The Last Illusion

by ScientistWD

[X] Doughnut Joe's Diner at Two Hours and Thirty Six Minutes

The so-called Trixie burst through the front door, cape wafting and pomp intact. She usually made entrances like this when she thought nopony was watching.

“Doughnut Joe! She has arriv…”

Trixie cut herself short when she realized she was not the only pony at Doughnut Joe’s at 2:36AM on a Friday.

Doughnut Joe rolled his eyes from behind his sheen counter. Perhaps he should have been expecting her. He stopped polishing glasses, and made for the kitchen.

“What are you doing here…?” she asked. Somewhat with aggression and somewhat with intrigue, she approached the invader.

“I’m celebrating,” answered Maud Pie. She raised a glass, flatly and without enthusiasm to demonstrate.

It was the showmare’s turn to roll her eyes. “Of course…”

It had been weeks. Trixie had spent the past several weeks plodding about a shack of her own design, experimenting with new spells and trying new enchantments. Fool’s errands. And on nearly each occasion, she would look to the scribe. Checking for writing. Checking for a response, trying to impress. Yearning to impress. Struggling to impress. Crossing out new spells on checklists, burning down idea boards in anger, her next show was always approaching. And she had made no progress. She had thrown many a fit over the matter, yelling at various books that they were not good enough. Scribe included. She had been excessively frustrated.

Even here, to Doughnut Joe’s at 2:36AM, she had brought the scribe to probe for words. Something. Anything. But as she sat down with her fake majesty, hovering the closed scribe to a spot on the counter, noticing from beneath her lowered eyelashes its active glow, she turned up her nose. As if she did not care. When her quivering eyes, her desperate cheeks held all the words that the scribe really needed.

Trixie was a nopony. Crawling like a beetle through rusted floorboards. Looking for meaning and magic in stray hairs and dust.

“Your milkshake,” said Doughnut Joe, sliding a tall glass to Trixie. She caught it, trying her darnedest to keep her head up.

“Thank you,” she replied with fake civility. Joe went back to the kitchen.

Maud Pie was not looking at Trixie. But Trixie was looking at Maud Pie.

“What are you doing here?” she brashed, for some reason irate. “Why in Equestria are you here so late??”

“I’m celebrating,” Maud said again.

“WHY?? Why are you here by yourself!?”

“My coworkers went home.”

“Ugh!” Clonk. Trixie dropped her head to the shining white counter. Her hat bounced slightly off her head as she turned it to glare at Maud Pie. She was sitting on a tall red stool, wearing a navy frock slightly different from her usual one. It was nicer. But for now, she had her hoof around her glass, swiveling casually back and forth, looking either blankly straight ahead or diverting to the stones in her glass for a moment.

“Are there rocks in your drink?” Trixie blurted like a child.

Maud answered. “Yes. Doughnut Joe calls it ‘Maud on the Rocks’. He makes it special just for me.”

“Oh, quite,” she mocked. “Proud of yourself, then?”

Maud looked at Trixie with the blank stare with which she looked at everything. Trixie’s face, smushed by the counter, hardened to a mean one. Maud did not flinch. The showmare could only hold it for a second before she quit. She sat up.

“For goodness’s sake, Maud, how do you do it?” she muttered. A straw stuck out of her vanilla milkshake. It took two tries to work up the energy to sip out of it. It was still thick.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ugh.” She had been fighting it. But she took off her hat, and rubbed her forehead. It must have been embarrassing for her. To take her hat off. “I don’t know what I mean, either. I mean…” Another sigh. She gave her tongue a small bite. “She doesn’t… she doesn’t quite understand either.”

“Who doesn’t understand.”

“Me! Trixie! Ugh!” she groaned again.

“I’m sorry. It’s just confusing.”

“No it isn’t!”

The sad showpony clonked her head on the cold countertop again. She scratched at the counter with her hoof. Her head was facing the scribe, and she saw it. Her face tightened. Things were not going her way. She scoffed and turned around back to Maud. “Whats is…? How do you, how can you…??”

“Trixie.” said Maud.

“What!?”

Maud put her gaze up and down the anxious pony. Once, slowly. Enough to test patience unintentionally.

“Trixie. Are you upset.”

“Oh Maud Pie, what in Equestria could have given you that idea!?”

“Sorry,” she conceded. “I’m not very good at reading ponies.” She returned to her drink, now disengaged.

Doughnut Joe’s establishment was dim this time of the morning. Only a handful of lights were staring at vacant tables or booths. A low light gave the counter a dull glow. Trixie’s hoof cast a shadow as she tapped the flat surface. Once. Twice. Slurping from her glass. Not a minute passed before she feverishly produced two dozen odd pages of notes from behind her cape, dashing them about by hoof and with magic as if they were the tongues of a dying flame.

