//------------------------------// // 4. Opening Day // Story: Trixie And Her Amazing Pet Changeling // by Georg //------------------------------// Opening Day Question and what he was beginning to think of as his pet pony, Trixie, expected to see the sheriff lurking outside the veterinarian office once the changeling had finished getting his tags and a bright blue (to identify him as a male changeling) collar. What they did not expect was to find a small crowd of about twenty ponies, ranging from a few little fillies hiding behind the legs of their elders up to said elders, one of whom had a long white beard reaching nearly to the damp and still slightly muddy street. “There’s the critter,” wheezed the old pony, scooting forward and squinting through his glasses. “Kinda weird lookin’ but it don’t look too dangerous. What’s that outfit? It looks like somepony dressed it up like a trained monkey or something.” Trixie cleared her throat and reached out with one hoof, gently pushing the old stallion’s nose to one side until he was looking at the changeling. “Oh! That’s a different one,” said the old stallion. He squinted even harder through his smeared glasses and put his nose almost against the changeling. “Somepony get me a newspaper. We got some sort of huge bug here.” “Not just any changeling,” declared Trixie while rolling right into her spiel. “Ladies and Gentlecolts, the Great and Powerful Trixie will be displaying Question, her ferocious feral changeling at her show this afternoon, but if you would like a closer look before the show, Trixie will be willing to permit it—” Question gave Trixie a gentle hip-bump and tapped the depleted bag of bits around his neck, which could barely jingle. “—for a minor fee. One bit to observe, two bits to touch, and five bits to feed him,” finished Trixie. The changeling soaked in the momentary burst of pleasure from all around him while Trixie patted him on the head. It seemed to be mostly coming from the onlookers, but there was a distinct thread of familiarity in the emotions too. The onlookers gave a collective gasp of appreciation when he preened under their attention, closing his eyes and buzzing his fragile-seeming wings to stretch them. “What does he eat?” asked one of the little onlookers. Annoying noisy foals who ask too many questions. “Trixie has found several foods which her feral changeling will eat, but sugarcubes seem to be his favorite.” She made a quick pass with a hoof and held out a sugarcube, but this time kept it far enough away from him so that he could not lick it out of her grasp. A few minutes later, the changeling found himself in a position he never had considered possible before. A small line of young colts and fillies, each with five bits in hoof and a sugarcube, stood in front of him. They giggled when reaching out to pet him, but only after he had given what seemed like an obligatory first sniff of the outstretched hoof. ‘Question’ would fumble with his own hooves to open up the bit bag around his neck and hold it out for the little ponies to drop in their offering, gently nibble the delicious sugar cube out of the offered hoof, then luxuriate in a soft petting and ear-scratching that inevitably contained the words, “He’s softer than I expected.” Each little pony glowed with enough love that he felt comfortably not-full afterwards. It was almost impossible for a changeling to get full on love, but in degrees of starvation, he had gone from being just barely hanging onto the last few dregs of his reserves when he had first met Trixie, to being good for a few weeks of exploring. If not for the alert and attentive sheriff lurking just within eyesight, he might have considered slipping around a corner and putting on a disguise to make his escape. Then again, where else could he have ponies lined up to voluntarily give him love, and offering five bits apiece and a sugar cube for the privilege? ~ ~ ♠ ~ ~ The shabby little rental cottage was starting to feel a lot more like home when the changeling and the Trixie slipped back into it. Trixie spent a few moments putting the short length of cord they had been using as a leash back on the cottage blinds, weaving it into the original so effortless and perfectly that the changeling could not even tell it had been removed. “Hotels and hostels always find a way to bill Trixie for little things like this,” she grumbled, making sure the curtains still moved when she pulled the appropriate cord. Question paused where he had been collecting up the now-dry laundry. “Is that why all of your towels have ‘Property of’ written on them?” “Shut up,” growled Trixie. “And give me my bits.” “My bits.” The changeling put one hoof protectively on the small bag of bits around his neck. It had not been plumped back to its original glory, but even as small as it was, the lingering sensation of love still clung to every little golden token. “I had to suffer through having my ears scratched for them,” he explained. “It was pure torture. I was in endless agony.” Trixie gave a brief snort of