//------------------------------// // Prologue: A Showmare for All Seasons // Story: Welcome to the Club // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ April 12th, 1005 ME 19:42:11:10 Solid darkness. “You know what they say about this city...” CLAKKKK!!! A blue spotlight appeared on a fuzzy equine figure. “'What happens in Las Pegasus...” Her violet eyes peeked out from between the brim of a sorcerer's cap and the hem of a starry cape. “...stays in Pegasus.'” A glint of teeth beneath a devil-may-care grin... “But tonight...!” With a rush of magical wind, she unfurled the cape, filling the air with glitter and conjured sparkles. “...the Twelfth of April, year one thousand and five of the Equestrian Modern Era...!!” With a flick of her tail, a puff of purple smoke billowed into the spreading spotlight. As it settled, the stage revealed a tall glass tank full of bubbling water. “...the Grreat and Powerrful Trrrrixie shall perform a magical feat of such magnitude that everyone in this audience will be compelled to speak of it to everypony for the rest of their mortal lives!!!” More sparklers and fireworks crackled to add dramatic framing to the showmare's declaration. The auditorium filled with gasps, murmurs, and applauding hooves of excitement. Trixie couldn't see any of the attendees from the bright lights, so she just smiled into the blinding moment, tossing her mane loose as she magically undid her cape, hat, and the tassels in between. “You've heard about the impossibility of this act...” She stood up on her hindquarters and stuck her forelimbs out to her side. Stallions in finely-pressed suits galloped in from opposite positions offstage. “...you've seen the posters! Heard murmurs of rumors of its death-defying insanity...” In synchronized motions, the stagehooves fitted a strait jacket onto the showmare. They made quick work of fastening chains and cuffs together so that Trixie squatted helpless on her hindquarters with her forelimbs completely and utterly bound. “... … ...from coast to coast of Princess Twilight's blessed nation, you've no doubt caught wind of the spectacle that is the unsinkable, unkillable, unmurrrrderrrable Trrrrixie!” One stallion put an anti-magic cap onto Trixie's horn. It sparked once or twice as her magic visibly dimmed. At the same time, the second stallion attached Trixie to a black, near-invisible rigging of wires suspended from the ceiling above the stage. As soon as he was done... ...Trixie was lifted up into the air and towards the water tank behind her. She kept her narrow, intense gaze locked on the audience the entire time. “But not until now have you obserrrrved her wrrreckless skill up close! Fillies and gentlecolts! Equines of all ages! Feast yourrrr eyes on this one-of-a-kind rrrrreenactment! The verrry stunt that the Grrrreat and Powerrrrful Trrrrixie pulled in herrr dazzling escape from the Waterrrrr Warrrrriors of Waterrrrtopia!” With a mechanical whur, her dangling body came to a stop directly above the tank. The stallions stood on either side of the glass container, facing the crowd with deadpan expressions. Trixie's voice boomed across the dumbstruck auditorium. “One hundred and eighty brrrrreathless seconds! Suspended inside an inescapable torrrrrturrrrre device of drrrrowning demise!!! Boiled alive by hungry cannibals! Bound in a strrrraight jacket with no escape tool except herrrr mind, muscle, and magnificence! BEHOLD!!! The Grrrrreat and Powerrrrrful Trrrixie presents to you... … … THE WATERRRTOPIAN MIRRRACLE!!!” On cue... ...the cable harness unlocked. And Trixie plunged like an anvil down into the tank. SPLOOSH!!! Water roared out the top as her body displaced the liquid. Trixie fell into the dead center of the clear container, surrounded in bubbles. These very same bubbles increased as the stallions lit a pyre of logs directly beneath the container, which caught aflame brilliantly. More shrieks and gasps came out of the audience as the stagehooves—in grim silence—pulled a blanket of metal mesh fabric and threw the opaque material over the body of the tank, obscuring Trixie's bound and drowning figure... replacing it with steam and the flicker of ash. The water tank stood like this—broiling with flame from underneath—covered in a choking metal fabric that obscured all sign of the magician's torturous ordeal. As more and more steam filled the air of the theatre, an orchestrated symphony crackled through the loud speakers above. Tense, percussion-based music filled the audible space left by the collective, wide-eyed audience who were all holding their breaths. Meanwhile... ...off