The house Rarity currently resided in was easily among the best she’d known. Ornate wood paneling, two chandeliers overhead providing lovely illumination, a long table with startlingly soft white linens, chairs made of what might have been solid oak, and no less than two marble statues of earth ponies playing a viola and a lyre all decorated the room she was in. The rest of the house was no less ostentatious.
Yet all of it was ignored in favor of one particularly special thing: the roasted asparagus melting in her mouth like butter. It brought forth a most unladylike moan that she would have felt embarrassed about were she not so focused on that beautiful, beautiful song her tastebuds were singing.
The gray mare across the table chuckled at the sound. “I take it you approve?”
“Had I known you were going to spoil me like this I would have come by to visit ages ago,” Rarity replied before shoveling in another forkful of the delectable vegetable. She’d not had properly cooked asparagus since the days she lived in Mooisville. Now that she had it again, she was beginning to recall just how weak her will was against it. Some little fillies had candy, others had baked sweets, but Rarity? She’d been an asparagus fiend. She held up a bronze goblet and raised it to her host. “A thousand thanks for your hospitality, Miss Melody.”
Octavia Melody raised her own glass in turn, her smile small yet earnest. “Of course. It is the least I could do after you got me out of Ponyville. Feel free to stay as long as you like.” Her cheer was somewhat diminished by the two imposing guards standing at the door a few feet behind her, stoic and cool.
Such was the nature of the formerly kidnapped. Octavia’s mother, a middling politician of Manehattan, was taking no chances of her only child being taken a second time. That meant bodyguards all the time. Octavia hadn’t complained to Rarity about it so far, but then, she was probably too polite and genteel to do so while they were standing right there.
After taking a sip of her wine, Octavia asked, “So, did you have anything specific planned for your visit to Manehattan or is this strictly a social call?”
“A little of this, a little of that.” Not wanting to eat all the asparagus in one go, Rarity reluctantly switched over to the roasted beets. They were admittedly delicious, smothered in some sort of pink wine sauce that came with just a hint of cilantro. She’d never had cilantro before. It was certainly an unusual taste. “I had a few deliveries to make, and I also made a promise to a friend.” As an afterthought, “Other than paying you a visit, of course. I may need directions for tomorrow.”
Octavia considered this as she carefully cut her own beets into bite-sized pieces. Curiously, she asked, “Were you planning to visit the Apple Family Manor? It is not far from here, only a few streets over.”
Rarity bit down on her beet with far more force than she intended, her teeth grinding against the fork for a moment before she regained control. She swallowed and pressed a hand against her lips, silently apologizing to her poor incisors. “No,” she replied when it was comfortable to move her jaw again. “That’s not on the agenda.”
“That is probably for the better right now,” her host admitted. “Applejack is out of town on family business. I imagine she would be the one you would want to talk to.”
No, Rarity had no interest in speaking to Applejack. She couldn’t deny that her assistance last year smoothed things out a bit between them, but Rarity was still a sore about the incident which she wished not to think about. Besides, she’d told that mare very clearly that she would have to work long and hard to make things up to her, and she had every intention of maintaining that position for a while yet.
But that was of no concern at the moment. Taking a sip of her iced water, she primly responded, “It does not matter if she is in town or not. My business is with somepony else. A friend wants me to pay a visit to the Arcaenum.”
Octavia frowned around her fork. Slipping it out and swallowing, she replied, “That narrows things down significantly. I am by no means up to date on the affairs of the mages, but I understand that they have been greatly understaffed since even before the prior archmage died.” Her expression turned wary and her tone lowered, as if to convey some secret. “They say she was murdered by her apprentice.”
In the past Rarity might have followed her lead and gone for some gossip. Were she feeling like having a little fun, she might still have. Yet tonight she had little interest in appealing to rumors. “I heard the same thing. I also heard that they never arrested her for the crime. Considering how very important the archmage was to this town, you’d think they’d have the perpetrator in prison if they really knew for sure.”
Pouting a little at being denied her game, Octavia refocused on her meal. “Perhaps, but that does not mean she did not do it. One does not become the personal apprentice to the archmage without having developed certain skills. Who are we to say she did not find a means of magicking away the evidence? Supposedly the mare was poisoned.”
