The large sun hat that shaded Sweetie's face didn't prevent her from keeping her expression benign. Her passive smile would have sparked envy in the limited mind of sheep, had anypony been herding some nearby. That was some of the natural disharmonies amid the quietest villages — little slices of nowhere like Ponyville, that could only claim the presence of a Faithful Student to civilize it — a pony could always expect to find the kind of lower creatures not given quarter anywhere else in rural Equestria. Sheep, pigs, goats, and others only populated areas where skylines were uncluttered with buildings. It was Equestria's few cities that knew to keep the qilin, griffons, zebra, and other sapient animals away from major avenues and popular pony neighborhoods across most of their cities. It was simply the Equestrian way, and one far more generous than some of the nations on the Southern Continent, which had some of the strongest segregation laws in the known world. In Equestria, even a pony unaccustomed to having ever seen any obvious outsiders mingling with the sun goddess' pony subjects could know that there wasn't anypony forcing cruel divisions.
All Sweetie Drops had to do was set her suitcase down on the train platform and draw her head up. She had to do it slowly too, otherwise, the stunning curls she'd been able to get at the Ponyville spa would be ruined. If it was an average day in Ponyville, Sweetie Drops might catch sight of an uncommon sapient, likely a tenant creature such as a buffalo or cow. Mules could generally be spotted in common careers, the ones where no talent was expected, while Sweetie Drops would eat the freshly starched collar of her dress if she ever spotted a donkey living anywhere but the outskirts of a proper town. The agent's target was likelier to renounce her ego entirely and dedicate her remaining life to charity and labor in one of Equestria's many Celestian temples.
Sweetie Drops drew in one last breath of warm Ponyville air. From within the soft, billowing sleeve of her sundress, her forehoof produced two things: her tightly folded fan and train ticket. To pose as a mare caught between the call to travel and the roll of spring into another lazy country summer was foal's play. Nopony needed to fake a few hints of sweat under a shady hat, the repeated flick of an errant fan, or thirst for first-class lemonade as Princess Celestia's hot sun beat bright white light upon the world on such a fine day. For all the recent upticks in decidedly unharmonious activity in the nation — starting with the return of the moon goddess — the rest of Equestria was slow and tranquil, like a school-foal drained of energy, strength, and thought during their first day of summer break. That was the life of the average Equestrian: a pony whose highest understanding was contentment, whose body was built for labor, and who spent more time out in the sunshine with their neighbor than making a show of themselves like this two-bit nopony named Trixie.
A life behind masks could be beautiful, but Sweetie Drops hadn't ever tried to pretend it couldn't be. Even back on Butterfly Island, when she wasn't posing as a mare named Saltwater Taffy about to board from this stop, she had excelled in never excelling. She had found ways to act just a touch more normal than she was, and it was when she came to realize all of those touches that she would be drawn toward how she served her goddess now. She knew how to speak perfectly to the gangly teen filly at the ticket booth who would never remember her with a deeper instinct than she knew to breathe. And so, her every motion and word was carefully measured to bear the obvious essentials — acting with kindness, impersonality, and the humility of somepony who knew better than to take a compliment. But never — never, ever, ever — would Sweetie Drops act with sincerity—
It's the Equestrian way.
—regardless of what name she used, or what mission she was assigned.
(She tried not to think of Lyra, and how she'd been the only surprise and complication in Sweetie's whole life.)
Her single bag of luggage was swept up in the grip of her mouth once again. In it were all the things needed to be Sweetie Drops: a suit, her case papers, an order for bits at her next stop, a map, and her badge. Past a few file folders, stray bits of stationery (to respond to anything from Lyra), and list of things she wished to bring up with the Inquisitors was the majority of her luggage. Those were what as needed to be the mare called Saltwater Taffy, whose name was as common as her finest ensemble would be deemed in Canterlot. A collection of other carefully folded summer frocks in soft hues on silk for wealthier locales and prints that would blend in with more rural crowds would make up her new wardrobe. Mane-curlers rustled next to bottles of dye for coats and hair alike. A diary for fleshing out the persona, and a whole slew of scrapbook paraphernalia common for an Equestrian tourist would be how she fashioned her life. Her new namesake sat in a candy bag alongside breath mints and various saddlebag guides to fairgrounds, parlor tricks, wine-tasting, and the history of Celestian landmarks provided a variety of alibis and feigned interests.
