Media Circus
Coffee existed in Equestria. Trade with the zebra and antelope nations had brought it over from Lopanga, but it had never gained widespread popularity among ponies. They generally preferred tea — and Princess Celestia herself remained a notorious tea drinker.
Trixie, however, had discovered the “mocha latte” since arriving on Earth. Back in New York she’d gotten these from a shop with the humorous (to a pony) name of Starbucks. They were costly drinks, but money hadn’t been a problem for her, and the coffee really perked her up.
There was coffee at the Low Nest Farm, but it was not a mocha latte. Rather, it was produced from a machine with little plastic pods, and it tasted to Trixie like gargling with dirt. She had, therefore, trotted over to Keswick and returned to the Honey Pot Cafe. The coffee here was made by a friendly woman, rather than by machines — which meant that it was even more expensive than before, but Trixie now had more money than she knew what to do with, thanks to Lord Peter’s largesse.
Trixie paid for her coffee using her phone — a skill she’d recently acquired with Moondancer’s assistance. The most widely accepted form of payment here, she’d learned, was the mysterious and intangible “bit coin” that only seemed to exist in computers and phones.
Unfortunately, the coffee proved too sweet and rather weak. She wondered if she should complain, or if this was simply how they made coffee in England? Had the barista assumed that a cute little pony would prefer a soft baby drink instead of something with bite?
As she sat in the Packhorse Court and sipped the disappointing brew, Trixie brooded. She knew she should tell everyone she had made a mistake. She’d been caught up in the heat of the moment, dazzled by the ceremony, and had only imagined a flicker of magic upwelling in the circle. Everyone would be disappointed, but they would accept it. She nodded to herself and resolved to do this — later in the day, when she saw Moondancer.
Wrapped up in her worries, she was startled when her phone buzzed. In a motion that was becoming second nature to her, she magically slipped the phone and stylus out from a sly pocket inside her hat, and she answered with the traditional “Ahoy, ahoy!” as Ivan had taught her. (Although, oddly, she’d never heard anyone else answer in this way.)
It was, in fact, his voice that responded. “Trixie, where are you?” His tone instantly alerted her.
“Trixie is in town, having coffee,” she replied. “What’s wrong?”
“Some of the media have begun sniffing around, and I’m not sure how much of a nuisance they’re going to be. Could you come back to the farmhouse when you get a chance?”
“Could I finish my coffee first?”
“Sure, sure! There’s no need to panic. I just thought we could hold a little meeting and make sure that everyone’s on the same page, and that we know what to do if they show up at the door.”
“Very well! Trixie shall make her way back to the farmhouse shortly.”
Trixie finished her coffee without hurry, then left the shop and wended through Keswick. Not even two miles, it was not a long distance by pony standards, although nearly double the walk from the farmhouse to the stone circle. She’d noticed that humans often used their cars for even the shortest journeys. Trixie did not intend to become that lazy if she could avoid it. She increased her gait to a comfortable, ground-covering trot.
The pavement was not the most comfortable to her hooves, and she pondered briefly whether she should get the new composite material horseshoes she’d seen advertised. Or maybe a set of boots just for these little excursions?
She glanced at one of the stately homes alongside the road — and the sign advertising vacancy. Keswick was littered with guest houses begging for occupants. She tried to imagine the tourists that had once thronged to this area. It might even have been fertile territory for a stage magician, in its heyday.
Perhaps someday the tourists would come back and Trixie could perform here, she mused. It was pleasant to imagine.
“HEY!” came a voice from above. Trixie skidded to a halt and blinked in surprise as a pegasus swooped down to an unsteady landing in front of her. He panted lightly, catching his breath for a moment as Trixie sized him up: of average build (for a pegasus anyhow), blue eyes, khaki tan coat, somewhat darker tawny mane and tail (neatly trimmed), flying goggles of form-fitted composite (obviously human made) and compact nylon saddlebags .
After a few moments Trixie ventured, “Beg pardon?”
He gulped and responded, “Oh, sorry! I haven’t seen many other ponies around here, so when I spotted you I thought I’d say hello. If that’s OK, I mean?” He smiled.
