11w, 4dVoting over: revealing winners! 23 comments · 393 views
12w, 3dVOTING ROUND: Vote which fic I should do next! 56 comments · 659 views
12w, 6dThe Official Crowley's Shippingverse Timeline! 15 comments · 322 views
13w, 2dFemale VAs wanted: Crowley fics being made into radio play! 10 comments · 189 views
14w, 4dSOPA's back. 33 comments · 421 views
16w, 3dProof readin' it. 3 comments · 165 views
19w, 3dFic stuff (also, anyone in UK!?) 41 comments · 229 views
24w, 4dGo Go Gadget Update Blog! 3 comments · 170 views
26w, 5dUpdate - I'm still here! 10 comments · 182 views
27w, 2dOopsie - Averted! 16 comments · 238 views
A day passes, and you spend what is hopefully your last night in a cell; a Manehatten cell rather than one of Canterlot’s more dungeon-esque jails. For the sake of using your upcoming second chance wisely, you refrain from breaking out and causing distress for the guards there, but it was fun to see the look on the guard’s face when he came to release you the next morning, only to find your cell door wide open and you happily sitting in the cell’s bed like a good colt. You even give him a friendly wave.
From there, you’re accompanied back to the Manehatten theatre, and dropped off at Trixie’s flat located a floor or two above. She’d signed the agreement contract to look over you as soon as she saw your hoof-cuff trick yesterday. Needless to say, she wanted to see more of that. She even set up a little display of bronze padlocks, each of them neatly placed side-by-side on her coffee table. Four of them, to be exact.
“Trixie’s been waiting for a chance to put these to use,” she explains, “Especially since Trixie, uh, lost the keys to them. Show me that trick again, walk me through it.”
“You lost the keys to four separate padlocks?”
“So? Trixie needed something to keep my prop-box safe back when Trixie was touring in her caravan, and Trixie kept losing them, which made Trixie have to buy a new one each time… Oh, just do that unlocking thing!”
“Only if you stop talking to me like that, it’s giving me a headache.”
She pulls a face as if she‘d rather shove a pinecone up her backside than stop talking in third-person. Nevertheless, she sighs and caves in. “Fiiine, but Tri- but I still get to talk like that when we’re on stage, okay?”
You decide that’s fair enough for now. Levitating one of the padlocks, you walk her through your technique, step-by-step.
“You see, it’s actually nearly impossible to cast an actual unlocking spell; that requires a great deal of magic by itself. I’ve never done that spell in my entire life. I’m actually using my magic aura - you know, the thing we unicorns use to pick up and move things - to control the insides of the lock all by itself, and hopefully I can move the pins and tumblers inside to the state where it will unlock. Long story short, it’s not a lock-picking spell, it’s just being very careful with the plain old magic aura spell. Like so…”
You magically drift the padlock a little closer to you. Despite not being able to see inside the padlock itself, your magic traces around the insides of it, where you can ‘feel’ every pin and tumbler inside. This one feels like a three-pin lock, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. Looking at the other three padlocks, it’s clear that they’re all the same make, but probably need different keys for each one.
Going one at a time, you levitate each pin inside the lock, waiting for that tiny, tiny clicking sensation before moving on to the next one. Despite a hiccup or two - you’re far more used to unlocking doors than padlocks - you manage to get the final pin in place and twist the insides of it with a definitive click. Unlocked in about fifteen, twenty seconds. Not the fastest you’ve ever done it, but good for a first try.
Placing the unlocked padlock back on the table, your magician friend snatches one up herself with her own bright purple magic.
“You foal!” she triumphantly gloats with a sudden, but not unexpected, bravado, “Now that you’ve told The Great and Powerful Trixie your secret in magical lock-picking, she can utilise that ability herself in her stage shows! Your secret is out! Watch in awe, and behold my fantastic ability!”
You ‘behold her fantastic ability’ for nearly an hour. Several times you offered to drop a hint, and each time she responded with a snarky comment before hopelessly fiddling with the lock for a while longer, all the while pulling a variety of confused and strained expressions in an effort to open the lock with her spellcraft. At one point, you even offered to make her a coffee (and a hot drink for yourself). She likes it black with sugar.
“Ugh… Trixie gives up, the lock has bested her.” she groans, placing the perfectly-locked mechanism back on the table with its pals.
“Who gives up?” you ask.
“Trixie does, Trixie gives up. She simply can‘t do this.”
“Tri- I mean, I give up.”
You’ve only been with her for about an hour, and already you feel that she’s going to be nothing but a condescending pile of trouble and stress. And she’s supposed to be taking care of you? At least she’s the most gorgeous condescending pile of trouble and stress you’ve ever laid eyes on. Good things must come at a price, you suppose.
Out of courtesy (you tell her, and totally not out of showing off), you lift each other padlock up and unlock them one at a time, just to make sure they work. All three-pin locks, all somewhat tricky, but all possible to overcome. You re-lock them for later practice; if you’re going to be undoing padlocks for a new living, you might as well get the hang of them.
“So what exactly are your plans for when you’re performing?” she breaks the ice, speaking business, “Do you just intend to undo a few locks, take a bow and waltz back off stage?”
You shake your head. You hadn’t given your plans for performance much thought, nor did you want to; after a lifetime of staying out of sight, the thought of being the main focus of a theatre full of ponies makes you feel uneasy.
“I was thinking more along the lines of you locking me in a box or chaining me up, then having me try to escape or something. You know, like an escape artist.” you shrug, “You’re the showbiz expert, not me.”
She ponders for a moment, unsure of just how useful you are; you hope she isn’t reconsidering the deal you made. “Well, you could always sit in a trick-box and let me saw you in half, or take part in a disappearing act. Although I usually ask volunteers to take part in those illusions.”
“I could do that stuff instead,” you suggest, “at least I’d be more useful than a clueless volunteer.”
“So you say.” she smirks, “My next act is on Friday. If you wish to start then, you’ve got a few days of practice left. Ready to get started?”
“Of course. Let’s try the escape trick that involves chaining me up first.” You give her a gentle nudge and a wink, “Should we practice in your bedroom?”
“How about practicing out of my apartment window next time you try to hit on me?”
“So that’s a ‘no’, then…”