//------------------------------//
// Play the Game 
// Story: It's a Kind of Magic 
// by Sixes_And_Sevens 
//------------------------------//

Twilight idly reorganized her spice cupboard as she waited for the kettle to boil. The Dewhoof Decimal System was fine, she supposed, but Library of Canterlot would be much more efficient. Once, it had been organized alphabetically, but that had grated on her nerves.
The door creaked open. “What are you doing?” Trixie asked, vague suspicion in her voice.
Twilight turned with a smile. “I just thought you might want something nice and warm to drink. Didn’t know if you wanted coffee or tea, though, so I just made cocoa.”
Trixie’s eyes widened slightly. “Cocoa… cocoa will do admirably.” She paused. “Might you have such a thing as whipped cream lying around?”
Twilight rolled her eyes. “Let Pinkie into the kitchen, and you’ll be amazed what turns up,” she sighed. “I swear, ingredients just… manifest around her. So, yeah, probably. Hold on.”
The icebox opened, and a canister of aerosol whipped cream floated out, suspended in a magenta miasma. It set down on the counter right in front of Trixie. “Whipped cream, huh?” Twilight nodded. “I’ll have to try that sometime.”
“Will the cocoa be done soon?” Trixie asked.
“Not for another,” Twilight pulled out a pocketwatch and examined it. “Five minutes, twelve seconds.”
The blue unicorn grunted and stared off into the middle distance, abstracted. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything more, Twilight spoke again. “You know, I never really blamed you.”
Trixie looked round in surprise. “Not for the Ursa attack,” Twilight continued. “Yeah, you were being kind of a jerk to my friends. Yeah, you were definitely being rude to all of Ponyville. But you weren’t the one who poked the Ursa.”
Trixie still said nothing. The cloyingly sweet smell of hot cocoa hovered thickly in the silence. Twilight frowned slightly. “I wish you would have stuck around,” she said quietly. “We could have fixed things. We could have fixed your wagon. Maybe we could have been friends. I wish we could have been friends.”
“Well,” Trixie said gruffly. “We couldn’t. Some things don’t get fixed, Sparkle. Some things can’t be fixed.”
Twilight fell silent. “...We could be friends now,” she offered. “Just for a night, if you like. I mean, it’d be really awkward having a slumber party with just your… what was the word you used?”
“Nemesis.”
“Oh, right. Nemesis. Heh. That word actually has an interesting etymology, comes from the name of an ancient Minoan goddess of retribution. She balanced the scales, see? Knocked down the tyrants and the undeservingly—”
“Trixie is willing to accept your offer so long as your lecture ceases immediately.”
Twilight blinked. “Oh. Okay.”
There was a long moment of tense silence. To be precise, there were one-hundred and twenty-three moments of tense silence before the kettle shrieked, breaking the spell. Twilight blinked and stood up abruptly. “Um! Do you want anything with that whipped cream?”
“Have you any… pink frosting in a can?”
“I have pink frosting not from a can.”
“That will suffice.” Trixie hesitated. If she and Sparkle were going to declare a truce, she should probably try to make some concessions as well. It was only ethical. “...thank you.”
Twilight almost dropped the frosting when she heard that. Shock was painted across her face. Slowly, however, her expression grew into a warm smile. “You’re very welcome, Trixie.”
Trixie chewed her lower lip. “Beatrix,” she said at length. “Beatrix Lulamoon.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Beatrix,” Twilight said without missing a beat.
A teleport over to Sugarcube Corner had been risky. Managing to buy as many sugary comfort foods off of the Cakes as she could think of had been a bit pricey, though Twilight was sure she would use them up in the near future. Being able to gain Trixie’s— Beatrix’s— trust, though? Priceless. The stage magician wasn’t the only one with a few tricks to use…


***


The two mares retired to the library with their cocoa and frosting. Trixie had developed a whipped-cream moustache. Twilight smiled slightly, taking another sip of her cocoa, into which she had poured mint extract and several mini-marshmallows. She would have used the whipped cream instead, but Trixie had turned her cocoa into a towering pillar of fluff and emptied out the canister.
“Mm,” the alicorn sighed. “Just like mom used to make. What about you, Beatrix?”
The magician glanced up from the Leaning Tower of Dairy and cocked her head. “What?”
“Is that how your mom always made your cocoa?”
Trixie’s face tightened. “No,” she said. “Trixie’s mother was… never very good in the kitchen. Flora made it for me. And Trixie would prefer you to call Trixie Trixie.”
“Okay. Wait, who’s Flora?”