Somewhere underneath Trixie’s hat, her ears twitched. The accent was English, and a quick glance confirmed that this stallion had no sigil on his hip. He was a newfoal. She’d never had much one-on-one interaction with newfoals. She answered warily, “Trixie supposes that is okay.”
“Trixie, is it?”
She sat back and raised a fore-hoof to her chest to indicate herself. “The Great and Powerful Trixie, most magical unicorn in all of Equestria! And who might you be?”
“Whoah… Uh, you can call me Mojo.”
Skeptically she peered at him. “Mojo? That is a peculiar name for a pegasus. A mojo is a magical charm.”
“It is? I mean… My real name is Morris Jones. At the Conversion Bureau they encouraged us to pick a pony name. Mojo is just a nickname. So, what about you? Trixie isn’t a pony name, is it?”
“Why do humans keep asking that? It is a name for a pony that performs magic tricks.” She resumed walking down the lane, and Mojo fell in beside her. She mentioned, “Trixie has seen very few newfoals since arriving in England. What prompted you to get converted so soon, if I may ask?”
“It was medical. Cancer, you know.”
Trixie frowned. “I thought humans had a cure for that now?”
“Well, yes, in most cases. But it’s expensive. The medical insurance has stopped paying for that. They say if we’ll all have to be converted anyhow, and almost any illness gets sorted out by the Potion, then there’s no need to spend the money on curing someone as a human.”
Trixie frowned. “I suppose that’s… logical.”
Mojo shrugged. “I was upset about that at first. But now I try to look at it positively. I got a head start on everyone else. I’m as healthy as a horse now! And flying… Flying is good.” They walked along in silence for a few moments, and then he asked, “So, what’s the most magical unicorn in all Equestria doing here in Cumbria?”
“Consulting work. Some humans required the advice of an expert in arcane matters, so of course they turned to Trixie.”
“I heard about the ceremony at Castlerigg!”
Trixie glanced at him with one eye, without turning her head. “You did?”
“Sure… Friend of a friend. Word gets around. They said it was pretty amazing.”
Trixie nodded. “It was most certainly a night to remember! The Wiccans invited Trixie to join their rituals, and we raised a magical Cone of Power from the stone circle.”
“What’s a cone of power?”
She was quiet for a moment as she collected her thoughts. It occurred to her that she didn’t actually know what the Cone of Power was even supposed to be or do. Nobody at the ceremony had bothered to explain it in so many words. But she couldn’t say that. She ventured, “It is a construct of mystical energies, enabling spells to be cast. The priestess drew a comparison between the Cone of Power and Trixie’s horn, in fact.”
“So… These Wiccans were able to actually cast spells?”
“That was the basic idea,” she answered noncommittally.
“Uhh… I flew over the stone circle just a little while ago, and there were bulldozers and a lot of bare dirt all around it.”
“Yes, they are rebuilding the henge to its former glory.”
“The Wiccans are doing that?”
“No. It was Katrina’s idea.”
The pegasus stumbled slightly, as if he’d tripped over some slight irregularity of the pavement. He quickly caught up and asked, “Did you say Katrina? As in, Kemetic Church? Egypt? The Golden Dawn?”
“You’ve heard of them? Well, as she explained it to me, Katrina’s theory is that the Equestrian Emergence and the advancing Barrier are symptoms of a magical imbalance between our two worlds. By re-awakening Earth’s own magic, we hope to restore balance and alleviate the situation.”
“I see. And as an expert on magic, what’s your opinion?”
“It’s, uh… not implausible. The idea seems worth investigating, which is why Trixie is here.”
“So how is that connected with the Wiccans? Does their Cone of Power mean it’s starting to work?”
“It is too soon to say. Castlerigg is not even repaired yet, and there is much more work ahead. Even if we have success here, many more such monuments may need to be reconstructed to achieve our goal.”
“Like, say… Stonehenge?” he prompted.
“Exactly. We have had some discussion about that one. But all of that would be dependent on what happens here. So, that remains somewhere in the future.”
