Chapter 7
The Paddock was abuzz tonight, good-natured laughter filling it from finely hewn stone floors to cherry wood rafters. Patrons lined the bar, no seat there vacant for more than a minute at a time, and rarely even that long. Twin streams of ponies moved up and down the wide staircase to the rooms above. A small stage ate into the ground floor’s space, empty; even so, the room had a music all its own in the small-town conversation, a touch of theatre in the pockets of romance and good humor and sorrow-drowning scattered about it.
And at one corner booth, supper had just arrived.
“Perhaps—” Trixie nearly choked as her horn levitated a bite of well-crusted summer squash casserole right into her speaking mouth. She shrugged, and she chewed. After, she tried again, “Perhaps you were right before.”
Breaking away from a big bowl of three-cheese grits (“heavy on the pepper jack!”), Scootaloo said, “About getting food?”
“No, no. Well, yes, but no.” Trixie pointed a hoof to Sweetie Belle, who looked up. “You were right, little one. Regarding training.”
Sweetie swallowed her mouthful of burdock root soup, tilting her head. “You mean about you giving us training before we do a show?”
“Precisely,” Trixie said, her horn deciding she needed another bite. Then, “Trixie had apparently forgotten just what it means to be inexperienced. She thinks training will be in order before her company tries anything remotely like a professional magic show again.”
Apple Bloom pushed away a mostly empty plate, streaked with applesauce and an apple sauce. “So,” she said, dirtying a napkin with her lips, “where’s that leave me ‘n Scoots?”
Trixie raised a brow. “Has Trixie not just stated her intentions to train you all?”
“What, like,” said Scootaloo, “to do stunts and stuff?”
“Certainly, if you wish.”
Scootaloo was a great big set of pearly whites, and Apple Bloom wasn’t far off herself.
“Really, though,” said Trixie with a smile of her own, “Trixie is prepared to attempt to fill any gaps in knowledge you turn out to have.”
“How do you mean?” asked Scootaloo, before tucking back into her dinner.
Twirling a fork in her magic, the mare said, “Trixie shall just have to determine where her company is weakest, and work from there. And for the sake of her show’s reputation…”—her eyes alighted once more on Sweetie Belle—“she supposes she shall have to start with you.”
Sweetie gulped.
“Rest well, young mage.” One last morsel of squash made its way to Trixie’s mouth. “Your training will come at dawn.”
- - - - -
The curtains ripped back.
“So when you told me dawn…”
Trixie hissed as the light fell over her. She rolled away from it, deeper into her quilt.
“Hey, come on!” Sweetie leapt onto the bed. She did what she could to tear away the covers. “It’s been almost an hour now!”
The mare groaned, her upper body exposed to the slightly chilly air. In the nest of her bedraggled mane, her horn surrounded itself with a murky glow.
Sweetie felt a weak, quivering field of telekinesis try to push her off, but it was easy to stand her ground. “Why did you even say dawn if you were just going to sit in bed? I could be sitting in bed, too!”
The magic dissipated, and after a moment, Trixie sighed. “Because it’ll be a very long day,” she said, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. “I knew I needed an early start.”
Sweetie jumped down to the floor, but froze. “Hey,” she said as she turned back, “you lost your illeism!”
Trixie’s face scrunched up. “My what?”
“Your third-person speech thing.”
“Ugh.” Trixie peeled her covers back fully, stepping out onto the too-cold wood of the floor. “Why do you even know a word like that?”
It was a small room, sparsely furnished apart from the bed and a large chest of drawers. One window sat on a wall papered in light green patterns, a stark but not unattractive contrast to the bare fitted planks that made up the other three. Cherry wood, like the floors, the ceiling, and much of the rest of The Paddock.
The room did come with an adjacent bathroom, small though it also was, and it was to there that Trixie trudged. A bit of drowsy-horned magic turned the bathroom sink’s knobs and filled a tin cup that had been sitting on the rim.
Back in the main room, Trixie’s magic field held the cup up in the air, stationary. The glow of her horn brightened, and a light fwoosh accompanied the appearance of a little flame just beneath the cup’s base.
“What are you doing?” said Sweetie. She had a hoof raised, unsure whether to retreat or go in for a closer look.