Page after page was decorated with halfway decent penmanship, black ink occasionally smearing or in spattering blots. She sprawled them on the counter, lifting her milkshake to give mercy, and darted her eyes across notes she had been scanning for many nights now. Lists of spells, books and authors; a few was written of things she already knew well about magic. And on the backs of some, or scrawled into corners best she could in her free time, were crossed out brainstorms with words like “when??”, “why never my shows??”, “what can I do again??” and “why Ditzy Doo???”.

She turned a few times to Maud Pie.

It was odd to consider why the papers Trixie had brought were sprawled on the somewhat narrow countertop. Which is to say, if Trixie had come to Doughnut Joe’s to re-observe for the futile umpteenth time her useless notes, and she was going to interface them along the flat surface of public furniture, she would have done much better to use a table or booth, not the counter. She is just as capable of drinking her milkshake anywhere. Even alone at her overused desk. But instead, she chose to sit less than a stone’s throw from Maud Pie, who was still staring ahead with her same solemn gaze only two stools displaced from the unicorn.

Her farce continued for only fifty one seconds.

“Trixie is very busy!” she shouted, shuffling through paper as if she were very busy.

Maud Pie did not say anything.

“She’s quite the important pony now.”

Maud Pie did not say anything.

“She probably shouldn’t mention,” she sneered. “But her next show is at the legendary Benevolent Ball, hosted by Fancy Pants himself. A shame my former nemesis Maud Pie won’t be there to see it. I of course say ‘former’ to emphasize that Trixie has since moved on from that rough antagony.”

Maud Pie did not say anything.

“In fact, she—“

“I will see it.”

Trixie stopped, and sputtered. “I-I-I…!? What?” she posed, adding drama to her voice and likely not realizing that she actually was choking on her own throat.

“That’s why I’m celebrating. I found ancient wizarding relics from the Post-Discordian era among geodes in the hills of the Badlands. The Royal Wizard Society bought them from me for a lot of money. And I took my coworkers out to celebrate. I was invited to the Benevolent Ball to spend all my new money on charities. I’m not really the type to keep it all to myself.”

Maud raised her glass again, unimpressively, before taking a sip from it and returning it to the table. Meanwhile, Trixie did her best to keep from another outburst. Her jaw clenched, teeth tightening around the lips.

“Hhh…” she wheezed, voice now dry and out of breath. “Hhaaa,” she parroted. Slowly, her balance on her stool was giving way. “HOW!? How, Maud Pie!? How are you so marvelous and successful!? And pretty and so together and proud!?” Trixie almost fell off of her stool, but caught the edge of Maud’s after knocking others to the ground, sending them clanging to the floor. Her hooves latched onto the red leather seat, chin resting almost at Maud’s base, eyes heavy and ragged as she stared back up at her. Maud stared back. “How!? And why didn’t I notice it before!!?”

Maud’s response was completely serious, and unencumbered. “I’m a natural beauty.”

Crash! Trixie fell from a cliff to the tiled floor of Doughnut Joe’s, taking her stool with her. Her cape wafted once before settling to the ground. Legs outstretched, she trembled as she banged her hoof softly.

“Oof. Ha. She’s done it again…!” she laughed. Somewhat.

“Who’s done it again.”

Trixie lifted her head, looking up her nose at the remarkable Maud Pie. “How do you do it, Maud?” she sighed. “You’ve got a hobby, and a dream and something you love more than anything else. So certain, so strong. My, I—Trixie can barely manage that anymore! And she’s so tired of it, Maud, so tired, so tired so tired…”

Trixie was still laying on the floor. Not unlike spilled dirt.

“I don’t really get what you’re talking about, Trixie.”

“Nopony gets it, Pie,” she lilted with dissonance. “I’ve seen all their faces before, those disappointed ponies in the crowd with their dull eyes and gaping gross teeth all yawning like there’s somewhere they’d rather be. They don’t get it, Maud. ‘Oh, what beautiful colors and designs!’ ‘Wow, those effects! Your illusions are so convincing, Trixie!’ Bah!” She made herself comfortable on the cold tiled floor, pulling over her cape like a blanket. “Confound ponies,” she muttered.

Maud Pie was still staring blankly at the fallen showmare. She took a drink from her Maud on the Rocks. The glass clinked as the stones bounced inside of it. “You look upset to me, Trixie,” she droned.