“Supposedly,” Rarity oh-so diplomatically agreed. “Regardless, I am told this ‘Trixie’ may be able to shed some light on an old mystery of a somewhat personal nature, so I’ll be risking a visit.” She rubbed at the necklace beneath her shirt, feeling just a little anxious as she did. An Element of Harmony, Spike had said. Could this Trixie pony really confirm that? She found herself dearly hoping that wouldn’t be the case. There was enough on her plate as it was.
Octavia shrugged. “I will have directions written for you later, but I encourage you to be cautious; I have heard nothing good about the mare.”
That ended the topic, the two discussing more pleasant things as the evening wore on.
The next morning saw Rarity atop Ophelia and riding through the busy streets of Manehattan. To think, as little as five years ago she’d have been giddy with excitement at the very idea of being here. Now that she finally achieved that foalhood dream, she wondered if her naïveté would have blinded her enough to distract from how dirty things were. Octavia’s street had been pleasantly clean, and to be fair the cobblestone roads of this section of the city were far better than the dirt roads of much of the town.
Rarity’s primary assessment of the denser parts of Manehattan was that they were filthy. She was accustomed to being dirty, what with having to regularly travel for weeks on end without the joys of a bath, but this place was ridiculous. Streets filled with ponies and wagons and chariots all jostling for position and kicking up a literal cloud of dust that coated every crack and crevice of every object under three stories in height. Considering the tallest buildings only got to five stories and those only amounted to a dozen or so in the entire city, that meant everything had the visible consistency of grit, and she made it a point to cover her muzzle with a piece of cloth from her stash of sewing materials.
What most bothered her was that she’d been to major cities before. Mooisville. Hoofington. Briefly to Mareami. None of them were like this, and two of them were in significantly hotter and drier conditions. Throw in the fact that Manehattan actually received rain on occasion and she had no idea why the locals let everything get this way, nor how it got so in the first place.
But now she was in what was commonly referred to as the Ink District. Why it was called that she couldn’t guess, but it was helmed by the Arcaenum and featured a lot of magic-centric businesses. Or at least, it used to. As Rarity walked along the ancient road – blessedly made of a brown brick, thank Luna – she passed many an abandoned storefront. She turned her head to observe a worn out sign advertising a ‘magical maladies’ apothecary. The windows were coated in a thick layer of dust. The two-storey building was as rugged and sound as any other, but all the life seemed to have been taken out of it.
Magic, it seemed, was not very profitable in Manehattan these days.
Ophelia let out a faint trill, prompting Rarity to lean forward and rub under the lizard’s frills. “Yes, Darling. I’m feeling a mite curious myself.” A survey of the street showed the area to be quiet. Not deserted, but the half-dozen ponies going about their business was a far cry from the mash of bodies the two of them had endured just a couple blocks away. Yet all the dreariness of the world couldn’t stop her from staring when they turned a corner and laid eyes upon the Arcaenum at last.
The main structure was no more than two storeys tall, and yet it took up an entire block on its own. The external walls curved outwards in the middle, with taller and similarly-shaped walls behind them and yet another behind those. All the walls rose and fell in wavey patterns that mystified Rarity at first. Then she tried to imagine what it might look like from a higher vantage point and realized that the structure may have been designed to resemble a flower in full bloom. An ambitious design, to be certain. She had to wonder what the walls were made from to look so smooth and yet retain any functionality. Still a couple blocks away, Rarity was able to see between the nearby buildings to spot what appeared to be five towers in the middle of the Arcaenum, the middle one smaller and wider than the others.
To say the Arcaenum stood out was an understatement. Even had the buildings around it been brand new and filled with life, they were naught but blocky background elements to the Arcaenum’s grandeur. It would have looked nicer were the plaster not falling off in some spots and grime not built up along its edges, but in a field of thorns it was the prettiest thorn of them all.
The street in front of the Arcaenum was largely empty save for three ponies. One was a serious-looking unicorn wearing the blue buttoned-up coat of a Manehattan Guard. Set at the opening of an alleyway, she was smoking an extract stick and leaning against a dozing brown Dust Devil. The guard watched them pass with an outright rude stare, as if expecting her to be up to something. Rarity idly wondered if she’d been recognized. Silver Lining was on the wrong side for her to see it, but sometimes ponies didn’t need to see the weapon to recognize the Bulletproof Heart. The officer didn’t leave the alley though, so Rarity paid her no more mind than was necessary for the ever-hunted.
