//------------------------------// // Locomotive Breath // Story: Aqualung: A Tale of Ego and Recovery // by Keatosimo //------------------------------//         An incredibly loud crash reverberated throughout the apartment, sending Broken Broom tumbling off the couch, spouting profanity. He stood up and groaned, rubbing his head.         “Glasses...” He mumbled groggily, feeling the coffee table for his spectacles.         His hoof tapped against something and pulled it towards him. He opened the glasses and slipped them on. Instantly, the full clarity of the world was revealed to him. Colors no longer melted with each other. Everything was crisp and clear. With that small struggle out of the way, he trotted over to the kitchen to find the source of the disturbance. Standing in the kitchen in a sea of pots and pans, Trixie grinned sheepishly at the doctor.         “I was, um... making breakfast?” She said with a nervous chuckle.         “Looks d-delicious.” Broken Broom replied sarcastically.         Broken Broom picked up a pan in his mouth and placed it on the counter. Trixie’s magic enveloped several pots and stacked them. The two cleaned the mess, the silver pile of cookware giving way to the hardwood floor. The two paused for a moment.         “I’m sorry, Dr. Broom. I thought it only proper to repay you for your hospitality by making breakfast.” Trixie apologized.         Broken Broom shook his head smiling. “It wouldn’t b-be proper to a-allow my g-guest to make food.” “Oh, but I insist!” The doctor shook his head. “At this r-rate, you’d b-burn the complex down.” He paused to chuckle. “How about Donut J-joes?” Trixie looked down at the mess, then back up to Broken Broom. “Sure.” She replied. Broken Broom trotted towards the door, Trixie in tow. The two walked down the hall towards the stairwell. “What about the mess?” Trixie inquired. Broken Broom waved his hoof dismissively. “I’ll g-get it when we c-come back from your treatment.” Trixie stopped, then shrugged and continued. There was no point in arguing over such a trivial matter. Besides, it wasn’t as if the mess would go anywhere. Trixie followed Broken Broom down the stairs, hoofsteps echoing. This continued for some time. Trixie grumbled. Exercise was not her forte, nor a hobby. It only seemed to go on and on. Sort of like seventeen flights of stairs. They reached the lobby, which was strangely empty. Only the receptionist sat, idly skimming through an old copy of Cosmarepolitan. Broken Broom greeted her and approached the door. Before his hoof could pull it open, Trixie’s magic enveloped the door and pulled open. “Gah!” Broken Broom yelped. Trixie giggled at the befuddled doctor. The doctor’s face reddened in response. “Uh, l-ladies first?” He stammered, trying to shift the subject. Trixie walked out of the door, clamping down on her lips to stop herself from laughing. Broken Broom followed, head hung low. It was a Sunday, late morning and chilly. Slightly warmer than usual, but still within winter’s bounds. The streets were crowded, though not nearly as much as weekdays. The walk to Donut Joe’s was brief, unimpeded by a roaring river of pedestrians. The bell rigged to the door of Donut Joe’s rang, alerting Joe himself of customers. He trotted out of the kitchen, paper hat, smock and all. He smiled as he spotted two of his favorite customers. “Ah, Trixie! Broom! How ya two doin’?” He asked, wiping down the counter. Trixie and Broken Broom exchanged pleasantries with Donut Joe as they took their seats on the stools. What struck Joe as strange was the timing. The two came in at the same time, which could have been coincidence, but they also were coming from the same direction. He pursed his lips. “The usual for ya’s?” Joe asked. “Yes.” Trixie and Broken Broom responded in unison. Trixie’s eyes began to wander. Idle silences tended to do that to her. She glanced at Broken Broom. Broken Broom glanced at her. She quickly looked away, and Broken Broom did the same. The doctor cleared his throat. Donut Joe emerged from the kitchen with a pastry tray in his magic’s grasp, giving both Trixie and Broken Broom a chance to exhale in relief. “Busy day?” Trixie asked in between bites of eclair. “More’n usual, I guess. Sundays tend to be livelier.” Donut Joe replied. Trixie nodded, gulping down the last of her pastry. She glanced at Broken Broom, who had just consumed the last scrap of his. He reached into the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulled out a pile of bits. “Just k-keep it all, Joe.” Broken Broom said, hopping off of his stool. “Oh, and I’m p-paying for b-both of us.” “How gentlecoltly of you, Broken Broom. Is she your date?” Joe replied with a smirk. Broken Broom froze up. “Wha- No- I mea- She isn’t-” The doctor stammered. “A little flustered there, bud?” Joe egged on. He turned to Trixie. “You keep your boyfriend in line, okay?” Trixie chuckled at the baker’s teasing. Boyfriend? That wasn’t even a term that Trixie would even consider applying to Broken Broom. She glanced at the doctor. “Why would Joe even think that we were... together. We’ve only known eachother for a day!. Even if he is kind of cute...”         