stage, a stallion wearing thick glasses stood with a mallet in one hoof and a stopwatch in the other. The very second that the magician was sealed up and covered in the boiling water tank, he clicked the top of the device, watching as the moving hands ticked down from three full minutes. By the time the hands hit one hundred and seventy-five seconds remaining... “Hiya, Silver Shill,” Trixie said, standing and dripping directly behind him. “GAHHH!” The stallion hopped in place, his spectacles flying off his scalp. Flash! Trixie caught them in a violet field of energy, despite the presence of the “magic cap” on her horn. “Careful...” She blew the cap off her head, wiped the glasses against her wet chest, then levitated them back to the stagehoof. “...you're working for Flim and Flam again. You can't afford afford to toss all gimmicks away.” “You're one to talk.” Silver Shill gestured at the horn cap rotating to a stop on the ground beside a water-logged straight jacket. “This is your third tour of performing the Watertopian Miracle.” “Pssst!” Trixie pointed at the stopwatch in his hoof. “Eyes on the clock.” “Guh! S-sorry...” He put his glasses back on, rubbed them dry, then spotted the time remaining. He turned and gestured at another pony off stage. A mare nodded back, squatting on a stool with a microphone. She spoke into it, projecting her voice across the musical speakers: “Two minutes, thirty seconds! The Great and Powerful Trixie sure has her work cut out for her!” “D-don't you think ponies are gonna catch on, Trixie?” Silver Shill remarked. “Meh...” The mare levitated a towel off a nearby wrack and started drying her mane and upper coat briskly. “A wise old stallion once said 'There's a clopper born every minute.'” “Jack Pot? Really?” Silver Shill couldn't help but smirk. His eyes darted briefly away from the stopwatch. “Didn't think you of all ponies would be quoting your old stallion.” “Yes... well...” Trixie sighed, all the while rub-rub-rubbing her head, muzzle, ears. “...he's stayed out of Trixie's spotlight all this time. You ask me, that's pretty 'wise.'” “Don't be so hard on yourself.” Silver Shill observed the time and gestured at the mare with the mic yet again. “Two minutes left, fillies and gentlecolts! Her peril is just now starting!” Trixie spoke as the speakers above crackled. “Do you forget who you're talking to?” “Gotta admit, you're making a splash here at The Rioats.” Silver Shill winked. “Give it a few years and I swear you'll be headlining this place!” “Mmmmyeah, well, Trixie certainly is tired of being a mere opening act.” Her blue muzzle scrunched as she shimmied the towel over her rump. “Just what do Prance and Trotter have that Trixie doesn't?” “That trick with the goldfish?” Silver Shill gasped. “Oh! That other one! The magic bullet one!” “Eugh... don't remind Trixie.” She gestured at Silver's pocketwatch. He coughed aside. “One minute and thirty seconds! It's all a boil at this point!” “Magicians their age...” Trixie blew out the side of her muzzle. “...stallions that old in Las Pegasus should either be retired or having their muzzles bitten off by tigers.” “That reminds me...” Silver Shill smiled. “Word is that Flim and Flam are going to buy out the Luxoats Hotel and Casino next. If you play your cards right, maybe you can headline that!” “Puh-lease...” Trixie rolled her eyes. Her horn glowed, dragging her cape and hat towards her—which she promptly fitted on. “The only thing that belongs under a pyramid are mummies and conspiracy nuts.” “One minute! One minute, folks! Can the Great and Powerful Trixie make it?!?!” “Don't tell me...” Silver Shill's beady eyes narrowed through his glasses. “...is that off-beat hick pony town still dragging you away from a full-time gig?” “Hah!” Trixie tilted her nose up and flung her cape around her fuzzy blue figure. Now dry and pristine. “Ponyville is many things, Mr. Shill! But it is far from maximum Hickville!” Her eyes narrowed as she fluffed her mane beneath her hat. “If it captures the Great and Powerful Trixie's attention so much... then it must be worth all the majesty, you think?” “I don't know, Trix...” He signaled the mare one last time. “Thirty seconds! Is this it?! Is this curtains for the Great and Powerful Trixie?!?” Silver Shill looked towards the showmare worriedly, waving the stopwatch with emphasis. “...neither of us are getting any younger. Don't you think it's about time we... y'know... settled for what's most profitable?” “Oh ye of little pizzazz...” She waggled her eyebrows. “...time is always on Trixie's side.” “Time's up! What has become