Part One
Rarity didn’t give up. Not often, anyway.
In her line of work, giving up meant pinching pennies and living off canned yams for a week. Giving up added another failure to an unspoken list of failures. If a dress needed that extra pattern, or that extra trim, Rarity would do so with knitted brows and a squared jaw. If a meal needed to be skipped, it was skipped. If sleep needed to wait, then by the sun, it would wait.
And it was always worth it.
Rarity wouldn’t carry herself the way she did if she gave up. She wouldn’t be who she was if she gave up. She wouldn’t be a blistering success, who mailed rain checks to Canterlot clients. Canterlot. Clients. She wouldn’t fend off obsessed stallions and mares alike with sticks. She wouldn’t receive free spa treatments on weekends. Those were the merits of a winning pony. And that’s exactly what Rarity was.
So why did this mare of incalculable success wake up one morning with a groan and a loose curse?
Being tangled in her red sheets with pillows scattered around her floor wasn't the reason. Nor the beating migraine and acute awareness of light and noise. Not the cloudy haze that filled her mind when she tried to remember what the Hell she did last night. Not even the bitter acidic taste of booze behind her throat.
But Trixie Lulamoon? Sleeping? In Rarity’s house? In her bed? Clung around her chest? Definitely.
Like any sensible pony who personified eloquence, grace, and good manners, Rarity screamed and hurled the intruder away with her magic. If Trixie hadn’t hit the wall so hard, or was even recognizable at the time, Rarity wouldn’t have drowned the shouting magician with apologies. When Rarity did recognize her, the interrogation began.
Why was Trixie in Rarity’s bed? Evidently, she was ‘invited’ to stay warm. Why was Trixie in Ponyville to begin with? Evidently, Rarity ‘escorted’ her from Manehatten. Why didn’t Rarity just stay at a Manehatten hotel? Evidently, Coco Pommel tried and failed to convince her to find one. What did Coco Pommel have to do with this? Evidently, last night was a celebration for Coco’s success as a fashion assistant.
And there it was; full clarity.
The drinking, the dancing, the intimate meetings between her face and the floor, her arms and lips pried off of random ponies. Rarity had made a right mule of herself, and she didn’t need a clear memory to understand that. Coco must have kept Rarity on a leash in her wild haze, and the unicorn swore, by Celestia’s mane, she’d find that sweet little thing and apologize. Vigorously.
Before that, however, she’d have to get out of bed. Which normally wouldn’t be a challenge. Of course, normally, an azure hoof wouldn’t bear down on her chest. Trixie demanded Rarity to stay in bed and rest. As preposterous as that sounded—being ordered in her own home, by a pony who didn’t belong there, that is—hearing the words ‘I’ll make breakfast’ was just outright absurd.
But, evidently, Rarity agreed to this little set up the other night. Which only hurled another volley of questions at Trixie. Most of which Rarity was too flustered to remember even as she thought them.
“What in the seven pits of Tartarus did we do last night?”
That question stuck. And as the words barreled from Rarity’s mouth, they stopped Trixie right at the bedroom door. Trixie turned to the other unicorn with a shade of blue that most certainly wasn’t that dark before.
“We, ah… talked,” Trixie said.
“Talked,” came Rarity’s flat response.
Trixie turned away again and said, “Talked...”
Oh, yes. Of course. That’s the only logical explanation for sleeping in Rarity’s bed, and making her breakfast. Made perfect sense.
Rarity frowned as her ‘guest’ sauntered away. Clearly, this was some kind of scheme. For what? Rarity could only hypothesize. Last she heard about Trixie, her and Twilight Sparkle were on… reasonable terms. And she did promise to never set hoof in Ponyville again.
Yet there she was. And as Rarity defiantly hopped out of bed, galloped down the stairs, stopped at the kitchen, and gawked at the other mare flipping burnt pancakes, Rarity was determined to find the truth.
The truth. Yes. That’s exactly why Rarity hadn’t called the proper authorities the moment she saw the showmare. That’s exactly why she chomped through the crispy monstrosities that used to be pancakes.
As for why she let Trixie wash her dishes, dust her furniture, and mop her floor? Well, it did allow her to catch up on her latest design. And polish her schedule for next week. And save her hooves from routine scuffs and smudges—but that was just a side effect. By that day's end, Rarity vowed to find the truth.
She failed.
