The door swung open only about half a minute after Cheerilee rang the bell, revealing a kinkier-than-usual orange mane and a yellow muzzle that seemed, impossibly, to bear an expression that was more snarled than the orange locks. “We don’t want any,” Golden Harvest snapped, her eyes still half-shut.
“Good morning to you too,” Cheerilee replied, unfazed. She had long since grown used to the abrasive nature of the middle Carrot sibling.
Golden blinked muzzily. “Oh. ‘S you. What d’you want, it’s a Saturday.”
“I take it Snails is still asleep.”
“Yeah. Dead to the world. Why.”
Cheerilee breathed in and let it out slowly. “I’ve just heard from a reliable source that the Great and Powerful Trixie is back in town.”
The yellow mare stared at Cheerilee for a long moment, then pushed the door open. “In.”
The teacher carefully wiped her hooves on the mat before entering. Dirt was one of the very few things that Goldie wouldn’t give a pair of dingo’s kidneys about. However, it was about the only thing that the farmer’s husband actually did mind, and Cheerilee preferred to keep on the good side of her pupils’ parents.
The corridor was painted a pleasant raspberry shade. The carpeting was a lovely rust-orange. They clashed horribly. There was a series of slightly dark spots on the walls, fading vestiges of the photographs and mirror that had once hung there. They had come down not long after Snails had discovered that, like their namesake, they weren’t male or female, but rather both. Reminders of their old identity made them uncomfortable, and so down the old photos had come.
The kitchen was quiet. Any room that contained Written Script was quiet. It was less the cessation of noise, and more the absorbance of it. He was, as his name suggested, a playwright. Anything and everything that happened around him was considered fair game for his works. Considering that he lived in Ponyville, it was no surprise that his works were critically accused of being unbelievable. Equally unsurprising was the fact that he had a large and devout fanbase across Equestria. He glanced up as the two mares trotted in. “Code blue,” Golden said flatly.
Written nodded once, and set down his newspaper. Golden led the way into the room, Cheerilee trailing behind. The walls of the kitchen were a homey shade of cream yellow, with rustic wooden cabinets hung upon it and strings of garlic and herbs strung from the ceiling. The floor and counters were sleek and modern, blue and silver, tile and glass to the point at which someone in the kitchen might fear slipping and impaling themselves on an edge. The house was like the couple; contradictory to the point of violent clashing, but somehow managing to stay cohesive in spite of that. The only room that this was not true of was Snails’s. The foal was allowed carte blanche. Cheerilee had seen it once. It was quite dark and earthy, and it was filled with gastropods, but it was oddly pretty. It certainly fit its occupant.
Cheerilee took a seat on a slightly weather-beaten chair at the slick glass table. “Coffee?” Written Script asked in the thin, reedy voice of one who doesn’t often speak.
“Please,” said Cheerilee, accepting the proffered beaker gratefully. She took a long sip and closed her eyes.
“Ey!” Golden Harvest smacked the table with a hoof. “Focus, please. Trixie’s back in town, you said.”
“Yes,” Cheerilee replied, setting down the coffee.
“Where?” Written inquired.
“From what Rarity told me, she’s in the castle.”
Golden ground her teeth. “Stuck-up nag, thinks she’s better than she is…”
Written set a hoof on his wife’s withers. She relaxed slightly, but continued to glower at the table. Cheerilee took another sip of coffee. “I know that you have no love for her, but this visit is strictly as a warning. Don’t poke the bear.”
“Don’t poke the Ursa Minor, you mean,” Goldie retorted, scowling.
“Yes. Quite.” The teacher glanced away. Everypony knew that what had happened was scarcely Trixie’s fault, including those assembled in this kitchen. The Alicorn Amulet incident, though, had made more than a few ponies conveniently forget that all that Trixie had done was exaggerate her own abilities. Of course, given that she had later helped to save the princesses and elements and reform the changelings, Trixie was, to say the least, a controversial figure in Ponyville. “I can’t stress enough the fact that you should pretend to know nothing.”
