Oh! You Pretty Things

by Cosmic Dancer

Stoned Immaculate

A low hiss and a tangy fragrance pierced the air as the roselle bled its essence into the hot water of the brewer, producing a deep ruby red tea than would soon be ready for imbibing. Hibiscus was one of Twilight’s favorite teas, but it wasn’t commercially available in Ponyville, and even in Canterlot it was only carried by specialty shops; but Zecora, an herbalist of questionable efficacy but undoubtable diligence, kept her hut well stocked with the plant itself. Once it was finished brewing, Twilight would stir in a tablespoon of honey and pour the sweetened decoction into her favorite porcelain mug.

Until that appointed time, though, she was content to have a quiet moment in the kitchen. Spike was upstairs, lounging in his ‘bed,’ glassy-eyed and flipping through some fantasy comic book (or a ‘graphic novel,’ as he preferred to call them) set in the dark ages. Trixie usually teased Spike when he caught the whelp enjoying the illustrated adventures of muscle-bound and scantily-clad barbarians, calling it ‘homoerotic literature’. Spike would rebuff the implications, or try to, by pointing out Trixie’s own effeminate proclivities. Twilight observed many such exchanges between the two, but the ribbing all seemed to be in good fun, so she dismissed it as one of the social rituals entailed by a healthy male relationship.

The stallion himself was currently in his room, downstairs, though Twilight didn’t know what he might be doing. He was awake, she could sense that, but otherwise she could only guess. Besides the scholastic pursuits that mark the regular activities of all magicians (research, translation, transcription, etc.), Trixie spent his day appreciating the latest visual and audial art produced by the foreign scenes and centers of culture. He even kept a semi-regular correspondence with the artists and musicians he had met during his travels as an illusionist. Despite his heavy leanings toward Unicorn exceptionalism, Trixie was very tapped into the artistic and social currents of many cultures and subcultures, and adamantly maintained a position that all art was, by its nature, good; and refused to criticize even the ‘worst’ pieces.

Apart from the aforementioned occupations, Trixie also kept a strict (but flexible) schedule of religious and quasi-religious rites, rituals and observances, undoubtedly passed down to him from the High Unicorns through his Master. From what Twilight could observe, most of these exercises were mental, and took place on a higher plane. The real, tangible effects of Trixie’s meditative works were undeniable; being a magician herself, she could feel the magical energies realign and enter certain configurations whenever he did these things, and the nexus (along with the ley lines that comprised it,) ‘under’ the Golden Oak had become considerably more powerful ever since Trixie moved in.

“Your red water is hissing at me,” announced Trixie, a white hoof greeting the polished stone of the kitchen floor. “I think it’s angry,” he continued, this being his idiosyncratic way of suggesting the tea was finished brewing.

“It’ll be ready in just a minute more,” answered Twilight. “You could have some if you like, with me.”

“The stuff is just too bitter for me to enjoy. Tea, I mean,” spoke Trixie, trotting over to the pantry.

“But this is hibiscus tea, not-”

“The iced tea Applejack sent over a few weeks ago was good,” clanging came from the pantry along with the stallion’s voice.

“That was syrup, not tea. Do you have any idea how much sugar they put in it, and what kind of leaves they use?” Twilight stepped over to peep Trixie searching, but kept an eye on the brewer (so as to not miss the narrow window of opportunity).

An unceremonious, “No,” was Trixie’s only reply as he levitated a large, glazed earthenware jug from the pantry, sealed with a cotton cloth under the lid.

Twilight recognized the jar. “Oh no, you aren’t going to drink your potion right before dinner, are you?”

“I was precluded from my regular ‘quaffing’ in the morningtime, and our… rendezvous made me miss lunch,” Trixie unsealed the jar and a pungent, saccharine aroma escaped. “So I’m hungry, anyway. And we won’t eat dinner for another couple hours.”

(The beverage in question was mixed according an ancient herbal, almost naturopathic recipe given to Trixie by Yisrach. The general makeup of the ‘potion’ was this: the seeds of cucumbers, dried raisins [without seeds], the flowers of coriander, the seeds of mallow and purslane, meal and a few other ingredients, mixed together with wild honey. Trixie drank the beverage every day if he could, as he had been bade by Yisrach to do so, in the interest of maintaining a strong, healthy body. It was said that Akhmezakh the Sidereal, a High Unicorn hero of legend, subsisted on this beverage [and some other roots and herbs] during his pilgrimage in the Black Desert after the Death of Ulaam.)

The brewer interjected a series of clicks and small dings, as it did periodically during its processes, and Twilight toggled the machine’s main circuit off with magic.

“I also didn’t have any lunch,” Twilight sidled up to Trixie, nuzzling him lightly. “I was going to have a begonia sandwich, with my tea. You could have half,” she planted a light kiss on his cheek and levitated the lid back onto the jar, and Trixie realized he didn’t have a choice. “It won’t spoil your appetite like a glass of your potion would.”

After pretending to mull it over for a moment, “... fine. I will allow you to lead me into temptation, just this once,” Trixie turned his nose up, in a jape, and Twilight giggled.

“Then could you get the begonias from the fridge for me, sweetie?” Twilight produced an unsliced loaf of bread from its box on the counter, and after Trixie replaced the jar he levitated a packet of begonias, stems and all, from the refrigerator.

“What are we having for supper, anyway? Is Spike cooking, or… ?” Trixie unpackaged the begonias and set them gingerly beside the cutting board.

