Despite the insanity of the situation, Spike found his new home to actually be sort of… fun.
(Not that he would ever admit this to anypony, of course; there was still much to complain about. For instance):
It was annoying enough to be strapped into the wheelchair whenever he left his cell room… but being cooperative meant going down the hallway at a leisurely pace. The nurses knew Spike enjoyed sightseeing on his way to Daily Group – and he knew they enjoyed it, too. Each exit from the cell was another journey down the Hall of Madness, and Spike never tired of visiting that attraction, as it truly was a new experience every time. Therefore, he would stand back as the cell door opened, claws behind his back, patiently waiting to be secured by the apathetic nurses, who would crack jokes with him the whole time and relate how the weather was.
(Sunny – it was always “sunny.”)
Ditsy Doo would watch him from the corner, a serene smile on her face. “Bye, Dragon!” she would cheer. “Make sure you bring back some scissors to cut me down, mmkay!?”
Spike would glance at the mare hanging upside-down in her ceiling harness and think once again about how, if he had wanted to, he could’ve cut Ditsy free ages ago or merely burned the harness ropes. Before leaving, he would tell the unicorn, “I’ll try, alright? Make sure you keep wiggling!”
(Ditsy believed wiggling prevented the blood from rushing to her head. This was obviously wrong, but Spike could not bear to break the news to her. Also, watching her spin around was sort of like seeing an obese spider attempt to crawl back up its own string; sad, but very amusing.)
Spike would then be wheeled out to face the rest of the asylum on his way to Group, exchanging commentary on the obscene events in the halls with his nurses. He would hear the sounds of Ditsy swinging about and grunting behind him just before the door closed and be assured that all was right with his mad little world behind walls.
It was the entirety of one Sunday’s afternoon in particular that Spike found to be the most memorable:
They had been rolling down the hall, he and his nurses, surrounded by white – white walls, white floor, white outfits. Sunlight streamed in through dozens of tiny windows all along the tops of the walls, making the white shine as brightly as Celestia’s coat. Spike had been lounging in his (white) wheelchair – or leaning back as much as he could in his confines – chatting with Nurse Floyd as they pushed him leisurely down the hall.
“It really is amazing, how staring at the walls turns them different colors,” the Nurse had said. “Like, if you just stare a little bit, you’ll get something that’s… that’s… not white. You know?”
Spike nodded, as was his duty. He replied, “The Canterlot castle is mostly white. I don’t mind the color, now. Kind of reminds me of my time up there.”
“Is Celestia really as strange behind doors as they say?” whispered Nurse Bell. “I hear she has some strange ‘habits,’ if you know what I mean.”
“Well… I’ve heard some rumors,” Spike admitted. “Her personal guards all have a name for her… something with ‘M.’ More-estia? Mule-estia?”
“Mule-estia? That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Well, I never heard it clearly.”
At that point in the conversation, they had rounded the corner to the final hallway of their journey. The Last Stretch, as Spike called it, was the most fun; ponies being dropped off to group would often attempt crazy things on being released from their bindings. Sunday was no exception.
“Ooh, look at that one, Spike!” gushed Nurse Floyd.
There was an angry-looking unicorn walking on the ceiling just a few yards ahead of them. Her anti-magic horn wrappings trailed from her mouth, hanging just above a crowd of several earth ponies leaping with all their might. A mix of anxious nurses and excited patients alike were making grabs for the wrap, coming within inches of it at the arcs of their jumps.
“No fair, Vanilla!” cried a patient. “I want to defy gravity, too!”
Vanilla growled and shook her head vigorously. The bandage in her mouth slipped just a bit, allowing the teasing end to come within reach of her followers. One inmate succeeded in nabbing the wrap with her jaws. All ponies around her – a swarm of shouting nurses and laughing patients – grabbed onto the one mare attached to the wrap. They were forced to hold on tight as Vanilla charged across the ceiling with the fury of magic, dragging the clump of ponies across the floor. Spike and his nurses dodged the screaming group of equines just in time to watch them crash into the wall as Vanilla turned the corner, knocking loose a few ponies. Vanilla dragged the remainder with ferocious speed, taking her living wrecking ball for a once-in-a-lifetime trip through the asylum.
Nurse Floyd shook her head and muttered, “We’re a mental hospital, not Ponyville Central. How are we supposed to fix up those foals?”
The foals in question were all still slumped on the floor, unconscious or groaning in pain. One attempted to get up only to be knocked down again by a dizzy patient. He sighed audibly and moaned, “Buck my life.”
“Not our problem!” Nurse Bell said. “Let’s keep movin’.”