Golden slammed on the table. “And why should we?” she demanded. “Why should we hide from that witch and her overinflated ego?”
Cheerilee didn’t even bat an eye. “Well, at least partially on the grounds that I don’t think either Carrot Top and the Bouquet sisters or the Cakes want to have to bail you out on assault charges yet again.”
The yellow mare scowled and sat back down sullenly. Written Script had already pulled out a quill pen and was frantically transcribing over the crossword puzzle. Neither mare paid him any mind. “I appreciate the advance notice,” Golden Harvest said after a long moment. “Is that all?”
“I think so, yes,” the teacher replied levelly. “I’ve passed on what I know. What you do with that information is no business of mine. Oh, but do remind Snails that there’s going to be a test on Monday over everything we’ve learned about the Skyzantine Empire.”
And on that note, she left the kitchen, leaving the coffee beaker on the table, steaming into the still air of the room. Written examined his notes. “Hm. Well, I can probably get a scene out of it.”
Goldie exhaled slowly. “Keep your notebook handy,” she muttered. “I think inspiration is about to strike. Hard.”
***
Trixie did not so much trot as walk, and she didn’t so much walk as slink, hiding as best she could in Spike’s shadow. Every now and again, she’d break away, but then she would see somepony that she’d treated especially poorly and practically leap back. She was so rattled that she didn’t even realize that she was only making herself stand out more. Ponies stopped and stared at the dragon and the magician, puzzled and in some cases, slightly indignant.
By the time the duo arrived at Sugarcube Corner, the Rumor Mill had received plenty of grist. “Mmm,” Pinkie gasped. “Love that Rumor Mill flour.”
Mr. Cake chuckled, taking the last of the bags from the cart. “Now, you tell Careless Whisper and Little Bird that we’re going to need a couple extra sacks next week,” he told the delivery boy.
“It’s for Celestia’s Big Birthday Bextravaganza!” Pinkie chirped, popping her head up close to the rather skittish delivery boy. “That’s like a Big Birthday Extravaganza, but more alliterative!”
Mr. Cake sighed as the flour delivery colt scuttled backwards. “Pinkie, why don’t you go and watch the counter? I’ll just finish up in here.”
“Okie-dokie! See you later, Grapevine. The flour smells extra-super-duper yummy today!”
Grapevine stuttered and stammered as the pink mare trotted cheerfully towards the front room of Sugarcube Corner. She pushed open the double doors. “Hi, Mrs. Cake, Mr. Cake told me I should—” she cut off abruptly. The plump blue mare was staring straight at the door. So was everypony else. The frizzy-maned pastry chef cocked her head and turned toward the door as well. “Oh! Hi, Spike!”
Well, that couldn’t be why everypony was staring at the door. Mmmmaybe it could have been if they didn’t know it was Spike, or if he’d just had another great big growth spurt, or if he was wearing a flamingo costume and coconut bikini, but nope, it was just good old ordinary dragon-the-size-of-three-ponies Spike. Oh, and somepony trying to hide behind him. Pinkie squinted. Then she squinted a little more. Little more… stop! Gasp! Reel back in astonishment as mane grows even frizzier than before! “Trixie!”
The showmare recoiled as Pinkie vaulted over the counter, forehooves spread wide. Brief fantasies ran through Trixie’s head of attempted strangulation or decapitation. She certainly wasn’t expecting to get hugged half to death, though. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, you came back! Ooh, I never even really got to thank you for saving me and Twilight and Rainbow and the Princesses and everypony, well I guess Twilight is a princess too, and all of them are part of everypony, but I guess there are a lot of ponies that you didn’t save, but they weren’t in any trouble so you didn’t need to save them from the changelings! And I never even got to throw you a real party for being a new pony in Ponyville even though this is the fourth time you’ve been here! Ooh, ohh, that means I’ll have to throw you four times the normal party! Or a normal party four times! Are you going to be in Ponyville for long? Are you staying in Ponyville? Are you gonna live here?”