He nodded. “It’s OK, I understand. I think I’ve got all I needed anyhow. End recording!” His goggles beeped.
Trixie stopped in her tracks and blinked at him. “Say what now?”
“Oh by the way, I work for the Sun. Thanks for the interview!” Then he flapped his wings and took off, leaving Trixie with her jaw hanging open. After a moment she uttered a strangled curse and galloped for the farmhouse.
Trixie caught her breath for a couple of minutes upon reaching the farmhouse, then went to the lounge where she found the others already gathered.
Ivan was first to greet her. “Come on in! Sit! You didn’t run all the way here, did you? I told you there wasn’t any need to panic.”
Trixie sat on the floor and said, “Ivan. Listen. Trixie spoke with a reporter.”
Smithers looked up from his book, and Moondancer put down her phone. Ivan leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Eh what? When was this?”
“It was just now, on the way over here! A newfoal pegasus swooped down and introduced himself, and he struck up conversation. He wanted to know what we were doing with the stone circle, so Trixie told him.”
Ivan blinked. “You… Why did you do that? I just warned you over the phone about reporters snooping.”
“No! No, you did not warn Trixie about reporters. You said something called ‘the media’ was sniffing around. Trixie does not know what the media is. She thought it might be something related to a hydra.”
Moondancer added, “Yeah, give her a break. I don’t think they have ambush journalism in Equestria.”
Ivan squeezed his beard in his hand, as he sometimes did when flustered or when thinking hard. Then he asked, “What did you tell him?”
“Uh… Not much. I only told him what Katrina explained to me about trying to turn back the Barrier.”
Ivan and Smithers both groaned. Smithers shook his head and said, “If you named Katrina, then they can piece together everything and everybody in between, from Lord Peter to Ivan and the National Trust and even to me. And then they’ll want to know what kind of strings were pulled to even get this project approved. Mark my words, it’ll be a huge scandal.”
Trixie sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Moondancer smirked. “Well, I feel better now. I thought Ivan was going to rake me over the coals because some of my followers tweeted about the ceremony. That doesn’t seem so bad now.”
Ivan shook his head. “That might be what tipped off this pegasus reporter. And I don’t know what to expect. Maybe it’ll just be a minor story. Unless the tabloids jump on it. They’re like sharks. Did the reporter say who he works for?”
Trixie thought for a moment. “I think he said the Sun.”
“Oh heaven help us!” Ivan buried his face in his hands.
Soon…
Trixie pulled the curtain aside just enough to peer out the front window of the farmhouse. Satellite trucks with the logos of various news agencies clogged the yard, while reporters and cameramen milled about. For a few moments there was relative calm, until one of them caught sight of her and yelled. Cameras swiveled toward the window, and reporters rushed forward with microphones in hand.
Trixie ducked back and let the curtain fall into place. Shouted questions were muffled by the insulated glass. She shuddered. “This is worse than a hydra,” she muttered to herself.
Back in her room, she toyed with her phone, magically poking at it with the stylus. It had been completely confusing at first, but it was gradually becoming somewhat less so. It also had a voice interface. She spoke to it and ordered: “Umi, call the Honeypot Cafe!”
The little synthetic voice from the phone responded, “I found one Honeypot Cafe nearby.”
“Yes, yes… Call the number!”
The screen changed to show it was dialing. After a few moments a woman’s voice came through. “Honeypot Cafe!”
“The Great and Powerful Trixie requires a mocha latte, if you please!”
“Trixie? Oh, the little pony who came in before! I can fix you a mocha. It’ll be about five minutes.”
“Please make it stronger than last time! Also, Trixie requires delivery to the Low Nest Farm.”
“Uhh… You want us to deliver a coffee?”
“Trixie is unable to leave the Low Nest Farm at this time. Can you do this?”
“Yes we can. There’s a fee for that. Is it alright if we fly it out to you?”
Trixie perked her ears. She didn’t know human businesses had already begun to employ pegasus couriers. “Yes, that would be lovely!”
“I’ll get it right out to you, then!” In a moment a request for payment popped up on the screen.