She’d spent hours through the day and into the late night observing Trixie, scrutinizing her. From the springy steps Trixie took from task to task, to every swing of those hips when she dusted furniture, Rarity almost never looked away from her. But she saw no evil end, no ulterior motive. Trixie smiled as she cooked, whistled as she cleaned, and blushed when she caught Rarity staring.
The next day proved no different.
Rarity woke up in an empty bed, as per their agreement, and cantered downstairs where a shivering Trixie lied on her couch, curled in the blanket she was given.
Several questions—including why Rarity felt a sting in her chest, and why on Earth she’d soberly let Trixie stay the night—raced in her head. Even as she prodded the shivering showmare awake, Rarity tried to make sense of it.
But Rarity couldn’t make sense of it. Even when a smile as impossibly tired as it was beautiful greeted her, Rarity searched for answers that weren’t there. And she searched on and on as Trixie hopped up, folded her blanket, and pranced to the kitchen.
Pans and cooking sheets clanked in the kitchen, and Rarity found herself trapped by indecision.
Clearly, this poor mare had no place else to go and was too proud to admit it. Rarity couldn’t very well look at that sparkly wide grin and turn it out the door. She couldn’t just lift her nose to the service Trixie so desperately provided.
What was another day? Yet another question Rarity would kill to have answered.
But like the rest, the answer never came. And like the first morning she woke up with Trixie clued to her chest, Rarity only had more questions. Like how long Trixie planned to stay, why she listened when Trixie demanded her not to lift a hoof, and how in the jumping jellybeans Trixie could approach Opalescence without getting mauled.
That last one got Rarity’s attention. Not since Fluttershy had anypony gotten so close to her cat.
Yet there Trixie was, playing with her, rolling with her, even cuddling her without a single claw to her face. Rarity dared to admit she was actually jealous, watching how Trixie occasionally laid on the floor and huddled a purring Opalescence in her arms like a lioness would her cub, nuzzling gently behind the cat’s ear.
It all settled on one thing. An impossible thing. An answer out of thousands of possible answers. Trust. Opalescence trusted Trixie. And whether she accepted it or not, Rarity now knew she could trust her too. She didn’t, of course, oh no.
Trust implied that Rarity didn't need to spend every waking moment watching Trixie. Trust implied that Rarity could've left Trixie alone in her home while she ran errands. Trust implied changing Trixie’s sleeping arrangements.
And, of course, trust meant giving up—accepting that Trixie meant her no harm.
Rarity didn’t trust Trixie. She didn’t want to trust Trixie. Hell, she didn’t even want her there to begin with. In fact, Rarity often paced in her room, wearing her carpet ragged as she murmured to herself. Oh, the excuses she created: I can’t afford an extra mouth to feed. I’m used to living alone. If I wanted a maid, I’d hire one.
Every one of those excuses fell dead behind Rarity’s throat or, with Trixie’s every good deed, slipped out as a stupid ‘thank you’.
It was preposterous. Somehow, Trixie was using Rarity—taking advantage of her generosity—like any underhanded pony would. She was just trying to soften her up, to pry away at her guard so she could exact some kind of revenge.
But…
Not once had Rarity suggested, or even allowed Trixie to leave Carousel Boutique. The fact that Trixie never asked, or that she ducked beneath the windows she passed by, locked a silent agreement between the two unicorns.
And why not? Rarity was an idol in her village. The go-to fashionista. The token drama queen. Ponies looked up to her. If anypony ever found out why she stayed inside more than usual, much less who’d been staying inside with her…
The scandal would be catastrophic. She’d be in the papers, her name slandered with an advertised affair that would be completely untrue. The smiles and warm greetings from old acquaintances would turn to cold disgusted frowns. Ponies she didn’t even know would point and laugh at her.
She’d be a great big joke. Ponies would lose respect for her, and in turn, her credibility would crumble like ash in her mouth. Business would dry up, letters from future clients would cease, the competition would storm in and trample on the remains of her career.
And her friends…
Trixie was never leaving that shop.
Ever.
For a while, it worked out. Ponies would push that door open, holding their torn suits or dresses, Rarity would throw on her prize-winning smile, promising easy fixes and a generous discount or two, and Trixie would dive behind the couch, or lock herself in the bathroom. Problem solved. Trixie wasn’t chased around town by a seething angry mob, and Rarity’s reputation remained untouched.
If only Rarity could remember how to say ‘no’.
It was Trixie’s stupid grin that made her forget. A grin Rarity was forced to be intimately familiar with no thanks to her sister, Sweetie Belle. A grin that only a job well done could give. A grin filled with hope that Rarity was thoroughly pleased. A grin that would be crushed if Rarity ever turned away from those burnt pancakes, or yelled if her wool sweaters were sun-dried, or fainted if her inspiration room was cleaned—heaven forbid.