Trixie gasped as the party pony somehow managed to squeeze her even tighter. “How— are you— even related— to Marble— and Limestone?” she wheezed, her eyes positively bugging out of her head.
“Oh, well, when a Pie goes to visit the Choosing Stone and it selects for them a spouse—”
Trixie wheezed slightly louder. “NotwhatTrixiemeant! Can’tbreathe!”
“Oh. Oops,” Pinkie blushed and let the blue unicorn go. “But I am really happy to see you again!”
Trixie cocked her head. “...Why?”
Pinkie had been trotting back to climb behind the counter, but paused. “What do you mean?”
“...I stole your mouth.”
“Oh! Well, that wasn’t really you, was it? It was that nasty glowy amulet.” Pinkie smiled. “Zecora told us aaaallll about it. Like, she said if I put it on, I’d probably try to throw the biggest party in the world or invent a glowy cloud that turned ponies into zombie clowns or make fun mandatory, except she said it all rhymey. It makes you all nasty and cold inside. So it really wasn’t your fault at all, just a meany-pants rock that whammied your superego and made you go all revenge-crazy. So, can I get you something?”
Mrs. Cake looked at her employee, then at the perplexed unicorn. She looked like she wanted to say something, but merely gnawed at her lower lip and trotted quickly into the kitchen. Trixie slowly made her way to the front of the shop, desperately trying to ignore all the stares. For once, the attention was stifling. She focused instead on all the treats that were on display. “Er… have you any beignets?” she asked.
Pinkie frowned. “Hm… nope, not today. But we do have powdered-sugar doughnuts!”
“Trixie will have one of those.” She hesitated. “Please.”
“Okie-dokie-lokie! What about you, Spikey?”
“The same, but with crushed peridot,” the dragon rumbled and how did he move so quietly.
“Coming right up! That’ll be four bits.”
Trixie reached for her purse, only to realize that it was probably back in her caravan. “Ah. Trixie appears to be slightly fiscally embarrassed…”
“My treat,” Spike said sliding over the bits.
“It isn’t as though Trixie is poor or anything,” the magician continued wretchedly. “She just got back from doing a very successful run of shows. She’s made more bits than she ever had in her life…”
Spike coughed. “Trixie, really. I’ll pay.”
“It’s just back in the wagon. Which sank in the mud,” Trixie continued. “Outside of town.” She stifled a sniff. “It’s fine. It will be fine. It will all be fine.”
“Look, I’ve got out my bit bag.”
Gently, Pinkie set out three doughnuts on the counter and patted Trixie’s hoof. “One on the house for a lousy night,” she said sympathetically. “Don’t worry about your wagon. Aunt Pinkie will make sure it’s all taken care of.”
Trixie stared down at the pink hoof in bewilderment, completely lost for words. Spike sighed. “Thanks, Pinkie,” he said in an affected voice. “The Great and Powerful Trixie accepts your kind gift with humility and grace.”
The party pony frowned slightly at him. “Spike,” she murmured. “Be nice. She needs it.”
Spike chuckled uncomfortably, watching his friend’s poofy mane slowly deteriorate like a deflating balloon. “Uh, yeah. Could’ve put that better, I guess. Sorry Trixie.”
A ghost of a smile traced Trixie’s lips. “Spot-on impression, though.”
Spike looked at Pinkie. The baker seemed not to be paying him any mind, though. She was too busy regarding Trixie with a deeply troubled expression. When the unicorn looked up again, though, Pinkie brightened immediately and patted the magician’s hoof. “I’ll see you at the party later. It’ll be great! And powerful!” She giggled.
Trixie’s mouth twitched down slightly, but only for a moment. It was hard to frown in front of this pink mare. “Trixie will be pleased to attend,” she replied.
Pinkie’s smile, if anything, grew wider, and Trixie pulled away. “Thank you for the doughnuts, Ms. Pie.”