She gave a slow chuckle. “Yeah, I am Maud.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because Trixie isn’t supposed to be upset, she’s supposed to be the biggest and best pony Equestria has ever known!” Tensing her hooves and knees, she started to rise. “Nopony can look twice at the stars without remembering her sparkling smile, that scintillating splendor! Trixie is the greatest! The most powerful!” She stood. They made eye contact, Trixie scrunching her nose and focusing her stubborn glare. Maud was on a stool, blank still and higher than her. “And don’t you forget it, Maud! Ha!”

Maud did not say anyth—

“Why do you NEVER…!? Ugh!”

“Trixie,” Maud began, Trixie pacing in tight circles about the site of her fall. The showpony muttered through ground teeth as Maud spoke. “It sounds like you’re having a problem. Ponies with problems talk about it. My sister says it makes things better.”

“Ha!” nervously. “You’re the one who’s not talking, Pie!”

“Okay. I will start.”

“Oh really?”

“How are you.”

Trixie gave Maud a sour eye over her shoulder before turning to the window, sheen with some light from Doughnut Joe’s. It was bright in Canterlot. But this late, only a few dots could be seen trimming the field of darkness outside. Trixie trotted back to the counter, hoof by hoof and lavishly for show. Like an exhausted ballerina, fraying at the seams. She leapt onto a stool, politely replaced by her magic, and leaned on her hoof as she stared still to the dark.

“She’s splendid, quite well Maud,” she lied. “And you?” cockily.

“Not perfect. Probably not as good as I should be.”

Trixie made a short scoff.

“I invited my coworkers to celebrate, but I don’t think they like me. Like they were mad at me for some reason. Maybe they think I’m weird, or they don’t understand me.”

Perhaps that sounded familiar? Trixie sighed.

“Do you know what it’s like to be bullied. I’m not sure I do. I don’t really understand other ponies, so they can usually be mean to me without me noticing. Except the time you said those cruel things to me. I understood that. But it was nice to take out some of my frustration. It may have been about more than just you, though. I don’t think any of your comments were really sincere. I probably should have held back more. But still. Thanks for letting me try. I get a little frustrated when ponies don’t understand where I’m coming from.”

Trixie was still looking to the window, tapping her hoof, pretending she was not listening. But her ear had twitched.

“I feel a lot better now,” Maud gave a small nod to herself, staring ahead blankly as ever. “Do you.”

“H…H-h-ha!” she spat. Trixie’s “ha” could hardly have been considered a laugh. It had been more like a popped balloon, or a slamming window. As if she had squeezed it from a broken horn. “I, she…” Her words muddled over, churning just below the surface. “She understands quite well!” she confessed, looking at her hooves on the counter. It was still dark. Her mouth twisted, as her persona struggled to show through. “T-trixie suffers from all the same problems. Ponies thinking that… ponies thinking wrong. Common ponies seldom understand what ponies like us are all about. What Trixie is all about! They never think! They just see, they just want the glamour and melodrama. Bah! Ponies don’t care about magic! The moment I ask them to think, they give up.” She was wearing down. Her head fell, resting on her leg on the countertop. She spoke just loud enough to hear. “Make no mistake, I know what magic is. I know it’s a mighty, mighty thing with its metaspace and its Annihilation Quotients and conjuration and enchantments and metasummations. Nopony can think such grandiose thoughts constantly, it truly is exhausting. But it is too darn a shame. Too darn a shame! Too darn a shame to not bask in the splendor and beauty of magic and the universe for at least the few measly minutes I invite.”

Maud Pie looked at the moping blue unicorn. Then, she looked at the scribe. Soon her eyebrow was up a tinge, ripe with inquiry.

She then asked a question. In most contexts, it was an unnecessary question. The scribe had not been with the foolish showmare for any occasion to hear her asked this question. And it was such an odd thing to ask, so difficult to tell if she had heard it once or never in her life. Perhaps because of that ponies might have avoided it.

But here, it had been something very relevant. Here, at last, was asked a question even the scribe had had from the very beginning of the story.

“Why not take a break. If it’s so exhausting, then why do you have to be ‘Trixie’ all the time?”

Her head shot up, flaming leer pointed at Maud Pie with real rage. She was angry. Very angry. But it fell. The showpony could barely stand, and her eyes fell to sadness in less than a second. This time, her defenses would not rise.

She turned away.

She put on her hat, and dropped her forehead to the counter once again. Her face was completely buried in her legs. She ran a shaky hoof through her fraying mane. And she squeezed tighter. Her hind legs came together, and her forelegs came in, too. A crumbling self-embrace fitting for the very, very wet voice escaping with the answer.

“Because if I’m not Trixie all the time… then I’m just pretending to be Great and Powerful.”