Trixie’s thought train derailed. Did she really just call him cute? She shook her head. It was a platonic kind of cute. It had to have been. She shoved the thought from her head, giving no benefit of the doubt. Meanwhile, Broken Broom’s face was macintosh red.         “Hey, uh, Miss T-trixie, we should g-go, uh, to my office.” The doctor quickly said, throwing a random sum of bits on the counter.         Trixie nodded vigorously. Broken Broom hurried out the door, Trixie in tow. Donut Joe raised an eyebrow at the sudden exit. He shrugged and began wiping down the table. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                  “Good morning, Mr. Broken Broom.” Hesaan greeted, looking up from a stack of papers.         “Hello, Hesaan. H-how are you? Well, I h-hope.” Broken Broom responded.         “I am fine, thank you.” She replied warmly.         Trixie nodded and smiled to say hello, and followed Broken Broom into his office. She plopped onto a chair, awaiting the doctor’s orders. Broken Broom examined a few papers on his desk. Trixie could make out words like ‘stress’ and ‘hypertension’. She had no luck in deciphering the rest of his notes. The doctor turned to Trixie.         “B-basically, you have n-nothing medically wrong with you, asides from pulmonary edema. However, you are s-suffering from excess amounts of s-stress, a known cause for s-said affliction. Most l-likely from living on the streets, am I r-right?” said Broken Broom.         Trixie nodded, not having any reason to disagree.         “The only medicine I c-can really prescribe is to stay re-relaxed and off the s-streets.” He continued.         Trixie opened her mouth to speak, but was intercepted by Broken Broom.         “Yes, I am aware of y-your... situation.” He reminded her. “Which is why I’m g-giving you the ch-choice of action.”         Trixie bit her lip.         “It’s the streets, renting, or a socially awkward doctor’s house, and you don’t have the funds to rent.” She thought.         It was an easy choice.         “I’d hate to impose, but maybe... No, no, I couldn’t allow you to do that.” Trixie began but faltered.         “Play it reluctant, Trixie. Take this ride as far as it will go.” She thought.          Broken Broom pieced together Trixie’s implications.         “Miss Trixie, I understand, but i-it would be w-worse if I let you f-freeze on the streets. Please, d-don’t do anything detrimental t-to your health over something as t-trivial as opening my home to y-y-you.” He placated, an almost imperceptible glint of excitement in his eyes.         “Are you sure?” Trixie asked.         “Positive.”         Trixie pulled Broken Broom into a hug. The doctor, completely caught off guard, couldn’t manage a word. Trixie pulled away, feigned excitement on her face.         “Oh, thank you so much! How can I ever repay you?!”         “Uh, y-y-you c-c-c-could g-get b-b-better?” Broken Broom stammered.         He regained his composition and stood up straight. “Well, th-that was it for your uh, f-free appointment. So, back to my p-place?” The doctor asked.          ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         Broken Broom sat on his couch the way they were meant to be sat on: belly up. A certain lyre-playing unicorn would be proud. A soft snore escaped the stallion, a product of his bi-weekly nap. He decided the best time to take it was after cleaning the remainder of his guests breakfast attempts. Trixie, desperate to pass time, slaved over tidying Broken Broom’s rather expansive collection of books. She knew she could just read a book, but then it would just remind her of that Twilight Sparkle, whom she would rather forget.         Of course, forgetting had proved to be an insurmountable obstacle. While she had received some form of forgiveness for her bloated ego by the mare, the rest of Ponyville had no intention of letting bygones be bygones. There was something about covering their town in a giant dome and using children as carriage pullers that rubbed them the wrong way. Trixie remained adamant that it was the Alicorn Amulet’s fault. It was, but the denizens of Ponyville felt otherwise.         So, with no other place to go, Trixie emigrated towards the bigger cities. However, the busy ponies were too preoccupied with city life to pay any mind to Trixie’s lackluster performances. Cheap parlor tricks were not satisfying compared to other performers, and Trixie discovered that there wasn’t much money to be made. She was unwilling to turn to crime, and at first, her pride disallowed her from accepting charity. If she was going to eat, it wasn’t going to be on county gruel. Over time, this rock-steady promise of self-reliance was eroded by sheer hunger and arctic nights. The Great and Powerful Trixie Lulamoon became a beggar; one of many.         