“You’re very welcome,” the pink mare said with emphasis.
Trixie gave one last tight smile at the assembled, and then all but galloped out into the streets, doughnuts wrapped up in a napkin and clutched in her mouth.
Spike leaned in close to Pinkie. “Thanks,” he muttered. “She did need that, I guess.”
The party pony nodded. “You should always try to be nice to somepony trying to make friends,” she said with a short nod. “Being a meanie to a meanie just makes the first meanie more of a meanie, and then it just keeps getting worse and worse until you’re in a dystopian future full of robots and evil governments and war and a really annoying love triangle and NO BROWNIES at ALL!” She panted for several seconds before turning back to the kitchen. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Cake? Is it okay if I take a break to go to Sweet Apple Acres?”
“Sure, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake called back. “Just remember to pick up today’s supply of apples while you’re there.”
“Okie-dokie!” Pinkie hopped over the counter once again and pronked out the door. Spike, after a moment, lumbered after her, taking a thoughtful bite of his doughnut as he did so.
***
Cheerilee hesitated for a moment before knocking on the next door. There was but a short pause before it swung open. “Yes hellowhat?” Cheerilee took a step back. Even when she was properly braced, Sea Breeze could be more than a tad overwhelming. The pale pink pegasus barely ever even blinked, or if she did it was too fast to be seen by the naked eye.
“I’m here about Snips…” Cheerilee said slowly. She never knew why her voice slowed when speaking to Snips’s mother. Perhaps it was an attempt to balance out the conversation.
“Ohdear whathashedone thistime?”
“Snips hasn’t done anything, Breeze. May I come in?”
The pegasus bowed her head in assent, her tight bun of curly lilac mane bobbing, and allowed the teacher passage. The door led directly into the parlor. A good half-dozen lamps illuminated every corner of the room. The walls were yellow, and pictures of Snips and his sister, Zipporwhill, hung from all of them. There were no photos of Breeze herself. If asked why, she would simply reply, “Iknow what I looklike,” which made sense as long as you didn’t think about it. Perhaps more telling was the lack of photos of her ex-husband.
Cheerilee sat gingerly on a chair. It crinkled awkwardly. “Have you had the furniture… shrink-wrapped?”
“No I just covereditin plasticsheets. Forthedog. If I knew youwere coming I wouldhave removed them,” Breeze said shortly. “Sorry.”
“It’s no problem,” the earth mare assured her. “Is Snips still asleep?”
“Yes he is. Should I wakehim?”
“That won’t be necessary. In fact, please don’t. I needed to tell you that…” Cheerilee hesitated, regarding the other mare. “Trixie is back.”
There was a sound like a helium balloon deflating backwards as Sea Breeze gasped. “Whatwherewhenwhyhow?”
Cheerilee held up a hoof. “I’m telling this so that you’ll know to be on your guard. I’ve just come from Goldie’s, and she and Written have… agreed that Snails should be kept in the dark about this for now. Are you willing to—” she found herself cut off by Breeze’s frantic nodding. “Right. Well. Good.” Cheerilee said, pasting a smile onto her face. “I’ll keep you updated. And remind Snips that we’re going to have a test on the Skyzantine Empire Monday!”
“Ofcourse yes haveagoodday…” Breeze murmured, still shaken, waving the teacher off.
Neither mare noticed a little green muzzle poking over the balcony that overlooked the parlor. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is back?” Snips breathed. “Oh boy, wait until Snails hears this…”
***
Mac made their way quickly, but sedately, toward Sweet Apple Acres. They needed to be the one to break the news to AJ. Her attitudes toward Trixie were… well, variable. Much of the time, she was amicable enough to the idea of the showmare. Bygones were bygones, more or less. But on the other hoof, Applejack’s stubborn streak was wider than the ocean, and her competitive drive was nearly as deep. If the idea was introduced by an impartial party, such as a certain laconic elder sibling, there was no doubt that Applejack would warm to the idea with minimal fuss. ‘Course, if Rarity got to AJ first, that wouldn’t so much upset the applecart as it would knock down the barn. The thing could be done, and done easily, provided that there were no
“Hi, Mackie! Could you help me out real quick?”
distractions. Consarnit.