But the last straw? The straw that had Rarity sitting in dim light, rubbing her hooves together and discussing ‘how-to-get-rid-of-Trixie’ schemes with herself? When she started to like it.
Whatever inconceivable evil Trixie planned, it was working. Like a charm. Rarity knew it the night she invited Trixie to sleep in her room where it was warmer. Every morning, when Trixie nudged her awake and asked what she fancied for breakfast, Rarity smiled. That smile always dropped when Trixie returned it.
Trixie always took Rarity’s sheets and pulled them back over her, and Rarity always stayed in bed until she was called down. Trixie, Rarity suddenly noticed, always snatched a peek at her before she left that bedroom.
There were even times when Rarity furbished her clothing designs while Trixie, having finished her chores, watched.
The moment Trixie asked about her technique and her knowledge of seasonal colors, accenting trims, and unsightly frills, Rarity was stunned, but she answered those questions all too gratefully.
She often went on tangents and detail much too thick. Detail that would bore a pony like Applejack to tears. Or make a pony like Rainbow Dash groan and fly out of Carousel Boutique. Through the roof, even.
But Trixie?
Trixie listened. With her rump pressed firmly on the floor, and her tail sweeping back and forth behind her, Trixie gave her hostess her undivided attention with bright eyes and curt nods. In a severe lapse in judgment, Rarity asked for the other mare’s consultancy. Which, to her disappointment, was declined. Trixie flat out told her she didn’t want to ruin something that was inherently beautiful.
For the rest of that day, Rarity’s face grew hot every time Trixie looked and spoke to her, and always turned away to hide it. Perhaps Rarity misinterpreted Trixie’s words. Perhaps she just wanted to believe Trixie was talking about her and not her clothing designs. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps Rarity was literally going insane.
Or worse—perhaps Rarity actually started to trust the showmare.
Yes. Definitely insane.
One would think Rarity to just say, ‘Get out of my shop’, by that point. But she didn’t. Instead, she left Trixie alone in her shop while she ran errands. She left her beloved cat in Trixie’s care—to be loved, fed, and pampered.
Rarity even let Trixie sleep in her bed.
It was the right thing to do, of course. Ponyville nights were nippy wherever one stayed, and Rarity’s room—beyond the toasty folds of her bed sheets—was no different. Besides, Trixie was still cold, huddled in a ball on the rug beside the bed. Rarity couldn’t very well allow this.
Oh, the smile that broke Trixie’s face when Rarity pulled the covers aside and said, ‘Come on’. And the Olympic leap onto that bed that tossed and ruffled those sheets with extreme prejudice. A mental note to chew Trixie out for that was completely forgotten the next morning.
When Rarity woke up with the other unicorn clung to her chest.
Perfect. She’s a cuddle bug.
Yes. A cuddle bug: ponies that latch around the warmest thing in their sleep.
Oddly enough, Rarity didn’t move. She just lied there and watched. The showmare’s rhythmic breath, the stirring and nudging whenever Rarity moved even an inch. So peaceful—nothing like the boastful arrogant magician she’d met years ago. And certainly nothing like the tyrant that enslaved her village.
Rarity smiled as Trixie nestled harder against her. She brought her white hoof across that silver bed-ruffled mane, smoothing the squiggly strands.
Trixie stirred. Then she woke, those misty magenta eyes creaking open, looking up into bottomless indigo. Rarity grimaced; she hadn’t meant to be caught staring, never mind waking the mare.
Just as Rarity opened her mouth to apologize, Trixie buried her face back where it was. Rarity gasped.
“Five more minutes,” came Trixie’s mutter from Rarity’s chest.
The fashionista was awestruck, not because Trixie made no effort to tear herself away. No. Rarity lied frozen in those sheets because she didn’t want to get up either. And honestly, it scared the diamonds right off her flank.
She wanted to scream, to pry those blue arms away and leap out of bed, to accuse Trixie of things that may or may not have been fair.
Rarity fell back into her pillow and snoozed for five more minutes instead.
It became routine, as natural as breathing.
For days onward, the unicorns woke, Trixie made breakfast, they ate together, Trixie cleaned, Rarity polished her schedule and handled clientele, Trixie watched Rarity craft her masterpieces, Opal was fed and pampered, Trixie slinked, scooted, and shimmied from hiding spot to hiding spot avoiding Rarity’s customers, and they’d both end the night sound sleep together.
