One month later...
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Trixie rose up from the whisps of concentration with sweat, aspiration, and an ozone stench of magical expenditure clinging to her bodily air. She was in a different state of mind, describable as a 'runner's high' for unicorns, with her horn alight and her mind frayed and open to the smoke and guiding magical leylines, invisible to the naked eye, but near magical to even the most learned unicorn no matter how aged or experienced. Only magical beings can see them, and they could only be described as something one would see in the bard's epic of Ponydysseus. Aurora-like flutters in the bare realm of imagination, revealing themselves to in-trance unicorns, their mind and body ready for its principled physical direction. From the beginning of time, only through this invisible grid could magic flow from horns, along the grounding traces of magical 'powerlines' infinite in both quality and quantity. The leylines of the Equestrian world and near-fable capabilities that the universe enables the brilliance of unicorns to shine.
Purely its sensational majesty (as true magic is molded through the mind, but unseen through the eyes) changes even the most humblest of unicorns. But Trixie had a long way to go.
A long, long way to go.
But never mind that. Back to more mundane matters, more relatable to Trixie with every fiber of her being longing for it, for a return to her past.
At last, Trixie awakens as if from dream. She opens her eyes, relishing in the details that she had once been familiar with: A stage with a silent, musing audience. The spotlight glimmering in her every move, and shining in her eyes to the point of near-hinderance. But those were just simple details. They didn't even compare to her true thoughts.
That she missed it. All of it. The tension. The cold, spiky adrenaline that trailed every beat of her heart. The dry taste in her mouth, desperate to quench her addiction to intake in order to expel. To Trixie, the feeling of balancing on a fine edge, between success and failure, was addictive, gambling, but completely worth the emotional euphoria it warmed her bones with. Soon, Trixie dissuaded herself from the mind-numbing trance of magic use, and immediately gained composure of her so-called "stage character": The Great and Powerful Trixie. She needn't show her audience all of her tricks and enigmas; she needed them to come back for more.
Trixie greeted her audience in the oh-so familiar third-person tense, her throat dry but erupting a resonant melody, "The Great and Powerful Trixie thanks you all for your patronage of her show! Did you all enjoy it?"
Without hesitation, an avalanche of cheering, wolf-whistles, and clops on the floorboard assaulted her senses. Her ego, the tiny beast within her collared, but temporarily frazzled by Trixie's nostalgiac example of her past time, purred with satisfaction. Trixie smiled as she left her audience in awe of her abilities with a quick bow, and returned behind the stage.
As the curtains closed, preparing for the next act, Trixie trotted sluggishly to a nearby chair and doffed her hat and cape on one of the hoofrests. She then proceeded to slump down on it, the chair enticing her with a promise of a leisurely nap. Trixie could have cared less that her location of performance was far below her standards. She was back home again.
After an unknown amount of time, she could feel her shoulders shaken by a pair of hooves.
"Miss Trixie, I'm afraid that, as much as I think that you deserve it, this isn't a random pub where you can fall asleep whenever you want," a voice informed.
Trixie lifted up her eyelids to the view of one of the stage assistants. A dull set of brown coat and mane greeted her.
Trixie responded hurriedly, her voice at first blindingly apparent of her annoyance of being woken up but cooled down as she talked, "Sorry. Trixie was just-err. . . I always rest a little after a performance."
But the stage assistant wasn't facing her, as she was expecting. He was magically scratching an ink-tipped plume on his clipboard, preparing for the next act. The assistant trotted away from her, and before Trixie could respond to his rather obtusive actions, he said, "Side Show has your paycheck ready, so you should go see 'im. G'night, ma'am."
Trixie raised a hoof, but the assistant disappeared among the seas of props, bustling performers, and the shady darkness behind the dimly-lighted stage. She sighed. It wouldn't hurt to have some conversation with somepony. Anypony. Wasn't that the reason why she left mainland Equestria? To actually find a being that could hold a conversation with her?
As she thought this over, she blindly wandered in the office of Side Show. Nowadays, her actions were automatic, her mind well-trained for a monetary motivation that has been sufficed for an entire month, two days a week, all followed by a trip to Side Show's office after her shows. For a manager, as she was only familiar with the authority of "me, myself, and I" over the years, he was quite agreeable and lenient... as long as she brought in profits. He was slightly gruff, but compared to what she had survived in the past, Side Show might as well have been a peaceful monk in a convent.
She gently knocked on his open door with a hoof. "Hello? I came for tonight's usual payment?"
Side Show rose his slightly balding head, followed by his sufficiently-sized belly, which bordered his desk edge. He grinned, "Ah, there's my star! You're quite a hit with the crowd tonight!"
Trixie could feel blood rushing to her cheeks, their unfamiliar warmness caressing her facial features.
"Really? Trix- I'm just a regular old unicorn. Nothing special about me."
Side Show bellowed, "Don't say that! You're absolutely too humble of your own abilities! We rarely get any unicorns around Trottingham; glamour never really was our cup o' tea. No stereotypes intended, of course."