“Oh,” came Maud, slightly oblivious to the despair of the Great and Powerful. “Hm.”

She had indeed said “Hm”. “Hm” is an interesting thing to say for a pony like Maud Pie who did not say much. She did not look at Trixie, who at this time was not doing anything interesting. Not terribly interesting. Not yet. No, Maud instead was skimming through the scribe’s pages, refreshing as it was to be somepony new. She read about how Trixie defeated unscrupulous thugs, though she had failed to confront them. She read about Amethyst Star. She found herself, as well, and the battle involved there. She read about the contest, and the place Trixie made. And she read about Ditzy Doo. There was a lot to read about Ditzy Doo.

“You had adventures.”

“She did…” she all but whispered. “She’s… she’s very well traveled.”

“Wow.”

“Tsk,” she laughed, just a little. “Are you reading the right parts? Look here.” Trixie used her magic to slide the book over to her, where she flipped quickly to the right page and showed Maud the writing. “Did you read this part, where she fights off those bad ponies?”

“Yes.”

She scooted closer, to share the book. “And look here. ‘Its name was Eloquence’. That really is my sword’s name. Likely the scribe could read the meta. I’ve worked on it for years.”

“It’s a good name.”

“Ha. I’m glad you think so. And also, also look at this part.”

“You used one of your spotlights.”

“Quite clever, no?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so, anyway. And what about this…”

They continued to exchange words. Somehow, after everything, the two of them managed to get along. Trixie paged through the scribe, tapping an eager hoof at all her favorite parts. And Maud Pie would say “Yes” to her meaningless questions.

But despite the scribe’s incredible perceptive powers, as the mares conversed it was quite difficult to discern how Maud Pie felt. Her face was always flat. This had been her entire personality. But for a moment, perhaps in remembrance of somepony else she knew, a quaint smile pushed through her lips. So perhaps it could be said that some semblance of rapport was achieved. Charming. Albeit temporary.

“And then she said, ‘How’s that for something’. Isn’t she cool, Maud?”

“Yes,” droned Maud with much enthusiasm.

“And back here!” she continued, ruffling back through history. “Look look look. She says ‘It would appear that you hath been dunked on, knave’. Isn’t that funny? Don’t you think so?”

“Yes. It seems like you’re really good with magic, Trixie.”

“If only you could have been there, Maud! You would have really seen your nemesis in action!”

“I think I was busy with work.”

“Speaking of the competition, why were you there, anyway?” she posed. “Do you play an instrument?”

“No. I was there for my sister. She can play ten instruments at the same time.”

She was wide-eyed. “Ten!? Really? That’s amazing, for an earth pony!”

“That’s my sister. I absolutely love her, and her jokes.”

“Aha, of course.” The showmare spun a bit on her stool. “Ha. Almost as much as you love rocks, I imagine!”

“Well.” Maud paused. “Yes.”

“Hm? Why did you pause?”

“I didn’t pause.”

“Maud Pie.” She pointed a hoof to the the scribe’s quill. “It says right here that you paused.”

“Shoot. I was too emotional.”

“Come now, confess my little pony. ‘Talking makes you feel better.’ That’s what you said, hm?”

Maud swirled her drink, fishing for a distraction.

“Hmmmmmm…..!?”

She sighed. “Often times, ponies tell me how much I love rocks. I know I love rocks. I write poetry about them, they are my passion. But rocks do not love me. Obviously. Rocks do not have feelings. But. I don’t know.”

“Oh…” swelled the showmare.

“It’s. It’s as if ponies think I can’t love. But I’m not a rock. I’m a pony, just like everyone else.”

“Well… love is a difficult subject for everypony, Maud.”

“Has Trixie ever been in love?”

Trixie became silent. Perhaps it could be said that she had been silent for awhile now. But held on her face was not a look of ponderance, but of loss. Eyes narrowed to the past, looking back to a distant memory. Her hoof tapped when she bit her lip. No. Her eyes clenched shut to muddle the present. A sigh escaped, breathy and tired.

“N… no, Maud Pie. Probably not. Trixie, Trixie, she doesn’t, she can’t, I…”

“Love is a difficult subject for everypony.”

Indeed.

Trixie gave up. She let her weight shift to her right, resting her head on the strong shoulder of Maud Pie. “I should go back now, Maud. Trixie… H…ha…! She has… a lot of work to do…” Her words were barely mustered.

“Good luck Trixie.” returned Maud Pie solemnly. “I’ll see you at the Ball.”

“R-right!” Trixie’s words were not certain, nor hopeful. All of her splendor, all of her glamour and poise was lost. As it had been for weeks. “Goodbye.”

As she passed through the door, all that remained was an echoing stage.