The Last Illusion

by ScientistWD

Observing the Competitors Numbered Seventeen, Eighteen, and Nineteen

Afternoon settled upon Amy and Miss Doo. Trixie’s cape wafted gently, stuffed as it was in Miss Doo’s saddlebags. The young unicorn and pegasus were wading down the path now, juxtaposed by a flurry of fur and the hoofbeats of the fair’s other patrons. Amy had become disgruntled, the socially awkward pony she was, and was veering off of the stones to take a breather with her chaperone. Miss Doo followed, trying best to keep her wings and inventory out of the way, either by stretching above the crowd or by making use of precarious hoofsteps. Of course, she apologized swiftly to anypony she bumped into. This was more than a few.
In the meantime, Amy naturally came through the crowd first, and she found a small clearing off the road. The scribe was greedily in her hoof, clenched to her chest to keep it safe from the crowds. Appreciated if not unnecessary. She took a dry breath. Sigh. Opening the book uneasily, she allowed it to catch itself in its own hovering magic as she turned the pages one-hoofedly. The umpteenth time, she was nosing between the scribe’s pages. Truly this young mare was unentertained by the common pony’s activity. She had been displaced from the action all day. Miss Doo could stop at any odd thing, whether it be an acoustic guitar or a leaf. Yes, a simple leaf. But Amethyst Star, for whatever reason, could always find the leaves of a scribe far more enticing, despite how still they had been for the past few hours.
“So… it can write about stuff that already happened after it happened…” she muttered, watching it.
My, my. It would appear that the young Amethyst Star might have thought herself a detective.
“See!? You have to be mocking me on purpose! Don’t pretend you don’t have consciousness!”
Looks like Trixie was not the only one who scolds books.
“Hey!” Amy crossly barked at the scribe.
“Heh heh!” Miss Doo laughed as she caught up. “Did it say something funny again? Don’t feel bad; it does it to Trixie all the time.”
“I’m not like that snob!” she all but fumed, a tad puoting. “I’m way nicer. And I don’t bully other ponies, either.”
The proper term is “dunk on”.
Amy saw, somewhat scowling. “Look, she cheated or something, because that’s just not possible!”
On the contrary.
Magic is part “Meta”; thought and perspective can influence the reality through Metaspace. A teleportation spell thus requires that a unicorn properly perceive and understand her location and destination, if she intends to be precise, such as Amethyst Star upon her second attempt at escape. The sorceress foresaw Amy’s teleporative escape, knew where in Metaspace the mana would be, and struck with her own to counter. Objectively, a feat of immaculate skill.
“Oh whatever,” she pouted. “Fancy math doesn’t make her impressive.”
“She’s not that bad, really, I promise!” Miss Doo interjected. “Like I said, she’s just intense! She wasn’t really gonna eat you or trap you in another dimension.”
“I mean, duh. I get that now. But I didn’t get it at the time; she tried to freak me out on purpose!”
“Yeah… I think she was just trying to make a point!”
“Well she did it wrong.”
“Oh, Amy. Is it really that bad?” Miss Doo; exhausted from the heat, pressure of the crowds, and lowering sun; fell to her haunches for an extra breath of air. “I mean, I get that Trixie probably wasn’t exactly the best behaved pony,” she conceded. “But she’s actually really nice! Like, you’ve read the whole scribe today, right? I haven’t had a chance to lately. But I don’t have to; I remember how good she is! She helped that little Acornwood town, and she helped me when I was scared of the Wailing Crane. Good ponies help ponies. So, Trixie should be a good pony, too.”
“Uuuuugh,” Amy groaned. She soon joined her, laying down nearby with the scribe open. “First of all, I skipped the boring parts. Mostly because I’m a little embarrassed for you, Ditzy.” She sighed. “I mean it. She’s kind of insensitive towards you, and it makes me a little sick. She might have beat up those thugs, but that wasn’t until after you stood up to them. That ‘hint of malice’? She was probably miffed at you for the whole day. I can’t stand seeing her treat somepony that way. I’m sick of ponies like her.” Amy paused, brow tightening. “She’s just like those bullies at school, just like Melody and Mister Irons. Thinking they’re better than everypony else, getting all the attention and always looking down on me. It makes me so… UGH! I hate it!”
Amethyst Star rolled over on the warm grass, turning to use the scribe as a rest for her head. “Ponies like that don’t deserve it…” she murmured, shutting her eyes to block out the oppressive light. She stayed like this, she and Miss Doo taking some time, allowing a silence to pass over them for a moment. Miss Doo stirred, peeking a crooked eye in the young unicorn’s direction to observe the troubled look on her face.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Miss Doo said, slightly doting. “You’ll… it… you’ve got some friends, right? There’s ponies out there you’ll get along with?”
“Tsshh. The common pony’s a joke, Ditzy,” the young pony spat, almost dozing on her venom. “Screw ‘em. Screw ‘em all…”
But Miss Doo did not respond. Amy’s words had been mowed over in part by poor vocal projection and in part by the gentlecolt that had been approaching them. So, it would have been difficult for Amy to tell as she peeked up at a hesitant Miss Doo whether or not the pegasus had heard her. Her attention had been taken by the visitor. He was tall. Not thin, but kind. Humble, almost regal.
“I say,” he began, a tad flustered in his pedestrian clothing. He had a bit of a posh, Canterlot accent. “So sorry to interrupt, but have either of you seen my wife? Light magenta mane? Sweet vanilla coat? We seem to have been separated.”
“Hmmm…” Miss Doo squinted, trying to remember. “I don’t think so, mister. There’s a lot of ponies out tonight, you know?” She perked up, offering kindness with her eyes. “Hey, do you need some help looking for her? I could fly up, and try to look around.”
“Hm. Well, in truth, I would rather not make a scene... Goodness, what’s the time?” He reached into a pocket on his vest, and produced an intricate watch. “The Competition is soon, isn’t it?”
“Oh!” Miss Doo fumbled quickly through her saddlebags, displacing a certain magical cape. She produced a crumpled slip of paper. “My friend left her paper right here.”
“Ah. Excellent.”
The stately unicorn made his way to Miss Doo’s side, to read the parchment’s proclamations, which were thusly transcribed below:

