, wearing a blue cape and steel helmet both somewhat overlarge for him. He cringed as Luna advanced. “Please, Your Highness, it really wasn't my decision—" Luna raised an eyebrow. “WAS IT CELESTIA'S?” Steady Rate glanced back at the door as it glowed and slammed shut. “Um, no, because—” Luna got up and hopped off the bed. “DID SHINING ARMOR RETURN, TO SHOW YOU HOW A CAPTAIN IS MEANT TO LEAD?” Captain Rate winced. He took a step back. “Well, no, but Ms. Sparkle—” “THEN WHOSE DECISION WAS IT, CAPTAIN STEADY RATE THE SECOND?” Captain Rate flinched. “It...” Luna purged all hints of emotion from her face, giving the captain a cold stare. He bowed his head. “...it's mine, Your Highness.” Luna gained a substantial measure of satisfaction from forcing the confession, though she also felt some guilt over it. It was not that Rate was a bad captain, he was simply...not as good as Shining Armor. He served well as a second-in-command, certainly, and that was what he'd been under the old captain. But when Shining Armor had left for the Crystal Kingdom, a replacement had been required. Bureaucracy and accusations of nepotism had reared their hideous heads and Rate had ended up promoted. It was hardly his fault. Luna had seen his dreams, and they were sorry ones. He knew he did not deserve the job, but Luna was far too angry to heed her conscience right now. She did not appreciate being woken up in the early noon hours. She relied upon her sixteen hours of sleep, whatever Celestia claimed, and ten scant hours would hardly suffice. Ah, and discovering her sister's star pupil had turned traitor and been marked accordingly was unpleasant as well. She reduced her volume, but her tone remained deadly. “You issued a warrant for Twilight Sparkle's arrest.” Rate nodded. “She threatened the Princess, Your Highness. My duty was done, Your Highness.” Luna's eyes narrowed, as Rate avoided her gaze. She considered for a moment forcing him to make eye contact, but the thought was swiftly stricken down. Such ideas were unpleasant reminders of the darker days. “Has she been caught?” “No, Your Highness. The warrant is low-priority, Your Highness. I thought it would be right to wait for your input, Your Highness.” “Hm.” Luna approached the door, passing Steady Rate. “Well, you were correct.” She turned back. “Where is my sister?” Captain Rate was focused intently on the floor. “Well, that's...that's the thing.” He fell silent, looking at the dark blue tiles. Luna did force him to look at her now, but as a matter of practicality. Captain Rate's face was always a book to read, and understanding him now was crucial. He was frightened, she saw. Frightened, concerned, and filled with guilt. Nothing surprising there. Slightly indignant, too—Luna knew he did not like to be levitated about like a rag doll. There was little of interest, save a hint of disappointment that was a bit unusual. As Luna noted the expression, Rate wrested himself free of her control and looked back to the floor. “I apologize, Captain.” Luna turned away. “I must be certain.” She took a deep breath. “My sister has gone missing, then?” She heard nothing, but knew Rate was nodding. “I see.” Luna worked a bit of quick magic, opening the door and levitating Rate into the air. He floated past her, hanging limply from her spell. “Find Twilight Sparkle. Suspend the arrest warrant, but find her. Let nopony learn of my sister's disappearance.” She dropped Rate to the floor, outside her room. “I will lower the sun early today, to make the search easier. Daylight hours are to be cut from five-o'-clock-to-nineteen to eight-o'clock-to-sixteeen. Understood?” Rate picked himself up off the floor and nodded. Luna slammed the door shut. —— Trixie lay on something hard and cold, eyes shut tight, heart full of fear. The unthinkable had happened. The voices in her head had returned. Not very smart...unarmed in the Second... Not unarmed...knife? She must be... This was very bad. Trixie? That unicorn who...all that trouble? Must be a native to the Second...jail? She'd been free of the voices since her departure from that bizarre rock farm. Her ex-employers had assured her that the voices were magical spirits of the farm and nothing to do with her own psyche—and that they would therefore not follow her. It was extremely troubling that they'd returned now, all the way in... Canterlot. She was in Canterlot, outside the Second District. She'd escaped Bilious's clutches. Mingli hadn't. She had to warn the Princesses. Yeah, I reckon. Nice hiding...the knife. ...that arrow?...doesn't matter, I guess. Anyways...some ponies to take her away. The voices were not in her head. “Uh-oh,” said a young mare. “I think she's waking