43 Lantador's Lost Love, Part One
July 18th, 1000 Domina Solaria
Two sharp, staccato bursts from a whistle just outside the wall awakens Trixie, but it doesn’t actually get the blue unicorn to stir. There were a lot of reasons for alarms in Las Pegasus, and very rarely did they have anything to do with her. She would have remembered setting one for herself if she actually had a reason to get up in the morning. Besides, it’s not like she has a deadline or anything, just leave Ponyville whenever it’s convenient.
In fact, she is certain she didn’t set one for this morning. Her hoof meanders around regardless, trying to find the shut-off button as the blasts continue in quick succession. Stupid thing always gets knocked to the floor. Or worse, behind something, and she’ll have to fish it out from among all the other pieces of junk that find their way behind her boxes of curios and stage implements.
One eye groggily opens, failing to parse the not-actually-yellow wood of her not-wagon in favor of the triple pair of blue eyes staring at her from just above the orange and red sheets she had kicked to the base of the bed at some point during the night.
Seven eyes stare at each other for several long seconds until six of them blink in eerie synchronization. This continues until another blast from the whistle outside reminds Trixie that she could be in mortal danger!
One scream quickly quadruples as one blue, one pink and two yellow forms explode away from the bed, three of them regrouping at the doorway and bursting into three sets of giggles. Well, two sets of giggles and one half-choked, half stuttering emulation of a laugh so far into the uncanny valley that Trixie would have sworn it is actually a puppet of Pinkie Pie’s that she took a hatchet to and performed freaky Zebrican magic to resurrect, only it didn’t quite work the first time.
“What-” Trixie yells as she finds herself halfway up the wall of the Carrot House, Doug’s office specifically, “What are you doing in here!?” She would pat herself on the back for controlling her language in front of the two fillies but, again, she’s pressing herself against both the wall and ceiling in order to keep from falling. And, between remembering that her wagon got destroyed and that she’s bunking down at the farm, doesn’t leave much room for moving limbs.
“We wanted to see if you are hungry!” that miniature hyperactive duplicate she recalls as Lemon pipes up, grinning as she pulls out a tray and assortment of plates from just outside the door. Pancakes - likely hay - along with some loose hay, slices of apples, and a glass of a cloudy beverage she would bet her last remaining sack of bits is apple juice, freshly squeezed. “We finished with breakfast, so unless you’re quick you get, um, cold oatmeal.”
Trixie watches as Pinkie Pie lifts one of her pancakes to that gluttonous maw most ponies call a mouth, her eyes widening as it disappears without a trace. Not even a lump moving down her throat! Just a pink, poofy tail oddly twitching from side to side. Only when the second of four pancakes looks to be going exactly the same way does Trixie leap into action, bravely diving into the muzzle of danger to rescue her pancake.
She manages to knock the pancake out of Pinkie Pie’s hooves, but only by landing on the plate containing the apple slices. Sixteen pieces, plus one plate and one pancake, sail into the air, four sets of eyes watching as two sets of jaws unhinge.
Trixie’s magic catches the plate, the pancake, and five of the slices. Her face scrunches down, eyes closing as she expects the split splat sploot of apples mashing themselves into the nooks of the wooden floorboards, then the angry cries blaming her for something that really ought to be Pinkie Pie’s fault. Though when the only sound that comes is the scrape of a plate sliding across the floor she chances a glance at the offending party, her eyes widening in surprise.
Pinkie Pie is balancing on one hoof, the other three limbs stretched out to hold one apple slice each, as well as one on her nose, her tongue creeping out to help balance it. Lemon spits out the three slices she caught in her mouth onto the plate that Meringue slid across the floor and caught the remaining four slices.
Trixie raises one eyebrow, “Did you plan this?” as she drops her levitating pieces onto the plate, the pancake finding its way to her own mouth.
Pinkie Pie flips the apple slice from her nose to her mouth - not chewing, just swallowing - as she shakes her head, her superfluous, “Nope!” as she drops the rest of the apple slices onto Trixie’s plate. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about!”
“The intrigued and amused Trixie is curious as to your reaction.” Trixie glances outside as the whistle blows three times in quick succession. Moments later the front door bursts open, a ball-capped Rainbow Dash leading a completely beat Scootaloo. The filly is panting heavily, limply holding her wings to her sides, yet still does her best to walk on shaky legs to the kitchen. She grabs one of the three glasses of apple juice sitting out on a filly height table, guzzling it down before going to the next one.
“Remember to pace yourself,” Rainbow Dash says curtly. She glances over at the blue unicorn, a terse nod. “Sup. Late night?”
Trixie shakes her head, “The relaxed and laid-back Trixie rarely needs to get up so early in the morning.”