derision. “No-talent hack. I knew I should have had you fixed. Look, you never would have gotten those bits without me.” The changeling thought for a moment while he soaked up the emotional snack. “True. Still, why should I give you any of them?” There was another distinct burst of love from the frowning unicorn when she growled, “Because, from the look on your face, you were sucking up love out of each one of those little crumb-crunchers. You get the love, I get the bits.” “You still owe me for the room and the vet visit,” pointed out the changeling. “It was your vet visit!” said Trixie. “Think of it as employer-provided medical insurance. Now fork ‘em over.” In the end, they came to a grudging agreement. Ignoring the cost of the vet visit for the moment, sixty percent of the bits would go towards Trixie’s loan until it was paid off, at which point the negotiations would open again. The collar and tag belonged to the changeling, paid for out of his cut of the take, but Trixie owned the tracking crystal and would get it back at the end of their agreement. It was an inconvenient little bauble, and one which the changeling saw no possible use for once they had parted ways. This only left the upcoming afternoon performance and the inevitable preparations for it. ~ ~ ♠ ~ ~ “What do you mean, buzz off for a while?” The changeling craned his neck to look over Trixie’s shoulder at what she was writing. “And why are you drawing flames?” “Trixie is trying to make some props for this afternoon,” she snapped, holding a hoof protectively over her drawing. “It’s only for one show until I can get you paid off, but the bigger and more impressive we can make it, the more bits we can rake in. It’s a long trip to Puerto de Caballo where Trixie plans on wintering.” Her eyes took on a far-off gaze. “Perhaps Trixie can entertain on a cruise ship this winter instead of being trapped on a rock farm again. Nevermind,” she added with a shake of her head while the changeling soaked up one last burst of sweet reminiscing. “Trixie has been in towns like this before. There’s probably a flat pad with a hose in the back of the rental cabins. Go hose the mud off the wagon while Trixie works on something to make our entrance more flashy.” The changeling narrowed his eyes at the suspiciously spicy emotions Trixie gave off for a moment. “You’re not thinking of setting me on fire, are you?” “No!” Trixie paused to think. “No, probably not. It will be difficult enough for Trixie to convince the audience that you’re a trained feral changeling without them seeing you on fire. Trixie has a much better plan.” “Without fire?” asked the changeling. Trixie put the drawing to one side and headed toward the door. “Let me get a few things out of the wagon so you can get started washing it.” She hesitated before opening the door to the outside and asked, “Are there really any feral changelings, Question?” “Of course not! None of us are that stupid,” scoffed the changeling. He paused and considered the unicorn in return. “So, are there any feral ponies? Other than yourself, of course.” “Shut up,” said Trixie, although she released a warm flicker of emotion while saying it. ~ ~ ♠ ~ ~ The wagon was surprisingly easy to pull behind the row of cabins to a flat stone slab where the washing was to take place. The changeling felt oddly naked, because he could hear the sounds and feel the emotions of townsponies in the distance when he got out the hose, but kept his practical natural body while beginning to wash the wagon. There were the occasional curious ponies peeking around the corners of buildings to watch him spray water over the muddy wagon, but they seemed to be put at ease if he tried to act as puppy-like as possible, even to the extent of cavorting around with the hose in his mouth to splash all over the area. As wagon-washes go, the results probably would not win him a tip, but at least all of the loose mud was sluiced down the drain and if Trixie wanted to soap it down or put on a coat of wax, she could come out into the chilly fall air and do it herself. More mud than he would like to admit stuck to his glossy black chitin after he pulled the wagon back in front of the cabin. He even added the theatrical touch of scratching one hoof against the door and whining until she let him in. “Good boy!” said Trixie with a pat on his muddy head for the distant observers. “You’re such a useful little monster, yes you are! Now go hop into the bathtub and we’ll get some of that mud off you too.” Once the door was closed and locked, the tone of her voice shifted considerably. “You missed a spot or twelve on my wagon, Quest.” “Bite me,” said the changeling while heading for the bathroom, but he paused in front of a number of cloth swatches and clipped-out letters scattered across the floor. “You’ve been a busy little bug, haven’t you?” “Don’t drip mud on Trixie’s hard work,” she snapped. “Besides, it’s not done. Get cleaned up and we’ll see how it fits.” Before closing the bathroom door, the changeling poked his head back out and asked, “It’s