“Flora,” Trixie said, a soft smile breaking through the faint frown she had been wearing for most of the evening. “Flora was an earth pony mare. She ran an old-fashioned little cafe in the Old Quarter with her brother, Fauna. It was all covered in ivy and in the spring, it blossomed in violet and red... Trixie went there all the time when she was a filly.”
Twilight smiled. “You must have some great family memories of that place.”
Trixie’s grip on her cup tightened. “In a manner of speaking, Trixie supposes so.”
“What do you—”
“So,” Trixie interrupted. “We’re having a slumber party, are we not? Games, snacks, films, scary stories?” She glanced around. “Sleeping bags?”
“Oh,” Twilight felt like smacking herself. “When I realized nopony could make it, I kinda… put everything away. Uh, we’ll work out sleeping arrangements later. I’m sure I’ve got a spare room. Probably. I’m never really sure.”
Trixie blinked. “You’ve lived here for how long?”
“About three years now,” Twilight admitted, pinking slightly. “But every time I try to make a map of it, weird stuff starts happening. Whole hallways disappear. Rooms that I know were there yesterday are nowhere to be found, while new doorways appear in places they’ve never been. The compasses spin like pinwheels, and I swear I catch glimpses of myself walking down other corridors, always facing away from me, and always too far away to catch. Late at night, when I look away from my work, it disappears. If I keep trying, all the hallways disappear except for the one leading from the foyer to the Cutie Map.”
Trixie stared. “And this does not concern you in the slightest?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course it does. I don’t understand it, and I really don’t like things I can’t understand. On the other hand, whatever intelligence controls the halls seems to be mostly benevolent when left to its own devices.” She smiled weakly. “There are some things that just really shouldn’t be questioned. Things like Pinkie Pie, or self-aware castles. Trust me. I don’t like it either, but that’s one lesson I’ve learned the hard way.” Twilight shuddered. “So many anvils. So many.”
Trixie nodded slowly. She felt vaguely uncomfortable. “Err. What about games?”
The alicorn brightened. “Right! Yes. Well, a pillow fight is always an option… or, considering I don’t seem to have any pillows around here, maybe it isn’t. Hm. Spin the bottle doesn’t really work with just two of us…”
“Trixie is glad of that.”
Twilight ignored this. “Really, I can’t think of any good games for two players, except maybe hide-and-seek, and I kinda have the advantage there.”
“Really, Sparkle? Is that all you can think of?”
“I… well… There’s one game that Rainbow once mentioned, but Rarity and Applejack shot her down…”
“Hm. The rainbow one generally knows how to have a good time, from what Trixie has seen. We shall play her game!”
And the unathletic Sparkle will finally— Finally!— fall, Trixie thought to herself, a smirk passing over her face for a moment.
“Okay,” said the unassuming dupe. “Truth or Dare it is.”
“Ha, excellent! Trixie is a master of daring!”
“Okay. So, I seem to remember the rules like this. One player chooses truth or dare, right? And if they choose truth, the other player asks a personal question. If they choose dare, they have to do something physically embarrassing or silly. And if they can’t or won’t do the thing they chose, they have to do the other one, right?”
“Correct,” Trixie said with an air of detached superiority. “Trixie will go first, to show you how it is done. Truth or dare, Twilight Sparkle?”
“Truth,” Twilight said readily. “Actually, wait, hold on.” Her horn glowed a bright magenta, which danced over the crystal walls like firelight. “Truth field,” she explained. “So neither of us can lie.”
“Oh?” Trixie asked, glancing around. “Clever. Too clever by half. We’ll start off easy. What is your most embarrassing memory, Sparkle?”
“Oh. Um, wow. Give me a second, I’ve got a lot to choose from…” She stared into space for a long moment. “Okay. When I was sixteen, I had my first marefriend.”
“When you were sixteen?” Trixie guffawed.
“Yes. Shut up, or I won’t tell you the rest.”
The blue magician sat silent, smirking softly. Twilight took a deep breath and continued. “It was our third date together. We were at a little diner in lower Canterlot, just a few blocks away from my house. Well, it was a nice date. We’d had quesadillas and soft-serve ice cream, maybe not the most romantic meal, but a tasty one. She looks at me, and I look at her. She starts to lean in, I close my eyes…”
“And then?”
“And then my idiot brother, who’d decided to chaperone my date in secret, screams like a little filly and charges the table, because I am, of course, a young delicate flower whom he will not see perverted. He smacks into the table, sends stinking, gooey melted cheese flying everywhere. I went home that night sans marefriend and covered in cheese, having just wasted my first kiss… on my brother.”