“Stuffed peppers to go with the leftover butternut squash, is what I was told, but you know how Spike likes to change his mind once he gets in the kitchen,” Twilight used magic to slice the dark, grainy bread into two thin slivers, and apportioned the begonias evenly between them before halving the sandwich into wedges.

Once Trixie ‘moved in’ Twilight insisted that he, she, and Spike eat dinner regularly, to both socialize the felonious stallion and also to engender a familial cohesion between the three. The average arrangement for dinner was either Spike cooking, or ordering out. Spike was the only one among the three who enjoyed cooking and possessed real culinary talent. Twilight could cook, and didn’t dislike it, but found too little challenge to be interested. Trixie found cooking banal, and his ability was restricted to a handful of obscure dishes his master taught him, such as the aforementioned ‘Akhmezakhian potion’.

“Are you going to perform your, um, blessing over your half?” asked Twilight, a little teasingly. She had noticed early on that, whenever Trixie was about to have a private meal (like drinking the potion), he would take special care to stare intensely at the food for a few seconds before eating it, sometimes even waving his hooves over the meal. It didn’t take a trained sorceress to see there was some manner of rite being performed.

“Bite thy tongue,” he retorted, tongue-in-cheek (but with a current of authenticity). “That is the ancient mystery and practice of metousiosis to which you refer; and no, I won’t.”

“Why not?” Twilight asked, sincerely but without losing the air of teasing. She took a bite of her half of the sandwich, remembering to pour a mug of tea.

“Food or drink that has been… uh… energized in that way must be received with reverence and thanksgiving,” Trixie took a small enough bite from his own half that he could choke it down and quickly retort in case Twilight shot back with something clever. “Not the sort of meal you could converse over. I’m surprised you haven’t read about it-”

“I have,” verified Twilight and, after sipping her tea, she continued, “or, I’ve read about approximations of it, but never written by somepony who had actually done it.”

Trixie seemed as though he was going to reply, but never did. He just gazed off nonchalantly and ate his sandwich. Twilight stepped back over from the brewer and nuzzled him.

“Would you like a sip of my tea? Or I could pour you your own mug,” she asked.

“No, thank you,” he answered.

“Why do you get so uncomfortable when we talk about this sort of thing?” she asked, immediately after.

“What?” Trixie asked, innocently enough.

“You know what,” answered Twilight, and he did.

“Tea?”

“Trixie!”

“What?!”

“Don’t play d-...” Twilight sighed. “You always freeze me out when we talk about this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Trixie asked again, just a little bit more earnestly.

“Things that have to do with your religion,” Twilight answered.

“Don’t say it like that,” Trixie’s voice became smoother, darker.

“Say it like how?”

“‘My religion,’ like it’s so far out and anomalous,” an indignant Trixie revealed, dropping the act.

“I’m sorry if it sounded like that. That isn’t what I meant by asking,” Twilight set her mug of tea down and hugged him, seeing that Trixie might drop into one of his moods. He offered no resistance. “I just… I’m interested in it, and not just intellectually, but also because it’s a big part of who you are, and I love you.”

Trixie, seeming placated and feeling a little guilty, ate the last bite of his sandwich and returned Twilight’s embrace. They lingered there, in silence, for a few moments.

“I love you too, Twilight,” said Trixie. All sense and intuition led Twilight to believe he would continue, hopefully with an answer, but he never did. Trixie just sat there, hugging her in silence.

Once the atmosphere in the kitchen calmed, Twilight could feel around him, emotionally, an air of profound diffidence. Trixie was never wanting for confidence, earned or otherwise. It struck Twilight that the heart of his sensitivity in discussing the High Unicorn theology must be rooted either in a fear he did not truly comprehend it, or in a belief he did not possess the ability to accurately communicate it to other ponies.

Twilight held no misgivings over the origin of this problem. Like many of Trixie’s other emotional issues, she blamed this on his dead ‘master’.

But that would have to be a conversation for a much later date.

“Okay,” Twilight nuzzled Trixie, and that was the end of it. They lingered in the embrace for just awhile longer. “Do you like stuffed peppers?”

“What? Oh, yes, I don’t mind them. But, like you said, you can never tell what Spike is actually going to cook for dinner.”

“Mhm,” grinned Twilight, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try some tea?”

“Sure, I’ll try it.”

Author's Note:

I played around with the pacing in this chapter, but only to do what I felt was necessary to accurately portray and convey that sort of argument that can ambush two people involved with one another. I hope you enjoyed it, and I apologize for taking my sweet time writing it. Unless the story has to take me elsewhere, there ought to be two to three more chapters.

Trixie’s drink, or the recipe for it, was actually first recorded in history as being invented by the man from Samos, Pythagoras. The philosopher would take a ration of it, along with some kind of vegetarian cake made with similar ingredients, with him when he would meditate for extended periods of time in temples to the Divine. He said that Hercules partook of the same diet when he was a mere mortal man trekking through the deserts of Libya, according to the instructions of the goddess Ceres.

That is to say, while history tells us Pythagoras invented these recipes, Pythagoras said that the gods gave it to mankind. Believe whatever you’d like.

P.S. This chapter’s title is taken from a Jim Morrison poem.

Comments

[Viper Pit]

Trixie seems like he trust twilight but nut enough to teach her about his practices I wonder why

[Lux Tenebris]

9563982
I wish you luck. I need to edit my own "masterpiece" so it looks this good xD