//------------------------------// // Magician's Misfortunes // Story: Duskfall // by Celestial Swordsman //------------------------------// Chapter 9 Trixie led her to a wagon that sat overlooking the town. Its purple covering held a chaotic jumble of colorful props and gizmos. “Uh, great? Now we can get to your home faster?” Dusk asked. “This is home,” the unicorn replied, with just a touch of sentimentality. The weathered old cart had seen many roads. “Oh,” Dusk could only reply. The unicorn’s cape trailed as she jumped up into the back of the wagon. She turned and motioned for Dusk to come aboard, but cautioned, “Don’t break anything.” The little gray one hesitated before joining her second hostess. “How does this keep happening to me?” she wondered. She could not decide if she was suspicious of Trixie or the universe itself, but with an assisting beat of her wings she entered the unicorn’s mobile home. She carefully picked a place to sit on the wood floor beside a projector and a heap of spinny things. Trixie lounged comfortably on a large cushion thrown over a crate, which seemed to be her bed. “Trixie doesn’t have guests over for dinner, but since everything else fell apart she may as well try it,” Trixie said. “Trixie doesn’t normally share, but we outcasts have to look out for each other. No one else will.” Dusk cocked her eyebrow at the use of the third person, but instead of questioning it she quietly received an apple that Trixie passed to her. She finally had the opportunity to taste the shiny red fruit she had been to so much trouble for. She finished it in big ravenous bites, and smiled as the flavor burst in her mouth. She took another apple out of the basket. Before munching on it, she questioned, “What do you do? Why do you live in a wagon?” “Trixie is a travelling magician, a performer and worker of wonders,” she introduced herself humbly. “Trixie was quite well known in her time. Despite Ponyville—“ she grimaced at the thought and reached for a drink. There was a keg and a row of assorted bottles on the floor beside Trixie’s bed. Her dangling hoof skimmed over three empty containers, lying flat on the floor as they were counted off. She picked up the first one that was standing, which left one more. She pulled off the stopper and took a deep swig. She took great relief from it, praising it: “Cider, hard as Celestia’s iron hoof. That’s how to use apples.” “No,” she tersely replied to Dusk’s interested and thirsty looks. “Despite that place,” she shook her hoof out the front of the wagon where she could see the town as she continued, “Trixie was actually on her way to the big leagues. Then shit happened.” “Hey, I think I actually saw a show a long time ago. Don’t you mean the Great and Powerful Trixie?” asked Dusk. The unkempt magician narrowed her eyes and scowled. Dusk pulled back from her intense glare, and the strange unicorn relaxed a little looking at the honest curiosity of the questioner. She sighed heavily, saying, “No, just Trixie.” She flung her blue chin up as she took a gulp from her flask of—VERY—hard cider. “I knew some GREAT and POWERFUL ponies,” she explained to the night sky. “And you know what? All that POWER and GREATNESS made them either dead…” she paused for dramatic effect, “or awful bitches.” Trixie never would have guessed it, but Dusk quickly made a note that she belonged to the latter category, if not both. She took another draught of that pungent cider. “Not to bother you with all my troubles…”—as the gray one also noted, that was precisely her intent—“But it’s a hard life for a magician these days. You can’t make a living with fireworks and the whole show ruckus anymore. Now ponies can’t stand the slightest pop. You’d think everypony had PTSD, the way they flinch and cower,” she continued, balancing a mocking tone with real sadness, “like the fires of war had come again.” “It will now,” Dusk thought. Judging by the quantity of cider, she didn’t need to make anything worse, so she kept her peace. That last bottle in the chain was something else though. Dusk checked the label while Trixie was looking the other way; it was pure alcohol. With that discovery, she mustered the interest to ask, “Why can’t you perform someplace the war didn’t hit as hard?” “Cause Trixie was banished from the Solar Empire and the New Lunar Republic,” she stated matter-of-factly. She continued her original train of thought without missing a beat: “And some of these earth ponies on the border are even afraid of magic. Ponies won’t let Trixie perform because, Trixie quotes, ‘Magic decapitated my brother.’ Sucks for him, but Trixie’s gotta live. Who in Equestria can be afraid of magic? The sky is magic, friendship is magic, Trixie is magic. Get over it.” “The sun is raised with magic,” Dusk indulged. “Yeah? Trixie already mentioned that,” the unicorn pointed out. The pegasus newcomer latched on to a good story, asking, “How do you get banished from the Empire AND the Republic?” “Those are big stories; you have to take them one at a time,” Trixie said, and revised the question, “Trixie will tell you how she was banished from the Solar Empire.” “It was the high point of Trixie’s rise to fame, or what should have been Trixie’s rise to fame. Word got around that Trixie was great and powerful, and entertaining, and she was invited to the palace to perform at a party. Not a happy-birthday-party kind of party, a gathering of respectable politicians for relaxation with food and tasteful theatre. Princess Celestia was there, at least half the time. Of course, she showed up late, probably from her bedroom, but Trixie doesn’t pry. When she came, Trixie had to stop calling herself great and powerful.” “Of course it’s difficult to perform in front of a goddess. Whenever she wasn’t worshipping herself or making her officials look stupid, she was watching