up, Sticker.” “Don't worry 'bout her.” This voice was deeper and gruffer. “She's no threat. All smoke an' mirrors, no real magic.” Trixie opened her eyes. She was in the middle of the road, barely beyond the Second District checkpoint. The hole she'd made in the gate was still there. Her captors were two pegasi, wearing armor that marked them as Royal Guards. One of them was a young mare about Trixie's age, and the other an aged stallion with a bushy gray beard. The latter, most likely 'Sticker', had a spear leveled at her. Trixie tried to speak, but found it hurt a little, ruining what was meant to be a perfectly phrased inquiry. “The—why's the—why'm I—ah?” “Mm-hm.” The stallion raised an eyebrow. “You been here a while, I reckon. Musta arrived way back when we were changin' shifts. Never even noticed you was here.” He glanced around. “An' ponies ain't been comin' near this checkpoint today, so...yeah.” “Trixie...I see.” A little surprised she hadn't bled to death, Trixie craned her neck up to look at the bolt in her side. Strangely, there was no blood around the injury. Indeed, there wasn't even a sign it was an injury. It was completely clean, as if she was a doll with nothing beneath the skin but white stuffing. Trixie frowned. “What in...” “Yeah, darndest thing.” Sticker poked the bolt with his spear. Trixie winced, but the contact hadn't hurt. “We was all set to call doctors, but you didn't need none. There's no injury. It's like that bolt's been there all your life.” The pegasus mare scowled, circling around to stand on the other side of Trixie. “Yeah, what's up with that?” Her tone was demanding. While Sticker seemed to be making some miniscule effort to maintain a professional air, this mare clearly had no such interest. “Some sort of unicorn voodoo?” Trixie stared at the bolt, slowly understanding. Bilious wants me alive. “Um...Trixie does not know.” The two guards exchanged looks. “Regardless...” She shifted, getting to her hooves. “It matters not. Trixie must be off!” She looked around. The streets were oddly empty. Perhaps Bilious's doing, or perhaps it was just because nopony wanted to go near the Second District. Regardless, she had to work out where to go from here. And she had to get away from the checkpoint. She cleared her throat. “Trixie must be—off.” Sticker's spear had been jabbed right at her, nearly poking her in the forehead. “Yeah. You ain't goin' nowhere, yeah, Needle?” “That's right, Sticker.” “Mm-hm. Let's head to the jail, Trix. C'mon.” Sticker lowered the spear, tilting his head in the desired direction. “Don't wanna make a ruckus.” Trixie looked at the two guards. She looked at the spear. “I—what?” I'm being arrested? What did I... She looked at the gate, and winced as her brain registered the obvious. “Oh. Yes. Property damage.” “Yeah. That little inconvenience.” The stallion poked her in the chest with the spear. “C'mon, we don't got all day.” Trixie grimaced, leaning back. “Stop jabbing Trixie!” “Then come with us,” Needle said. Trixie turned to face the other mare, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. “Unless you'd rather we knock you out—which would be nice, since it'd mean we'd have a good excuse to have somepony else deal with you.” “Hey, Needle.” Sticker poked Needle in the side with his spear. “Remember, you had them classes.” “We have a gate to guard.” Needle nudged the spear away, still glaring at Trixie. “But the vandal is going to jail, awake or not.” She moved to stand beside Sticker. Trixie's eyes widened. She looked around again, but the area remained free of pedestrians—not that anypony would help her. She turned back to the guards. “But...” She didn't want to start a fight. She was still frail, healing or no, and she would lose. But jail? She wouldn't go to jail! She couldn't! She needed to save Equestria! She needed to prove— No. She would explain. She would explain what Bilious was up to, and save Equestria. She cleared her throat. “Buhbahbi...” She blinked. “...bemma?” The nonsense words rang in her ears like a cannon blast. She went over them internally, searching her strained mind. Perhaps they were code, or she'd somehow misheard. Had she just said that? She'd meant to explain the situation! Maybe these ponies wouldn't believe her, but at least they might investigate. Tell the Princesses, stop the war. But all that had come out was... “Awckaboo! Bewegaga!” Why am I gibbering? Why would I ever gibber? This was bad. This was very bad. “Bebebe—kookada! Wepipp—shoopbedo—” Trixie sighed, closing her eyes. “Oh, I give up.” She blinked, as she heard the words—actual words. Her voice had returned! She returned the stares of the two bewildered pegasi. “I can speak! I