Pleased, Trixie used her stylus to approve the payment, then hung up the phone. She dawdled a few minutes in her room, then made her way to the back of the farmhouse and the fenced yard where there was some degree of privacy from the media mob. There she found Ivan and Smithers sitting on lounge chairs, having an animated conversation about… she wasn’t sure what, actually. Something about archery, she guessed, particularly since there was a quiver of arrows laying on the ground nearby, and a bow clutched in Ivan’s hands. By Equestrian standards the bow was a curious and exotic weapon, used sometimes by minotaurs but utterly unsuited to ponies.
She sat down to listen in.
Ivan explained, “A longbow made for hunting, like this one, only has a draw weight around fifty or sixty pounds. But war bows were made with a draw as heavy as a hundred eighty pounds. It took years of practice to use one effectively, and it was so stressful to the body that you can recognize the skeleton of a trained archer. The left arm became bigger, the bone thicker, and they have bone spurs on the left wrist and shoulder and on the fingers of the right hand.”
Smithers wondered, “Why were the bows made so heavy? It was because of armor?”
“That’s right. Arrows had to travel a couple hundred yards through the air and then have enough force remaining to punch through armor.” A buzzing noise caught his attention, interrupting his discourse. Eyes turned skyward, he spotted an insect-like machine approaching. “Look at that! It’s a bloody news drone.”
Trixie and Smithers both looked, and Smithers said, “Another one? You might think they’d get the message by now.”
“I’ve got this!” Ivan said, as he reached for an arrow. He stood up, nocked the arrow and pointed it, moving his entire upper body as he tracked the motion of the drone. In a fluid motion he drew and released, launching the arrow on an arched trajectory that perfectly intercepted the flying machine. There was a clash and clatter as the arrow lodged in the drone, and it tumbled from the sky to bounce on the grassy yard.
“Good shot!” Smithers exclaimed.
Ivan grinned. “We should start putting up drones on pikes. It would serve as a grim warning.”
Smithers walked over to the drone, still whirring and clicking. “Here now, what’s this?” he wondered as he picked it up. The arrow had pierced straight through a white container, from which a hot, brown liquid was now dribbling out.
“Noooooooo!!” Trixie wailed. “My coffee!”
Some while later, after apologies and reparations had been made to the Honeypot Cafe, and Trixie had finally gotten some decent coffee in her magical grasp, she sat in the privacy of her room and watched the talking heads on TV.
“The Senior Enchanter from the London Conversion Bureau, Silver Comet, is with us in the studio. Silver, what do you make of this statement by Trixie that the Wiccans raised a Cone of Power and cast spells using it?”
The slate-blue, silver-maned unicorn looked uncomfortable, sitting on his haunches upon a human chair behind the news desk. He stammered, “I, umm… Well, it’s certainly a remarkable claim. I’m unfamiliar with the Cone of Power; that’s not a term we use in Equestrian magic, to the best of my knowledge.”
“But is it plausible, from your viewpoint, that these Wiccans could have cast spells?”
“It’s, um… Hard to say for sure. All we have is a rather vague statement from Trixie. She didn’t specify what kinds of spells were cast, or what the result was. It’s not even completely clear that she didn’t provide some kind of magical assistance — intentional or otherwise — to the, uh, witches.”
The news anchor prompted, “Maybe you could give our viewers some context. Have there been any other instances of human spell-casting, to your knowledge?”
“Eh, not really. Shortly after the Emergence, when we established relations with your world, unicorn scholars came through and did some investigations into human traditions of magic, and claims of psychic powers as well. They were never able to locate any humans with a detectable magical aura, nor find any firm evidence that any humans were able to perform even the smallest magical working. The consensus opinion they reached at the time was that magic in the human world was nothing more than mythology.”
The human nodded. “I see. But we do also have mythology about unicorns, pegasus, dragons, and many other things from your world.”
“That is true, and it’s an enduring mystery. The best guess of our scholars is that our worlds must have existed in close parallel for thousands of years, and there was some sort of psychic connection, or leakage if you will, between them. I mean, consider our language! There are also many things that exist in Equestria that are best explained by some kind of mysterious influence from your world as well. Doorknobs. Stringed instruments. Golf.”