of our beloved sorceress?!?!” Trixie held her breath. Her eyes clenched shut as her blue cheeks puffed out and— —her horn sparked. FLASSSSH!!! The black fabric on stage fell straight down—through a vanishing tank of boiling water—and above it there materialized a fabulously dressed unicorn beneath an array of sparkles and twirling fireworks. “THE GRRREAT AND POWERRRFUL TRRRIXIE PRRREVAILS!!!” she hollered, twirling into a dramatic pose within the spotlight. The auditorium filled with clopping hooves and cheering voices. Trixie smiled wide. She bowed down low multiple times. “Thank you! Thank you! Your enthusiastic admiration is much expected.” She fitted her sorcerer's cap on straighter and leaned back with a smirk. “You have all been blessed by the mesmerizing act of the Great and Powerful Trixie! Next up—” She murmured under her breath. “As if you couldn't guess...” A clearing of her throat, and she spoke loudly from the stage again: “—the indomitable pair of card-trick cavaliers, Prance and Trotter! But do not give into dismay...” She winked. “You can see Trixie again! Soon, in fact! For—right after the show—she will be sitting at her Great and Powerful Booth in the Rioats lobby! Available for any and all questions, autographs, and fan appreciation!” She pointed straight into the blinding lights at the unseen audience. “Be there, oh fans and admirers of Trrrixie!” A wink. “She knows you want to be.” An hour and a half later. Trixie sat. At her table. Alone. She leaned her fuzzy muzzle against a bored fetlock. Her hat rested crookedly against her skull, and a dimly-glowing horn levitated a trio of juggling balls lazily in the air. The table beneath was spread over with a blue cloth bespeckled with constellation patterns. Several large print photographs of the Great and Powerful Trixie rested beside a stack of unused black markers. In every picture, Trixie was smiling wide and posing smugly. Slowly, the magician sighed through flaring nostrils. Her lethargic gaze swam across the noisy arena of the lobby. It was—in fact—quite busy throughout the lobby of the Rioats casino and hotel. A large crowd of ponies—the still-enthused audience from that evening—congregated in heavy clusters. However, they all huddled noticeably around a pair of stools where two well-suited stallions sat, chatting amicably with the crowd. One—a tall and burly stallion with peppery gray mane hair and round-framed glasses. The other—a small and pleasant-faced pony with curly hair framing a balding forehead. Trixie watched as the larger stallion rambled incessantly about one topic or another while the smaller one quietly and calmly signed one three-of-clubs after another. “Hmmf...” Trixie blew at a loose strand of white mane hair dangling from under her hat. “...shadows and goldfish tricks. Meh!” She cupped two fetlocks around her muzzle. “You know he can talk, right?!? It's all an act! He only plays mute because he wants to!” But her loud exclamation was but a puny pindrop devoured by the cacophony of ponies, ponies, ponies. “Eeeeugh...” Trixie slumped back in her chair, tilting her head back and gazing loathsomely through the ceiling tiles of the lobby above. “...Trixie should have booked herself for Manehattan. The only magic she has to compete with there is the sewage system.” “There you are, Miss Trixie!” “Gaaah!” Trixie hopped in place, nearly falling out of her chair. Her telekinetically juggling balls fell to the floor beneath the table. “Trixie has paid her taxes—!” She flinched. A mare in front of her likewise flinched. She was a young adult filly, wearing glasses, a hairband, and a saddlebag patched over with college emblems. “Oh, I'm sorry!” She smiled nervously, revealing braces. “I-I hope I didn't startled you! I'm actually quite glad that I met you here. You see... uhm...” Her cheeks blushed slightly. “...I'm a big fan.” “A big fan?” Trixie's muzzle scrunched suspiciously. “A big fan of what?” She stupidly looked at her own table, her own photographs, then the young mare who was standing directly at said table and staring right at her. “Oh! But of course! A big fan!” She stood up tall and proud, striking a debonair pose. “A grreat and powerrful fan of the Grreat and Powerrful Trrixie!” The mare giggled. With the gleeful enthusiasm of a foal, she jogged briefly in place, then steeled herself with a clearing of the throat. “Ahem... I had the hardest time finding you, though. I swear... this place needs a bigger lobby!” “Mmmmm. Yes. Indeed.” Trixie glared at the crowd gathered around Prance and Trotter. “It's very rare that you can find a building magnificent