Trixie rolled her eyes, and she moved to the chest of drawers. “Ponies in my line of work have a clever word for it.” She sucked in a breath and intoned with decidedly fake awe, “Magic.” She slid open a drawer, out of which floated one of her many pouches. This one was a dark green, embroidered with a simple, spade-shaped leaf—and it looked like it was wriggling. As she made her way back over to the cup, the mare went on, “Magic’s probably something pretty foreign to you, right?”
With a note of apprehension, Sweetie asked, “What do you mean?”
“Weak abilities with levitation,” said Trixie, “no knowledge of mana marbles apart from what you’ve heard from me, and if your performance yesterday was typical, a lack of self-control and perhaps even knowledge of the basic principles of thaumaturgy.” She dropped the pouch to the ground before crushing it underhoof. There was a dirge of tiny squeals, then the wriggling stopped. “Tell me. What other gaps in your training will I be forced to correct?”
“Hey!” Sweetie Belle was blushing hard, but it didn’t keep her from scowling. “I always hate it whenever I’ve got to play this card, but I’m only a little girl! What did you expect?”
Trixie gave a pshaw. “Spare me. By whatever tender age you are, I’d been using my magic to turn a profit on the schoolyard.” She wore an empty smile as she stared into the fire, but it broke into a yawn. Smacking her lips, she continued, “No, even after applying the Trixie Curve, you’re miles behind where you should be. What idiot do you go to to learn magic?”
“My sister,” said Sweetie, a frown cropping up. “Why are you acting so much meaner than usual, Miss Trixie?”
Trixie’s ear twitched. “Your sister’s a regular magical scholar, is she?”
“Seamstress.”
The flame and the cup wavered wildly for a second, and Trixie burst out laughing.
The red was erupting full force on Sweetie’s face. “Well, she’s taught me loads more magic than you, hasn’t she? Is this a lesson or are you just going to make fun?”
Trixie’s laughter died down, and she wiped a tear from her eye. “One, your sister’s had you for more than a day or two.” She snickered. “And two, I bet I’ve already taught you some magic much more complex than she ever did.”
Sweetie tilted her head. “What, how to use the marbles?”
“Yes and no.” Trixie reached up to her still unkempt mane and, face tight, ripped a hair free. She floated the long, silvery strand over into Sweetie Belle’s hooves. “Make it invisible.”
Looking between Trixie and the hair, Sweetie said, “Um, alright. Where’s one of the little black pouches?”
“No,” said Trixie, rolling her eyes. “Use your own magic this time.”
Sweetie’s jaw dropped. “I can’t do that!” she said, voicing shooting up to the highest registers. “I can barely levitate, and invisibility is supposed to take way, way more magic.”
“Actually,” said Trixie with a chuckle, “with a small enough object, it can wind up taking less, depending. A hair has a tiny enough surface area for the magic to barely matter.” She let out another yawn, then shot a glance to the still-heating tin cup. Sighing, she sat herself down on the cold hardwood with a wince. “With magic out of the picture, the only thing keeping you from casting it is the complexity, but I urge you to give it a try anyway.”
Sweetie shifted her eyes up and down again, and Trixie nodded. Sparks flew out from the filly’s horn as it kicked into gear, and a pale glow formed. The haze shifted about, dancing in the air around the horn, and then around the hair.
But nothing happened.
“What’s in your head right now?” asked Trixie.
“Um…” The glow dissipated. “I read a book about magic at the library, once. It had a few lines about an invisibility spell, and I’m… It said I had to—”
“Stop.”
Sweetie looked up.
Trixie’s expression was stern. “I distinctly recall telling you to ‘learn by doing.’ And what did you do, yesterday?”
Face falling, Sweetie said, “I messed up your magic show.”
“Ha!” Trixie’s hard look broke slightly. “Yes, I suppose so. But you know what else?”
Sweetie shook her head.
“While you were dismantling my reputation, you cast a good two dozen invisibility spells.”
“Huh? But all I…” The filly’s face scrunched up. “The marbles, then? In that little ‘crash course,’ you told me they were concentrated magic, but I didn’t think—”
The distinctive, burbling sound of the water in Trixie’s cup coming to a heady boil filled the air. Trixie sighed heavily, smiling, and put out the fire. “Matrons be praised,” she said as she upended the leaf-themed pouch—a bit of greenish mush plopped into the steaming water. She swished the cup around in her telekinesis, and continued, “You’re remembering wrong. I told you that mana marbles were composed of concentrated magic, but I also said they were spells.”