can—” She cleared her throat again. “Babakootee!” She scowled. “Oh, horse apples...” The pegasi cocked their heads in opposite directions. Trixie closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “Very well. Go ahead and arrest Trixie, because I haven't any idea...none at all.” She opened her eyes and found the guards weren't looking at her anymore. They'd focused on somepony behind her. A voice sounded. “I'll cover the expenses for the gate!” The voice was pleasant, clear. A bit weak, as if the speaker was unsure of the offer. But to Trixie, it was the best sound in all of Equestria, and she opened her eyes and turned. A white pegasus with a long pink mane and ash-magenta eyes had rounded a nearby street corner. For some reason, the mare was very familiar to Trixie. She tried to remember why and realized she hadn't the faintest inkling. More important than the familiarity, however, was the clinking pouch the pegasus had just tossed to the guards. It laid at the hooves of the two confused-looking pegasi. After a moment, Needle opened it and peered inside. As she examined it, Sticker glared. “Whatever it is, it ain't enough!” He stomped his hoof, waving his spear at the newcomer. “This's a matter of the law now, an'—” “You're free to go,” Needle said, staring in the bag. “Eh?” Sticker turned to his partner, who showed him the contents with a shrug. He looked inside and his eyes bulged. “Oh! Alright, then! I guess that'll cut it.” He looked back up at Trixie, eyes narrowing again. “Just this once. Next time...” He and Needle flew back up to the top of the checkpoint without another word. Trixie watched them depart. Once they were safely out of earshot, she turned, looking at her benefactor with a grateful smile. “Thank you, so much. You may not believe this, but you have just—” She stopped. The pony looked a bit upset. “What's the matter?” “Hm?” The newcomer looked away from the guards, back at Trixie. Her stunned expression quickly shifted to one of slight regret. “Oh, um, nothing. I'm just...a little disappointed, is all.” Trixie scratched her head, looking between the pegasus and the checkpoint. “In what?” The pegasus's eyes shifted. “Honestly, I hadn't expected bribery to work on Royal Guards.” “Ah.” Trixie shrugged, patting her new friend on the shoulder. “Well, it was a trivial crime in the first place. I'd not worry overmuch.” “I suppose.” Trixie peered at her rescuer. Not only was this pegasus bizarrely familiar, she was acting very strangely. She was clearly new to Canterlot, but her accent was native. The contradiction agitated Trixie, who always liked to know what was going on. Still, whoever this pony was, she'd saved Trixie from being arrested. She couldn't be so bad. And Trixie would need some help, she was sure. “My name is Trixie!” She offered a hoof, and tried to keep her voice free of suspicion. The pegasus then did something else that gave Trixie pause. She took the hoof, not as a handshake, but from beneath, as if it was a gift to accept. It was a very...regal move. She quickly altered the motion, giving Trixie's hoof a brisk shake. “I'm Cel...erm, um, Tia. Tia...ra...Maker.” Tiara Maker coughed, averting eye contact. “The...tiara maker.” “Oh.” Trixie blinked. That is, beyond a doubt, the worst false name I have heard since the incident with that Ponyville changeling. “Well, well met, Tiara Maker! Trixie—I am currently in dire need!” Tiara Maker rubbed the top of her head. “With what?” This pony is lying and being weird and may be insane. But she's all fate's provided Trixie with. “Gaabbaba.” Trixie closed her eyes, trying to contain a hundred vile curses—two of which she was fairly certain would summon horrible abominations to the Physical Plane if actually uttered. She couldn't talk about it. For some reason, she couldn't talk about it. That was that, no more trying. She opened her eyes, and found, to her surprise, that Tiara didn't seem confused. The white pegasus seemed horrified. Trixie raised an eyebrow. “What is wrong, Ms. Maker?” Tiara Maker looked around, eyes narrowing. Without warning, she lunged, grabbed Trixie by the hoof, and leaped into the air. She promptly fell right back down, landing on her belly. Trixie stumbled and fell as well. But just as quick, Tiara was back up. “Sorry. I'm sorry, I forgot I can't lift ponies with one hoof anymore.” She looked away from Trixie, releasing the hoof. “Not...that I ever could.” Trixie stared. “What do you—” “There's no time to waste! Follow me!” Tiara zoomed down the street and turned into an alleyway, out of sight. After a moment's hesitation, Trixie took off after. Not for the first time, she was beginning to think her taste in friends was gravely flawed.