Trixie turned beetroot red and burst out laughing. “Oh Trixie’s gosh! Are you serious, Sparkle? You are!”
“Ever since that day, I’ve never been able to look at melted cheese,” Twilight said solemnly, or as solemnly as anyone could with their cheeks glowing like coals. “I was so embarrassed I broke up with Twinkle there and then.” She took a deep breath and chuckled. “Jeez, I was a little idiot. Anyway, Trixie. Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Trixie said laconically, sitting back.
“Hmm… Alright, Trixie. I dare you…” she glanced around the room. “See that easy chair on the other side of the room?”
Trixie followed Twilight’s line of sight. There was indeed an maroon chair, bulging with stuffing, reclining against the wall. “Trixie sees it.”
“Carry it over to that wall there,” Twilight said, pointing to the extreme opposite end of the room. “Without magic.”
The smirk dropped from Trixie’s face. “W-without magic?”
Twilight nodded. Trixie gulped slightly. Then, she set her jaw. “Alright,” she said, trotting away. “Trixie will do this dare!”
Fifteen minutes later, the unicorn had managed to drag the deceptively light-looking chair all of ten meters, less than a quarter of the way across the room. She tried to tug it a little further onward, but overbalanced, falling into a heap on the floor and panting desperately. Twilight trotted up to her and levitated forth a cup of water. The illusionist snatched it up and chugged it down. “Trixie is not giving up on this dare,” she said firmly, setting the glass down on the floor beside her. She grabbed the chair by its back and pulled it a little further, but it caught on the edge of the rug and tipped over, trapping Trixie underneath its fuzzy, pudgy bulk.
Twilight leaned over. “How ‘bout now?”
“Grr… fine,” the unicorn allowed, levitating the chair off of her back. “Ask of Trixie what you will.”
“What is your fondest childhood memory?”
Trixie started. Then, she chuckled. “This isn’t dinner party conversation, Sparkle. Ask Trixie a real question.”
“That was a real question. Right punctuation and everything.”
The magician rolled her eyes. “Fine. Trixie’s fondest memory…” Slowly, a smile spread over her face. “The Grand McGuffin.”
“What?”
“Not what, Sparkle. Who. The Grand McGuffin was one of the finest illusionists Trixie ever met. They were an enigma, clouded by mystery and enclosed in a puzzle.” She closed her eyes. “For all Trixie knows, they might not have been a unicorn. Maybe not even a pony. They were a shadow in the streets, a complete blank in the annals of history. But onstage… Oh, onstage… Trixie was only seven the first time she took in one of the Grand McGuffin’s shows. In the shadowy darkness lit by light of lime, rife with the scent of dye and popcorn, she saw them transform copper into gold. They summoned up the long dead for tea and light refreshments. They took Trixie’s hat, and they pulled an entire hatrack out of it.” The blue unicorn smiled wistfully. “Trixie never did find out how they did that one. That was the day that Trixie decided she wanted to be a magician. The first and best day of mastering the art of illusion, unsullied by… dank reality.”
“An entire hatrack?” Twilight asked, impressed.
“Oh, yes. And when they returned Trixie’s hat, it was full to the brim with brightly colored sweets and trinkets and the smell of the theater. She has never parted with it since.” She patted her head, and her face fell. “Well. Not for a long time, anyway.”
“You mean the hat from the story was your own hat?” Twilight’s eyebrows shot up. “And you hung onto it for all these years.”
“...Yes,” Trixie said slowly, gazing suddenly into a much darker place. A dark, wet place. Scraps of purple cloth floated on its surface. The faint image of a great Gothic house reflected up from the turgid water. Her mouth became a thin line. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Trixie dares you to give her your royal regalia for the night.”
Twilight gave the magician a searching look. “All right,” she said at length. “But I should warn you, it’s not very comfortable.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” Trixie bit out, acid in her tone.
“Something like that.”
Twilight trotted out of the room, a sprightly spring in her step. Trixie slumped back. The game wasn’t even close to over, but she’d already lost. Already lost everything.


***


Twilight returned ten minutes later, carrying with her a golden necklace-thing, shoes, and tiara. Also, she held in her magic a glass of fizzing blue liquid. Trixie frowned. “What is that?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s a peytral. Goes around your neck. Not actually sure why, to be honest.”
Trixie scowled. “No, what’s in the glass?”
“Oh. Good question. Truth or dare?”
The unicorn glanced at the volatile blue liquid. A drop leapt out and hit the table. It fizzed unpleasantly. She swallowed hard. “Truth,” she decided. “Definitely truth.”