The mare sighed. Her hoof rose and landed on one of Broken Broom’s novels at random. “Self Help: Getting out of the Rut.” She iterated. She trotted over to the couch, but hesitated when she encountered Broken Broom, fast asleep on the couch. She chuckled and shook her head. Her course was realigned towards the love seat opposite of the sofa. As she wriggled into a nook that would provide adequate comfort with minimal shifting, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since she last opened a book. Trixie dismissed the thought and opened the book.          “In the event that you find yourself in a perpetual spiral of repetition or despair, it becomes essential that you, along with other important ponies, find a way to climb out of this. This novel, while not a cure-all, will assist you in the admittedly tedious process of gaining a foothold. To start, a few simple ground rules you need to follow:         1: Throw away any pride, grudges, and/or hesitancies that may impede your climb to the top.          2: Accept any and all help offered; while you may want to do it all on your own, you won’t be able to. 3: Honesty is the best policy. Cheating and lying will only put you back to where you started. Trixie stared for a moment. Here she was, leeching off of the success of a pony kinder than she. She glanced over at Broken Broom, who lay on the couch snoring. “How dare you?” Trixie’s conscience asked. Her inner voice was right. How dare she, a mare with nothing to her name but foul memories, use a kind stallion like Broken Broom. How dare she even consider herself worthwhile enough to even speak to him. Trixie Lulamoon was a worthless and lying mare. She slammed the book closed, the thump of paper on paper jolting Broken Broom awake. The stallion blinked. “You okay?” He asked, noticing Trixie’s saddened expression. Trixie started for the door, completely ignoring the doctors. “Are you ok-kay?” He asked again. “I’m so sorry.” Trixie choked out. She bolted out the door and down the hall. Faint yelling echoed from the hallways as she descended the staircase. Trixie didn’t care. She didn’t deserve to be cared about. She was a waste of space, a failure. Her legs ached as she flew out the door of the apartment complex. The mare, now in tears, continued onwards through the alleys, past Broken Broom’s office, past Donut Joe's, and beyond. She was running to one place, somewhere where Broken Broom couldn’t find her. Trixie didn’t notice, or maybe just didn’t care that her hat fell off at some point. She didn’t deserve it anyways.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                  Broken Broom frantically scanned the streets of Manehattan. He had to find her, he had to! “Damn it, why did you run?!” He slowed his gallop. Unwanted attention was not in his best interest. He looked around, hoping to see a star-studded hat, or for moonlight-blue mane to contrast the drab colors of the average manehattanite. The doctor rounded a corner. Donut Joe’s shone in the distance. Broken Broom’s eyes brightened as he saw it, and his trot accelerated into a canter. He barreled into the diner, a wild look on his face. No one was more surprised, or terrified for that matter, than Donut Joe. It wasn’t everyday that his favorite customer charges into his restaurant with a wolf’s hunger in his eyes. “Uh, Broken Broom?” Joe asked, eyebrow raised. The doctor held up a hoof, panting. As his breaths quickened, he spoke. “Have... You seen... T-t-trixie run by?” He asked, still out of breath. Donut Joe shook his head. “Why? What did ya do?” Donut Joe replied. “I have no c-clue!” Broken Broom exclaimed, throwing his hoof up for effect. “Mares, eh?” Donut Joe retorted, snorting. “T-tell me about it." Said the Doctor, rubbing his temples. “Look, if she shows up, p-please make her w-wait here. I need to t-talk to her.” Donut Joe saluted in response, and with that, Broken Broom was out the door. He shivered as a blast of air chilled his bones. It was cold; colder than it had been in awhile. The sun had already begun it’s guided descent, and the skyscrapers of Manehattan blocked most of the light from reaching the streets. The doctor pounded his head in frustration. The worst part was that he hadn’t any idea as to why Trixie would storm out like that. It couldn’t have been something he said; he was asleep! “Buck.” On the empty street, illuminated by the pale orange glow, a deep purple cap stood alone, dirty and creased. Broken Broom approached the sad little object and picked it up. Draping it over his neck, he trotted along in the darkness. In the distance, tall corridors of mortar and brick gave way to a small park. Broken Broom trotted towards the greenery, Trixie’s hat still on his back. The park, although not as expansive as those in Ponyville or Canterlot, was one of the more spacious in Manehattan. Lamps lit cobblestone paths, and under some of the lamps were benches. Trees dotted