Tarot hated Saturday night. Saturday night was the opposite of what Tarot Solitaire liked most, namely being left alone. He hated the crowds. Truth be told he wasn’t especially fond of most ponies, and that didn’t bother him. He didn’t mind when Candy Apple would come downstairs and sit with him while he drank his evening ale. She understood him. They could sit together for hours sometimes never saying anything at all. The clink of the bottles the only conversation needed between them.
His foster parents understood as well, not to the extent their daughter did, but enough to allow him the space he needed. It was nice during the week in the early morning hours, when they were done shooing out the last of the regular lunars, and he could sit at a table with his family and know the most pressing question about any pony’s future he had to answer was when Evening Bolt made some jab about making an “honest mare” of his daughter. Sweet Tooth would blush, Tarot would roll his eyes, everypony would laugh, and then they’d all get a good day’s sleep.
Saturdays were show days though. Tarot hated show days. His side-slit eyes had no trouble cutting through the darkness, which only made it worse, as the garish crowd of day ponies blended and meshed in his blurry sight until sometimes he imagined them to be a single writhing entity, like some technicolor eldritch horror.
The private readings he didn’t mind so much, though even then some customers were more trying than others. At least though, with the private readings he wasn’t out-numbered. One on one, the ponies couldn’t whisper about the “Blind Goat” right in front of him as if they thought his stage name should be the “Deaf Goat”.
But the Saturday night shows for the goth-ponies were a part of his place and his duties at The Belfry. It helped that Candy Apple always told him how great he looked on stage. And he knew she was telling the truth. He was after all the son of “the Great Madame Baphomet” as his foster mother, Caramel Apple never tired of reminding him. And he couldn’t well stand up a Saturday show on Nightmare Night...
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“Seriously dear?” Rough Draft didn’t like to question his wife, “Our foals first Nightmare Night and we’re taking her to a lunar pegasus bar? With our foal?”
“Oh relax,” Trixie rolled her eyes at her husband’s worries, “The Belfry is a mixed bar. The owner is married to an earth pony. Day ponies like us are more than welcome.”
“But with our foal?” the brown earth stallion reiterated his objection.
“If our daughter is going to be a great and powerful show pony, she must do so without the aid of unicorn magic. Trixie can think of no better role-model than the Blind Goat,” the bombastic show mare held her daughter in front of her in a gentle magic grip, addressing her, perhaps more than her husband, who’s misgiving quickly moved towards outright panic.
“THE BLIND GOAT?!?!” Rough Draft immediately moved between his wife and foal and the imposing three story tavern, standing firm, “There is no way we are taking our daughter to see the Blind Goat! Have you even heard the stories? They say that making a deal with him is like making a deal with Tyrek!”
“Tarotius William Solitaire is one of the most talented experts on divination, perhaps the most talented,” Trixie brushed off her husband's fear as if it were dust on her cape, “I’ve known him for years. We’re… if not friends, professionally friendly peers. And besides, while his private readings are not for the faint of heart, his shows are just that, for show. He’s a perfectly nice goat, if a bit of an introvert. His foster father encourages the stories because it’s good for business, my only fears concerning Tarot would be if I had to follow him on stage.”
“Panicked new father and magician costumes, complete with a foal accessory?” a caramel coated earth pony mare with a green mane, and a candy apple cutie mark looked over the family as they reached the door, “I don’t know if I can let you have our Nightmare Night costume discount or not, hmm…”
“It’s been a long time Candy Apple,” Trixie smiled brightly, “How is Little Sweet Tooth? Still following following Tarot like a shadow?”
“Too long, Trixie dear,” the earth pony smiled back warmly, “Sweet Tooth’s not so little anymore. I suspect any day now, if William doesn’t propose she’ll drug his ale and drag him to the altar herself.”
Trixie laughed easily, “Speaking of marriage, meet my husband Rough Draft, and our little filly Saphire Streak.”
“She’ll be drawing a crowd to rival her mother’s I bet,” a new, course voice rang out as a large lunar pegasus, deep brown with matching mane and tail, and a cutie mark of a lightning bolt against a crescent moon.
“Evening Bolt!” Trixie grinned even wider, “So good to see you!”
“I’ve heard you’re doing another tour soon,” the stallion said bluntly, but with a smile, “I hope one of your venues will be the Belfry. You were always a crowd pleaser.”
“Business as always, I see,” the show mare chuckled, “Well, I’m opening in Ponyville, so I imagine Canterlot will be my next stop. The Great and Powerful Trixie would never dream of missing a chance to perform at the famous Belfry. But tonight is Trixie is not the one onstage. Tell me, does Tarot have a moment to spare before his show? I know how he is, and he won’t be in any mood to talk afterwards, even with an old colleague.”
“Yeah, that’s our boy,” the older stallion laughed, “I tell you, his parents would be so proud if they could see him now.”
“He should be backstage,” Candy Apple waved the family in, “You remember the way, dear? Good, good. Sweet Tooth will be helping him set up, I’m sure she’ll be pleased as punch to see your new family!”
“Come on dear,” Trixie tugged her still somewhat nervous husband into the dimly lit tavern.