“Nope,” Mac said, picking up the pace.
Pinkie gasped and put her blue eye up to Mac’s green from her vantage point on the farmer’s back and how the gelding Tartarus had she gotten up there? “Whaaa? Mac, are you feeling okay?”
“Eeyup.”
“You aren’t sick, or hurt, or anything?”
“Nope.”
“Strong as ever?”
“Eeyup?”
“So you can help me!”
“Nope.”
Pinkie drooped. “Aw, come on, Macca-pac! It’ll only take half an hour!”
“Half ‘n hour?”
“Yes!”
“Nope.”
“Please? I’ll be your best-ever friend! I’ll bake you an apple-upside-down cake! I’ll, I’ll, do all your chores on the farm for a week!”
“Nope.” Cheerilee was already Mac’s best friend, nopony could beat Granny’s apple-upside-down cake, and work was cathartic. “S’pose y’all tell me what ya want me ta do.”
Pinkie brightened. “So you will help?”
“Ee...mebbee. Once Ah’ve finished up talking ta AJ.”
“Alright!” Pinkie bounced off of Mac’s back and pronked along beside them. “Agent Macintosh. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to help me pull Trixie’s wagon out of the mud!”
“Huh.”
“So, will you do it?”
“Eeyup.”
“Yay!”
“After Ah’ve talked with AJ, Miz Pie.”
“Aw…” the pink mare deflated, her lower lip wobbling. “I really need this done, Mackie. And you’re the best pony for the job! I asked myself, Pinkie, who’s the strongest pony in all of Ponyville? And I answered, why it must be Big Macintosh!”
“Pinkie!” Mac stopped. “Ah gotta go talk ta AJ right now. It’s important. Ah’ll come by an’ help ya in ‘bout half an hour, alright?”
“Okie-doke, Mac!” Pinkie chirped, bouncing off. The workhorse sighed. They’d managed to reach Sweet Apple Acres over the course of that pointless chat. The house was in their sight now. Mac could reach it in under five minutes at a jog.
They started up the path, only to hear an explosive “SHE DID WHAT?” echo from up the path. Red ears flattened back into a ginger mane.
“Horseapples,” Mac groaned, before breaking into a gallop.
***
Trixie nibbled at one of the doughnuts as she trotted down Ponyville’s main drag. Her lips were liberally coated with powdered sugar. Spike walked behind and to the left of her, the only remains of his doughnut being the green crystal shards that dotted his lips. His eyes, clear and sharp as cut emeralds, flickered over the faces of passers by as they registered who it was who walked among them once more. Most merely stared for a moment, quickly returning to their duties when Spike met their eyes. Some others nodded, even waved to the showmare. Spike would gently nudge the blue mare in the side and point, and once she had snapped back to reality, she would wave back. Some saw the performer, and their faces turned to stone. A few even moved forwards to confront her, but shied back under the gimlet glare of the dragon behind her.
“So,” Spike said at length. “Where do you want to go now?”
“Hnh?” Trixie blinked eyes that were more glazed than any doughnut, and turned to face the dragon. “Repeat that, please?”
“Where should we go now?”
“Oh.” Trixie glanced around. “Trixie has seen enough of Ponyville for one day. She will go back to the castle now.”
Spike smiled, thin-lipped. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Not a chance. You’re gonna get reformed, like it or not, and it’ll be a lot easier for everyone if you rip off the bandage quickly. C’mon, who are we visiting next?”
Trixie curled her lower lip into a pout and said nothing. “Trixie…”
“Trixie is thinking!” the magician snapped. “Er—” she glanced around, then gestured to a pair of lilac pegasi crossing the road. “Them. Yes. Hail, citizens!”