the place, specifically planted to make room for picnics, kite flying, and other activities. There was even a little pond, with a bench on it’s bank, under a tree. And it was there, on that bench, that Broken Broom spotted a shaking and distraught unicorn. He sighed in relief, and immediately froze up. “What do I even say? I have no idea why she left in the first place!” The mental scrimmage between reason and emotion raged for a small time. For the longest time, Broken Broom stood under the orange street lamp. He shook his head. “I don’t care.” He whispered. As he took his step onto the grass, he hesitated, caught by doubt. Ignoring it, he slowly approached the sniffling and shivering mare. She sat on the bench, head hung low. Broken Broom tentatively took a seat next to her. Trixie didn’t look up. The doctor pulled her into a tender embrace, for comfort and for warmth. “I’m so sorry, Broken Broom. I’m so, so sorry.” Trixie began to sob, her body shaking. “F-for what?” He asked, eager to learn the reason for her fleeing. Trixie looked up at the doctor, tears in her eyes, and buried her head in his chest. “I used you.” She whispered. Tears stained Broken Broom’s pelt. He didn’t care. “I don’t understand.” He replied. There was a pause. Broken Broom ran his hoof through Trixie’s mane. “ You- you opened your home to me, and all I- I planned to do was get as much as I could out of it! I didn’t care about you, I cared about how much I could get from you! I botched any attempt at a career in performing and my reputation is already in tatters! I’m nothing but a liar and a failure! And now I’m a dirty freeloader!” Trixie wailed, her sobs becoming more prevalent. After some time, Trixie sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. Yet she still remained close to the Doctor. Broken Broom was speechless. He may be a pulmonologist, but he was no therapist. All he could do was one thing. One thing that he knew would make or break this moment. He wrapped his hoof around Trixie’s head and slammed his lips onto hers. Trixie’s eyes widened in shock, but an ember of an emotion kept her from pulling away. The ember caught flame, and Trixie pushed into the kiss. He didn't resist. Her heart beating heavily, she pulled away, staring into his eyes, almost pleadingly. He stared back, and apparently understanding her feelings, drew closer to her. A few seconds passed before she finally felt his warm lips brush against hers. At that very moment, she felt her passion for him course through her body, causing her to shake uncontrollably. She raised her hooves above her head, allowing him to wrap his forelegs around her waist and hold her tightly as he began to kiss her lips. She moaned softly, kissing back to the best of her ability. Moments later, she felt his wet tongue slide between her lips. She greeted it with her own tongue. He tasted faintly of spearmint with a hint of chocolate. Trixie wanted more. After what felt like eons to her, their mouths finally parted, and their eyes finally met. They continued to hold each other. After giving him a warm smile, she placed her head against his chest. The beating of his heart was audible, an indication that he felt the same way she did. He stroked her mane, to which Trixie responded by nuzzling into the crook of Broken Broom’s neck. His fur was incredibly soft, uncommon for the average stallion. But at this point, Trixie had decided, Broken Broom was no ordinary stallion. “Let’s g-get you inside, Miss-.” Broken Broom spoke through a smile. “Call me Trixie.” Trixie interjected. The two walked side-by-side, except this time, Trixie stayed close to Broken Broom. A coughing fit overtook the mare, sending needles of pain throughout her breast. She sniffled and huddled next to Broken Broom. He could feel her shivering. “Here.” He spoke softly, shucking his bomber jacket and giving it to her. “Oh, and you d-dropped this.” The doctor held out Trixie’s cap in his mouth. Trixie gazed at it, and silently, her magic levitated it out of the Doctor’s mouth, and into a trashcan. Her magician’s cloak followed, replaced by Broken Broom’s own jacket. That chapter of Trixie’s life was over with. It was time for a new one to begin. In the shuffling madness Of the locomotive breath, Runs the all-time loser, Headlong to his death. He feels the piston scraping -- Steam breaking on his brow -- Thank God, he stole the handle and The train won't stop going -- No way to slow down. He sees his children jumping off At the stations -- one by one. His woman and his best friend -- In bed and having fun. He's crawling down the corridor On his hands and knees -- Old Charlie stole the handle and The train won't stop going -- No way to slow down. He hears the silence howling -- Catches angels as they fall. And the all-time winner Has got him by the balls. He picks up Gideon's Bible -- Open at page one -- God stole the handle and The train won't stop going -- No way to slow down. Locomotive Breath - Ian Anderson