"Anyway, here! Decided to give you a bonus for tonight," Side Show whipped out a bit-bag and a small slip of layered paper with his hooves, and slid them over his desk. He rambled on, "I haven't seen that many ponies in a bar since..."
Trixie responded with wide eyes, "What's with the sudden decision to pay in my own weight? And..."
Her hoof inched towards the slip of paper, its cheap, purple laminate reflecting a curved opposite of the lights above her. A ticket to one of her shows.
"... this?"
Side Show chortled, "Pretty lil' mare like yourself has to have a coltfriend by now, don't you? Invite him or her over. Do whatever you want with it. You've been doing good lately, better than all the others. So consider it motivation."
Trixie gave an uneasy smile. Whatever I want with it...
Her shoulders sagged as she thanked Side Show and trotted towards an exit, a path towards a promise of fresh air and a polluted night sky. There were no stars out today. The smog wouldn't allow it. Old tales she remembered from her foalhood say that the stars are souls of ponies that have past and gone beyond the veil of life. They comforted her, knowing that no matter where she was in the world, she was never truly alone.
She dearly wanted to see the stars, but now it seems her last vestige to her solution for isolation, her hope that she'll never be alone, was simply nonexistant. Navigating through the trashed, re-painted walls of the club and into the night air, Trixie looked down at the ticket, her breath visibly carried away by the midnight wind.
I have somepony to give it to, right? I could just throw it away, simple as that! My old self could have cared less, so why should I now...
... But do I really want to become like myself again? All this wasted effort to relocation for nothing, only to just resort back to a past self like a defeated addict. Why now? Why ever, Trixie?
She huffed, and turned her head looking for a public trash can. She headed over to a bright yellow cylinder, filled with greased paper and cardboard, the rubbish dregs of society. The final resting place for something... she couldn't place her thoughts on it. The ticket was new, infettered. A chance for a better tomorrow. Why did she think that it deserved to be considered nothing less than trash?
Who do I give it to exactly? A random stranger? I barely know anypony in this city except for...
For the last three steps towards the trash disposal, her mind instantly identified three individuals.
A Guard Mare.
A grouchy innkeeper and bartender.
A gryphon.
They all helped her in some way. And it would be a poor way to thank them without showing her gratitude.
Trixie changed her mind about the ticket, which was becoming bedazzled with an incoming spray of abrupt raindrops. There would be a better tomorrow for it, a better day, welcoming it by a new Trixie who wasn't like the "Great and Powerful" variety at all. Isn't that what friends did for eachother? Provide useless, yet meaningful gifts?
She trotted off into the distance, hooves beating against the grimy, thin sidewalk. She didn't fell one bit tired. The rain kept her awake, and the stars were longer a necessity for her.
Leif coughed in the rain, drizzling water seeping into his dress shirt.
Fine day to be laid off, wasn't it? Just his luck that his specific accounting floor was completely let go by the company head.
Well that, and everypony (there wasn't a gryphon nor dragon in sight inside the workplace) was dead-scared of Leif. He didn't exactly blame them... OK, he blamed most of them. Just because a gryphon sits down silently, produces a decent output of completed forms, and has a set of suspicious markings stylized on his right arm, it doesn't mean that he was one of those 'silent serial-killer' types.
Well, considering his last occupation, they weren't far off from the truth...but never mind that. The past was the past, and his manager said that if Leif didn't go to the press with his rather solitary abandonment (Leif had a suspicion that his boss said that his whole entire floor was now unemployed was to make him feel somewhat better about his life), the manager would actually provide a recommendation for Leif's next occupation.
Right...
So, there Leif was, shouldering off the rapid drops of rain, a cardboard box of his office belongings (plus some company donations from the local utility supplies), nearly flooded with precipitation, and waiting patiently at the local bus stop.
Steam-engine buses were quite a revelation to Leif, and a step up from the usual electric trolleys, as the last time he recognized something powered by steam was a very prestigious passenger line. What was it called? The Titaneigh? Leif never kept up with the newest technology developments. It was too dynamic for him, and he could always just adapt to new technology when he got to first see it.
Leif liked to keep a 'go-with-the-flow' philosophy. It takes care of things he doesn't have time to manage.
Like unemployment. Now that Leif thought about it, he didn't really care. For all he knew, it was going to a pony that financially needed an occupation. Bit-wise, Leif had nothing to worry about. The accounting gig was only for appearances anyway.
Still... Leif always hated when something that you could call your own came to an end. No matter how much you hated it, if it was part of your daily routine, it would feel as if somepony had sliced out a portion of your life, something left in the void to be slowly filled in with some other thing.
Leif shook his thoughts away, spraying water clinging to his mane. He hated getting depressed. Being isolated in a prison for a year didn't help with this psychological condition either.
He could see the distance lantern-lit head lights of the slowly turning bus around the street corner, the rays flashing the block as the bus turned in the direction of Leif. The noise of a growling engine echoed, joining the rushing of the rainfall. But something was slightly off with the pattering behind him.