What really stoked her curiosity was the filly and stallion headed for the Arcaenum’s front stairs. The filly was a pegasus and couldn’t be more than thirteen. She sported a decidedly odd appearance. Her top was clearly meant to be part of a dress, complete with puffy juliette sleeves and a curve of faux emeralds along the collar. Below that, however, was a pair of tight brown pants that stopped just below the knees. The filly’s mane and tail were a moderate cyrise (Rarity’s inner fashionista nodded with pride at the appropriate color recognition) and her coat a deep orange (then facepalmed and told her, with inimitable disdain, that the word was gamboge). The filly’s little wings buzzed as she took the steps two at a time. “Come on, Dry, stop dragging your feet!”
The stallion following her appeared put out by her youthful energy. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” he groused. One hand was stuffed in the pocket of his jeans while the other held a pink cloth over his shoulder. Rarity belatedly realized it was the skirt of the filly’s dress. His coat was a pale gray – Raspberry gray, stop pretending to be a barbarian! – and his mane was a mohawk with moderate rose and light gray stripes. His attire was what one might dub ‘business casual’, what with his cuffed shirt and buttoned vest. A pistol harness could just be seen poking out from under his blue jacket. A bodyguard, perhaps?
The filly ignored him entirely, moving as fast as her short legs could take her to the Arcaenum’s four front doors. By the time Rarity reached the posts for tying Ophelia off, they were inside. A curious development, to be sure. She allowed herself a moment to scratch Ophelia under the chin and grab a few things from her panniers before following them through the exceedingly rare and equally exceedingly expensive glass doors.
The lobby of the Arcaenum was a large room, though compared to the exterior it felt underwhelming. The dark, wooden walls were sloped shallowly towards the ceiling, which seemed to make the silver chandelier all the brighter, and the floor was a thin but soft and clean purple carpet. Near the back of the room was a circular desk large enough to house four ponies. Indeed, it was probably intended to. Yet today it only sported a single unicorn, who was dressed in a plain, conservative brown frock that would have looked better in a bonfire than on a pony. Rarity hoped it was some sort of job requirement rather than the unicorn’s clothing of choice.
The aquamarine mare’s ears perked and swiveled Rarity’s way. She flashed a bright, pearly smile past the filly and stallion, who were having a hushed argument near the wall. “Hello, and welcome to the Arcaenum! The name’s Lyra. What can we do for you today?”
Lyra had barely finished her introduction before the filly whipped around to glare at Rarity. “Hey, no cutting in line! We got here first.”
The stallion – Dry, she’d said his name was? – placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Scoots, I’m sure the mages are too busy for this.”
Rarity, Lyra, and ‘Scoots’ all stared at him. The high walls of the lobby seemed to loom over all of them. Not a sound echoed in the empty space.
Scoots turned away. “Yeah, so. We’re first!”
The receptionist cast a glance Rarity’s way, her expression a silent query for guidance. Shrugging, Rarity offered a flourish of a wave to the filly. “I’m in no hurry. Do go on.”
The filly pumped her fist and ran for the desk. Dry heaved the sigh of the suffering, adjusted the skirt still draped over his shoulder, and followed at a more sedate pace. Demonstrating her diminutive size by standing on the tips of her hooves to see over the desk, Scoots declared, “We need to see the Witch, like, now. It’s serious!”
“Of course.” To her credit, Lyra was able to avoid that saccharine condescension common among adults talking to silly children. “And you are?”
The filly’s attempt to answer was interrupted when the stallion pressed a hand atop her head. “Don’t call her a witch. She’s not a witch.” Then, to Lyra, “Her name’s Scion Loos. Ow!”
The swift kick to his shin distracted him enough to free little Miss Loos from under his hand. “Call me Scootaloo,” she growled, hands balled into fists and tiny wings spread wide. “I hate that name.”
“What the hey, kid?” Dry whined, lifting his leg to rub at it. “You didn’t have to hit so hard.”
“Tough it out, ya big baby.”
Rarity barely resisted a giggle. She was starting to like this filly.
Lyra clapped her hands, interrupting their back-and-forth barbs. “Okay, Scootaloo! So you want to talk to…” A pause, then a wry smile. “The ‘witch’. Heh. I assume that stands for Trixie Lulamoon. May I ask why?”
