The Exaggerating Chronology Compartment looked an awful lot like Twilight’s bathroom.
Trixie should’ve found it suspicious that Twilight had decided to blindfold her before taking her to the ECC. She should’ve found it extra suspicious that they only walked for a few moments before reaching it. She should’ve found it extremely suspicious that Twilight had to shout at Spike to take his bubble bath in another bathroom.
Either Trixie was a complete buffoon, or she really wanted Twilight to win the bet.
“Why does it resemble a bathroom?” asked Trixie. Twilight had expected the question, of course, and had an answer prepared.
“It has everything we could need. Clean water, facilities,” Twilight said, pointing to the sink and toilet, respectively. “Uh… Mini-fridge.” Trixie opened the tiny icebox next to the tub, and pulled out one of the many, many sandwiches inside.
“Hm… Peanut butter and strawberry jam,” said Trixie after sampling the sandwich. She returned it to the fridge. “Trixie’s favorite. It is enchanted, yes? It refills itself?”
“Of course,” said Twilight, as if it should have been obvious. “Now, we should get down to work. First thing you want to know about Celestia: She’s a master pyromancer. So, you need to become a master hydromancer.”
“Because water magic beats fire magic?” asked Trixie. Twilight nodded.
“And hortimancy, plant magic, beats hydromancy, but loses to pyromancy. It’s a rock-paper-scissors thing.” This was a gross oversimplification of magical theory, but Twilight figured that Trixie couldn’t handle much more than that.
“So Trixie must master water magic in order to best Celestia,” said Trixie. “What of Luna?”
“Ah. Well, for Luna, you’re going to have to learn pyromancy, because she’s really good at hortimancy,” said Twilight. “Mastering two conflicting branches of elemental magic is tough, even with a whole year to do it.”
“But you can teach Trixie, yes?”
“Of course. I know some tips and tricks, seeing as I’m a master of all three.” Twilight lit up her horn, summoning two tall stacks of books of varying age and thickness. “Which would you like to tackle first?”
“Hm… Which is easier?” asked Trixie.
“They are both equally difficult branches of magic, but for different reasons. Pyromancy requires deep desire and passion. It burns in your heart, and you must learn to blaze as it does. That said, your spirit must be indominatible. You will need to beat down your magic if it grows too intense. Any semblance of weakness will be punished. Pyromancy is referred to as the ‘sword’ of elemental magic. If you trifle with it, you will be cut. Or burned, in a more literal sense.” Twilight set down one of the stacks. “Hydromancy requires serenity and total inner peace. You must relax, let the magic flow through you like blood in your veins. You cannot force it outwards, nor can you concentrate it to a single point within your body. You can only guide it as it ebbs and flows, like water in a canal.”
“If fire is the sword, then water is the shield?” asked Trixie. Twilight shook her head.
“An understandable assumption, but wrong nonetheless,” said Twilight. “Hydromancy is more of a knife or a hammer. Sure, it can be used as a weapon, but that is not its intention. It is a tool, used to create or destroy. You, as the caster, must decide which you wish to accomplish.” Twilight dropped the second stack of books a bit to the right. “So, my student, which shall you accept first. The weapon? Or the tool?”
Trixie thought about it for a bit. Water magic as a tool seemed to be supremely more useful in a general sense. The ability to create and destroy could prove useful. Plus, the way Twilight described it piqued Trixie’s interest. She wanted to be able to wield a power that, according to Twilight, cannot be controlled by its very nature.
That said, you couldn’t exactly use water to burn your enemies in a raging inferno.
“Fire,” said Trixie. “Trixie wants to learn fire magic first.” Twilight grinned. Some tiny, evil part of her was hoping Trixie would say that.
“Very well,” said Twilight, fighting to hide her grin. “Your father was a moss farmer and your mother smells like three-day-old hay.”
Trixie wasn’t ready for that.
“What?! How dare you!” shouted Trixie. “Moss farming is an honorable and noble profession!”
“You’re a sorry excuse for a magician.”
“I am a perfectly remorseless excuse for a magician!”
“I bet you didn’t learn to read until the sixth grade,” snickered Twilight.