Rainbow Dash glances outside, dawn having been less than thirty minutes ago. “Yeah, word of warning, don’t let Applejack catch you spouting anything like that or you’ll be getting up with Hedge.” Trixie raises an eyebrow as Rainbow Dash turns to her filly. Scootaloo finishes off the last glass, still looking exhausted. “Alright, Scoots, ready to go?”
“Ugh,” the orange filly moans as she gets up, trying to shake some feeling back into her hooves.
“Hey!” Rainbow Dash shouts, though her volume is closer to a subdued whisper, “Do you want to lose recess? I can do three-a-days all week, if we have to.” She drops down, a real whisper this time, though it can be heard over the dead silence of the rest of the house, “You know what you bring to the table, right?”
Scootaloo nods.
“Say it.” Rainbow Dash commands in a harsh whisper.
“Heart,” Scootaloo says as she steels herself, gritting her teeth and walking to the door.
“That’s right,” Rainbow Dash says, her proud grin swiftly subdued back to an impassive glare. “You might not have speed, you might not have flight, but you’ll never give up. Right?”
“Right!” Scootaloo exclaims, her voice weary yet full of determination, both of them cantering outside. They meet up with Apple Bloom before their pace picks up, heading to Ponyville.
“What?” Trixie says as she stares at the two departing pegasi, slack-jawed; even her sire hadn’t pushed her that hard. Physically, at least; he could have run circles around Rainbow with his demeaning attitude, though. She supposes that Rainbow Dash is sparing Scootaloo that, and trying to build up her confidence instead. But Trixie knows how fragile that can be.
Pinkie Pie reaches a hoof over, closing Trixie’s mouth for her as she answers Trixie’s earlier question, “I know it’s day one and all, but honestly? Not terribly impressed. You’re going to have to pick up your game if you want to stick around here!” She starts listing off on her hooves, “You aren’t dressed the part-”
“All of my stuff was destroyed by the Ursa, remember?” Trixie deadpans.
“-you show up late, you look like you should have called in sick, you don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re trying to have an affair with the boss. It’s like you went five for five in the Feud!”
Trixie raises an eyebrow, starting to give Applejack a run for her bits in the snarker category, “What?” Her eyes do go back to her mane, unbrushed and a little unkempt.
“Things you shouldn’t do on the first day of the job. Look,” Pinkie Pie lays a comforting hoof around Trixie’s withers, sitting down as Pinkie’s two fillies grab their saddlebags, waving as they leave for school. Pinkie Pie waves back as she says, “I’m on your side, okay? You just have to ask yourself, are you serious about Doug or not?”
Trixie sighs as she stares at the floor, “I’m not sure, Pinkie. I haven’t quite figured that out myself.”
“I see…” Pinkie Pie says, her hoof rubbing the bottom of her chin. “Well, in that case, I’ll leave you to puzzle that out. And, just in case it happens, if you see a bunch of smoke covering the sky outside, you’ll need to pick the fillies up from school. Good luck!” She hops outside, her pronks taking her up and down along the sloped hill until one pronk removes her from sight entirely and she never reappears.
“What?” Trixie says to nopony, having said that particular word far too frequently for this time of morning. Or any time of day, really. She glances around the empty house, debating whether to head back to bed, or get more food, or get far too early a start on her day.
“Morning,” Doug says as he enters the Carrot House, the five remaining Apple fillies regrouping at the bottom of the hill before setting out, presumably to school. He closes the door behind him, gathering the empty glasses and plates everypony left strewn around the combination kitchen, dining room and living room.
“The sleepy and comatose Trixie will have to take your word for it,” Trixie says with a yawn, glancing back to the bed that still hasn’t warmed up enough to her liking. Hard to do that by yourself. “Who is Hedge and when does she get up?”
“Fluttershy’s filly. About five.”
“Trixie was not inquiring about her age.”
“She’s three.” Doug grabs a handful of carrots from the basket on the counter, gnawing on one as he heads towards his office.
“Trixie thinks Doug did not hear her,” Trixie says with a low moan. What kind of sadistic masochists are these ponies, doing that to themselves? Though, if it translates to other areas…
Doug interrupts her idle musing with a particularly loud chomp on a carrot, chewing as he watches her and following it up with something her dam would say, “So, any plans for today?”
“The destitute yet resourceful Trixie will need to find a new wagon, unless you happen to have an extra one of those laying around too.“ Trixie beams a hopeful smile at Doug, though his shrug and slight shake of the head get her to sigh. “Then Trixie supposes she will need to head into town and inquire as to the construction of a new one.” She follows Doug into her bedroom, only a slight pang of disappointment as he goes to the desk and the array of folders instead of the bed.
“Trixie was also thinking,” she says, her voice slipping to a rhythmic cadence, “as she has some mixed emotions.”
“Oh?” Doug replies, his own voice getting slightly more lyrical, “something bringing tears to your eyes?”