“Ah,” from the gentlecolt. “My wife must already be preparing. Her number is seventeen.”
“Oh! Wanna go to the Competition together? We can see Trixie and your wife, too!”
The gentlecolt raised a deep blue eyebrow. “Did you say Trixie?” he inquired. “As in, ‘The Great and Powerful: Trixie’?”
“Whoa! Do you know her? She always brags about being famous, but I didn’t know she actually was because I’d never heard of her!”
“No, no, I’d only first heard the name this morning; she has Alchemy Hall booked for her show in a few days, doesn’t she?”
“Oh my gosh! That’s real, too!? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised! She got recognized and thrown into that random fight today and everything, huh?”
“A fight, you say?”
“Oh, it’s not like that! Nopony got hurt too much. I think they might have been friends, actually?”
“Goodness.” The gentlecolt was impressed. “This ‘Trixie’ sounds like quite the character.”
“Yeah, she really is. She’s really smart and very, very talented! And she’s nice, too, even if… she is a little intense. But nonetheless, I still believe in her!”
Amy scoffed, but nopony took notice.
“And she plays music?” the noble stallion pried.
Miss Doo scratched her chin. “Um, I guess so! I know she’s a performer, but I’ve never heard her do anything musical before.”
“I see. An upcoming mare of many talents, then.”
“Oh yeah, for sure!”
“Hmmm…” he rumbled, contemplating. “Regardless, if your offer still stands, I’d be honored to join you, Miss…?”
“Oh! Ha! My name’s Ditzy Doo, but you can just call me ‘Ditzy’.”
“Ditzy. It is nice to meet you. Shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s!”
Miss Doo and her new friend nearly adjourned without Amethyst Star. Perhaps it was that she feared being dunked on again, because she rolled her eyes and came to her hooves to follow her chaperone, scribe in tow.