enough to house the majesty that is Trixie.” “Heehee...” The mare bit her bottom lip, smiling. “You're just as smug in real life as you are in writing!” “Yes, well...” Trixie pointed at her and winked. “...you know what they say! Truth is stranger than fiction!” “But all I've ever read of you is non-fiction.” “Yes!” Trixie blinked. “And truth is...” Trixie blinked again. “...strangier... than in... in...” She shook her snout, coughed, then leaned forward with her forelimbs crossed beneath her chin. “Sooooooooo... what did you think of tonight's show?” “The Watertopian Miracle?” The mare did a little hop in place. “So amazing! I still have no clue how you made it out of the tank! I mean... obviously it's a stage secret trick... but such a good one! And presented so dazzlingly! You never fail to impress...” “Trixie takes it you're familiar with her other work?” “Mmmm? Oh! Yes! Of course!” “So tell Trixie, then...” The showmare smiled from ear to ear. “What is your favorite performance? Hmmm? The Manticore Cannon Launch Lunch?” “Well—” “The Endless Handkerchief River?” “I think—” “The Ursa Major Star Fall?” “Actually... none of those...” Trixie's pupils shrank. “You... don't like any of Trixie's show stoppers?” The mare slowly shook her head. She reached into her saddlebag, and pulled out a thick book. Trixie could already tell from the color of its spine what it was: Friendship is Magic Volume Six, written by Twilight Sparkle. “I am...” The mare hugged the book tenderly to her chest while smiling rosily at Trixie. “...a really... really huge fan of the part you played in the heroic journey that saved all of Equestria from Queen Chrysalis' evil schemes.” She gulped. “Just four brave souls! Protecting the world from devastation and bringing salvation to all of the changelings! That's an entire civilization that now has a promising future just because of what you four did! Two civilizations, technically!” “Oh.” Trixie breathed. “Right.” She leaned back. “That.” A lazy wave of the hoof. “Ehhhhh... it was just your run-of-the-mill threat-to-all-existence thingy. Trust me, they happen every Tuesday.” “But I-I couldn't even begin to imagine!” The mare's eyes went wide. “Being up against such incalculable odds?! Facing certain death at every corner, not knowing if your next decision could be the right decision for everypony involved?!” “Just put one pretty hoof in front of the other,” Trixie said, stifling a yawn. “That's always Trixie's motto.” “It must have been so exciting brushing withers with so many big names.” The mare leaned forward, grinning. “Tell me! How's King Thorax in person?” “King Thorax?” Trixie blinked. “Who's King Thorax?” Silence. “Oh! Right! That bug.” Trixie sat up straight, slowly shrugging. “Oh... y'know... he's... … … pointy.” A nod. “Colorful.” Another nod. Lingering breaths. “...pointy.” “Heeheehee...” The mare giggled. “And I can't imagine it was easy handling Discord's antics up close.” “No. It wasn't.” Trixie fought hard not to roll her eyes. “Y'know, if he ever visits Las Pegasus, maybe you could try asking for his autograph—” “I don't want Discord's autograph,” the mare said in a solid tone. Her gaze was sincere. “The only pony I've wanted to meet is you.” Trixie's eyes narrowed. “Thorax, Discord—even Starlight Glimmer...” The mare held the book higher for emphasis. “Twilight Sparkle writes about how powerful each of them are. Even when facing the anti-magic aura that Chrysalis' nest was generating, those three had their own might to lean on.” She slowly shook her head. “But none of them had the inner courage and tenacity to face the unthinkable and improvise a solution. You did. You went in there fully-knowing that you were outmatched by your opponent.” “Yes... w-well...” Trixie cleared her throat, fiddling her fetlocks all of a sudden. “...the Great and Powerful Trixie is anything but—” “You trotted up to the heart of the changeling hive and you boldly made the world a better place.” The mare's eyes watered. “Do you... have any idea just how inspiring that is...?” “... … ...” Trixie glanced over at the crowd gathered around Prance and Trotter, then back at the solitary mare. “M... maybe you could remind Trixie...” “I've read the recollection Princess Twilight wrote about the award ceremony... over and over and over.” The mare sniffled, smiling pleasantly at the book. “Y'know... where you, Thorax, Discord, and Starlight Glimmer were given medals for your bravery and courage?” “Oh yes. Trixie remembers that. They were serving peanut butter cookies at the banquet.” “And I've spent countless nights... reflecting