Villainy

by Ghosted Note

Chapter 1: Great and Powerful

Villainy
by Ghosted Note

Chapter 1: Great and Powerful

Trixie wasn’t bad at magic, not in the least. Her command of the magical school of illusion wasn’t prodigious, but it was certainly far above average. She had been dazzling audiences for seven glorious years before Twilight Sparkle had ruined her life with a humble smile and a magical potential second only to the two goddesses that ruled Equestria.

It simply wasn’t fair. Twilight Sparkle had been born with more raw power than most unicorns ever possessed as adults, and she had been tutored by Princess Celestia since foalhood. Trixie hadn’t had that luxury. She’d poured her heart, soul, and sweat into building her career as the most talented illusionist in Equestria, and she’d done it by herself. Traveling magicians weren’t in high demand in a world where every being had some sort of magic of their own, and it had been a hard and taxing journey to even start turning a profit. Trixie remembered with pride the day that she had been able to buy the cart that had served as her home as she traveled far and wide in search of audiences to entertain. She had given more than Twilight Sparkle ever would just to get by, and she’d lost it all in a moment of hubris and misfortune.

Maybe she had been a bit boastful, but there had been no way for her to predict what would happen when two Ponyville colts would take her stories to heart, and one attack by an ursa minor later, she’d fled town, her pride and reputation shattered into pieces by a silly little bookworm born into greatness. Life hadn’t been kind to Trixie since then. Word of her humiliation in Ponyville spread like wildfire, until even school newspapers had begun to mock her. Soon, the bits stopped coming in, and Trixie, who had already lost most of her possessions when that behemoth had stomped her cart into as many pieces as her career, struggled once more to get from day to day. Unlike the last time, though, Trixie’s pride and ambition had nearly forsaken her entirely, trapping her more securely in a life of misery and self-pity as she sank into destitution.
- - - -

Trixie finished her latest performance with a flourish and a bow. It had been a relatively successful show, if not as glamorous as she was used to. Still, it was easier to make a living entertaining birthday parties for fillies and colts in backwater town that hadn’t heard of her, or her fall from grace, and the enthusiasm of the children was a bittersweet balm to her wounded pride.

The guest of honor, a little unicorn filly, probably not even old enough to use telekinesis, had absolutely loved the show, and had watched with star-struck eyes as The Great and Powerful Trixie read minds, made objects vanish, and performed the sort of flashy illusions that universally entranced children of that age. Barely holding in her excitement as she whispered something to her parents, the filly then rushed over to Trixie, her eyes almost as wide as her grin as she spoke. “Miss Trixie, thank you very much for coming to my party! When I’m big, I wanna be just like you.”

The words were a knife in Trixie’s gut, and the innocence that lined them was poison. Trixie let out a weak, halting chuckle in response to the child, feeling like her head was swimming. “O-of course, Trixie cannot blame you for wishing to emulate somepony like her. Trixie is certainly unlike most other unicorns of her talent,” said Trixie, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Allow Trixie to bestow you with the most sage advice she has. Never let your pride blind your reason, and never let anything or anypony, least of all yourself, stop you from achieving your dreams.”

The filly rushed back to join her friends, and her mother came forward with a modest bag of bits and a concerned visage. “Thanks for coming out, Miss Trixie. The foals really loved your show.” She paused for a moment. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little shaky on your hooves. I can get you a glass of water if you need it.”

Trixie backed away, gently taking her payment in a telekinetic grip. “Oh, no, do not worry about Trixie,” she said with a blatantly false grin of reassurance. “I-Trixie knows how to get by. She always does. Have a good day with your foal, madame.” Not waiting for a response, Trixie grabbed the saddlebags containing her few belongings, and fled, leaving a confused, somewhat saddened customer behind.

Running came naturally to Trixie, by now. She’d run away from Ponyville, and hadn’t stopped ever since. She ran from village to village, from gig to gig, hemorrhaging bits and willpower along the way. It seemed perfectly reasonable to run now, away from the bitter taste of the kindness shown to her by a stranger, when all it would ever do was salt Trixie’s wounds.

She didn’t stop running until she was far out of the podunk that she had been performing in for the past week, coming to rest at a healthy-looking stream that ran perpendicular to the road. Slowing down to catch her breath, she followed the clear waters until the road was out of view.

As she lowered herself into the soothingly cool waters, Trixie took a moment to reflect one of the few blessings she could still count. Nature would never judge her failure, and where ponies would offer mockery or pity, it would instead give her water to drink and bathe in, and grass to eat when bits were simply too sparse to purchase anything better. Being out on the plains was like being inside a painting, full of life and purity. She needed no illusions here, nothing to conceal how much of a lie the Great and Powerful Trixie had been all along. Here, Trixie could allow herself to cry.