The news anchor chuckled, then offered another question. “What about The Great and Powerful Trixie, Most Magical Unicorn in All Equestria? What do you know of her?”
Silver blinked. “Frankly, I had never heard of her before today. I think I would have if she were prominent in the ranks of any of the larger magical orders, or if she had been published in the enchanter’s journals, which is my specialty. The titles she claimed for herself are, uh, somewhat eccentric, I must say. However, there are some magical traditions among unicorns that are more obscure or secretive in nature. So, I would defer on that question, and suggest sending enquiries back to Equestria for more information about her credentials.”
*click*
“Trixie never wanted to be published in your stupid journals, you pointy-headed boffin!” she snarled at the black and silent TV screen.
She flopped onto the bed and muttered softly to herself. Her thoughts churned, expressing an inner monologue, “What am I going to tell them now? It would have been hard enough to tell my friends I made a mistake, but how can I tell the whole world? Both worlds! How can I tell everypony who ever laughed at me? I can’t do it… If I keep quiet and just don’t encourage them anymore, they’ll all forget eventually.”
That night Lord Peter Feathing-Walthamstone phoned. Katrina, he informed them all, had decided to respond to the media frenzy by going public. She would personally fly out to Castlerigg to hold a press conference at the site of the stone circle itself.
The next afternoon, as the shadows of the standing stones lengthened, Trixie found herself standing in the circle alongside Moondancer and Ivan and Smithers and between them — with countless cameras and microphones pointed toward her — stood Katrina.
Katrina looked much as she had when Trixie met her before, though she had a new outfit: a thin turtleneck sweater of olive green, matching green pantsuit and platform boots, an artfully disheveled tangle of necklaces with wooden beads and antique coins, and a slim wristwatch. Once again her garb was stylish yet relatively mundane, belying her feline face and giving no clue to the exotic titles used at her introduction. Trixie noted, also, that Katrina had on a sleek, and presumably custom-made, pair of electronic smart glasses. Trixie might not have recognized their significance if not for her recent encounter with Mojo.
Trixie admired her stage presence. If Katrina felt any qualms about addressing the world, and potentially many millions of people, she hid them well. She smiled easily, kept her ears upright, and her seemingly relaxed and unruffled demeanor was quite unlike the brash stage persona Trixie had developed for her performances. However, Trixie caught a glimpse of Katrina’s tail tip flicking anxiously back and forth. Perhaps she was not so calm on the inside.
When everyone was in position, Katrina began her comments to the world: “Good evening! Most of you know me as the leader of The Kemetic Orthodox Church, a growing movement to revive the traditions of ancient Egypt. However, the topic of today is one that extends far beyond our religion and is of concern to all the people of this world. I am referring, of course, to the emergence of Equis and the ever-expanding Barrier.”
“When the Emergence occurred, I was faced with a conundrum. Magic is central to our Kemetic traditions. Yet, Equis’s existence drew a sharp contrast to the withered state of magical practice in our world. I was forced to question many assumptions and ponder the eventual fate of myself and my followers.”
“As I studied this problem, I discovered that the Emergence and the advancing Barrier are the result of a magical imbalance. There was Equis, a world bursting at the seams with magic, and here was Earth, where the age of magic was buried and forgotten. It was only a matter of time before the one overflowed into the other and overwhelmed it.”
“This insight, however, also suggested a solution. If we could uncover the native magic of Earth and reawaken it, then perhaps the balance could be restored — if it’s not too late. Perhaps, then, the Barrier could be stopped or even pushed back.”
“The beginning of this project was more than a year ago. During this time I, along with my trusted followers of the Kemetic Order of the Golden Dawn, have done our research, laid our plans, recruited those of apt skills, and gained permission to test our theory here at Castlerigg.”