Spike nodded. He glanced up at the ceiling as they progressed back down the hall, taking in the sight of Vanilla’s hoofprints.
When at last they reached the Group room, Nurse Floyd sighed with relief. She and Nurse Bell set about untying Spike. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could see the other members of Group assembled in their circle of chairs, with Dr. Roar Schach at the helm.
“Thanks, ladies,” Spike said. “It’s always a pleasure.”
“See ya soon, bud.”
“Bye!”
The nurses departed, leaving Spike to walk solemnly over to his seat next to Dr. Schach. He eased himself onto the cushion and stared at the center of the carpet, refusing to look at his neighbor voluntarily. As mellow as Spike had grown inside the white walls of Ponyville Asylum, he still could not rid himself of disgust for Dr. Schach.
When Spike did raise his eyes, however, he noticed an extra chair had been added to the circle. Before he could even begin to think about it, Dr. Schach announced, “We’re going to meet a new member of Group today, everypony. I want you to be on your best behaviors and welcome her with open forelegs.”
Spike glanced to his left at Screwball. The mare was busying herself by running her tongue in full circles around her lips, as if trying to press them flat. “Hey, Screwy,” Spike whispered. “Do you know who the new pony is?”
Screwball cocked her head to the side. Spike watched in shock as her tongue suddenly slid two feet out of her mouth and formed the shape of a question mark in mid-air.
“Okay, then,” he muttered. “Guess you’re just as lost as I am.”
The mare winked. Spike felt his heart drop into his stomach; a wink from Screwball was always followed with a kiss. The dragon stayed put, willing himself to be brave as the two-foot tongue wrapped itself around his head like a whip and pulled him into Screwball’s embrace. Spike shuddered as the tongue retracted and Screwball rubbed her chin over his head.
“Okay – yeah – I love ya too, Screwy,” he said.
Mercifully, she released him. Spike sunk into his seat, his small legs hanging over the edge of the cushion. Dr. Schach chuckled pleasantly next to him. “Oh, such sweetness among peers,” he said. “Celestia would be proud.”
Bite my tail, Spike thought.
“We will begin today’s Group when our newest member arrives,” Dr. Schach declared. “Until then, relax, settle yourselves for proper introduction, and reflect on your progress.”
Spike chose to reflect his gaze on the Group instead. He had been attending long enough to know most ponies he was in the asylum with and had even met a few beforehand. Clockwise, from Spike’s left:
Screwball, who had been born with absurd magical talents that could rival Pinkie Pie’s, but whose mind had suffered from them; Jelly Jam, a stallion who had developed an over-obsessive need to be one with his namesake and cutie mark; Doctor Whooves, whose only true offenses were consistent sarcasm, an overly-analytical nature, and a penchant for reminding everypony that he was “not mad, merely out of place and out of sorts” with his reality (and would soon escape all the “rather foolish equines”); Pokey Pierce, who had used his horn for unmentionable purposes; a black and white unicorn with an inkwell cutie mark who was a cynical force of biting humor welded with disturbing jokes (who seemed to have an entirely conspicuous, contrived purpose in being there); Pipsqueak, whose vague adventures with Princess Luna landed him a mandatory ‘rehabilitation’ (because Luna herself could not endure the punishment, Spike was informed); –
“But it was so worth it,” Pip had said, grinning. “I got to see her –!”
– Diamond Tiara, who was suffering an identity crisis and serious devaluing of self-worth after Applebloom’s cutie pox episode; the empty chair; and Dr. Schach, who had a mane like a lion’s and a golden brown coat.
Spike realized almost immediately how long his own thoughts had just run and what a pain it would have been for anypony to read a written form of it, but merely shrugged and sank farther into his cushion.
It was at this moment that the door suddenly opened, canceling all further introspection and character development in favor of getting on with the show. All heads turned to watch as a wheelchair rolled in from the shadows. Two slender blue legs were propped on the rests, each accented with a coating of magic glitter, a modern coat modification practiced among the elite of Hollyhoof and See-Glass actresses. The nurses, Spike noticed, had been generous in confining their patient, even allowing them to wear an anti-magic hood instead of the usual horn wrappings. The silky-coated blue mare was wheeled in slowly by a pair of stallion nurses.
Ha ha, thought Spike. Stallion nurses.
Upon reaching the circle of chairs, the nurses – (Ha! What are their cutie marks… limp hooves?) – stopped and gently released the ties around their patient. As Spike watched, he became dimly aware of the sound of mystical music increasing in volume. The glitter in the blue mare’s coat seemed to increase in power as well and the lights above began to dim. Several group members gasped as a great blue light surrounded the glittery mare.