Sweetie Drops wouldn't need to talk to Trixie. Not now, at least. Saltwater Taffy, the ex-debutante Fillydelphia mare set adrift with a desire to see her nation — and all the entertainment it had to offer — would be of the same mindset. As soon as she had accepted the mission — and Sweetie Drops could not think of how refusing any order from Princess Celestia was within the soul of any true Equestrian, let alone somepony in her line of work — her mailbox had been flooded with a variety of information. The work of previous agents laid out what it was like when Trixie Lulamoon toured and how she traveled and when. Every shred of information was carefully gathered from months of dedicated stalking and minding every advertisement she made. Trixie Lulamoon could lay her head down anywhere close enough to civilization and Princess Celestia would have her lovely legs of agencies know about it — everything from where it was, to why, and all relevant costs.
Finding a seat as Saltwater Taffy was easy, and she grabbed an empty, cushioned space in the commoner's car. While she was informed by her papers that Trixie couldn't afford anything else for herself, the crown could afford to make sure Sweetie Drops wouldn't have to share her cushy bench. All of this meant she'd have extra room to store her things, and the ability to link the two fold-out beds. Trixie would only have one, and one set of pillows and sheets. By all accounts in Sweetie's hooves, this was luxury to Trixie. The roaming unicorn was homeless, at least on paper. Equestria's census did not consider anypony in a wagon (or similar situation) to have anything resembling a home. This, and Trixie's choice at a profession kept her income level — yes, Sweetie Drops had those papers too — well below the level where she would be paying the crown the number of bits it deserved in taxes, if Trixie made proper contribution to society and Princess Celestia were not so damned merciful to ponies in her living situation.
(In fact, the papers Sweetie Drops had suggested that Trixie wasn't especially fond of paying her taxes at all.)
Trixie Lulamoon used summer as the starting point for the next season of shows. Everything in Sweetie Drops' luggage spelled out why — should Trixie make enough bits over her touring season, she would be able to afford to ship her wagon to wherever she wished to begin the cycle again. All of those leftover bits went to whatever train ticket Trixie could get her greedy unicorn magic on. With it, the mare could rest from a weary year of grazing, constant travel, and cuisine from the constant motley of thatch-roofed inns across Equestria. Why and how train fare was somehow better to this mare, Sweetie Drops didn't know. But she did catch Trixie in the row across from her, six booths down. The magician was curled up close to the window, wide-eyed and distracted as she looked out the window with a brazen smile on her face. A puzzle book of some kind was spilled next to her, atop a beauty magazine of some kind. The cover was too far away for the title to be clear, and the worn, dog-eared look wasn't helping. She hadn't touched either since Saltwater Taffy and the others from the Ponyville stop boarded the train.
This wasn't to say that she needed to...
...just that, regardless of what Trixie did, or when she did it, from now on, another pair of eyes would be on her. The same went for all the other eccentrics and eccentrics-to-be that Princess Celestia knew about.
No gaze like this was literal. It simply could not be, not without blowing the cover of the smiling cutie whose life Sweetie Drops was calling her own. She waved at the pony next to her, and effortlessly produced one of her guidebooks and a bag of saltwater taffy. The book was about fairgrounds, which Trixie knew a lot about. She performed at them sometimes, so long as they were not big-names in carnivals and circus performances. Ponies would not take kindly if she set up a show at those, unwelcome and unregistered. Saltwater Taffy asked the mild-mannered stallion next to her if he was going to the Vanhoover carnival too, and if he'd ever been there before. Everything Saltwater Taffy did feigned sweet ignorance, begging him to fill her in without him realizing it. Sweetie Drops already had everything she needed to know about the annual Vanhoover Summer Carnival in a few bullet points and blurry snapshots.
But nopony had to know that, after all, for there was no greater act of benevolence or normalcy quite like insincerity.