NO-ONE GETS PARDONED FOR LIVING
-Terry Pratchett, “Mort”
~~~
Two voices argued in a place that, technically, did not exist. It was a dim and foggy, despite lacking the necessary equipment for weather. It was, the Pale Horse thought, more drama than she was used to.
“I told you I don’t need an assistant! My schedule manages itself, and, this may surprise you, ponies don’t really mind if I’m fifteen minutes late!”
“So, Trixie will accept a lesser position. Imagine, working with Death Herself! I bet Twilight Sparkle never-”
“Actually-”
“Don’t. Say. A. Word,” Trixie growled through gritted teeth. “Trixie does not care about what Twilight Sparkle has accomplished. Trixie simply wants an opportunity to work hoof-in-hoof with one of the most distinguished ponies in all of existence. Come on, won’t you say yes? Surely it must get lonely. Surely you would appreciate some superior storytelling, entertaining, the occasional massage...”
Trixie trailed off, smiling hopefully at the hippopomorphic ponification. The Pale Horse stared back, uncertain, what with her only fleeting interactions with ponies, if Trixie was flirting with her or not.
Finally, she sighed. “All right. But on a trial basis. You can help...clean the house or something.”
Trixie’s eyes lit up in glee. “And maybe Trixie can come along on some collections?”
“No. No. Definitely...I think your talents are more suited for background work.”
Trixie sighed and tossed her head dismissively. “You say that now. But wait ten thousand years, and see what you think of Trixie.”
The Pale Horse wondered if she’d made a grave error.
It was probably the only sort she could make.