“Well, okay, but what’s the difference?” Sweetie sniffed the air, which now seemed to be full almost to the point of fogging with a sharp, spicy smell. “And what’s that in the cup?”
Trixie grinned, but the way her teeth were set made it seem almost predatory to Sweetie. “Want a sip?”
“…No thanks.”
“Your loss.” The mare took a deep breath of air, and she chuckled, saying, “Doing wonders for me already. Back to the matter at hoof, though.” Trixie stood, advancing on Sweetie Belle. “The difference between magic and a spell should be obvious to you, in hindsight. Magic is what fuels spells, and spells are both the magic that make them up and the form that that magic is given. The pattern, the flow of it—there are a million applicable terms.”
Sweetie frowned. “So when you say a marble is a spell…?”
Huffing, Trixie said, “Come now. I expect you to do some thinking.”
Frown etching itself ever harder into Sweetie Belle’s cheeks, she said, “It means the ‘pattern’ is baked in when you make one?”
“Precisely,” said Trixie, now beginning to walk in a circle around the filly. “And what do you suppose that means when you activate one?”
“That the marble casts the spell itself?” Sweetie strained her neck to follow as Trixie disappeared behind her. “Because it’s got all of the magic right there and knows what form it’s supposed to end up in?”
Trixie shook her head, not looking at Sweetie. “A decent try—and in some situations, you’d actually be right—but guess again. Remember that it’s you who activates the marble, with your own horn.”
Sweetie Belle looked to the hair still resting on her hoof. She narrowed her gaze, and her horn began to spark and glow once more. Not a moment sooner did the glow extend to the hair than both the hair and the glow disappeared. “Ha!” The filly jumped for joy. She whipped her head to Trixie, saying, “The spell goes through my horn—through me, doesn’t it?”
A nod and a prideful little smirk met Sweetie’s eyes. “Correct,” said Trixie. “You can imagine why they’ve seen widespread use as teaching aids, no?” She patted Sweetie’s stub of a horn. “Budding unicorns such as yourself don’t often have the magical reserves necessary to get in a lot of practice with any but the least demanding spells, but with mana marbles, you’re at least able to pick up the patterns.
“The tricky part,” she went on, making her way back over to the bed, “will come later, when you stop relying on instinct to cast them.” She clambered up onto the sheets. “Until then, you won’t have a full understanding of them, and that will limit you immensely.”
Trixie, situated firmly on the bed, floated the cup to her face. She took one last, great whiff of its steam, then promptly blew on it and poured it down her throat. Her eyes went wide, and her face went deep purple. The cup gave a tinny clang as it hit the floor.
Sweetie rushed forward, all but shouting, “Are you okay? What is that stuff?” But Trixie just wheezed out a laugh, falling over backwards. Sweetie slowed.
All four legs pointed right up at the ceiling, and still laughing, Trixie managed, “Something far stronger than coffee, Trixie will say that much.” Angling her head up, she caught Sweetie Belle’s raised eyebrow. She gave a contented sigh, then rose, before ruffling the filly’s mane. “Trixie apologizes if she’s caused any offense, little one. She is far from being a morning pony—and rarely does she allow anyone to catch her so indisposed.”
“You’re weird, Miss Trixie,” said Sweetie, ducking away from the hoof before her hair could get ruined any further.
Trixie giggled. “Trixie assures you that weirdness all but comes with the showpony territory. And speaking of…” Her horn lit up, and a drawer over on the chest slid open, relinquishing a slip of paper. Floating it into Sweetie’s hooves, she said, “Trixie has a little assignment for you to undertake. You could call it ‘homework’.”
- - - - -
Scootaloo had always loved the sound her hooves made on wooden stairs. It always sounded more alive than when she walked on most other kinds of things—like the wood was where it wanted to be, somehow. She shook her head, remembering that this was supposed to be a conversation, and said, “So when are they getting back?”
“I don’t know,” said Sweetie from alongside her, the pair of them making their way down to The Paddock’s main floor. “She didn’t even say she was leaving, exactly. Just that she might use the wagon for Bloom’s lesson, so I should get anything I needed out of it.”
“Performance stuff?”
Sweetie Belle nodded.
Scootaloo wore a skeptical look. “It doesn’t sound like she gave you much of a lesson, to be honest. More like she just got in your head a bit.”