not flammable, is it?” “I assure you, kind sir, this outfit will be completely inflammable,” said Trixie while arranging letters against a larger piece of cloth. “Good.” The changeling vanished into the bathroom and took a brief but chilly bath and wipe. It was made much easier by not having mud so deeply buried in the holes in his legs and horn, but after toweling off, he poked his head back into the other room and asked, “Aren’t flammable and inflammable the same thing?” “Po-tae-toe, po-tah-toe,” chanted Trixie. “Don’t be so picky. Now put this on.” ‘This’ turned out to be a vaguely tarp-like length of cloth much like a robe which draped across his wings, pinning them to his back, and hung down almost to the ground on both sides. Written across both sides in sparkling letters was ‘See The Great And Powerful Trixie’ and below in somewhat smaller script ‘And Question, Her Amazing Trained Ferral Changeling.’ It was at least marginally comfortable and warm, which with the chill in the air would be welcome, but changelings were far more used to blending into the background than marching down the middle of the street, proclaiming their changeling-ness for bits. It just felt… strange to wear, as if he were just begging to be thrown into prison. “So, how do you like it, Quest?” Trixie pulled a little of the cloth up around one of his shoulders and gave a petulant frown, which conflicted with the smooth wave of emotions the changeling could feel flowing off her. “It could use a few adjustments, but Trixie is very talented with the needle.” “It’s warm.” He wriggled around inside the limits of the traveling advertisement and added, “Not that I’m cold and need to be set on fire. I’m not supposed to perform inside it, am I?” “No, no. Of course not. The more of your buggy bits show, the more the crowd will be impressed.” Trixie waved a dismissive hoof and considered Question with a focused look of concentration which felt oddly peppery and lasted for an uncomfortably long time until he was forced to break the silence by looking at the side of the outfit and comparing lettering. “Isn’t my line supposed to be as big as yours?” “You’re second billed,” she replied almost instantly. “Beside, your line is longer, so it had to be smaller to fit. Hm…” Trixie ran a hoof down his exposed neck and prodded at his concealed wings. “The more harmless and cute you look, the more we’re likely to pull this off without getting caught. Do you think a little dab of wax on your shell would bring out its natural shine?” ~ ~ ♠ ~ ~ As it turned out, a little dab of floor wax from the cabin’s suspiciously unlocked and open (although he was sure it was locked when he first checked) storage closet did help perk up his natural gloss after his quick and fairly chilly bath. He had never really paid much attention to his unchanged appearance before, because it did not matter inside the hive and was under a disguise spell when he was out harvesting. It made him even glitter a little in the room lighting and preen in front of the little wall mirror in the cabin, looking at his reflection and being properly impressed by the handsome young changeling looking back. Of course, the rubbing he had gotten when Trixie applied the wax was not all that bad either. At least until she noticed him leaning into the waxing rag and clouted him over the head with it. “Stop admiring yourself in the mirror and let’s go get something to eat,” said Trixie with a confirming growl from her stomach. She held up the now-finished advertising ‘robe’ for him and draped it across his back with only a little grumbling and a few painful twists to get his wings to poke out of the new holes she had added to it. “I feel like a walking billboard,” said Question, craning his neck while trying to read the lettering backwards in the mirror. “Did you get that spelling error fixed?” “Picky, picky.” She unfastened the strap across his chest and removed the cloth covering off his back for a few more minor alterations on the tight wing openings, clucking her tongue at the way the cloth draped across his sides. “By the way, Trixie will need several more bits for food.” “You look as if you could stand to lose a few pounds. Why can’t you just skip a few meals?” Question gave Trixie a good-natured poke in the ribs, which felt much like he had just punched a rock. He poked his way down her side while Trixie silently fumed, although he was careful not to poke her near the tail. With the muscles hidden beneath her soft blue hide, Trixie probably did not need to use her magic to break him in half. “I take it back,” he added after one last poke. “I’m sorry for calling you fat. Can you ever forgive me?” “No.” Trixie tried to look away from the big-eyed changeling, who managed to wriggle back into her line of sight even when she looked down at the floor. “Wait a minute. Hold on, bug.” She picked up the changeling in her magic and held the advertising robe up against his side to see if the wing openings were large enough yet. “Let’s get something straight. Trixie insults other