Turning back to the matter at hand, Scootaloo firmly declared, “My sister and her boyfriend are missing. She can help find them.”
The receptionist considered this, one hand on her hip and the other tapping a finger against her chin. “That sounds more like something for the Guard, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what I said,” Dry groused.
“No way.” Scootaloo shook her head so hard her ears flapped. “I trust one of those guys about as far as I can throw them.” Rarity wondered if that was an intentional reference to the filly’s petite form. “They’re more likely to be in on it than actually help.”
Lyra leaned over the desk to better meet Scootaloo’s gaze. Seriously, she said, “Miss Lulamoon’s time is precious these days. She’s going to want payment for her services, even if she can’t help.”
If anything, this made Scootaloo appear even more confident. “Oh, that’s not a problem. My sister’s boyfriend is loaded. He’ll pay.”
Dry promptly slapped her on the back of the head. “Don’t promise other ponies’ money!”
She sent him a dirty look while rubbing the back of her head. “Stop talking like you’re my dad or something, it’s weird.”
“He has a point though.” Lyra’s words caught the filly’s rapt attention. “We can’t accept a promise of maybe getting paid after the job. Miss Lulamoon’s going to expect at least some of it up front.”
“What?” Scootaloo’s ears drooped, her tail swishing. “I’m thirteen. I don’t have any money.”
Lyra calmly sat back down in her chair, neatly folded her hands over one another, and turned her expectant eyes on Dry. To this he shrugged and said, “Don’t look at me, I was opposed to her coming here from the get-go. I’m not about to pay for what I think is a dumb idea.”
Scootaloo whipped around to glare at him. “It’s not dumb! My sister is missing! The Guard won’t help, in fact they’ll probably make things worse. I can’t just sit at home doing nothing, unlike some ponies.”
Unfazed by her anger, Dry coolly countered with, “Your sister disappears for days on end all the time. This isn’t any different.”
“Yes, it is!” Scootaloo stamped a hoof, her wings letting out a little buzz. The frustration on her scrunched up face was on the verge of producing tears. “She always tells me where she’s going, or leaves me a note, or… or something! She didn’t do that this time. That means something’s wrong. Why won’t you believe me?”
His argument was interrupted by the clatter of a pair of obsidian gemstones landing on the reception desk. All eyes turned to Rarity, who flicked her mane and offered them all her most charming smile. “Will that be enough to get us in?”
Lyra needed a second to close her gaping mouth before picking up the two gems in one hand. “Uh, yeah. More than enough.” She cast a glance at the still-staring Scootaloo and Dry. “Do you, er, want some change?”
Rarity waved the offer off. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Whoa, hold on, wait a minute.” Scootaloo pointed at Rarity. “You just threw away, like, a thousand bits!”
Dazedly, Dry corrected, “A hundred and sixty, actually. Which is still…” He shook his head.
Nodding at the correction, Scootaloo pressed, “Why would you do that?”
It was a pretty big chunk of bits. Rarity would have to be frugal for the next few weeks. Even so, she could only smile. “I too want to meet with the Lady Lulamoon, and this expedites things.” She met Scootaloo’s questioning gaze, her voice going quiet. “More importantly, I know what it’s like to fear for a family member. It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” The filly looked down, shoulders hunching as she pouted. Rarity thus turned her smile to Dry. “I’m therefore willing to give Scootaloo here the benefit of the doubt.”
The stallion crossed his arms, his expression wary. “That’s a lot of bits to throw away on just a filly’s word.”
He was right, but somehow Rarity wasn’t concerned. If anything, she felt relaxed. There was even a pleasant warmth coming from her chest, which above all else reassured her that this was the right thing to do. “Yes,” she answered pleasantly, “nopony ever believes the children.” Her attention went to Lyra. “So. When can we meet Miss Lulamoon?”
“For what you just put down? Right away.” The receptionist leaned sideways and began fiddling with something. She deposited a small sign reading ‘Back in ten minutes!’ on top of the desk then stood with an accommodating smile. “Come, all three of you. I’ll introduce you.”
As they followed her to the door on their left, Dry asked, “Shouldn’t someone else do that? I mean, a customer could come in.”
Another long pause. Everypony stared at him. Scootaloo’s quiet cough echoed in the empty lobby.
“So.” Lyra opened the door and waved them in. “What brings you here, Miss…?”