“I guess that is what happened.” Sweetie giggled. “Still, it seemed like she might know a lot more than Rarity. Maybe I’ll get a better lesson next time if I make sure I’m not the one who wakes her up.”
“Seriously, though,” said Scootaloo, “are you actually ready for this?”
The two fillies reached the bottom of the staircase, and Sweetie Belle looked around. The restaurant portion of The Paddock was almost deserted now compared to the night before—there were just a hoofful of patrons scattered about, eating light breakfasts and brunches. “It…” She licked her lips, which suddenly seemed very dry. “It shouldn’t be that bad.”
The pair made their way over to the bar, where a white-coated, carnation-maned stallion seemed to be the only member of staff out on the floor. They leapt and scrambled their way up onto the stools. Once victorious, they met a wry smile from across the counter.
“Bit young to start your morning off right, aren’tcha?” said the bartender. “How’s about a pair of birch beers, instead?” He reached beneath the counter and brought two glasses under a tap.
Cheeks reddening, Sweetie said, “Thank you, sir, but I’m here to make a request.”
The smile didn’t leave the bartender’s face, and he didn’t stop pouring. “Not one of those ‘I swear my dad sent me to get’ sort of requests, I hope?” He set the birch beers out in front of the fillies. “On the house, this time.”
“Hey, thanks, mister!” said Scootaloo. Not a second later, she was gulping hers down, savoring the light burn.
“Thank you again, and no.” Sweetie Belle cleared her throat. “This is more of a ‘can I use your stage?’ kind of request…”
The stallion’s smile finally began to fade a little. “For what, exactly?”
Sweetie mumbled too low to be heard, but her friend elbowed her in the ribs. “Ouch!” She scowled at a grinning Scootaloo, then turned an apprehensive look back to the bartender, saying, “It would be a magic show. A practice one.”
“Sorry, little miss,” he said, out and out frowning now. “Practice or no, I don’t think I’m allowed. A free drink to a cute filly now and again’s one thing, but hosting a show that don’t have a permit? That’s…” He found a signed and dated slip of paper floating in front of his face. Grasping it, he held it up to the light of a nearby window, before giving it back. “Well, huh. Free show?”
Sweetie Belle nodded. “My master said I can take anything the audience wants to give me, but that I should give The Paddock some of whatever I get.”
“We usually book acts ourselves…” The bartender tapped a hoof to his chin. “Don’t know that we’ve got any official rules for this. A fifth for us sound okay to you?”
“Sure!” said Sweetie.
“Long as nothing gets burned or blowed up, that should work.” The bartender held a hoof out, and it took the filly a second, but she shook it.
Sweetie Belle looked to the stage, tapping her hooves together. She felt a light shove against her shoulder, and turned to see Scootaloo, mouth still occupied with birch beer, motioning with a hoof for her to get going. Sweetie nodded and hopped to the floor, landing awkwardly but managing not to fall.
With as much poise and gravity as she could muster—which turned out not to be as much as she’d hoped—Sweetie Belle strutted her way over to the stage’s steps.
As she climbed them, she could hear a jaunty marching beat begin to play.
Sweetie marched up onto the platform with a measured pace. Once she’d reached center stage, she stopped and faced the room, but kept rhythmically clopping her hooves on the hardwood.
“Come one, come all!” she called, and every eye in the room turned to her. She set her mouth into a determined line. “Witness the birth of a new star!”
One stallion, awe gleaming in his eyes, asked, “What’s your name?”
“This star’s name? This young master—this paragon?” said Sweetie, blessing the stallion with a glance. “Her name is…”
Sparkling lights leapt from Sweetie’s horn, fizzling and crackling as they rent the air. In time with her hooves, she sang,
“The Magnificent Sweetie Belle, here to surprise!
She’ll razzle!
She’ll dazzle!
You won’t trust your eyes!”
From the nothingness by her side shot a black-and-white wand, spinning ‘round and ‘round the filly, held in the glow of her magic.
“The Magnificent Sweetie, no equal in sight!
She’ll shock and
She’ll awe and
She’ll be here all night!”
With every stomp of her hoof, Sweetie’s wand paused in its flight and shot a whistling orb of color out to the audience. They oohed and they ahhed, and they scrambled in close to the stage, begging for more.
“The Magnificent Sweetie Belle, here to amaze!
