It was a bad idea. Trixie knew it from the start.
The needles of regret and stomach-caving anxiety were among that of many, many things that dampened a potentially wonderful trip to Canterlot, into a moment in time she'd never wish to repeat. Perhaps, she thought, these wretched, unneeded feelings could've been swiftly avoided if a certain joy-obsessed mare understood the meaning of the word 'no'. Perhaps, she thought, the disdainful, penetrating eyes of the Canterlot Elite would've cast their gaze elsewhere, if she was without such company. Perhaps, she thought, throwing herself beneath the train, as it resigned her to this fate, would have saved her an afternoon of dread and despair.
It was a bad idea. A terrible, awful idea... and there was nothing she could do but reap what she'd sewn.
"Ooh! Looky, looky, there it is!" Pinkie exclaimed.
Somehow--somehow--Trixie found the audacity to smile. She couldn't deny Pinkie's innocent charm to be welcoming. Humiliating beyond the boundaries of rational thought, but welcoming all the same. Suspicious, discouraging eyes followed the pair as they traversed to their destination, one bouncing with inextinguishable energy, the other attempting to ward off their gazes with a very bad poker-face.
Unfastening herself, and parking her stable close by, Trixie entered the immaculate home of art with Pinkie, hoping against hope that their reason for being there was worth the pain. As it turned out, the experience was rather easy on the eyes. Surrounding herself with art of her own craft had sprung a unique appreciation within Trixie. As such, the showmare drank in every detail of every masterpiece on display, steadily disregarding the glares from the hoity-toity ponies abound. The only distraction deemed worthy of Trixie's attention was that familiar, harmonious song of 'ooh' and 'ahh', uttered by none other than her hyperactive escort. A given, of course, as nopony else shared that level of enthusiasm.
At first, it was off-putting, earning the pink mare an apprehensive stare from Trixie.
But as she observed further, noting how gracefully she weaved between everypony, how she demonstrated a discerning eye for crafts beyond the mundane, and how she would bound from corner to corner with a sparkle of amazement for every piece she crossed, Trixie dared to smile, dared to lower her guard. If only for a moment.
"I've never met anypony like her... She really does have a taste for art," Trixie mused.
As the minutes swam onward, chiseling the tension away, Trixie found herself alongside her fellow mare, observing a particularly stirring portrait. A masterfully shadowed stallion, laced with age and volumes of wisdom. A dark, yet welcoming intensity etched into his eyes, accented only by the depth of a magnetic, ethereal background. The mere sight of it warranted a golden opportunity for Trixie, a chance to test her escort's eye for talent if, indeed, it was there. She leafed through a mental list of questions that were sure to lay a mind bare, and reveal just how deep one could truly be.
But as she turned to the pink pony, ready for her grilling critique, every inspiration to do so vanished before the nostalgic smile graced on Pinkie's lips.
"I like this one," Pinkie murmured, perhaps without realizing it. "It reminds me of Home."
Right there, in that very moment, Trixie was certain that any question she conceived was answered with that single, warming statement. And whether invoked by the portrait, or by dumbfounding coincidence, their thoughts were parallel. Of this, Trixie was certain. For the first time throughout that entire day, Trixie accepted natural camaraderie, and redeemed her stare at the portrait with a smile of her own. A smile full and proud to share the company of a pony with eyes to see.
"Hm. It does, doesn't it?" Trixie concurred.
There they stood in companionable silence, something that began to eat away at Trixie’s conscience. At first, the feeling scared her, not knowing why or how it came to be. But as Trixie gandered at Pinkie for the briefest fraction of a second, she shifted all of her blame on one thing. One stupid, ensnaring thing. Curiosity.
“So,” Trixie chewed her tongue for such a pathetic opening, “You said this picture reminds you of home. Trixie would’ve assumed the opposite of this would have that effect.”
Then, as if it had never left, Pinkie’s ear-to-ear grin was there. “Oh! It totally does! Which makes it so cool, because having two homes is really neat and-”
“Wait. Two homes?” Trixie interjected.
Pinkie fully turned to the other mare. “Ya-huh! I was born on a rock-farm, and this portrait here reminds me of my dear old Papa Pie! Though I probably shouldn’t call him old, ‘cause I remember the one time that slipped out, and I was carving rocks sculptures for a week! Does horrible things to the hooves, let me tell ya! Ooh! And there was this one time after I got my cutie-mark when-”
Trixie wasn’t listening. Not after what she’d just heard. Pinkie’s myriad of words fell empty to Trixie’s astonishment, which soon fell prey to a reoccurring nuisance, and now, her most hated enemy. Curiosity.
“A-A rock-farm? You?” Trixie gawked.
“Pfft! Duh, silly! Thats what I just said!” Pinkie beamed. “Why? Have you been to a rock-farm bef-... Oh yeah.”