Don't get Leif wrong. Trottingham's inhabitants were so used to the precipitation that it was just a part of their lifestyle. It was common knowledge for even the youngest of foals and cubs to know the different nuances of so much as an individual water drop against a sidewalk, building, or a nearby mailbox. And whatever object the rain was hitting behind him was none of the three. Whatever or whoever was behind Leif left a dull, echoless ring behind their reveling in the rain, with the sky's tears hitting a surface akin to a matted coat. Something organic.
Leif turned. Nothing was there, except for some bushes along the side walk, the only form of life for blocks. Urban embracing of nature was nonexistent in Trottingham. Most ponies favoring the city life felt that a metropolis should never remind them of their humble beginnings. They looked to a city as a new future, but Leif doubted that individuals could ever hide from their past. It always comes creeping back.
Leif resumed his slump in the rain. Great. Unemployed and schizophrenic. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. Knowing my luck, I'll probably contract a case of wing-rot that hasn't been seen by medical science since the Lunar Ages...
Leif took a wild glimpse of his folded wings. He hardly used them anymore. Trottingham's courts forbid flying, lest some poor band of pegasi or gryphons get lost during a storm or be swept up by a draft into the exhausts and machinery of the sky-high industrial district. Some deaths aren't worth the hefty legal fines that detail them.
Leif snorted. It's not like he ever used his wings, but they were a part of him. He unconsciously depended on them to always be there. Just in case.
Oh yeah. They'll be definitely gone.
Leif felt a silent tap on his shoulder. He instinctively dropped his belongings, and twisted around, wings ready to provide an evasive draft and his talon exposed, ready to face an individual that should know better than to trot up behind somegryphon. In Trottingham, no less. In any other city, it would have been a friendly gesture. But not in Trottingham, and Trottingham has history.
Behind him was another gryphon clad in a black hoodie. His, or correctly termed 'her' (judging by the thinner, shorter talons), right forelimb had the same wrist sigils as Leif's, and Leif assumed that the gryphon next to him probably had the complete set tattooed.
"Leif", the gryphon cracked a dry grin underneath her hood. "It's been quite a while."
She flipped off the clothing donned on her head, revealing a short beak, pristine white feathers, piercing green eyes, and warm smile.
"Same with you, Grid," Leif relaxed, slowly whistling out his breath. She was somegryphon from his past life that he could trust with anything. That same consideration hasn't changed at all. Leif chuckled in relief, "Don't scare me like that again. I'm a heart-attack type of gryphon."
"Well I wasn't here to make an effort sneaking behind you for haybarrels and giggles. You're a hard gryphon to track. There's something else," Grid said, her smile falling as if it held a conscious weight to it. "You've been gone for a while. Things have changed... a lot, and you won't like what certain gryphons have done after all that you've gone through to sanitize our organization."
Leif looked at her, ignoring the approaching bus. "Koi? He's back?"
Grid hesitated at the name. The forbidden identification, an exiled term to everything her life meant to her work, and the other way around. She was hoping to break it to him after he had some alcohol in his system. She knew how much the news would impact him, to see sacrifices come to nothing. She slowly nodded and looked down at her talons.
"We need you. Things haven't been quite the same."
Leif's view wandered to the bus, just realizing that it had stopped in front of him.
Grid continued, her emerald pupils still downcast, "We did everything you asked us to, but we can't take action like we did in the past! We're suppose to be pacifistic now aren't we? To be altruists? To try to make a new name for Fenris?"
Leif whispered, "I quit this game a long time ago. You should to. Escape while the getting's good, and try for something on the Mainland. There's nothing here." He opened the bus door, droplets of Trottingham's depression sliding down the clear glass panes on the folding entrance. Leif wanted to help her. To set things right. But life doesn't end like all the fairy tales make out to be. Leif learned that the hard way, and he swore he'd never let something happen to Glimmer Rain ever again.
"A family of ponies died this week," Grid deadpanned. "Two adults, and their parents along with 'em. Three casualties when we tried to investigate. Same signs."
Rapid images flashed Leif's mind at the emotional trigger of 'signs'. Brand marks and blood scratched onto bodies and onto walls of housing of a cross reaching towards the directions of the wind. North, South, East, and West. The very same symbol carved into Leif's own right side.
Signs.
Grid sniffed, and tried her best to hide her tears, which camouflaged with the rain on her angular countenance. She looked where she last saw Leif, beside her. He wasn't there. The one chance she had, the one last string of hope. Gone. Forever lost to the wind. To the gutters of Trottingham.
She began to trot away into the shadow, her tail swinging low between her hind limbs.
"Now, where do you think you're going?"
Grid turned in response to the voice. Leif's head popped out of the doorway of the public transportation vehicle, front talons clinging to the edge to balance his upper body sticking out of the entrance.
"Can't even wait for a gryphon to pay for both of our fare? I didn't give you a 'no', have I?" Leif lifted his brow in mock surprise.
Grid quickly ran up to Leif and gripped his talons with her own, as he pulled her into the bus.
Leif left his supplies on the sidewalk. He didn't need them anymore.