//------------------------------// // BONUS: Do Questions 11B through 11I and 12B through 12C Have a No Response? // Story: A Cursory Background Check // by JimmySlimmy //------------------------------// As usual, Trixie started the conversation with a slight up-tilt of the snout and a polite scoff. “Wow, Twilight, went for the 'mommy fuel' mug?” Were she not muzzle deep into a comically oversize coffee mug adorned with that clever phrase, Twilight would have responded with an affirmative grunt. As it was, it was more of a bubbling. “Huh, bad day then? What have you got in there? Smells sweet, really sweet – Oh my goddess, is that port? Are you – are you drinking port out of a coffee mug?” More bubbling. It sounded distinctly unsanitary. “Wow, that’s low.” Mercifully, while large, the mug was not endless, and it came down onto the table with a clatter after a final mighty gulp, leaving a slightly wine-stained and very sticky princess. “Yeah, well, is it as low as pissing on a corpse?” asked Twilight. Despite the truly prolific amount of fortified wine she just chugged, Twilight’s face was only drooping a little bit. Trixie chalked it up to a perk of the wings. “Trixie is confused and a little disturbed by that question, but, um, no, it’s not that bad.” Trixie waited with no small sense of dread for any further explanation of Twilight’s question; none was provided, so she decided that was probably for the best. “Look, Trixie, what do you want?” Twilight asked, simultaneously pouring herself another mug of port. Judging from the dust on the bottle, it looked far, far too expensive for how it was currently being imbibed. “Oh, well, Trixie was passing through town and broke an axle on the egregious potholes – seriously, does this place not have a road budget? – and has come to petition the local government for the cost of replacement.” “Ok, well, first off, please do not talk to me about taxes, secondly, that’s a question for the local Department of Carriages, which, despite its place in the government is not in the big shiny castle, and third, I really don’t give a shit about – actually, do you want some free shit?” Trixie responded instantly. “Trixie has been so broke she once ate a hayburger out of the garbage. Trixie never says no to free anything.” Twilight slid a form across the table. “Mmm, quite. Just sign this and we’ll see if you pass.” “Pass? What do you mean pass – oh, it’s an EQ-4473. Pffft, Trixie does one of these a week. What, do you take Trixie for some kind of common thug?” Trixie fwoop’d a quill into her field and signed her surprisingly long name at the top. “You’d be surprised.” Once again, the form dutifully filled up. CITIZEN: TRIXIE LULAMOON, THE GREAT AND POWERFUL “–That’s your legal name?” “Of course. You think Trixie would just make up a title?–” 6 COUNTS: PARKING VIOLATIONS “-what.” “Oh, Trixie forgot she was refusing to pay those Manehattan parking fines as a protest. Do you need Trixie to take care of those first?” Twilight continued to stare at the form, expecting, nay, hoping more charges would appear. None did. “… Twilight?” The staring had not stopped. “Do, do you need medical assistance? Trixie is a certified CPR-” “-No, Trixie, that, that will be fine. Wh-where’s, uh, the rest of it?” Trixie cocked her head slightly in confusion. In other circumstances, it would have been very cute, really. “Er, I, uh, Trixie does not understand. The rest of what exactly?” Twilight’s left eye had developed a twitch. “Your crimes Trixie? The rest of your prolific criminal history?” “Trixie still does – Oh! You mean the two incidents in Ponyville? Well, the first was really more of a tragic misunderstanding, a civil matter really, and the Amulet was something of a legal oddity. If Trixie remembers correctly, it was classified as a weapon of mass destruction, which generally places it outside of normal jurisdiction and into international military courts. Still had to pay for the civil damages, though.” Twilight had now picked up the form and was shaking it softly, the way one does a developing Polaroid. “No, n-no, that’s not possible. Surely there must be more to it that this. You must have done something else. My friends can’t, they can’t be-” “-Look, Trixie does not know what this has to do with your other friends, but Trixie does not appreciate the implication that she is some kind of ruffian who gets in drunken brawls and sells her body for a quick bit. Trixie may have had her trouble with money, but she is an honorable mare who stays on the good side of the law-” “-Bu-bu-but even Dash had those juvie charges, and she was the best-” “-and furthermore, Trixie purchases dozens of pounds of black powder a week for her shows, which requires a valid Royal Explosives License, the conditions of which require a clean record. They don't just sell that much powder to anypony, especially after that whole incident with the orphans.” Twilight gave the form a few more shakes before, finally, deciding that the check was well and truly and done. “Wow, that's - huh. I guess that shows what trees know about criminal psychology." "...Trees?" "Look, nevermind, I, uh, huh. Well, I guess you, uh, passed the check. Let me just sign it here on the bottom and we’ll finish this up.” “Ugh, finally! Trixie hates waiting for the 4473 to finish. Whoever spellgrammed that cross-reference spell for the archives certainly did not write it for speed.” Twilight flipped the document to its next page. “...Sure, yeah. Look, I just need you to sign the second and third pages of this document.” With another scribble, Trixie put her name on the two pages. “Well, regardless, this is a very nice gift, Twilight – hey, wait a godsdamn minute!” Trixie took hold of the pages in her field and held them up a little closer to her eyes. “’Royal Job Application?’ ‘Groom of the Stool?’ What is this bullshit? You made me fill out a 4473 for a job? What the fuck Twilight, where’s my free gun?”