Spike winced as Flitter and Cloudchaser glanced up. “Okay, little more straightforward than I was hoping…”
Cloudchaser was the first to recover. “Oh,” she said flatly. “So you really are back, then.”
“Yes! The GRRRREAT and RRREMORSEFUL TRIXIE has returned so as to make amends for her actions under the influence of the Alicorn Amulet!”
The spike-maned pegasus looked underwhelmed, but her sister smiled at the blue unicorn. “Well, that is very nice of you, Trixie,” Flitter said, “isn’t it, Cloudy?”
Cloudchaser said nothing. Flitter’s smile thinned like a middle-aged stallion’s mane. “Isn’t. It. Cloudy,” she repeated, nudging her sister forcefully in the ribs.
The white-maned mare merely shrugged. “Sure, yeah, fine, apology accepted or whatever, if that’s what you want.”
Trixie’s face clouded over. “Is Trixie’s apology insufficiently plausible for you? What must she do to prove herself to you?”
Flitter opened her mouth to deliver some kind of placation, but her sister beat her to it. “Nothing you can do,” Cloudchaser said, her eyes never leaving Trixie’s own. “It’s already done. You just keep coming back like a boomerang just to rut us over again. Taking over the town? Trying to screw up the Princess? What do you want here, Trixie? Why can’t you go wreck some other town?”
The unicorn took a step back, aura lighting up with a pink glow. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has no ulterior motives!” she said. Not anymore. Not right now. That should still count.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Flitter said, placing a wing on her sister’s withers. “I’m sorry about her. She’s never quite herself before she has her morning coffee. And she never drinks coffee.”
“It’s bean water!” Cloudchaser shouted, stomping a hoof. “You drink it with lactation from an entirely separate species! How am I the only one who sees how nasty that stuff is?”
Trixie blinked. “So… a tea drinker?”
“Are you out of your tiny mind? Leaf water? With the same cow lactation? That’s just as bad! I drink cocoa, and I’m proud of it.”
“Cocoa.”
“Yep.”
“Made with cocoa powder.”
“Uh-huh!”
“Trixie, don’t,” Flitter groaned.
“Cocoa powder which is made of cacao beans.”
“Uh-huh!” Cloudchaser paused. “Wait, what? No. Cocoa is made with chocolate.”
“Right, which is made from—”
“OKAY TIME TO GO THANKS FOR APOLOGIZING BYE.” Flitter led her sister away at speed, her wing almost in a chokehold around the other’s neck.
There was a long silence. “Well,” said Spike. “That went over like a lead balloon.”
Trixie let out a half-strangled moan and slammed to the ground. “Now may we go back to the castle?”
Spike gnawed at his lower lip. “We still have to run some errands for Twilight,” he said.
“Fine. You do that. Trixie needs to go crawl into a hole and expire.”
“Come on, you’re Twilight’s new number-three assistant,” Spike cajoled. “You’ll never move up if you don’t follow the list, and I don't think you wanna be subordinate to an owl forever.”
Trixie glanced at the dragon sidelong. “What list?”
Spike waved a sheet of paper at the unicorn. “This list. It’s today’s agenda, see?”
Trixie took the list and examined it. “Hm. Not that long. Three shops sounds tolerable.”
“Oh, sorry, forgot to unfold it.” Spike took one corner of the paper and peeled off a piece of sticky tape. The list promptly doubled. Then it doubled again. Again. Once more, with feeling. Before long, the paper was trailing on the ground, and Trixie’s pupils were pinpricks in a sea of wisteria.
“What the actual…”
Spike shrugged. “Eh, it’s honestly not as bad as it looks. Most of it’s just a series of nested subsidiary lists detailing what we need to buy, necessary qualities of the objects needed, vague details on social interactions, stuff like that.”
“What is this graph here?”
“Oh, that’s the inverse relationship between how far we can stray from Twilight’s exact specs and how much we spend,” Spike said, glancing over the list. “Come on, we’d better get started. First stop, the flower shop.”