on Twilight's words... trying to understand the crux of what gave you so much power and focus...” The mare paced slightly in place. “And... and I think that I figured it out!” “Ah! Well, isn't it obvious?” Trixie straightened her cap and tilted her nose up proudly. “It's because of how charismatic and enthusiastic and awesome I am—” “It's all because of friendship!” “... … ...Trixie begs your pardon?” “It's so clear! So obvious!” The mare pointed at the book, then at Trixie. “The bond that you have! With Thorax, Discord, Starlight Glimmer—heck—the Elements of Harmony!” She smiled sweetly. “All of Twilight's friends and acquaintances” “Uhhhhh...” “You're all like... just one big clubhouse of buddies and pals and bronies and pegasisters, aren't you?” She danced again in place. “Oh, how wonderful it must feel to be included in such an elite group!” “Oh... uh...” Trixie sweated slightly. “...you bet!” “What I wouldn't give to know Princess Twilight personally! Or to share the skies with Rainbow Dash! Or to trade tall tales with Applejack or share wisdom with Fluttershy or mirth with Pinkie Pie or inspiration with Rarity!” The mare gestured. “But you have all of that! And more! You practically live in the Castle of Friendship! You know such goodness and awesomeness first-hoof!” “Yeah...” Trixie glanced off into the distance. “...uh...” “It just...” The mare gulped, hugging the book once again. “...it gives me hope that someday... perhaps... I-I too will find a group of friends like you did. And maybe I too can be great and powerful...” A giggle. A wink. “Just like you! Saving the world one pretty hoof before the other!” “Listen... uhm...” Trixie gestured. “Miss—” “Sue.” “Sue?” “Merry Sue.” Trixie put on a plastic grin. “Why am I not surprised?” she whispered aside. Clearing her throat, she spoke loudly. “Don't cash all your chips in just friendship for friendship's sake.” Merry nodded, listening intently. “Sometimes... heck... most of the time...” Trixie smiled proudly. “You'll only have yourself to lean on. In fact... it's quite possible—realistic, even—to expect going through all of life relying on just yourself!” “But...” The mare's eyes darted to the cover of the book. “...Friendship—” “'Is Magic.' I know. Yadda yadda yadda.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “Yes. It's sooooo marketable.” A sly grin. “But bunching up together to fire friendship lasers at a bad guy isn't all there is in life.” “It isn't?” “No.” Trixie momentarily frowned. “It isn't.” Her smirk returned. “You gotta work on the in-between...” “What's... in-between friendship?” “Being yourself!” Trixie grinned, gesturing. “Looking after yourself! Long... lonesome journeys on the road! Mastering one gig after another! Finding your place in the spotlight!” Her eyes narrowed. “Cuz—I hate to break it to ya—but we all are gonna end up alone at some point or another. Might as well make peace with it. Learn to master it.” Trixie leaned back with an accomplished smile. “And let Trixie tell ya...” She rested her forelimbs behind her head. “...she's learned to master being herself like no other pony.” Merry Sue nodded. “I see.” A nervous grin. “So... you prefer being alone?” Trixie's pupils shrank. “Trixie didn't say that!” They shrank again. “Wait... did Trixie say that?” She rocked upright in her seat. “I mean... what I m-meant was—” “Or... do you have no choice in the matter—?” “Trixie is not alone!” Trixie slapped a hoof on the table. “Trixie has friends! Trixie has lots of friends!” She folded her forelimbs and tilted her nose up. “Sparkle's book no doubt tells you that.” “Twilight's book... uh... suggests some things...” Trixie squinted out one eye. “What kind of things...?” Merry blanched. “You mean you haven't read it?” “Of... c-course Trixie has! But... humor her anyway...” Merry flipped through the book, then settled on a bookmarked page. She hesitated a bit, glancing at Trixie, then back at the book. “Ahem...” She gulped hard and started reading. “'...although she's never fully admitted it, I've come to conclude that Trixie Lulamoon has a lot in common with me. More specifically, my past self—the book smart student of Princess Celestia who had no time for companionship, but all the desire. Deep-seeded and sensitive. Only, unlike past me, Trixie never made that first step until much much later—'” “Hah!” Trixie laughed. “Hah-HAH!” She barked her cackles until the redness in her cheeks were obscured. “Blasphemy! Lies! Slander!” She spent a few too many seconds readjusting her robe around a sweaty neck. “Let Trixie tell you! That Princess can write a thing or