ponies and asks for forgiveness. Other ponies… or annoying insects, do not insult Trixie and ask to be forgiven.” He stuck out his bottom lip and looked down at the floor, trying to figure out if squeezing out a tear or two would be worth the effort. Question did give a short sniff anyway, because you could never go wrong with a sniff. “Ah,” said Trixie without even looking at him while pretending to be making one last final adjustment to the advertising robe. “It is only a ploy of yours, crafted to obtain love from Trixie.” “Without tails,” said Question, “because I’m a big believer in respecting a young mare for her choices in intimate relationships.” Particularly those mares with muscles. “Right.” Trixie gave him a level look. “Let it not be said that the Great and Powerful Trixie is without compassion, even for deceptive pests. Trixie has very muscular thighs for a unicorn, and has been mistaken for chubby by inattentive ponies before. Trixie forgives you for your slanderous insult, under the provision that you purchase Trixie lunch.” Question paused with his tongue planted firmly in one cheek. “You do know that while I’m romancing young fillies for love, normally they buy me lunch, right?” Trixie nodded. “You do know I normally swat bugs I find in my wagon, right?” “Good point.” Question turned and headed for the front door. “I suppose I can afford a few bits to feed my owner. Are you ready to go?” “You’re forgetting something.” Trixie dangled the advertising outfit in her magic. ~ ~ ♠ ~ ~ If anything, their trip to the town market was weirder than anything the changeling had ever done before, including his trip to the vet. On occasion, he had acted the role of Handsome Young Stallion to a young mare while she showed him off to various friends and neighbors, but he had never been shown off in quite this fashion. It was perfectly normal for a disguised changeling to attempt to draw attention to himself and therefore gain a few tasty emotions. At times, he had even preened a little during his outings into pony society in order to attract a prospective target and engage in some mutual nibbling. Today was different. Way different. There was no problem attracting attention during their walk to the town market. The rumor mill must have been working overtime, and from the itching sense of curiosity sweeping over him just as soon as Trixie had ‘led’ him out the front door of the cabin, he doubted if anypony in town did not know about the odd couple of a magician and her captive monster. Ponies were remarkably well-mannered creatures. As long as your disguise was correct, you could walk through a town full of ponies with a soup tureen on your head and get nothing more than a few curious glances. Wear a dress shirt one season too old and that’s all they would talk about behind your tail, but they were always polite. It took a lot to get ponies to the breaking point where they would cast aside their normal reluctance to pry into your life. Apparently the breaking point for this town was a pet changeling on a leash. Correction: A feral pet changeling with an advertising sign hanging across his back wearing a leash, collar, and jingling tags, who meekly strode behind Trixie while they proceeded down the street. All that was missing was a brass band and they could have had a parade. In the hive, the changeling was used to being surrounded by his fellow changelings, rubbing shoulders and bumping into them with about every step. For the first time in his life, the changeling was actually afraid of being surrounded by curious ponies, all reaching out a hoof to touch him or stroke across his cloth advertising sign. Thankfully, when he brushed up against Trixie and gave out a nervous whine, she responded almost instantly by chasing the curious little ponies back a step. “Fillies and gentlecolts! Please, give my traveling companion a little space before our command performance this afternoon. He is still a little sore, because we have just returned from—” Trixie lowered her voice and spoke in a loud whisper “—the V-E-T office.” The changeling unconsciously whined a little, which made the crowd of ponies laugh out loud, and the audience’s fizzy wave of emotions he had been battered by smoothly switched to a sweet burst of affection. It did accomplish the desired effect, and even the littlest ponies all smelling of curiosity and fascination kept far enough away from Trixie’s ‘pet’ that he was able to calm down. Still, there was a familiar little thread of suspicion from somewhere out in the crowd, so Question kept up his behavior just as carefully as possible, even going so far as to scratch himself behind the ear with a hind hoof and giving a suspiciously-timed yawn full of sharp teeth and fangs while Trixie was bargaining for lunch and a few extra supplies to be stored in the wagon for later. It was really interesting. If Question gave just the right bored yawn or licked his fangs at the perfect time while Trixie was trying to get the best deal, sometimes the merchant would lose track of where