Prodigy!
Destiny?
Lavished with praise!”
The audience had the beat now, stomping with Sweetie for all that they were worth—but they almost lost it when a cape and hat of pure starlight shimmered into being on their new goddess!
“The Magnificent Sweetie Belle,”
She upturned the hat.
“The never been beat–y belle,”
She gave it a pat.
“The in the hot seat–y belle,”
And out fell a bunny…
“Don’t call her a cheat-y belle,”
A dragon!
“The best on the street–y belle,”
Some money.
“Her presence a treat–y belle,”
A wagon, shaped funny!
“The high-class, elite-y belle.”
And squashing all flat came a fat-bellied cat!
“This prim filly, neat-y,
Says never did she see
A magician alive who’s an ounce more discreet-y,
Offbeat, petite-y,
Or even complete-y,
As she, the Magnificent, Marvelous Sweetie Belle!”
In a final display, Sweetie’s wand flew over the audience, raining its majestic lights down upon them. The filly, bowing, found herself nearly deafened by their maddened cheers and their fervent, still-paced stomping. Flowers and bits flew up to the stage in equal measure, Sweetie’s smile growing more radiant with each addition to the pile.
The audience, with its cheers dying down, called out in a chorus of harmonious mares’ and stallions’ voices,
“The Magnificent Sweetie makes grown ponies squeal!
So daring!
So bold!
Can she do it for real?”
The marching beat cut out with an ear-piercing gramophone scratch.
Sweetie shook her head roughly and climbed the stage’s steps, somehow managing not to trip over herself. When she reached center stage, she turned and faced the room, hoping no one heard her gulp.
“Come one,” said Sweetie in what could just barely be called an indoor voice, “come all…”
- - - - -
Apple Bloom had to admit that Trixie sure could pick a nice spot for a lesson. The stream by where the wagon was parked babbled, the breeze blew through her mane and the silk of her bow, and the grass reached out to tickle her stomach. Fall wasn’t in Dappleton quite yet, but it wasn’t hot, either. It was just right.
It almost seemed a shame to her when Trixie finally said something.
“Okay, little Apple Bloom.” The mare was seated a few hooflengths off, wearing that outfit of hers, like she didn’t want to feel the breeze on her. “Trixie shall begin, once more, by asking how far along her pupil is with magic training.”
Apple Bloom’s head reared back a bit, and she cocked an eyebrow, but the look passed quickly. “Ah know a little bit,” she said, “ah guess. Big Mac back home—he’s mah brother—knows a whole lot about it, and he taught mah sis’, and he started teachin’ me a year or two ago.”
“Inherited knowledge. Interesting. Might Trixie ask what you know so far?”
Looking up to the clear blue overhead, Apple Bloom said, “Well, ah know an earth pony’s magic is all in our hooves.” She waggled her forehooves where they sat. “We can use ‘em to feel the life in the ground—see where’s good to start plantin’ things. Ah also know a bit about the firmen— firmoma… Er, the stars an’ stuff.” She rubbed her mane. “Sorry, Big Mac’s a little too wordy fer me.”
“Trixie sees that ‘Big Mac’ underwent very traditional magic lessons.” Trixie nodded. “She supposes that is to be expected, if your family keeps its magical knowledge… well, in the family.” She stood up, cape flaring out, and Apple Bloom had to fight not to roll her eyes. “Trixie regrets to inform you, however, that your brother was not entirely correct. The basics sounded classical, but Trixie knows for a fact that in the past century, the theories on the positioning of the firmament in relation to the performance of an earth pony’s magical abilities were found to be thoroughly ungrounded in all but superstition.”
The wind whistled through the trees at the edge of the field.
“Um… pardon?”
Trixie shook her head. “The ‘stars an’ stuff’, as you so elegantly referred to them, do nothing for an earth pony aside from providing moral support. The notion that they make you stronger is a simple myth.”
“Oh…” Apple Bloom opened her mouth to say more, but she was cut off.
“Beyond that, the assumption that an earth pony’s magic is ‘in your hooves’ is similarly incorrect. The magic is outside of yourself”—here Trixie swept her hoof all about—“a part of everything. It is an earth pony’s unique hooves that allow you to work with the magical energies in organic and otherwise physical materials, yes, but the magic within your own bodies has no bearing on it.”