two about the physical properties of comets! But when it comes to character studies, she's one brick short of a crematorium!” “Yes... but...” Merry Sue winced as she squeezed the words out. “...she kinda sorta is the “Princess of Friendship.” “... … … … … ...” Trixie stared at her. “... … ...would you like Trixie to sign something?” she droned. “Oh! Yes! Yes yes yes! Please!” Merry danced in place. “Hold your horses, horse-lady.” Trixie sat up with a smirk. She flicked a marker up into the air with magic, grabbed a photo, and shook the ink loose. “If the r's in my title look fancier than you'd expect, that's done on purpose.” A wink. “That way they look like they're rolling.” “Eee-heee-heee-heeeeeee...!” Trixie was one of the last ponies to trot out of the Rioats Hotel's auditorium wing. A security guard opened a side alley door for her. He gave a salute, then walked back into the building, locking the side exit in place. Lugging a heavy cluster of saddlebags on her flank, Trixie trotted lonesomely forward under the shroud of night. It was extra-windy in Las Pegasus, and a swift gust from the pegasopolitan cloud city nearly blew her hat off as she emerged onto the main streets. She was also greeted by lights-lights-lights: the magical array of dazzling luminescent spells that made up the sights, hotel fronts, and advertisements of the lofty entertainment hub of Equestria. Much like Manehattan, it was a city that never slept—with party-goers and inebriated tourists wandering from attraction to attraction. A gaggle of voices caught Trixie's attention. She looked to her left. She saw a huge group of ponies—several of whom she recognized from the congregation in the Rioats front lobby. Dozens of these very same equines had been her starry-eyed audience members. She couldn't see their adoring faces from the stagelights then. And now that they were all out in the open, not a single smiling, laughing, enthusiastic gaze was aimed towards her. Instead, the ponies chatted and giggled and chortled amongst friends while moving off to their eventual destination. And Trixie... ...trotted away from them on her own. She strolled away from the brightest cluster of lights. She moved past gift shops and tourist traps and street-side food vendors. She trotted beyond the darker layers of Las Pegasus, past hidden clusters of hobo nests and shanty-towns that loomed under decrepit shadows. At last, she arrived at a nearly-vacant lot, populated by the occasional wagon—including her own. It was one of the only spots in all of Las Pegasus that didn't require a fee for parking. And that's where she chose to rest her wheels. The lone showmare's horn glowed. She licked her lips as she fiddled with the magical lock to her wagon/home/warehouse/domicile. Dogs barked loudly in her periphery, and she heard a police siren or two wailing in the distance. Fighting a slight shudder, she finally managed to unlock the rear door of the wagon. She leapt through in a blue blur, then sealed it magically shut behind her. Safe inside the cramped living space, Trixie sighed with relief. She zapped a crystal affixed to the ceiling, filling the claustrophobic wagon with a soft blue glow. She disrobed of her saddlebags—a feat that took no less than thirty seconds due to the narrow space afforded her and her belongings—and then she wormed her way under a hammock and towards a cupboard. Opening one drawer, she slid aside a hidden panel to reveal a secure lock box. After a full minute of fumbling with its lock, she deposited all of the bits from that night's earning... then sealed the metal thing back shut. Trixie stood still for a moment. Breathing. Existing. Thinking. Her anxious eyes eventually drifted towards the far corner of the wagon. Behind three separate junk piles was another pile—this one consisting of several unwashed stage robes from at least twenty skipped laundries ago. Trixie tongued the inside of her muzzle. She fidgeted, hesitated, then—with a self-deprecating groan—finally slithered over to the mound of clothes. Her horn glowed as—one layer at a time—she peeled the pile loose. Hidden underneath was a dusty box lined with green velvet. Beside it was a stack of books—pristine in their quality. But this was only because they were still encased in tight plastic shrink-wrap. Trixie glanced across the wagon. She levitated a knife out from a random drawer and brought it over to where the shrink-wrapped books were hovering. With careful precision, she cut the books loose, tossed the plastic wrap into a random junk pile, then pulled the sixth book loose from the rest. She flipped