A cycle that, Rarity decided, wasn’t too terrible.
That is, of course, until Fluttershy walked in on Trixie dusting the display room.
When Rarity heard an all-too-familiar scream from her balcony, she added ‘forgetting Thursday spa-date with Fluttershy’ to her list of failures.
When Rarity reached halfway down the stairs to face the music, Trixie was already spewing some nonsense about being Rarity’s ‘fashion consultant’ to cover the truth. Trixie’s cascading sweat and painfully forced smile made Rarity count her blessings, fully believing Fluttershy would detect the lie, leave, and never return.
But to Rarity’s near-heart attack, Fluttershy believed it. She very well nearly fell down the stairs when Fluttershy emerged from her reclusive ball, gave eye contact, and started talking with Trixie.
Before Rarity knew it, both ponies sat at her guest table, giggling and joking like they’d known each other for years. For an instant, Rarity believed this whole thing was some cruel joke by her friends, to teach her a thing or two about binge-drinking.
“Rarity, why didn’t you tell me Trixie was so well-versed in fashion?” Fluttershy said.
Because nopony ever told me, Rarity thought.
And that was true. Trixie had spoken of seasonal colors, accenting trims, and unsightly frills as though Rarity had personally taught the mare herself.
In fact… Rarity did teach the mare herself. Because she asked, and because she watched.
Genius. That’s what it was. Pure genius. A perfect ploy. A cover up as only a true magician could possibly do.
Admittedly, Rarity was a bit jealous that she hadn’t thought it herself. Understandable, though; she was practically slamming her face against a wall trying to figure out how to be rid of Trixie.
Her mind wandered as Trixie yammered on with her little fib. Perhaps, if even for a little while, having an assistant wouldn’t be so bad. Even if it was Trixie.
She could see it clear as water; the two would wake early in the morning. Trixie would trot to the kitchen and brew Rarity’s coffee, no longer having to ask how she liked it.
They would step into the inspiration room, coffee mugs in their magical grasps, and sketch their inspirations. They’d mull over their own work, then each other’s. They’d debate those seasonal colors, accenting trims, and unsightly frills, but would never argue.
When the final planning stages were done, and she nibbled at the daffodil sandwich Trixie was all too happy to make her, Rarity would bring their visions to life.
She’d work hours into the midday, stopped only by that familiar creak in her neck. A creak that eager blue hooves would knead and caress. All tension and the will to work would leave Rarity with sighs and moans.
Rarity would levitate her needle and thread away, and fall gently on her stomach. Trixie would smile from above and cast herself on top of the other mare, straddling her proudly. Those hooves would press and roll deep into Rarity’s neck and back, filling the room with crackles and breathless moans.
And whenever Rarity would try to discuss their next assignment, Trixie would shush her with stronger hooves and a whisper that would prickle at Rarity’s skin.
“Let me please you…”
Rarity would relax, expecting an even better massage, but would be lifted to her hind legs instead.
Her face would burn, staring down at the surprisingly strong arms locked around her waist, then back at eyes that commanded her every breath. Those arms would twist her around, forcing her front to Trixie’s. That scorching breath would fill Rarity’s nose, and those blue lips would pull back into that confounded grin.
And with a single whispering coo, Trixie would hoist Rarity off her hooves, press her down on that inspiration table and—
“Um… Rarity?” Fluttershy gently called.
At that moment, shrieking and startling the other ponies was justifiable in every way. After all, Rarity had just scared herself.
The absurdity of it all. To allow her mind such scandalous thoughts. If she hadn’t allowed herself to adapt to Trixie’s presence and servitude, to actually expect Trixie to wake up in bed with her, to expect breakfast when she came down stairs, to smile knowing Trixie made no effort to leave, then she wouldn’t have had this problem.
And the worst part about all this?
Rarity was too shell shocked to stop Fluttershy from saying her goodbyes and leaving. Too late to bribe the shy Pegasus within an inch of her life not to tell anypony else.
Fluttershy was gone, and with a grinning Trixie standing much to close, Rarity thought her entire life was gone too.
“Rarity?”
The unicorn jumped. “Wha-huh?”
Trixie stared at her in a way disturbingly similar to Sweetie Belle. “Shouldn’t we be going?” When Rarity raised a brow to this, Trixie tilted her head at the front door. “Your Fluttershy said she didn’t mind. And truly, I haven’t been treated at a spa since… Goddess, what’s it been? Three years?”