“Rarity Belle. I’m just looking to get an artifact scanned for potential enchantments.” She nearly ran into Scootaloo when the filly abruptly whipped around and stared with the kind of wide-eyed awe only a child could muster. Straightening up with a huff, Rarity observed the other two looking at her with no more or less subtlety. Hands on her hips, she sighed. “Go ahead, get it out of your system.”
It came out of Scootaloo’s system as a squeal so loud it was a wonder the exorbitantly expensive glass doors in the front of the room didn’t shatter. “You’re the Bulletproof Heart!”
Pressing a finger into one ear, Dry muttered, “Luna in the sky with diamonds, kid, since when did you have such lungs?”
A similarly cringing Lyra added, “I’d call you out as a liar, but you do match the descriptions, and that certainly looks like the Silver Lining.”
“Did you really fight off griffons? Is it true you went one-on-one with the Flaming Vermillion? Can I hold your gun? Can you take me with you?” Scootaloo’s wings were buzzing so much they actually lifted her off the floor for a few seconds, her teeth on full display.
“Yes, yes, not right now, and absolutely not.” Rarity leveled the filly with a firm frown. “And please, do not spread this around. This city is Apple territory and I have no intention of getting into a gunfight in the streets.”
The filly mimed zipping her lips and nodded, her eyes still sparkling with fascination. “I won’t say a word to anypony! Except maybe my sister and future step-brother, but they won’t tell anypony. They’re cool like that.”
“Well, if Trixie would have ever entertained doubts about helping you, they’ll be gone the moment she finds out who you are,” Lyra declared, taking Scootaloo’s hand and pulling her so that they could get on with their walk. She led them through a short hallway to a set of winding stairs.
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!” Scootaloo was all but dancing, her hooves kicking along the stairs playfully. “Wait until I tell Apple Bloom I met the Bulletproof Heart! She’s gonna be so jealous!”
Dry heaved a sigh and shot Rarity an apologetic look. “Kid, you just promised twenty seconds ago not to tell anypony.”
“Not to tell anypony in Manehattan, maybe.” The child blew a raspberry at him, which he returned with equal enthusiasm. Giggling at his response, she explained to Rarity, “Apple Bloom isn’t in Manehattan. It’ll be weeks before I get to talk to her again. It’ll be safe by then, right?”
She supposed there was no point debating the matter. In a few weeks she’d probably not even be in the Eastline anymore. Rarity ignored the ongoing banter in favor of keeping close to Lyra as they left the tower stairs and walked along a narrow hallway. Aside from the ever-present argument that Dry and Scootaloo seemed incapable of ceasing, the place was quiet. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said once by the receptionist’s side, “but for a place that studies magic, there’s not a lot of, well, magic. Is the Arcaenum having staffing issues?”
Lyra shrugged as if to wave off the potential insult, yet there was no hiding the unpleasantness in her expression. It was as though she’d just sucked down a sour grape. “More like a publicity issue. The Arcaenum’s not exactly appreciated by Manehattan’s earth pony-heavy citizens these days, and it’s publicly funded. Low popularity means low funding, low funding means not a lot of employees. Right now there’s me, two ponies in ‘administration’, and about a half-dozen mages, Trixie included.”
How strange. Rarity had always been of the impression that the Arcaenum was considered a Manehattan tradition, an institution, a source of local pride. Whyever would its popularity be so low? “Did something happen recently? Maybe something to do with the Archmage’s death?”
Lyra threw up her hands dramatically. “I don’t know! Things were already going downhill before Lady de Lis died. I’m a receptionist. I fill out paperwork and keep track of appointments. I don’t exactly rub shoulders with the decision makers around the city.”
Rarity took no offense to the defensive reaction. If she was reading the unicorn properly, this was stress talking. And why shouldn’t she be stressed? If things were really going that badly, her job might even be on the line. “I apologize,” she offered diplomatically. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
The response came not from Lyra, but from Scootaloo, who was suddenly walking between them. “There’s no big conspiracy or big event. It’s just history.”
Somewhere behind them, Dry offered a “Here we go.” that almost certainly was accompanied by an eye roll. It had that kind of tone.
Ignoring him, Rarity asked a curious, “What do you mean by that, dear?”