through the pages, wormed her way through paragraph after dense paragraph of Twilight Sparkle's words... ...then finally settled on the passage that Merry Sue had read from. Trixie's violet eyes slowly limped down the page. '...although she's never fully admitted it, I've come to conclude that Trixie Lulamoon has a lot in common with me. More specifically, my past self—the book smart student of Princess Celestia who had no time for companionship, but all the desire. Deep-seeded and sensitive.' Her reading eyes narrowed as she went a little further on: 'Only, unlike past me, Trixie never made that first step until much much later—or perhaps never at all.' Trixie slowly lowered the book. She stood alone, dwarfed by the clusters of junk and stage tools crowding in all around her. Like a foal lost in the woods. Her gaze fell onto the green velvet box beneath her. She put the book down and levitated the container up in its place. It took some fumbling, a little bit of forcing, but she finally opened the box. Inside—covered in dust—was a medal. A ruby crystal heart, lined in gold, with platinum wings. The pink chain of the medal had been left twisted with neglect so that the knots were likely permanent. Trixie's nostrils flared. Nevertheless, she blew lightly on the medal. Enough dust cleared for her to see the inscription above the heart-shaped crest: “In Honor of Trixie Lulamoon, Defender of Friendship.” A lump formed in Trixie's throat. She sighed, then glanced at the hammock dangling above her. Less than an hour later... After a sink “bath” and putting her mane in curlers, Trixie lay back in her hammock. She levitated a scrapbook above her. It was full of photographs from her days of travel and stagecrafting. Every few pages, there'd be a marker with the year given. ”Year 998 ME.” There were pictures of Trixie. Pictures of her old wagon. Pictures of Huffington. Fillydelphia. Baltimare. Then Trixie again. She flipped forward. “Year 999 ME.” There were more pictures of Trixie. A few of Canterlot. A few more of Chicagoats. Then Trixie once again. She flipped forward. “Year 1000 ME.” Ponyville. A broken wagon. Then a few blank pages. Then... Photos of nature. Photos of city streets, houses. Then a photo of a new wagon. And finally photos of Trixie again. Her brow furrowed as she flipped forward. “Year 1001 ME.” Photos of Trixie. She flipped forward. “Year 1002 ME.” Photos of Trixie. She flipped forward. ”Year 1003 ME.” Photos of Trixie. She sighed. She was about to flip forward some more... ...when she saw one photo of Starlight Glimmer. Her eyes lit up. Her ears perked straight. She leaned forward in her hammock, curlers flouncing. She flipped back to the photo she saw of her best friend... ...only to discover that it was a picture of the two of them, being taken by Trixie herself. Trixie was glamming it up for the camera and Starlight was barely squeezed into the shot. Trixie clenched her eyes shut. After a long sigh, she slowly flipped forward from there. “Year 1004 ME.” More photos of Trixie. But... ...for every ten photos, there was a picture of Starlight in there. Trixie had to look hard to find her. Gnawing her bottom lip, she flipped for again. “Year 1005 ME.” This part of the scrapbook was barely filled out. Even then, for every picture of Trixie, there was scarcely a shot of Starlight. The very last photo in the book thus far was one Trixie took two days ago. It was a poster for the magic show at the Rioats Casino and Hotel... only she had cropped the poster so that the photo only showed her opening act—with just a smidge of Trotter's pasty chin peaking into frame from the unseen center of the display. The rest of the book was blank. Trixie felt the same looking at it as she did at all the colorful, blue fuzzy photos before. Thap! She clapped the book shut and hugged it to her chest. She slumped back in the hammock, swaying a bit, bumping into boxes full of tophats and escape artist devices filling the cramped space on either side of her. After a prolonged exhale, she looked down beneath her. She saw the stack of Twilight's books—barely touched and fresh out of shrinkwrap despite being gifted to her countless months ago. The velvet green box with Trixie's royal medal lingered, teetering on the top of the stack of books, ready to fall at any time and join the junk scattered across the wagon floor. Trixie swallowed. She craned her neck—just to aim her horn at the glowing crystal on the ceiling. Extinguishing the light, she rolled over and waited for sleep. Like all things in her cluttered life, she would be waiting for a long time.