Number seventeen, the positively beautiful mare on stage at this moment, lowered a contrabass into a slow dip. She danced with it, using her magic to pull the strings and draw lovely low music. Comfortingly, it spoke beneath the piano accompaniment another pony was producing upstage. Trailing on her hindhooves, embracing the wooden coffin and spinning it, slowly, the natural wood and steady void beyond the instrument’s frame did quite well to lull those who witnessed it into an odd, sad bliss. And, when the tall unicorn took her bow, despite the impressive performance, few ponies in the audience had been left full aware enough to applaud immediately. Rather, a silence pungent with emotion lingered in the moments following the end. It had been awe. But in time, the trance was over, civilians stomped their hooves loudly and politely, and the preforming pony receded behind the stage right curtain with humbleness and tact.
“You’re wife’s really good!” Miss Doo spoke to her new friend over the diminishing applause. “But I thought the rules said you couldn’t use magic?”
“No, no, my dear. Music is always an intricate process. Conjured sounds, or even kinesis spells, are just as difficult if not more so than using plain hoof and teeth to play. ”
Very true. Metaspace is a vast and intacate constellation; precision and grace are granted only with practice.
“Oh. Wow!”
“Regardless; Ditzy Doo, I should go and meet my wife now! Perhaps I’ll look you up in Canterlot?”
“Oh! Yeah, I’m supposed to be moving there soon!”
“Fantastic. Goodbye, Ditzy.”
“Yep! Tell your wife I say ‘hi’!”
Amethyst Star did not look impressed, eyebrows cross at the mare’s exit. But the glowing scribe nearby captured her attention quickly afterward. She opened it, sitting on her haunches in the standing crowd. As much granted her some privacy.
“Ugh,” she scoffed. “You wrote about seventeen, too?”
The young unicorn scowled at the writing following her question. Number eighteen was about to begin.
“I thought that you were writing randomly, but I think I get it now…” she whispered. Amethyst Star was alone, the only foal sitting in this forest of standing ponies. “You only wrote before when Trixie was here. You write down what she does or what’s relevant to her. You knew what number that other pony was. You know she’s coming out soon. You can learn; you didn’t write my name until I said it myself. You have eyes and ears, just like a pony does. But you just follow that jerk unicorn.”
Amy stared at the make-believe quill, watching its ink trace out letters. Almost as if she expected them to give an answer, so eager were her sad eyes.
“There’s better ponies than her, you know. I’m not gonna be looked at as a foal forever. When I’m a skilled sorceress, I’ll be a lot nicer and way, way greater and more powerful.”
A might ambitious, no?
Miss Doo stifled a little giggle from over Amy’s shoulder. The frowning unicorn glared at Miss Doo, and she looked away smiling and nonchalant as if no altercation had taken place.
“I mean it…!” the young mage whispered, more at a book than anypony else. “Ponies like Trixie suck; they don’t know what it’s like to have to work hard—!”
After a fresh critique, number eighteen moved himself from the stage. Trixie’s cape glowed from Miss Doo’s saddlebags, almost as if on cue, and fluttered over the heads of the audience like a butterfly. It lingered, distracting only a foal or two as the judges called her name. First once. Number nineteen, the… Great and Powerful Trixie. Then again, with lack. Trixie? The Great and Powerful? Where is she? they no doubt wondered.
Amy rolled her eyes at the scribe’s words as she came to her hooves. Whatever, it seems. Worth a glance, at least. She shared the scribe with Miss Doo.
And poof! Trixie dropped from beneath her cape, donning it swiftly with a small flourish of fireworks. The foals in the audience smiled. And a few stomped their hooves. Surely more was yet to come.
“It is she, the Great and Powerful Trixie!” she boomed. Indeed, indeed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Typical Trixie. “Today, she will be playing Wizard in F Sharp!” With that, she spun once and her cape had magically grown to roughly three ponies’ size. When Trixie pulled it back, there was a lovely lavender baby grand in its place. A menagerie of glitter shimmered in its wake, as if she had sparked a flame. “And, in addition…!” Trixie rolled, wafting her cape into the air as if to obscure the sky. “Twelve violins!!” She pulled back, revealing a dozen wooden cases beautifully strung and hovering with her spells. Though the scribe was more privy of her trickery than an average pony’s eyes could be.
Needless to say, Trixie’s flashy tomfoolery impressed the crowd, not the least of which were among the judges. Still, they understood, stomping their hooves preemptively to her ambitions, nodding to their neighbors in anticipation. Some, it seems, had heard of Trixie from earlier that same day. This unicorn was a spectacle, all right. Trixie did not disappoint.
“Trixie,” began an interested yet skeptical judge. “Will you be playing all of these instruments? What part is the accompaniment?”
Trixie’s cape returned to its natural size as she took a seat to play, lowering the lights on her own with magic. The bows poised on strings as Trixie’s hooves landed gingerly on her keys.
“There is no accompaniment,” she lilted brashly.
Buuuunm! her song began. It was played well. A shame that Trixie had been cheating.