“What are your parents like?” Twilight asked, point blank.
Trixie blinked. “I— what— what kind of question is that? That’s not a proper question at all.”
“It’s still a question,” Twilight replied, shaking her head. She glanced at Trixie, then at the glass, eyes sparkling.
Trixie blew out a huff of air through her nose. “Very well. Trixie’s parents were…” she coughed. “Excuse Trixie. They were…” she hacked again. She paused and glanced up at Twilight. “Truth field?”
“Truth field.”
Trixie looked at the glass of frantically frothing liquid again. It looked very tempting, all of a sudden. “Right. Trixie will not beat around the bush. Her parents were not ideal. Her father, Smoke Signal, was in communication. He lived, breathed, and ate his work. He was never present, even when he was right next to you. Not for Trixie, anyway. Her mother, Vanity Mirror, was… well. What does her name suggest? She was self-absorbed, constantly primping, and couldn’t take criticism to save her life. She was never really there either. Illusions. Smoke and Mirrors.” Trixie huffed a half laugh. “At least for Trixie.”
Twilight sat silently. She really didn’t know what to say. “I’m…”
“Don’t.” Trixie glared at her. “Don’t you say it, or I swear I will leave this castle right this minute.”
Twilight’s mouth dropped open in the face of both the unicorn’s aggressive response and the fact that she had just used a first-pony pronoun. “Okay,” she managed.
Trixie glared at her for a moment longer, then nodded in acquiescence. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Trixie dares you to drink that liquid that you brought in with the regalia!” the unicorn said triumphantly. She paused. “Also, help Trixie to get this regalia on.”
“Right,” Twilight said, levitating over the golden shoes.
After some amount of trial and tribulation, the unicorn had been made to look like a princess. Trixie admired herself in the reflective shine of the walls. “I haven’t forgotten about that drink, by the way,” she called.
Twilight grimaced. “All right,” she sighed. She pinched her nose and levitated over the still-fizzing liquid. Closing her eyes tight, she threw back the beverage, swallowing it all in one shot. “Ack,” she gagged, blinking fiercely. “How Pinkie stomachs that stuff daily, I’ll never know.”
Trixie’s triumphant smile melted into a frown. “What was it?”
“Blueberry soda and human candy. ‘Pop Rocks,’ I think they’re called. Pinkie says it adds kick. I say it— urp!” Twilight winced. “Just adds—”
Whatever it added was loudly cut off as the petite princess’s jaw fell open and she belched massively. The crystal chandeliers clanged and chimed. “Uh, yeah. That.” Twilight concluded, blushing fiercely. “‘Scuse me.”
Trixie blinked once, her mane blown back into spikes. “And… Pinkie Pie drinks that… every day?”
“Yeah. She wanted to try coffee, but that was just… never going to end well. So, I gave her this instead.”
“Did that turn out… better than the alternative?”
Twilight shrugged. “The world is still here, isn’t it?”
“Huh,” Trixie said. “In that case, Trixie chooses dare.”
“Okay. This library is organized according to the Magnified Canterlot method, where the books are sorted according to LoC topic, then sorted from least to greatest information density, which is determined by a combination of font size to page size ratio, number of listed sources, and—”
“Never mind. Trixie will take truth,”
The violet alicorn blinked. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Positive,” the unicorn said flatly, glancing around at the massive shelves. The books were packed so tightly that any bookmark inside them would have been crushed to death.
“Well… alright,” Twilight said dubiously. This was going to be a tricky question. She would have to phrase this carefully.
“Why were you trying to get to Starlight Glimmer?”
Trixie choked, her eyes bulging. “Never mind. Trixie will do the dare now, please!”
Twilight shook her head sadly. “Sorry. Those are the rules. And I was only going to ask you to find a book, Trixie.”
The illusionist blinked. “You were…” she stomped a hoof. “Every time, Sparkle. Every time! Without even trying, you still best me in this— this foal’s game!”
Twilight cringed, shrinking away from the enraged unicorn. “You want to know why I came here? I’ll tell you why Trixie came here! She tried to visit her family, that’s why Trixie came here! For once, for one brief, shining moment, Trixie finally felt that I was going up in the world! And then she visited Neigh Orleans again. I visited Trixie's family again. And everything came crashing down. You, Twilight Sparkle, are just like him. Always superior to Trixie without even trying. You are just like my brother!”
She turned on a hoof and galloped out of the library. Twilight was too stunned even to reply. After a long moment, she sputtered, “...brother?”