“Right…” Apple Bloom’s ear flicked, and a little frown was taking shape on her face. “How do y’all know all that, exactly? Bein’ a unicorn ‘n all, that is.”
“Trixie is no earth pony, yes, but she is ever sure to keep abreast of magical knowledge.” The mare waved a hoof, like Apple Bloom’s budding concerns were meaningless. “Even knowing as little as Trixie does about earth pony magic specifically, she has at least made herself aware of current developments. She suggests that you have your family do the same, upon your return. Tradition is fine, but fact is better.”
Apple Bloom found herself rubbing one fore leg over the other. “Ah guess.” Feeling and sounding decidedly less enthusiastic than when Trixie had first fetched her for training, she said, “So, uh… what’ve ya got to teach me?”
“Well, that depends. Back to your earlier experience—you’ve told Trixie your knowledge of the mechanics of earth pony magic, but what have you actually been able to accomplish with it, as of yet?”
“Um, not a whole lot, ah guess.” Apple Bloom ran a hoof over some of the grass before her, and a patch of out-of-season dandelions. “Ah’ve been able to grow little things like flowers, and even a fern once, with just mah magic an’ some sunlight. Nothin’ big like a tree, ‘a course. With the other stuff—the strength and co’rdination ‘n all—ah still can’t buck the apples out of a tree anywhere close to how mah sis’ does it, but ah’m gettin’ better.”
Trixie smirked, and she pointed off towards the field’s edge. A half-wild apple tree rustled in the breeze there. “Show Trixie.”
Hoof met mane one more time, but Apple Bloom stood and made her way over all the same. She stared up into the branches as she came to a stop at the trunk.
It was something like a Jonagold. Fruit looked ripe, or nearly. Sort of small, but no severe cankers, no infestations—that certainly didn’t argue against it being a Jonagold, the hearty things. Not terribly misshapen despite not having had a pony to guide it. All in all, a pretty good tree.
Thwack, then a rain of thumps, two of which sounded a bit meatier than the rest.
Trixie’s eyes were wide.
“Ya see?” said Apple Bloom. “If it was AJ, she’d ‘a had that tree empty in the blink of an eye, all the fruit landin’ right in her baskets, not a one of ‘em hittin’ her.”
And now Trixie’s mouth was wide. In a moment, she said, “I-is that so?” She shook her head—Apple Bloom wondered how long it would be before the mare got a crick in her neck. “Come here a moment, if you would.”
Apple Bloom marched right back on command. Trixie’s horn was building up some magic, and after a few moments, an orb of pinkish light flared into being in front of the filly.
“Kick it,” said Trixie flatly.
Apple Bloom shrugged, turned and kicked—
Trixie zipped down to the ground as the orb shot past overhead. She turned, tracking its flight off into the trees. Gulping, she stood and faced the filly once more. “Little one, Trixie dares to say she feels you are selling yourself quite short. This ‘AJ’ pony sounds like a very accomplished magic user, but Trixie assures you that you are no simple initiate yourself.” Trixie motioned to the almost fruit-bare tree. “She has seen ponies nearly twice your age fail to approach that level of competence. Often, in fact.”
Blushed very lightly, Apple Bloom kicked a hoof against the dirt. “Yer just sayin’ that.”
“And Trixie says it because it is the truth. You have an excellent grasp of your strength, as well—that kick you gave Trixie’s magic was far more powerful than she had been expecting. In fact…” Trixie’s brows knitted. “In fact, Trixie is unsure that she could instruct you in earth pony magic as well as you have already been instructed.”
Apple Bloom’s mouth couldn’t decide whether to grin or to frown. It settled for saying, “Stunts, then?”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “It has yet to become apparent to Trixie from where, precisely, this idea of stunts arose.”
“Scootaloo’s idea, ah thought. Why? Can’t do ‘em?”
“What Trixie means to say is that they would not have been her first, second, or even tenth suggestion.” The mare held her hat aloft in a magic field—the white gold trim was glinting in the light, giving the whole thing an almost delicate look. “Physical stunts have never been a large part of Trixie’s performances. Things like escape effects have, certainly—when she’s had the right accompanying talent—but she leaves outright daredevilry to the daredevils.”
Frown it was, then. “So there’s nothin’ y’all can teach me?”