She would… Fluttershy would offer her shared spa treatment to Trixie. This, however, was the absolute perfect time to remember a skill Rarity had forgotten since Trixie’s stay: how to say—
“No!”
Trixie’s ears flattened and her smile furled down. Rarity bit her lip and glanced at the floor.
“I-I mean… don’t you think it’s a bit… risky?” Rarity asked with a conspiratorial whisper.
“Yes.”
Rarity stared and waited for a moment. Then for another moment. And another. When it became clear Trixie wouldn’t elaborate, Rarity blanched.
“You… you aren’t serious, are you?” Rarity asked.
Right then, in that moment, the sweet, tender, humbled mare that barreled into Rarity’s life was utterly destroyed. And a proud, spoiled, arrogant bitch took her place.
With her nose lifted, Trixie huffed and said, “After what I’ve put myself through the past six days? A spa trip really isn’t enough. But it’ll do.”
Rarity frowned. And Trixie caught it immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, for somepony so ‘generous’ you certainly don’t care for your guests,” Trixie said, turning her head away.
Rarity gasped with a hoof to her chest. “I beg your pardon? Firstly, I’ve been nothing but civil and tolerant with you. I've provided shelter, a warm bed, and food, for Celestia’s sake!” she said as Trixie’s hoof stamped the carpet. “Plus, it’s far too dangerous for you to leave. Too dangerous for either of us, really.”
The moment Trixie turned back to her with a dark scowl, Rarity realized her mistake.
“Right. Heaven forbid I go outside and stain your flawless reputation.”
Rarity nearly stumbled back, her brows curled up and her breath hitched. “I didn’t mean…” She paused. Then frowned again. “W-well it’s not like asked you to come here! You brought this on yourself!”
“Yes you did,” Trixie said matter-of-factly. Again, Rarity raised a brow, and Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Manehatten. You insisted.”
If Rarity’s eyebrows lifted any higher, they’d have torn from her head and slithered away. “I. Was. Drunk!” she protested.
Trixie jumped and her ears wilted at Rarity’s sharp tone.
“Honestly!” Rarity continued. “How could you possibly expect me to remember that night now, when I couldn’t remember it then?”
Trixie puffed her chest and squared her jaw, her voice raising just a little. “How could you expect me to believe you’ve forgotten everything you’ve said to me? The drinks you’d bought for me? The dancing? The—”
Even as Trixie eyes hit the floor with crimson cheeks, Rarity felt backed into a corner, like a beaten dog. She didn’t remember any of this. She couldn’t hope to remember any of this, and Trixie was antagonizing her.
She only remembered colorful blurs that may or may not have been ponies, swirling lights, rib-rattling music, a wooden floor that wouldn’t leave her face alone, the incessant ramblings of a fuzzy blue blur that sounded something like weeping, and the wild lips and tongues of ponies she was sure she’d never met…
“Oh heavens… Trixie, what did I—”
“I opened up to you, you know,” Trixie said, never looking at Rarity. “I told you everything, and… and you said I was…”
The half-lidded eyes. The calculated sway in the step. The soft whispers for sweet dreams at night. The longing stare that met her every morning… Right then and there, every question that dangled at Rarity’s nose in that crazy, crazy week, taunted her even more. Egging her. Daring her to find the answers.
And now, come Hell or high water, she would.
“What… what exactly did you hope to gain from all this? And what did I say to you?” Rarity’s voice was firm and unforgiving. And for the first time in that whole week, Rarity didn’t care. Trixie’s eyes shifted aside.
Rarity stepped closer and said, “Well?”
Trixie said nothing for an impossibly long moment. Then she turned toward the door and walked.
Between the unacceptable, inexcusable urge to launch forward and trample the other mare for turning her back, and the heart-stabbing fear of ponies seeing her leave the Boutique, Rarity’s neck fur stood on end.
“And just where do you think you’re going?!” Rarity demanded.
Trixie stopped, and Rarity allowed the tiniest smirk.
“Trixie is going to treat herself. With, or without you,” the showmare declared.
Rarity pointedly ignored Trixie’s returned third-person speech. “Oh? And with whose bits, exactly, hmm?”
Rarity was known and even revered for her attention to detail, a seamstress’s number one tool. But when she saw the brown sack levitated by Trixie’s magical grasp—that was there the whole time—Rarity felt like the most oblivious tramp in all of Equestria.
Trixie shook the bag and rattled the bits inside, and Rarity’s smirk completely vanished.
Fluttershy’s payment… Of course.