Her bonds removed, the mare rose slowly in her wheelchair, balancing on the leg rests and raising her forelegs to both sides. The lights in the room completely died and a golden aura seemed to explode from her body. Great mystical music sounded throughout the area; drum beats punctuated the sudden glowing of each silver stare in her glittered coat. To everypony’s amazement, the mare began to float upwards, and it became apparent that the simple patient’s hood on her head had become a mage’s accessory by merely touching the divine mare.
She did not possess magic – she was magic.
The Group watched in astonishment, frozen as the glowing blue mare floated over them all. She entered the circle with grace as the incredible music hit its crescendo – violins screeching, drums pounding, trumpets blaring! Every star in her glittered coat shone with an awesome light. Then she, the greatest creature to ever grace the halls of the asylum, floated into her seat.
Blue lights exploded, slivers of gold and silver danced through the air, and wind whistled all around. The amazing mare, so beautiful, so sensual, so devastating in her raw power, raised two supple forelegs and tossed back her pure white hood.
The lights came back on in an instant and the music died as if shot out of existence. Everypony and Spike gazed at the newcomer, who sat with backlegs crossed and a foreleg hanging over the back of her seat.
“Hello, everypony,” cooed the mare. “It is I, the Great and Powerful Trixie, come to grace you with –!”
“The ‘Immense Drama’ spell?” Spike suddenly blurted. “Yeah, Twilight found that one when she was a filly. I’ve only ever seen Rarity use it, though. She was sexier.”
Silence filled the room. Trixie was staring at Spike with a blank expression, her bottom lip jutting to one side. Spike could have sworn he saw her eye twitch.
“You,” she said. “Dragon. That – that dragon.”
Spike shrugged modestly and said, “Yup, that’s me: The Great and Powerful Spike.”
Dr. Roar Schach stuck out a hoof and placed it sternly on Spike’s shoulder. He said, “Now, settle down, everypony. This is Trixie, the Great and Powerful, our newest member of Group.”
Spike threw his claws behind his head and leaned back, fixing Trixie with a smug expression. “Yeah, yeah, we all know who she is,” he said. “I’m not really surprised to see her here, either.”
The unicorn’s eyes descended to a dark glare. “At least you're where you belong,” Trixie spat. “What happened? Did you try to cozy up to your master, little dragon? Got a little too curious for your own good?”
It was Spike’s turn to glare. He hissed, “Too curious? Try ‘too considerate.’ Seems everyone is delusional, now.”
This threw the Great and Powerful Trixie for a loop; she raised a brow, thought about the most devastating response for the moment, and finally said, “Huh?”
Dr. Roar Schach interjected at this moment by waving a hoof. He fixed Spike with a glare, which the young dragon took without replying in kind. The psychologist then straightened up on his chair and lifted a foreleg to Trixie.
“Miss Trixie,” he said, “welcome to Group. As we already know your name, please, inform us of why you believe you are here.”
The blue mare settled back in her seat and crossed her forelegs. For a moment, she analyzed the group, taking in the sight of every pony. Each patient was looking at her with the same mix of confusion, awe, and unexplainable (yet mandatory) attraction. When finished with her mental inventory, Trixie inhaled deeply, swelling her glittered chest, and sighed with gusto.
“The tale of the Great and Powerful Trixie is long and tragic,” she said morosely. “It is a story filled with love and hate, pleasure and pain, sweetness and sorrow. Trixie has topped the highest of highs and fallen to the lowest of lows. Never anywhere in Equestria shall you hear such a story as the legend of Trixie the Great and Powerful.”
Spike face-clawed; he should have known the spell was only the beginning of the theatrics.
“Prepare yourselves, everypony,” Trixie warned. “The following story is not for the weak of heart or mind. Neigh, it is a story that can only be braved by the strongest of creatures! Only those as mighty as the Great and Powerful Trixie can survive the telling of her story unscathed!”
“So what do I get if I live?” Spike murmured.
“This is, without a doubt, the greatest story you will hear within these walls!” continued Trixie. “The tragedy, the legend, the epic that is! Prepare, now! Empty your minds! Open your hearts! Gird your loins!”
“… Is that how you’re going to reward us if we live?”
“I present to everypony, now, the completely true and utterly inspiring tale of the millennium! Behold: The Tale of the Great and Powerful Trixie!”
The lights went out with a great snapping sound. A shocking blue mist came over the room that darkened until everypony was captured in a deep, flawless black.
“Behold…”