“For one espousing the virtues of determination and humility, you don’t adhere to either very closely.” Trixie jumped, startled at the calm, confident voice behind her, and turned to see a unicorn stallion of the most neutral shade of gray that she had ever encountered, his mane only slightly darken. Upon his flank was a depiction of the two masks of comedy and tragedy common to theater symbology. “You gave some good advice, Great and Powerful Trixie. Why don’t you take it?”

“If you are here to mock Trixie, then I suggest you leave,” growled Trixie, wiping her eyes. “You’ll get nothing from her that she has not already lost.”

“You misinterpret me, my dear,” said the stallion, an infuriatingly placid smile on his face. “I am simply the sound of opportunity knocking.” As Trixie began to protest, he held up a hoof to silence her. “I understand that you need no charity, and that no matter what you say, your pride disallows you from being anything but a self-made mare, and that is why I come bearing an offer of equal exchange. My name is Grayscale, and I wish to offer you a job.”

“Trixie is no actor,” she replied flatly. “Have you need of an illusionist for special effects? Trixie’s home is on the stage, not in the background.”

“I assure you, Trixie, you will have more than ample time in the limelight, and the pay will reflect the extensive travels and talents of one such as yourself.” Grayscale produced a business card, bearing no markings other than Grayscale’s cutie mark. “Give it some thought. If you wish to hear more, simply input any magic into the card, and we will send for you.”

Trixie looked down to examine the card, turning it over to search for any text. “Trixie will consider your offer,” she said with a sigh. When she received no response, she looked back up at Grayscale. He was nowhere to be found.

- - - -

The temptation was too much for Trixie to resist. She had arrived in a medium-sized village shortly after returning to the road, and without any ado, had immediately started busking. It hadn’t been going well. A few of the locals had recognized Trixie when she had begun to draw a crowd, and the ensuing fallout had left her almost entirely bereft of an audience. At one point, one of the local guardsponies had tried to get her to shut down for busking without a license, until Trixie had produced a copy of a recent law passed by Princess Luna enabling wandering performers to obtain universal permits from Canterlot so that they didn’t have to maintain performer’s licenses in every city they visited. Even so, that disruption had cost her the last of her watchers, and after a couple more hours of trying to attract attention, she had given up and sat down, miserably staring at the pathetic pile of bits in her tip jar.

As she began packing up once more, she took out Grayscale’s card, and on a whime, sent a small jolt of lightning into it. The card glowed briefly, and then became inert once more. With an impatient nicker, she sat down to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

After another three hours of waiting, she cried out in frustration, ripping the card in half before preparing to leave town again. Before she could, however, a violent crashing noise startled her into attention. Whipping around, Trixie saw a beaten up sky-carriage drawn by two pegasi. The first was a mare with a blonde coat, white mane, and a cutie mark depicting a meteor. The second was a stallion of the same coloration, whose cutie mark was a lightning bolt.

“Trixie, Great and Powerful?” queried the mare. Upon seeing her subject of inquiry nod numbly, she gestured her head toward the carriage. “Grayscale’s expecting ya. I’m Meteora, and this is my bro, Hurricane. We’re gonna be your ride to Manehattan for your job interview.”

Trixie walked timidly toward the carriage, which looked as if it might fall apart at any moment due to the amount of abuse it had seen. Meteora continued to happily babble, oblivious to Trixie’s discomfort. “It’s so nice to get some new blood. You have no idea how stale things have been getting. He won’t admit it, but Grayscale knows we really need some extra life. Ever been to Manehattan? It’s pretty boss. All the modern conveniences, and access to the coast to boot, so we get all the latest imports from the Griffon Empire. Who’d have thought those birds were so great with machinery? I mean Canterlot will always be the center for magitech, but-”

Meteora’s words were suddenly cut off when her brother summarily punched her in the shoulder, staring at her with a flat, annoyed expression on his face. “Sis? Do us all a favor and shut up. I can barely stand being around your hyperactivity sometimes. You really want to put Trixie here through that before she’s even hired?”

Meteora looked hurt, but settled down significantly as the two prepared to take off, only pausing to mutter, “I’m not hyperactive. I’m just aggressively happy.”

Trixie regretted stepping onto the carriage the moment it took off.
- - - -

Trixie stepped off of the carriage shaking violently with silent terror, having just been witness to a violation of every air traffic law she had ever known of. She was pretty sure that at least one merchant had been forced to crash into a nearby cloud on the way, and at least one village would have experienced an unscheduled rain of frogs. So grateful was she to be on the ground again that she was able to pointedly ignore her growing discomfort with the entire situation.