Trixie. She could probably see through everything Trixie did. Since Celestia practically invented magic, Trixie tried to throw her for a loop with sleight-of-hoof more than real magic. Trixie used real magic to misdirect her attention from some down-to-earth trickery, and it almost worked. The Princess gave Trixie knowing looks as Trixie completed some of her acts; sometimes she was surprised. She figured them all out after a few moments, but keeping her amused was its own achievement. Trixie made something appear from her hat; but not to be cliché, she pulled her hat from her hat, and let the original blow away like dust.” Trixie paused to point to Dusk and interject, “If she told you how she did that, Trixie would have to kill you.” She resumed her narrative: “That’s what was supposed to happen, anyway. When Trixie put her new hat on and let the old one blow away, a round flask fell out of it. It was Trixie’s flask but she couldn’t remember putting it there. It half-bounced as it shattered on the stage, and splashed potion all over one of the high-powered gentlecolts. It was an expensive potion, and Trixie would never use that much of it at once, and never on a pony. Anyway, he got a little smaller, his mouth turned into a beak, and he grew some little green appendages on his back. He wriggled out of his suit and bucked across some tables, squawking, spilling drinks, and spreading panic. It only lasted a few seconds, and he was normal again, except naked. You don’t see most ponies minding being naked, but with all the pomp in the capitol they get used to a professional appearance. Anyway, just as he came to his senses he found himself standing on two legs on the table in front of Celestia, yelling—“ Trixie and Dusk shouted together, “YOU’RE MY BUG BANANAS!” The two shook the wagon with laughter for a second. Dusk rolled around on the floor, remembering his shocked face. Trixie turned deathly silent and glared at her listener. Dusk met her gaze and stopped laughing, and still air recaptured the area. “You were there?” Trixie inquired in disbelief. “I had a friend who was serving drinks, she told me about it,” Dusk lied artfully. “I get around too you know.” “Yeah,” Trixie agreed insincerely. She altered her story and continued, albeit flustered by her surprising audience, “Anyway the big shot wasn’t too happy about it, and had me banished. I guess you already know that. The potion was slightly illegal, but I never put it in that hat. Celestia got a huge kick out the whole thing, but she didn’t say anything when they kicked Trixie out. She must have had something to do with it. The deal with the Republic wasn’t Trixie’s fault either. Something followed her across the border, so of course she’s some kind of security hazard or something. Now Trixie’s stuck in the DMZ. Come to think of it, that probably had something to do with Celestia too. Awful bitch.” “Yeah, awful bitch,” Dusk repeated with conviction, but looked away from the outcast performer. “What brings you here to the border?” Trixie probed. “I need to find my family,” Dusk regurgitated her statement to Derpy. It was so easy to say to the trusting pegasus mother, but not so much with this cynical wayfarer. “Do they have names?” the interrogation continued. Dusk’s mind spun, inventing Amber, River, and Mountain Song. Stretching out in front of her she could see a network of occupations, character traits, motivations, and other lies tripping over each other. She used to be able to handle this kind of stuff all the time, but she was tired of it. “No,” she lamely replied. “Finding them’s gonna be difficult then,” Trixie jabbed sarcastically. “Look, I’m still running from my secrets,” Dusk divulged. “Can you let it be? Maybe I’ll tell you the truth in the morning, but I have to think about it.” Trixie relaxed her demeanor. She could respect a pony that held her cards close. Most of the time, that’s what Trixie did, but tonight she had felt the need to vent her frustrations to no one, and Dusk had seemed like the perfect no one. If her half-kidnapped guest began to trust her, they could enjoy a little outcast sisterhood; if not, Dusk would probably be gone before the morning. Trixie was done for the evening and lay down on her cushions. She rested the bottle and her hat on the barrel that served as her nightstand. With a guest for distraction, she hadn’t made it to that last bottle. Remembering Dusk on the bare wood she tossed down a thick purple blanket. “Um, do you have something gray?” the gray one requested. “You’ll thank me later.” “What’s wrong with the one Trixie gave you?” the irritated unicorn said, feeling as though her wild generosity was not being appreciated. “See, I have this thing, and if it’s not gray, I might—“ Dusk trailed off, embarrassed. Her wide eyes moistened and dripped across her face. “Are you crying?!” Trixie demanded with exasperation. “What? No,” Dusk deflected. She took a deep breath and explained, “I have this weird problem where I get ash on everything I touch, and it makes my eyes water. If I sleep on something gray, it wouldn’t show up as much.” “Huh? Ew,” Trixie made a face and pointed a hoof out the back of the wagon. “Get out before you get ash on all of Trixie’s stuff.” “But Trixie said I could stay,” Dusk pleaded, intentionally begging with teary puppy-dog eyes. She found it easier to cry when she realized she had been drawn into the third-person madness. Trixie caved, “Ugh, all right, just stop crying!” With that she lowered her horn and blinded Dusk with blue magic rays. “That should keep the ash away for a while.” The little pegasus felt the sting leave her eyes. “Wow, thanks,” Dusk replied, blinking comfortably for the first time. The small-time magician flung her a coarse gray blanket. The two bedded down and slept the astronomically ambiguous time period away.