they were on the pricing scale. On occasion, the showmare would wind up paying just a small fraction of the original asking price for some carrots or apples, sometimes even with a free one thrown in just so the merchant could be assured the fierce toothy creature at her side actually ate vegetables instead of vegetable sellers. As the load of groceries on his back became heavier, the small foals in the area became bolder, approaching with a bit or two in their hoof, and departing absolutely delighted when he would stick out his bit pouch to let them drop their offering in. Apparently, sugar cubes were hard to get in the area, so they experimented with feeding him various flavors of sugary candy, which he would pretend a great like for or a distaste for, depending on which reaction seemed to garner more of their youthful affection. The odd double feeding went on all during their shopping and most of the way back to their cabin. Each of them had a fairly heavy load of food, and Trixie could hardly withhold her enthusiasm. “I think we broke even on our grocery run,” she chortled once the door had been closed and locked. “Those little brats were putting bits into your bag just as fast as Trixie was pulling them out.” “Just remember, all of the food comes out of your end of the take,” said the changeling with an experimental heft on the somewhat heavier than he expected bit bag. “What?” Trixie drew herself up and placed a hoof on her chest in a pose of great indignation. “You need to eat too.” The changeling scoffed. “I could eat this cabin if I had enough love to digest it.” “Really?” Trixie though for a while with a hoof on her chin. “So like you could eat a tree branch on stage to prove feral changelings are herbivorous?” “If I have to.” Question struck a pose with his front teeth showing. “Should I make like a beaver?” The warm feeling of appreciation from Trixie abruptly cut off. “No tails,” she growled. “I thought we agreed.” “What’s a beaver got to do with… Oh.” Question gave Trixie a pensive look. “For somepony who pretends not to be interested in what’s under your tail, you certainly think about it a lot.” Trixie ignored his cutting retort and proceeded to slice and dice a quick salad-ish thing for herself with some of the contents of their morning shopping trip, winding up with two kale leafs wrapped around a central core of various chopped vegetables. “Impressive,” he said. “How did you get that to stick together?” “Skill.” Trixie looked up with a scrap of tomato stuck to her upper lip. “Want one?” “Of course.” The changeling licked his lips. “What kind of parasite would I be if I didn’t get to feed off my host?” Trixie gestured at the remains of their shopping trip scattered around the small cabin table. “Feel free.” “Gee, thanks,” said the changeling. “I suppose I need to clean up too?” Trixie responded with a muffled noise that might have been an affirmative grunt, fighting to be heard through the mustard sprigs and the leaves of kale. Question quirked his lips to one side and trotted out to the wagon, returning with the frying pan which he plunked down on top of the gas heater. A little oil, some quick chopping of the collection of vegetable scraps and he began to brown, saute and fry with all of his skill. Once Trixie had polished off her wrap, she eyed the stir-fry in process a little longingly even while Question nipped little bits of the sizzling greens off for a quick nibble, as well as nibbling a little off Trixie’s warm surge of envy. Although he did not say anything about it. It was a little liberating after being treated as an animal this morning, along with a little bit of resentment over the immunizations. Some of that leaked out around the edges while twirling the spatula and making the knife dance over a quick spray of onions to be minced, giving a little smile once he slid the vast majority of the result onto a plate and slipped it under Trixie’s nose with a flourish and a fork. “Not bad,” said Trixie. She took a bite with a straight face, although the burst of affection he soaked up could not be disguised. He nibbled off the remainder in the pan while soaking up the love as a spicy additive to his lunch. “Trixie seems to have hired herself a cook.” The changeling continued to munch on the remainder of the stir-fry from the pan with his eyes nearly closed. “Just keep loving the food like that and Trixie will wind up having hired a fat cook. How long has it been since you’ve had a healthy meal, anyway?” Trixie slowly ran a piece of bread around the bottom of her plate. “Since Trixie left home.” “What, did they beat you? Keep you locked in your room? Arrange a marriage for you?” A wave of dark sorrow swept outward from Trixie, making it very difficult for the changeling to keep his impish smile. She sat her empty plate to one side and stood up. “Trixie does not want to talk about it. Come on. We need to practice for our presentation this afternoon. The sooner we can cash in from this little town, the sooner we can get out of here and go our separate ways.”