//------------------------------//
// Celestia's School For Gifted Unicorns 
// Story: Something to be Proud of 
// by Eighth 
//------------------------------//

"Now, who can tell me what properties we get if you mix the nectar of speculum and caligo root essence?" Professor Inkwell asks the class.

Trixie fights the urge to bash her head against her desk and instead opts to sink low in hopes she won't be seen. The troubled filly feels that these classes are always far too advanced, this sort of information could only be known by those who have attended some sort of University. And yet the usual know-it-alls shoot their hooves into the air and wave them about eagerly in hopes of earning their teacher's favour.

"Let's see," the Professor scanned over each student, deliberately looking for someone who doesn't usually answer, "Ah, Miss Floribunda."

The filly next to Trixie sits up straight after quickly checking on her prissy and overly styled mane.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Come to the front and write the answer into our formula please."

Floribunda gets up from her seat and gives a little curtsy. Trixie rolls her eyes and internally dry retches, knowing actually doing it would be metaphorically suicidal with Inkwell looking in this direction.

In her usual way of walking, that is like a half saunter and half stroll, Floribunda reaches the front with all the air of someone with great confidence in themselves. Or more accurately, arrogance. She is one half of a terrible duo. Floribunda being the looks and nobility half to her friend Rotten Apple who is the brains and skilled half. That's not to say Floribunda isn't smart or skilled, but Rotten Apple's talent seems to make even the smarter students look dull. 

"A real prodigy," Trixie thinks to herself with all the contemptuous ridicule one can muster.

Together, they are an arrogant, self-centred, and snobbish duo that Trixie despises. And they hate Trixie too. They dislike anyone who refused to acknowledge their "distinction."

"Excellent work Miss Floribunda. You may return to your seat," Professor Inkwell says in a pleased tone yet her face remains the same stonewall of boredom it always is as the bell rings, "Miss Trixie?"

Trixie bolts upright to attention.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I'd like a word with you if you would remain behind for a moment. Everyone else, you may pack your things and enjoy your recess."

There is a loud shuffle and low murmur as a collective as the student rise and shovel their things into saddlebags in an impatient bid to get out. Trixie remains seated for the short time it takes for it to be just Trixie and Professor Inkwell.

"Come to the front please, Miss Lulamoon."

Slumping her saddlebag over her back, Trixie heads to the front where she is convinced that certain doom awaits. She looks up at the Professor who in turn raises a brow expectantly. Which seems to have the professor's intended effect. Now Trixie's mind is abuzz. Questions race through her mind in a whirlwind of panic. 

"Oh, no. What does she know? She knows I stayed out past curfew, doesn't she? Or maybe it's that I stole food from the kitchen? Wait... It's both isn't it?"

Then in a mix of added agony and relief, Professor Inkwell finally explains.

"I know you have fallen behind the other students, so first I would like to begin by saying in no way do I wish to discourage any extra studies you are doing. Understand?"

Trixie nods.

"Well, it seems last night you set a little fire. Am I right in thinking it was because you were trying a spell?"

Trixie nods.

"Very well. I am glad you're trying Miss Lulamoon, and if you ever need help you are more than welcome to ask. However, I need to ask that you refrain from dangerous spells for the time being. Perhaps when you are more able, return to fire. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

With a very satisfying internal sigh, Trixie nods.

"Now, self-study is important. But it is just as important that you are doing properly. Have you been making notes?"

Trixie nods but then a prolonged silence forces her to suddenly speak.

"I-I got a blank book yesterday Ma'am. I made some notes in it."

"Let's see then."

She drops her bag onto the ground and rummages through before finding the tome and hands it to the professor. Using her magic, Inkwell places it onto the desk and opens it up.

"In-two-ition?" Professor Inkwell states with a severe amount of disgust, her face finally showing some emotion by screwing up like a wet cloth.

BA-THUMP! Trixie's heart thunders in her chest as she realises that no matter how this ends, it'll be poorly. Likely in detention, or writing lines, or worse extra lessons. No matter how this goes, Trixie finds herself only capable of imagining it being something that will end her lessons with Anonymous. While she only had one lesson and it didn't make sense at the time, it kind of does now. Anonymous must know what he's talking about. Or be crazy enough to be lucky at it. And there's a rising pit as she recalls yelling at him yesterday, and he just smiled at her.

"Miss Lulamoon--"

Her voice dies off with an odd strangled noise in her throat as she closes the book and sees the cover. There's a pause as she seems to read the title over and over, then she flicks to the first page.

"Property of Trixie Lulamoon... I see."

Then the book is handed back. There's no room for any other feeling than amazement as Trixie looks up at her Professor.

"I will say, this sort of teaching method is extremely unorthodox. But different ponies learn in different ways, I know that. If this works for you then... Well, I shall be watching your progress to make sure. Now off you go."

Not willing to stay around and ask what just happened, Trixie grabs her things and darts into the hallway. She keeps running until she is around a corner then takes a moment to catch her breath and mentally pat herself on the back. Unsure of what she did, Trixie is just proud she got herself out of it.





"What's the matter Trixie?" A scornful voice remarks from a few metres away.

Trixie looks up to see Rotten Apple and Floribunda staring at her with wide grins.

"I heard you got in trouble. What did you do this time?" Rotten Apple jeers.

"She's got to be on her last leg now," adds Floribunda,  "I wouldn't be surprised if they were going to kick her out today. If the ponies out there found out they let in a unicorn of her calibre, heh, well it would damage the school's reputation."

"They let me in because they know I'm better than all of you," lies Trixie.

"Oh, I know. I bet mummy asked a favour," scoffs Rotten Apple.

"Probably desperate to get rid of such an embarrassment," Floribunda laughs.

By now a few of their posse have arrived and begin joining in on the laughter. In a fit of anger, Trixie grabs her saddlebag in her teeth and launches it at Floribunda's head.

"You wanna try that again?" Snarls Trixie like she is some kind of wild animal.

"She's going to bite me again, Rotten Apple do something!" Floribunda squeals.

But Rotten Apple isn't paying attention. He is focused on one particular book that fell out of Trixie's bag. He lifts up 'Magic and its Magical Properties' and inspects it. Trixie's eyes go wide and all the fight in her is redirected.

"That's mine, put it down."

Rotten Apple's horn lights up and his magic creates a barrier, preventing Trixie from advancing.

"What is it, Apple?" asks Floribunda.

"I'm never heard of this one," he says aloud as he opens it up, "I'm curious. It's a thick book, I thought it'd be too difficult a read for our friend here."

"We're not friends," bellows Trixie.

"Hardly," he scoffs, "Oh... This book is the property of--"

Then he is cut off as a green mist sprays him. He scrunches his nose then sneezes. And again. Again and again. Each time in between sneezes is slightly faster than the last.

"What did you--Ah-Choo--do? There's no--Ah-Choo--way a loser--Ah-Choo--like you--Ah-Choo--could make--Ah-Choo--an--Ah-Choo--enchan--Ah-Choo--ment--Ah-Choo!"

As the sneezes become more frequent, Rotten Apple is rendered into a constant stream and runs off. His sneezes echo down the hall for some time as all the remaining ponies stare at Trixie.

"What did I say? Now," Trixie feigns confidence while walking up and shovels her things back into her bag, "If anyone touches my stuff again, I'll start thinking of MUCH worse."