Hands behind her head and wings spread slightly, Scootaloo elaborated. “The Arcaenum goes through phases of popularity. They usually last between forty and fifty years. The ponies of Manehattan spend some time enjoying the benefits of local mages and prosper. Then they get so used to it they stop appreciating it. The old earth pony and unicorn differences get brought up. This is an earth pony town, so of course that distrust leads to anti-magic politicians getting elected, which leads to lower funding for the Arcaenum. Two or three decades later and all the benefits of having a lot of skilled mages around start to be missed as old enchantments and magical products break down. Earth ponies want the unicorns back. And just like that, everypony loves the Arcaenum, pro-magic politicians get elected, funding comes back, mages are doing their thing again. Rinse, recycle, repeat.”
They stopped before a dark blue door, all eyes on the filly. She bristled at the attention, wings giving agitated flicks and tail lashing. “What? Why does everypony give me those looks when I talk about this stuff?”
“Hate to break it to you, kid,” Dry replied with a chuckle, “but most ponies don’t find rifling through three hundred years of newspapers as entertaining as you do.”
Rarity couldn’t help being impressed. She wondered what it would be like to introduce Scootaloo to one A.K. Yearling. Assuming she could ever track the mare down, that is. She imagined the archeologist would be thrilled to find another pony she could talk history with. Rarity herself had proven rather lackluster in that particular department, and she had to admit she wouldn’t be any better at it now.
Lyra let out an awkward cough. “Remind me to ask you about more of this stuff later.” With a wave of her hand, she brought everypony’s attention to the blue door. Only now did Rarity notice that it was adorned with the image of a wand topped by a star. “Trixie’s place is in here. It’s both her home and her laboratory, so I suggest you not touch anything. She’s a private pony, doesn’t like others messing with her stuff.”
Dry pressed his hand atop Scootaloo’s head with enough force to make her bend a little. “Hear that, kid? Hands to yourself.”
She slipped out from under him, slapping his hand away in the process. “Shut it, I can respect other ponies’ stuff.”
“Except your sister’s.”
“She doesn’t count.”
“Why?”
“It’s a ‘sisters’ thing.”
“Also.” Lyra’s firm tone interrupted their latest quarrel. The seriousness in her tone caught Rarity’s full attention. “She’s under a lot of stress lately, and she’s never been the easiest pony to get along with. Try not to take offense if she proves a bit… snippy.”
Of course. If the Arcaenum was facing money problems, Trixie was too. Plus she’d been the apprentice of the previous Archmage. There had to be some pressure on her because of that. But Rarity questioned why Lyra had spoke of her as though she were difficult. Once everypony nodded their understanding, the receptionist knocked on the door and let herself in.
While Lyra and Scootaloo headed in, Rarity leaned over to offer Dry a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you two related?”
He raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. “No. I’m just the guy hired by her sister to keep her safe.” At Rarity’s peering look, he adjusted his shirt collar. “What?”
“Nothing at all.” She left him to his confused staring.
Lyra had told them the place was occupied, yet she’d failed to mention the mess. Rarity would have expected a mage to keep a more organized home, but this place was more cluttered than her sister’s side of the bedroom they shared as kids! It was at once nostalgic and disturbing. One corner of the room was occupied by a large pile of empty glass bottles, books were tossed every which way, and there were no less than four tables covered in all kinds of laboratory equipment that followed no rhyme or reason she could deduce. At least there weren’t any dirty clothes thrown around, though this didn’t mean there wasn’t a smell. It was probably coming from the chemicals bubbling in that cauldron by the door. Curious that there was no fire below it to provide heat.
Scootaloo stood near the middle of the room in a relatively clean space. She spotted Rarity and Dry coming through and jutted her chin to an open door opposite the entrance. “Lyra said to wait here while she gets the witch.”
“You really should stop calling her a witch,” Dry reminded her with all the manner of someone not expecting his sage advice to be heeded. He still had a bit of pink on his cheeks, to Rarity’s amusement.
“And you should grow a spine,” the filly countered as if saying the sky was blue. Rarity once again questioned if they were not related after all.
Her musing and their bickering came to an abrupt end as a voice arose from the other side of the door. “Lyra, honestly! I’ve got research to do. Can’t one of the other mages deal with this? I bet Soprano’s free.”