“F-fifth! Trixie struggled with ‘b’s and ‘d’s!” whined Trixie, stomping her hoof angrily. “And where do you get off, mocking my lysdexia?!”
“It’s ‘dyslexia’, and I think that can substitute for any insult I could’ve thrown out here,” said Twilight. She silently summoned a special sheet of paper, paper that changed color when exposed to high temperatures, and placed it just next to Trixie’s head. At room temperature, it was white. As it grew hotter, it would change to red.
“Not like you’re perfect, Miss. Sparkle!” Trixie struggled for quite a bit to find a way in which Twilight wasn’t perfect. “Uh… You have obsessive compulsive disorder! Yeah, it’s not so fun when somepony makes fun of your disability, is it?!”
“You will never be as successful as your sister,” said Twilight. “And, yes, I know you’re an only child.”
“You had a big forehead as a filly!”
“Starlight Glimmer said you smell like peanut butter.”
“Trixie likes peanut butter, okay?! Your teeth are crooked!”
“Your nose is crooked.”
“Your horn is crooked!”
“Your face is crooked.” Twilight spared a glance at her paper, which was turning a nice, faint shade of pink. Meanwhile, Trixie struggled to come up with a decent insult. Instead, she began making stuff up.
“Golden Oak was an inside job!” shouted Trixie. “Tirek magic can’t melt steel beams! Celestia did 9/11!”
“You have fat hooves,” said Twilight. Trixie fumed, stomping and throwing a tantrum, somehow managing to ignore the paper that was almost touching the side of her face.
“Your butt is uneven!”
Twilight almost couldn’t keep the laugh in that time. Trixie was really so upset that she didn’t realize that magic she was charging in her chest.
“I think your new dyejob… ” said Twilight. “Is extremely tacky.”
Trixie literally burst into flames. Legitimate fire plumed from her mane and tail, scorching the floor and ceiling. It lasted for maybe half a second, and when it was over, Trixie lay on the floor with patches of her coat entirely singed off. She opened her mouth to speak, only coughing out a cloud of ash and soot.
“That was… impressive,” said Twilight, lowering her magic paper to the floor. It wasn’t as dark red as she’d ever seen, but it was something. Trixie’s fire wasn’t very hot, only enough to barely turn the paper properly red. Still, Twilight was surprised to see potential.
“Now that your first assessment is finished,” said Twilight. “On to the next one.”
Silence. Trixie needed absolute silence. If her focus wavered, even for a moment, her magical platform would shift, causing the seventy-eight history books she was holding up to tumble and fall. She wondered why Twilight only allowed the platform to be as wide as the books. Probably as a cruel joke.
Still, Trixie was determined to surprise her unwilling teacher. Her focus—
“Nya-nya-nya-nya-nya!”
Her focus was—
“Nya-nya-nya-nya-nya!”
Her focus was… Completely unwavering, as unflinching as stone. It seemed that Trixie was a natural hydromancer. Even Twilight had to admit that she was doing quite well. Twilight was doing her best to disturb Trixie’s focus, doing everything from zapping her with tiny jolts of magic to—
“Nya-nya-nya-nya-nya!”
Doing that directly into Trixie’s ear. Through it all, the magician managed to keep her platform completely still. Trixie could certainly focus if she really put her mind to it.
“How long does Trixie have to hold these books?” asked Trixie. “She understands that this is to teach her serenity and the importance of controlling her magic, but she has been holding the books four nine hours. Trixie needs to pee.”
“Oh, you only had to hold them for ten minutes,” said Twilight. “You could’ve stopped hours ago.”
Trixie felt a flare of anger, followed by her magic faltering, and a book falling onto her head. Followed by seventy-seven other, very hard, very thick, very heavy history books. She managed to stay conscious for the first thirty or so, but she was out by book thirty-five. Twilight stared at Trixie, collapsed under her pile of books. A small grin soon spread across the princess’ face. Trixie wasn’t unteachable. She just lacked the proper motivation. Perhaps, after she won the bet, she would consider actually teaching Trixie. If she was willing, of course.
“Not bad, Trixie. Not bad at all,” said Twilight. She looked around for a moment. “I wonder if I can get Trixie to clean my bathroom.”