Most of the audience wasn’t impressed with Trixie’s performance, but one pony was. Most of the judges, recruiting talent for venues Los Pegasus, didn’t think she had what it took to succeed in show business; but where they saw wasted stage space, Spitfire saw potential. Fire Pop and Scrutineye had cast their votes for no, Star Sight voted yes, but only because he voted yes to just about everything.
Spitfire now had the deciding vote; a tiebreaker would pass judgment of Trixie over to the audience, who just might let her into the next round. Trixie locked eyes with Spitfire, pleadingly, silently begging for just one more chance. Spitfire hesitated a brief moment, then pressed firmly down on the red buzzer and watched the last remnants of hope in Trixie Lunamoon’s face shatter to pieces.
The failed magician was ushered off the stage to make way for a young earth pony juggling live geese and to whom Spitfire paid little attention, and voted yes to because the other judges had. Spitfire had always prided herself on being a good judge of character, and predicting someone's actions based on their written record, and Trixie was of special interest to her.
She’d heard about Trixie from two trusted sources, but it wasn’t until she saw her perform today that she was almost sure she’d found the right person. Failing her had been another test; now all Spitfire needed to do was wait until this stupid talent contest was over to find out whether or not Trixie had passed. A unicyclist fell off her bike and Spitfire joined the others in dismissing her, and then re-read Trixie’s biography in the booklet provided to all the judged; comparing it with what she already knew:
Fathered by an unknown stallion to an earth pony mare, Trixie was raised in a small isolated small village on the edge of the Cajun Swamp with a primary school, three families of unicorns and a measly half-dozen spell books to go between them. She possessed some moderate innate talent and intelligence; so it was easy to imagine a young filly getting straight A’s without even trying to think she was smart, and memorizing every spell in her known world by the time she was ten, believing herself a prodigy. Then came her mid-teens when Trixie strode out of her little pond and into the wide ocean quite possibly thinking she really was the greatest magician to have ever lived and found reality waiting for her.
By one account she left home in search of her biological father who she found occupying an important professorship in Celestia’s School for gifted unicorns. She presented herself and all her magic to him; only to be told that in the world of real magic, the spells she knew were best described as ‘cute’; and offered a modest sum to disappear, sparing him the embarrassment of needing to publically acknowledge her to his family.
That story was hearsay at best, but it was fact that Trixie had tried applying for Celestia’s School for gifted unicorns, repeatedly, and rejected each time due to being unquestionably under qualified. That school only took alpha unicorns, with MQs of at least four hundred, for which Trixie fell a good fifty-three short.
She eventually settled for taking a course at a school for beta unicorns, expecting to soar to the head of the class in a matter of weeks and prove to Celestia’s Academy, and perhaps her father, that she was worthy of them. Instead, she flunked out at the end of the first trimester; realizing too late that to passing any decent university meant actual study, something Trixie had never learned to do.
After that, official records of the would-be mage dried up, though from time to time there was mention of her from one of Spitfire’s 'unofficial' sources. Trixie wandered the far reaches of Equestria, trying to make a living off her backstreet magic tricks a variety of ‘odd jobs’. Spitfire suspected she only stayed anywhere for as long as she could maintain her veneer of ‘greatness and power’ desperately trying to convince the world of a lie that she herself no longer believed.
The last act of the talent show took the stage; a young unicorn colt who yodeled danced and did magic tricks. Spitfire watched with an intrigued smile; here was someone not only with natural talent but also the education and years of determined required to make something of that talent. He took nothing for granted, knew he was good but was well aware that he was still a work in progress. Spitfire passed him to the next round and then left to find a participant who was less wise and more useful.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
When Spitfire came to Trixie’s apartment door she expected to find one of three things:
That Trixie would be gone, drowning her sorrows in cheap liquor, or else pushing herself on; rehearsing her failed routine with a merciless scrutiny to find out why she had failed. She listened at the door and was delighted to hear the third. She followed the voice in her mind, remembering the routine to know exactly what spell Trixie would be doing on the other side of that door; waited until a critical moment of Trixie’s focused attention and then knocked loudly three times.
There was a crash of broken glass and general sundries falling to the floor, an echoing curse as the objects were swept up and then several hurried steps in the direction of the door which was thrown angrily open; “Yes, wha – Spitfire! I mean…” Trixie took a moment to compose herself and then glued on a show mare smile; “Spitfire;” she mused, slowly and confidently, “Can I assume that because you are here you have finally found your senses and come to undo your error in scorning the majesty of the Great and Powerful-”
Spitfire turned and started walking away.
“Wait!”
Spitfire slowed down but kept moving.
“Wait… please!”
Spitfire stopped, waited a long moment to be able to negate the smile on her own mouth and then turned and stared Trixie down. For a moment Trixie held the gaze in return, but as the seconds rolled by she withered, acutely aware that Spitfire was noticing her disheveled mane, and the shattered glass in the apartment behind her that was part of a dingy two-bit complex around them that Spitfire had needed to come to find her.