Trixie raises an eyebrow but continues, “Trixie has only ever known the kind of love that has left her bodied and broken.” Doug snaps his fingers, first once, then again, a steady beat as Trixie continues, “So, forgive her for her mixed emotions.”
“Sorry,” Doug says as his voice continues with the beat, “But I’m not the kind of person who can, fall in and out of love with you-”
“That’s not what love’s supposed to do,” finishes Trixie, beaming at her soulmate. “Don’t go-”
“Eh,” Doug interrupts with a shrug, his fingers abruptly stopping their beat. “I promise you this. If all that surrounds you are secrets and lies?” Trixie’s smile slightly fades, “I’ll still be strong, give you hope when all is gone.” Her smile disappears completely as his snapping returns, somehow as drab and uninspired as the words he is saying in a flat monotone, “The one you should call, standing here all along.”
“Where did you hear that,” Trixie spits out; her horn would be glowing but you don’t strike colts, even when they are wrong about everything.
“Oh, you like it?” Doug asks with a smile both too oblivious about what he is spouting and somehow hiding that smirking like he knows how much he is getting under her coat. “Sweetie Belle was singing a couple of the lines. Looked into it a little, old friend sent me some literature. Probably the best band I’ve heard here.”
“Our Harmony is not a band!” Trixie’s mane snaps against her as her head twists to the side, “At best they are a moderately well marketed mixed group designed to make money hoof over horn. The Fallback Fillies are inspired, with catchy beats and uplifting lyrics! That really speak to a young, wayward fil- I mean, pony!” Trixie waves a hoof at Doug dismissively, getting him to shut that cursed wellspring of nonsense, “Our Harmony is just a bunch of pretenders who all sound exactly the same!”
Doug shakes his head, his arms crossing in front of him as a petulant, “No, that’s how good their harmony is! They’re supposed to sound the same!” He nods his head, as only a complete moron can, “Especially that Feather Bangs. What a dream!”
Trixie sputters, flecks of saliva flying from her mouth, “They sound like the same pony dubbed their lines five times over, twice in a stallion’s voice! And every one of their songs is the same drab, tired lyrics pasted over a poorly tuned chord!”
“Just because they are all equally good and play the same five instruments at the same time does not make it poorly tuned! So what if they use a little modulation, The Fallback Fillies use it way more.” Doug turns to his desk, his smirk hidden from Trixie’s view.
“Hey, they’re trying to get away from that, and they sound much better when they do!” Trixie crosses her clenched forelegs as she hops to the bed. She has to make some space, or her hooves might fly on their own. She glares at Doug, daring him to contest the, admittedly weak, assertion. “They don’t need it, but Our Harmony certainly does.”
“Nah, they’d still sound amazing. And great. All synced up exactly the same.” His hands move to his mouth, Doug’s whole body shuddering in suppressed laughter.
Trixie throws her hooves into the air, practically blind with rage, “But you just said that Feather Bangs is the best of them! How can one of them be the best and, at the same time, all sound the same?”
Doug says, “Just like you’re both my least and most favorite unicorn in the room.” Trixie rolls her eyes, “But that’s their manager, that, um, Glim Glam’s fault. Feather Bangs could totally make it solo, the rest of the band is just holding him back and she won’t let him go.”
“But they all sound- I’m sorry, this right here?” Trixie says, stomping up to the door and pointing to Doug. He turns, just long enough to see her enraged glare, “Deal breaker.” She spins around in a huff, slamming the door behind her.
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Well that could be sad. I just feel sad for Trixie here, it just feels like she has had a hard life and she doesn't know how to respond fully to some things.
Well Trixie should be a fair to very good Carpenter,Seamstress,Cook and locksmith/picker.
Because to stretch her budget for her traveling she would have to Build and maintain her props,clothes and wagon.
Along with the preserving,preparing and cooking of food.
The woodworking skills would be from the Cabinet building for her stage work.
Magic props have very fine tolerances otherwise participants in the Illusions could be severely injured or killed.
So she wouldn't be deadweight around the Farm give her wood working tools and she would surprise them.
I was tickled pink by this adjective pattern. And having her budding connection with Doug fall apart because of an N*Sync/BSB-type rivalry is comedic gold. Thank you. So much.
10009062
Trixie is a riot to write! And I love twisting songs to their MLP counterparts
Seven?
Something tells me Doug is messing with the Aggravated and Fanatic Trixie.
10108306
Trixie only has one eye open.
10009163
Did you mean bloodied there?
10121564
They sound very similar, I'll admit; other lyrics put it as 'battered'. /shrug
Ok that was kinda adorkable. *whispers loudly to Trixie* Hey clueless and kinda adorkable Trixie. Dong. Was. Messing. With. You.
that makes a creepy amount of sense as Feather Bangs (still keep thinking Finger Bangs) was intruduced in Starlight Glim Glam's village. and the groups all sang and played the exact same.
*strokes beard* it's all coming together.
now where is my illuminati gif....