Lyra’s voice followed, her tone lecturing. “Need I remind you that you’re paying rent now? It doesn’t matter how ‘great and powerful’ you think you are, it won’t stop you from being ‘poor and homeless’ if you don’t get some jobs soon, and you’ll never get jobs by sitting in your study thumbing through books that were ancient on the Day of Burning.”
“This research is important!”
“They already paid.”
“What? You already accepted payment without consulting me on what they want? You have no idea the cost of what they’re asking for!” A short pause was followed by a complete shift in tone. “Are those obsidians?”
The voices died down to harsh murmurs, but it didn’t take a socialite to know that Trixie’s decision had been made. Rarity allowed herself a preening mane-flick, well aware of Scootaloo’s and Dry’s appreciative glances.
At last, the target of this little endeavor appeared. Trixie was roughly Rarity’s height, which put her on the short side. She was a brilliant azure with a two-toned mane dominated by more azure. Her attire could be described in one word: magical. More specifically, it included a blue, button-up dress serving well to accentuate a curvy figure. Small accents of yellow stars decorated the sleeves and collar. A purple vest rounded out the attire with similar yellow decorations. Rarity’s long-starved inner fashionista couldn’t deny that the look worked fantastically.
Such a shame it was that the overall look was marred by dark bags under Trixie’s eyes, a mane and tail that clearly hadn’t seen a brush in a week at least, and a slouched posture that spoke of exhaustion. She wore a strained smile that made it abundantly clear that she’d rather be anywhere but here, her gray-violet eyes moving from visitor to visitor as if seeking out who was in charge.
“Alright,” she declared with hands on her hips. “You’ve got my attention. Now somepony please tell me what was so important they’re willing to drop two obsidians up-front over it?”
Scootaloo piped up before any of the adults in the room could go first. “My sister’s missing! I need your help to find her.”
The look Trixie gave her was the kind Rarity might reserve for a cockroach. “And you are?”
“I’m Scootaloo!” Then, with far less enthusiasm and a thumb over her shoulder, “That’s Blow Dry. He’s with me.”
“Right.” Trixie’s eyes drifted to Rarity, possessing both the obvious question and its associated disdain. Lyra stepped through the door behind her, her expression apologetic and, if Rarity wasn’t mistaken, annoyed in that way a pony develops when having dealt with a problem for a long time.
Put off by the mage’s manner, Rarity raised her chin slightly and replied imperiously, “Rarity Belle.” She tilted her head towards Scootaloo pointedly. “Their financier, if you will.”
Trixie straightened up at the name, a spark of recognition in her gaze as she took Rarity in with fresh interest. Her eyes lingered for a few seconds on Silver Lining, then back to Rarity. “How… generous of you. So.” Her attention went back to Scootaloo who, to Rarity’s amusement, seemed quite pleased with herself. It was almost as if knowing the Bulletproof Heart was some sort of great personal achievement. “A missing sister, is it? I think I already know the answer to this question, but why are you bringing it to me and not the Manehattan Guard?”
Scootaloo’s grin instantly transformed into a look of utter disgust. “Trust the guard? In this town? Screw that. For all I know, they might even be responsible.”
Dry frowned at her. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” Rarity was inclined to agree, though she kept her opinion to herself.
“You must be new to this town,” Trixie answered before Scootaloo could. When the stallion only appeared to share Rarity’s perplexity, she elaborated, “The Manehattan Guard answer to the Cabinet. The Cabinet is run by the Houses. The Houses are perpetually at one another’s throats.”
“And you never know which House the guard you're talking to works for,” Scootaloo concluded, her words spat out as if to be rid of a foul taste.
“Exactly.” Trixie nodded with an approving smile. Which, considering the topic at hand, Rarity wasn’t sure was the right thing to do. “The kid gets it. The Guard are corrupt to the core.”
Lyra finally decided to butt in on the conversation with a skeptical, “You’re just bitter because you’re still under investigation.”
The mage stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. Without looking back, she hissed, “Trixie refuses to discuss that in front of clients.” Lyra raised her hands and nodded her concession, and though Trixie couldn’t have possibly seen it the mare still seemed to relax. Curious.
“Okay, then.” Clapping her hands together, Trixie gestured to Scootaloo. “Missing sister.” She made the same gesture at Dry. “You’re with her.” She waited for his nod before repeating the motion at Rarity. “Financier.”