Trixie turned back to the door, and with every step, the knowledge of defeat crept around her chest, squeezing and digging into her lungs. But as Trixie’s hoof touched that door knob, Rarity knew that feeling was different. Something worse, actually.
Much, much worse.
“Stop!” Trixie stopped. “You… y-you’re not welcome in Ponyville, remember? What do you suppose would happen if anypony saw you?”
Rarity’s heart lurched as that lie spewed from her lips. Nopony ever said Trixie wasn’t welcome back. No, Trixie just promised to never come back. Perhaps Trixie didn’t remember that. Perhaps she’d come to her senses. She wouldn’t leave Rarity—the Boutique, that is. She couldn’t.
Trixie turned the door knob.
“You will not leave this shop!” Rarity’s voice punctuated with the force of gunfire, and her horn went aglow.
Trixie left that shop.
Rarity nearly screamed her lungs out of her chest. But she stopped. This was just another trick. And if that past week had proven anything, Trixie was full of those.
Rarity took a deep shuddering breath. She glance up and her glowing horn, entirely unclear what she was just about to do. The horn lost its glow and Rarity laughed at herself, but laughed more at Trixie’s transparence. Surely, Trixie was just toying with her, seeing how far she could go before thoroughly freaking Rarity out. But she wouldn’t freak out.
Trixie wasn’t a foolish mare. Not really.
She’d proven to be very inquisitive, what with learning how to flip a pancake without hitting her face with it. Or learning, against all odds, how to make Rarity’s bed just the way she liked it. Or learning how dimmed Rarity wanted her lights when she read a book. Or learning just how tightly Rarity liked—but never admit—to be held when they slept.
Trixie wouldn’t leave her—Carousel Boutique, that is. Unless she wanted to be chased with torches and pitchforks.
A minute passed. Trixie didn’t return. Another minute passed. Trixie didn’t return. And before Rarity knew, the ‘something worse’ from earlier returned. With a vengeance. Never realizing she was pacing and glaring at her front door, she barged out of her shop, shouting after Trixie with wide eyes and a hoarse voice.
Rarity skidded to a stop when she did see Trixie. Grinning at her. A mere ten feet from the boutique. With a few passing ponies staring at them. Rarity pursed her lips at Trixie’s dainty little ‘hmph’ and tail-flick.
Of course, Rarity thought, if she’d just done the intelligent thing and gave up, she wouldn’t have put up with this.
Trixie turned toward the spa and walked. Rarity followed her, frowning at the grass and grumbling something about ‘stupid servants’.
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This is gonna be a good one.
Always like seeing a good Trixie ship.
So. Let's see what ya do, boss.
~Skeeter The Lurker
*sees tags* Are you sure this isn't a Comedy?
... It really sounds like a Comedy.
Oh hey! New Craine fic.
And a pretty damn good one at that too. However, I feel like how you tended to brush past a lot of the details was a bit of a detriment, but this is just the first chapter, so maybe the next chapter will throw us into the thick of it a little more.
I am thoroughly confused, but intrigued.
I'm not sure how I feel about the lack of dialogue in the middle section, but I'm intrigued enough to stay.
This was a weird start, but it's got my attention at least.
You know, it's really easy to lead these characters on if you just learn how to adjust to their quirks. Trixie is the type of pony that I can see doing that.
I will be keeping watch. Just what did happen in Manehattan? I guess this is not the case of what happens in Manehattan, stays in Manehattan...
Oblig
i1.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/list/000/042/174/1266418652493.gif
Well this is different.
CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP
CLOP
iambrony.steeph.tp-radio.de/mlp/gif/376088__safe_solo_rainbow%2Bdash_animated_vector_flying_tongue_artist-colon-faroffpromise.gif
Do it. You know you want to
That is all. Equestria is ours.
Huh.
You created a nice little illusion and then shattered it.
Alright then.
I thought the merits of a winning pony were banging anyone, anytime, anywhere, anyhow.
Nice I don't know where this is going and. . . I like it
It's an interesting epiphany that I've never actually drank so much as to black out or forget the night before. Typically I know my limits and choose not to go past them because I don't see the point to it. Rarity obviously didn't know her limits, that or she's a lightweight. Manehatten must practically be a stone's throw away from Ponyville if Rarity could get roaring drunk enough, take Trixie home presumably on a late-night trip, and still get into their bed before finally falling asleep.
Trixie's bitch act returns at the end of the chapter, but she uses it to her advantage to get Rarity chasing her tail