Their destination was in the slums of Manehattan, a dark mark on the otherwise refined urbanite hive. Around the trio, boarded buildings with rotting doors surrounded them like tombstones in a graveyard, and ragged-looking ponies gazed at them from darkened alleyways. Glancing at Meteora, Trixie noted a melancholy expression on Meteora’s face, a countanence that thus far had only shown an unquenchable, slightly unhinged optimism. “Sad, ain’t it?” she remarked to Trixie. “This place wasn’t always this bad. Our competitors don’t always play so nice though, and a lot of ponies moved out when the pressure got too much to handle.”

Trixie tilted her head in confusion. “Trixie was not aware that the acting industry could get so hostile, much less so influential on an area.”

Meteora looked equally confused as they walked up to an aged-looking theater. “You think-? Uh, I think you need to go talk to Grayscale now. Upstairs, third door on the left.”

As Trixie entered, she noted the friendly, if subdued atmosphere of the theater, which in its heyday had obviously been quite an experience. Plush red carpeting covered the floor, and the faded wallpaper still wore the signs of its former liveliness. Dusty mahogany doors lined the halls, and an ornate set of double doors marked what Trixie guessed was the entrance to the auditorium. Ponies walked to and fro, occasionally glancing at Trixie with expressions of mixed curiosity and happiness as she approached a curved set of stairs, and began her ascent.

When she reached the appointed door, which was slightly ajar, Trixie gently knocked. “Come in!” called Grayscale from inside. Trixie slowly prodded the door open. Grayscale was inside, looking a little more frayed around the edges than before, but still wearing a supremely calm and content demeanor. Papers were scattered on the desk that dominated the humble office, depicting endless numbers and formulae, with the occasional map mixed in. As Trixie entered, Grayscale shuffled a weathered-looking book into one of the drawers. “I’m glad you decided to come, Miss Trixie. I understand that Meteora and Hurricane might have come off a little strongly. You learn to love them, though, and respect their reliability and loyalty. If you would, follow me.” Grayscale motioned towards the hall, and the pair began to walk.

As they descended the stairs that Trixie had used previously, she finally gathered the courage to speak. “Trixie means no offense, Mr. Grayscale, but she has noted a definite impression of concealment here, and is inclined to believe that acting does not quite cover the scope of your work. Meteora seemed most confused when I mentioned acting at all.”

Grayscale nodded. “You guess correctly, my dear. Before the conversation proceeds any further, I must ask you a question: Are the princesses always right about everything?”

Trixie’s nervousness doubled. “T-Trixie supposes that they are still quite capable of making mistakes here and there, but they have not led our people astray during their rule.” The pair began to descend another set of stairs.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” affirmed Grayscale. “That being said, I believe that in those rare instances where our princesses might misstep, we are perfectly within our rights to civilly disobey. Princess Celestia has said countless times that she does not wish to be treated as a goddess, and I think it proper to honor this wish.”

“Trixie is not sure if she likes where this-” Trixie paused as they reached the bottom of the stairs, where a massive chamber was revealed. At least twenty ponies worked at various machines, barrels, and tubes. In the tubes was an unmistakable, and definitely illegal substance. “You’re moonshiners! Trixie will have no part of this den of criminals!” Trixie was beginning to panic, and turned back to the stairs.

“I understand what you’re thinking, Trixie, but I beg you to reconsider,” called Grayscale. “Look at that poor colt by the first distillery. You see his mark? What would society do with somepony whose very talent, the basis of his identity, was illegal? How could he survive in a world that rejected him based on something outside of his control?” Grayscale paused. “How would you feel if you were forced to abandon your own passion?” Trixie stopped walking immediately. Grayscale pressed his advantage in response. “Alcohol was banned years ago, but the circumstances of the ban highly imply a large amount of personal bias by Princess Celestia. I don’t question her goodness, but I believe that she has unknowingly separated something good from society, and has perhaps doomed a few ponies whose talents are related to it.”

Trixie felt very small as she realized she was losing this battle. “Trixie’s talents are unrelated to brewing, though. Her talents are to astonish and amaze, not to brew and distribute! What use would she even be here?”

Grayscale smiled, knowing he’d won. “We have much use for a talented and worldly mare such as yourself. Specifically, we wish to use your travelling act as a front for acquiring new contacts and distribution. In return, you’ll get to return to performing under a salary from us plus any tips you get.”

Trixie’s heart nearly stopped at the prospect of being able to return to her old life. After a few silent moments of pondering, Trixie looked Grayscale in the eye and whispered. “I accept.”