Two plus two, equals six. Thats how amazed Trixie was when she connected the dots. “‘Papa Pie’... Pie? As in Jedediah Pie? As in married to-”
“Marjoly Pie?” Pinkie finished, her eyes nearly bulging.
The two mares simply stood there. For a long, long moment. Then Trixie spoke again, her words chosen cautiously. “Woke you up before sunrise every morning,” she suggested.
Pinkie slowly nodded. “Gave you hundreds of tiny rocks before moving you to big ones,” she said.
Trixie’s eyes widened. “Always said ‘Small or large, every job-
“Is just AS IMPORTANT-NO WAY!” both ponies shouted in unison.
The quiet hum of activity dropped to silence, and the neighboring ponies cast sideways glances toward the pair. These glances were not lost on Trixie, and she cleared her throat.
“You worked at that rock farm?! My rock farm?!” Pinkie’s voice keened against the ear.
“Yes, well, quite a coincidence this is,” Trixie said, stoically ignoring every tingle in her chest.
“I’ll say! I mean, what are the odds?!”
‘What are the odds?’ That question provoked a number of others, and Trixie found herself reopening a circuit of thought she’d sworn to keep closed for as long as she drew breath. Hazily, those memories, those sweaty, sticky, underpaid memories soiled Trixie’s mind. And in those memories, she searched for something. Something that didn’t belong. Something she could swear up and down she’d seen before that horrible milestone.
Something pink.
Trixie’s eyes brightened at Pinkie, who was too enticed in her amazement to shut up. “That... That was you?” Trixie asked.
“And I was all like ‘You can’t peel bananas with dynami-’... What?” Pinkie gave the magician an inquisitive look.
“The family portrait. At the farm. That was you, wasn’t it? With the other two fillies?” Trixie asked again, inwardly demanding why the pang in her stomach wouldn’t go away.
Trixie couldn’t quite put Pinkie’s expression into a category. Perhaps because she’d barely seen more than a smile from her. But when Pinkie answered the question with a gentle nod, Trixie immediately picked the expression apart. It was something in which Trixie was well acquainted. And something that was undeniably misplaced on Pinkie Pie.
Then, before Trixie could examine it further, a smile cut it in two. “Yup! That was me alright! Pinkamena Diane Pie!” Pinkie said.
Trixie silently mouthed the name with an averted gaze, if only to grasp the absurdity of it all. As Pinkie redeemed her bounding observations of the masterpieces, Trixie remained as she was. Thinking. Mulling. Contemplating how she could continue the day without succumbing to her curiosity. It was silly. Downright ludicrous, in fact. But it was there. As was her hatred for the rock farming days, Trixie’s curiosity was irrefutable.
And more so, it was maddening.
The more she thought of it, the less sense it made. The more she remembered, the more she wished to know why. Why wasn’t Pinkie smiling in that picture?
“Hey,” Trixie gently called.
Pinkie’s response was less than welcoming, as far as Trixie was concerned. Of course, anypony would be put off when suddenly face to face with a mare that was already clear across the room.
“Yeah?” Pinkie said.
Trixie sputtered herself back into composure. “U-Uh, yes, (ahem).”
There it was again. A moment of pause. Trixie docked her intelligence by several points for addressing this without a plan. And every plan that did come to her seemed more ridiculous than the last.
‘Hey, I’m curious about you. Lets talk.’
‘Hey, you’re interesting. Tell me more about yourself.’
‘Hey, I’ve got reach, you’ve got flexibility. Let’s blow off some steam.’
Trixie’s intelligence suffered more point deduction when a tiny laugh escaped her lips. Even as she attempted to unruffle herself again, Trixie was sure that Pinkie caught her slip-up, thus ushering the birth of another stupid, idiotic idea.
“What was it like?” Trixie asked, stepping to comfortable distance. “When you lived there, that is.”
Trixie’s eyes flickered at Pinkie’s expression. Now she was beyond the shadow of doubt. She knew exactly where she had seen that expression. When Pinkie’s eyes whisked from side to side, Trixie was reminded that they weren’t alone. And they weren’t ignored. And they were still being glared at.
“Hey!” Pinkie said, her grin returned. “Wanna go for a walk? I can tell ya all about it with a little exercise!”
Alarms had been setting off in Trixie’s head all day. Ever since the train-ride to Canterlot. Only now, did those alarms elicit a splitting migraine. And only now, did Trixie ignore them with youthful abandon.
“Trixie believes she would like that,” Trixie said, noting varying degrees of hostility around them. “Very much so.”
Traveling too close to Ponyville. Lowering her guard with Pinkie Pie. Actually agreeing to travel to Canterlot with her. Sure... Why not another bad idea?