Trixie scoffed, pulling her hat firmly back into place. “Trixie didn’t say that. It is merely a matter of making a decision. Currently, she is equipped to teach biothaumaturgy, legerdemain, escapology, apothecary, ment—”
“Ain’t gonna be much good decidin’ if I can’t even understand ya.”
Trixie gave a defeated sigh. “In the common terms: race magic, sleight of hoof, escape tricks, potion-making, psych—”
“Ooh!” Apple Bloom’s hoof shot up. “Potions! Ah’ve done some ‘a that.”
Raising an eyebrow, Trixie said, “At your age? What, did you brew your first cup of tea?”
“That counts?”
Trixie waggled a hoof noncommittally.
“Nah,” said Apple Bloom, “ah’ve made a full love potion and a Heart’s Desire potion, but neither—”
“Wha—!?” Trixie fell flat on her face. She leapt back up, never mind the grass stains, and shouted, “What ignorant psychopath would teach such dangerous— You mean you actually got potions like those to— I mean, I…” Trixie coughed into a hoof, and she straightened her hat where it had gone askew. “What Trixie means to ask is how?”
Apple Bloom’s head fell to the side, her expression blank. “Ah just… did ‘em? Love potion, me an’ mah friends followed a recipe, and with the Heart’s Desire ah sorta did whatever.”
Another breeze blew by, rustling, jostling. At this point Apple Bloom wondered if nature was just having fun with the awkward silences.
“Potions it is,” said a formerly slack-jawed Trixie, “before you kill anypony.” Her horn began to glow.
Apple Bloom turned to see Trixie’s cauldron floating out from the wagon, along with a mass of water from the stream.
“Dig a pit, would you?”
The filly did, and a fire sprouted up within it a moment later, above which a filled cauldron now sat.
“Apothecary one-oh-one,” said Trixie with an air of authority. “The most basic fact of apothecary is that it deals with reactions, and the most basic reaction an apothecary engenders is arguably this: water boils when heated.”
“Duh,” said Apple Bloom.
“Shush, little one. There is mastery to be had even here. Are you familiar with the phrase ‘A watched pot never boils’?” At Apple Bloom’s nod, Trixie continued, “You will find this phrase seems to ring doubly true for cauldrons. It is best to occupy oneself with the preparation of ingredients and the like while the cauldron heats up, so it can be an invaluable skill to hear when the water is boiling at the proper stage. Come and practice.”
Slowly, Apple Bloom’s eyes grew wide as small planetoids. “Fer… Fer how long?”
Stats
Page generated in 0.017 seconds
Total duration
999 users online
1,385,684 hits today, 2,073,628 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Excellent to see a new chapter (or two in my case, I can be so bloody blind sometimes). Another story back on its hooves.
Very nice. I like what we are seeing of this Trixie, partially because it's in a different color from the others I've seen. But also it's just fun. It sounds like she and Twilight could talk shop, assuming they didn't sneer at each other's preferred shops.
I like how you are developing Trixie. Have you read the IDW comics with her in it? Now we just have to see how she and Scootaloo interact together.
I am curious how the mane six are doing now, and how soon they will get the letters. Don't make them the focus, just don't forget all about them.
5979118
I have read them, but they won't be having an effect on this fic, if that's what you're asking.
5979279 Of course, but I was meaning did you gain any insight for Trixie's character?
Looking foreward to a knew chapter!
5982708
Nah, the Trixie in this story has pretty much been set in my mind from the get-go.
And happy to hear it.
Got here via a Spacebattles rec. Excellent story. Really like your version of Trixie.
Quite another nice chapter. Interesting how contrasting Apple Bloom Sweetie Belle's development has been. I also love Trixie and how much she knows. :) I've always felt she had a lot of 'hooves-on' knowledge of this kind of stuff.
Sweetie Belle's imagination running wild on her right before it's revealed it's all her imagination is absolutely adorable.
And I suspect Trixie is now beginning to realise she has a nuclear missile on her hands in Apple Bloom that's only waiting to undergo an uncontrolled fissile reaction.
It's notable that Trixie actually is rather formally educated- and apparently quite well at that:
vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/mlp/images/6/6f/Lauren_Faust_Twitter_Trixie_Celestia_School_of_Gifted_Unicorns_2013-05-02.png/revision/latest?cb=20130502145158
Straight from the Faust-horse's mouth, as it were. I guess you'd call this "Trixie Time"!
>mfw invisible text