“I came for my own reasons, actually.” Rarity noticed Scootaloo beginning to puff up, her little wings flaring, and so politely amended, “But she may go first.”
The slight frown suggested Trixie would rather deal with the Bulletproof Heart first, but after a moment’s pouting she brought her attention back to the foal. “Alright, then. For starters, are you sure she’s missing?”
Scootaloo groaned at a reaction she’d probably been getting all day long. “Why does everypony ask something like that? Yes, I’m sure. Can we please skip the part where you treat me like an idiot so we can get to saving my sister?”
Trixie smiled. More of a smirk, really. It would seem that she liked the filly’s attitude. A curious thing; Rarity would have expected her to snap at the foal for being disrespectful. “Fair enough. I can help you, if you have what I need. Specifically, I need something that holds special value between you and your sister. I don’t suppose you brought something like that with you?”
Scootaloo’s ears perked, folded down, perked again. She pursed her lips in thought, crossing her arms and humming. Dry smirked and started to reach for the pink skirt still hanging from his shoulder, but a hiss and glare from Rarity was enough to make him drop the idea, his smile turning sheepish.
“Okay.” Scootaloo finally met Trixie’s gaze, though without the same confidence she held before. “I have something, but not on me. It’s at home. I can bring it over here right away and—”
Trixie raised a silencing hand, the other on her hip. She bore a smile that was probably meant to be magnanimous, but there was a certain self-important smugness that ruined the effect. “No need, for I, the Great and Powerful Trixie—” Rarity raised an eyebrow at the rolled ‘r’ in ‘great’ “—shall accompany you. That’s faster for everyone.”
“Really?” Scootaloo’s eyes lit up. “You’d do that?” Judging by the look on Lyra’s face, she was just as surprised.
“Of course! Let it not be said that Trixie doesn’t go all out.” She focused on Rarity, still possessing that showmare’s grin. “Assuming that’s alright with you, of course.”
All eyes turned to Rarity, but she only tittered and waved dismissively. “That’s perfectly alright, I assure you.” She rubbed at the necklace beneath her shirt even as she tried not to think about it too much. “I can always return tomorrow.”
“Nonsense!” Trixie snapped her fingers over her shoulder at Lyra, who blinked in perplexity at the act. “Why not come along? Surely the mare who solved the water crisis at Bitter Ergot is up to a little sibling sleuthing.”
Rarity’s ears folded back. This was not at all what she anticipated. Her instinct was to bow out. This had nothing to do with her after all, and more importantly she didn’t want to be part of any altercations this might lead to. But then she saw Scootaloo’s eyes brighten and a smile that rivaled a sunrise. She might be going for the tomcolt look, but that didn’t mean the filly couldn’t weaponize ‘the cute’ whenever spending a day with a celebrity gunslinger was at stake.
Well. It wasn’t like she had any plans for today. And she had just dropped a considerable sum to get the filly’s case heard. Would it not be appropriate to see if all that money amounted to something worthwhile? Yes, yes it would. This decision was made entirely based on the merits, and not at all because of Scootaloo’s pearly white teeth and lashing purple tail.
“Oh, I suppose I could tag along.”
“Yes!” For such a tiny filly, she sure had some lungs. “We’ll have my sister rescued in no time!”
“Glad that’s settled. Now—” Trixie reached aside as if to grab something, but all her fingers clutched was air. She paused, then looked at Lyra. Lyra stared right back. “My cloak?”
The receptionist cocked her head. “Your cloak?”
“Yes, my cloak. You know the one.” She snapped her fingers as if in demonstration. “I was asking you to grab it for me.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” Lyra threw her hands high. “It’s your cloak, not mine. I don’t know where you put it. And since when was I your butler?”
Shoulders hunched and casting a fretful glance at the others, the mage muttered a disappointed “Trixie was hoping to impress our customers with our coordination.”
Rubbing her forehead with a frustrated scowl, Lyra countered with tired exasperation. “Just get your own cloak.”
Like a foal told she couldn’t play until she finished her chores, Trixie let out a drawn-out “Fiiine”, set hands to her hips, and looked at the mess that was the room with a big, face-saving grin. A second passed. Another. Her grin faded. “Uh, this may take a minute.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow. “Maybe try your closet?”
“Closet. Right. Of course.” The mage stumbled her way to another door, cheeks alight and her clients bemused.