Spitfire waited until Trixie had dropped her gaze and seemingly deflated in size. Spitfire oiled her voice with practiced authority and issued one word, “Come.” Trixie obeyed instantly, closing her apartment door without taking the time to lock it and scrambling after Spitfire like a little puppy after its mistress.
Spitfire never slowed down or waited for Trixie, her flight giving her a distinct advantage on the crowded streets as Trixie bumped and bumbled her way after her, struggling to keep up. When they arrived at their destination Trixie was out of breath, but no more than ten seconds behind, though that didn’t stop Spitfire from sounding like she’d been waiting for ten minutes, “What took you so long!?”
“I-”
“Inside.” Once again Trixie followed, without complaint or question, pausing only the briefest second to check the name of the establishment; 'The Nimbus Den' though Spitfire guessed that the name meant nothing to her. Spitfire used to be a regular here and the veteran bouncer recognized her with the waiter quickly led them towards the table Spitfire had reserved earlier for two.
Inside; jazz music played heavily to the movement of a team of dancers on the stage in the middle of a deceptively empty hall, with only waiters and a few stray patrons in sight. Spitfire knew that this was prime time and that behind magical shields that allowed light and sound to pass only one way, the tables, and curiously shaped lounges they were passing were most likely filled with ponies who might be getting up to just about anything.
There was a mechanical hatch in every cubicle so that food could be delivered without needing to drop the shields. Some hatches were much larger and accommodated a wide variety of other entertainments could be purchased upon request. (There were rumors that the fillies available were, in fact, changelings, whose queen had some sort of arrangement with club management; but Spitfire had no more interest in renting fillies than she did questioning club policy.)
Trixie was careless and stepped a bit too close to one of the ‘empty’ tables and was reprised with a powerful electric shock to her muzzle. It was the perfect place for those who wished to conduct sensitive business in private, while still enjoying the public atmosphere of a lively club.
Spitfire slid into one of the many secluded cubicles, was followed by Trixie and then pulled a lever, closing them off from the rest of the world. Spitfire didn’t let herself smile. “Order whatever you want.” She said, passing a menu to Trixie, “After dinner, we can talk.”
Trixie ordered quickly while Spitfire had her usual; their food came through a mechanical hatch and the two are in complete silence. Spitfire enjoyed her meal while Trixie played with hers, doubts and questions showing with each bite as she looked around her, knowing she was outranked in wealth, class and magic by the establishment surrounding her.
“You’re not great and powerful.” Said Spitfire slowly after letting Trixie suffer long enough, “You know it… I know it.” Tiny tears began forming in the edges of Trixie’s eyes, “But you can be.”
“H-h-how?”
“With my help.” Said Spitfire simply, “Winning the charts and the crowds aren’t about your routine, most people are too stupid to know a real act from a fake one and will go along with whatever everyone else is watching. What’s important is what happens outside of the show, knowing the right people. I’m the right person, and I can make you great and powerful.”
“Then why did you strike me off!?”
Spitfire waited for a moment to make sure Trixie thought twice about raising her voice to her again, then added quietly, “Because if I had given you a pass, then other people would have noticed you, and before they do, I want you to do something for me privately.”
“And what does the vice-captain of the Wonderbolts want from Trixie?”
“I want my team back.” Said Spitfire simply, “When she outflew me for leadership of the team, I let her keep it because The Canterlot Cup was coming and I needed her to win. The Wonderbolts got the cup, and now I don’t need Rainbow Dash anymore. Kill her for me and I will make all your dreams come true.”
Trixie clenched her jaw, hopeful... and afraid. “What... makes you think I would have experience doing something like that?”
“You and I have a mutual acquaintance in a stallion called Swift Take. He recommended you to me.” Trixie shifted uncomfortably, “And I'll pay you twice what he did.”
Trixie’s ears perked up in surprise, “Twice?”
“Half in advance, collectible tonight if you accept. The other half and the career you desire will be given when the deed is complete.”
Trixie leaned forwards, reservations gone, “Is there a specific manner you wish to see this done?”
“Something public would be best.” Smiled Spitfire, “A front-page story, with an interesting picture attached.”
“...And when it is finished?”
“Then you will have your reward.”
Trixie nodded, and Spitfire smiled. In truth she resented doing this and would have much preferred to simply take care of things herself; except the Royal Guard wasn’t stupid, and you should never play the same trick twice. There’d been another young upstart wanting to take Spitfire’s team away and the potential to do it, but after Lightning Dust’s unfortunate accident, there had been a bigger than anticipated investigation. Spitfire knew she had eyes on her, and so she needed someone she had no official ties to with the ability to make a certain kill; too greedy for the rewards, too blind to the risks, and too stupid to get away clean.
She needed Trixie.