She gestured to her left side. “The Wiccans, represented here by the priestess, Moondancer, are not part of our Kemetic order. They have their own traditions, so unlike ours in many ways, and yet they have become friends and allies in this great undertaking. It was their ceremony that brought the spark of life back to these old stones.” Then she gestured to her right side. “And it was this unicorn, the Great and Powerful Trixie, who confirmed their success through her own analysis.” Trixie gave a bow when she was indicated and projected outward confidence — despite her stomach doing flip-flops. She might be used to appearing before crowds, but this was outside of her comfort zone.
Katrina continued, “However, this is only the beginning of our quest, and time is not on our side. When everything was uncertain, we shunned publicity. That time is past. The work ahead will require many hands, far more than the small cadre that we have assembled here. I call upon people all across the land to join us and reawaken the age of magic! Those who volunteer will not be asked to believe in our religion, nor declare loyalty to me. Put your faith in a future for mankind on this Earth, and that will be enough!”
Her eyes scanned the reporters, and she said, “I can entertain a few questions.” Hands went up, and Katrina indicated one of them.
“Is it even legal to alter a prehistoric site in Britain?”
Katrina’s feline eyes flicked, reading some notes from her smart glasses, and then she answered: “The National Trust is responsible for the preservation of all such monuments in Britain. Their mandate, rigorously adhered until now, has been protection and preservation without tampering. I am certain that giving us permission to proceed was not an easy decision, nor one taken lightly. With the future of mankind now at stake, I would argue that this is the moment these relics from another time have been waiting so patiently for. Though we knew it not, this is the true reason we have kept them through the ages. The question of whether — and when — to begin restoration of other such monuments around Britain and around the world will now, I’m sure, be debated openly. However, we must all be mindful that the Barrier is advancing day by day. If this is to be done at all, it must be done soon, and quickly, not after years of debate.”
She looked to the crowd and indicated another reporter. The question came: “Are you going to do something like this in Egypt too? The pyramids, maybe?”
She nodded. “Egypt was, of course, the original home of our faith. I am pleased to note that more and more followers have joined us there in recent times. However, the government of Egypt has, thus far, been unresponsive to our entreaties. I hope that what we accomplish here may sway them. If this plan is to work, it must spread far beyond Britain, beyond Egypt, and beyond all other national boundaries. It must become a global movement.”
The next question came. “Can you tell us exactly what led you to this theory that you can stop the Barrier, and what evidence do you have to support that?”
Katrina frowned slightly. “The explanation would be too involved to delve into here-and-now, and a full report on the subject is not yet finished. That information will be forthcoming.”
Another reporter asked, “What exactly happened at the Wiccan ceremony here? We’ve never been given a clear account of it.”
Katrina demurred. “I was not present for that. However, both Trixie and Moondancer were there. Would either of you care to answer?”
The two glanced at one another uncertainly, then Moondancer stepped forward and said, “I was the Priestess who led the ceremony. As we have always done, we performed our rituals and raised a Cone of Power from the circle. Then we invoked the higher spirits to commune with us and lend us guidance.”
The reporter pressed her, saying, “But Christianity and Judaism and Islam don’t have any tradition like that, do they? Katrina said we don’t have to believe in her religion, but ultimately you’re suggesting we all go pagan in some way, aren’t you?”
“Uhh…” Moondancer looked helplessly to Katrina, who then stepped forward to answer.
She explained, “The Judao-Christian faiths have a conflicted relationship with the concept of magic and some have tried to equate it with devil worship. However, I would remind everyone that Moses was trained in the magical traditions of Egypt, and when he came to the Pharaoh he performed feats of magic to establish his credentials. You might call them miracles, but from my perspective it’s a distinction without a difference. Today’s denominations may need to re-examine their views of this subject, but to suggest that they all need to convert is unwarranted.”
Another reporter: “A question for Trixie, if I may?” She nodded to him, and he continued, “Can you tell us, from your viewpoint, how the Wiccan ceremony compared with unicorn magic?”
“It was very different!” she declared. “Trixie has been privileged to begin studying a new field of magic utterly unknown to the scholars of Equestria, and it will be fascinating to see what develops from it.”
Another reporter pushed forward. “Trixie, on the subject of scholars, some sources in Equestria have described you as an entertainer or stage magician. What are your credentials?”
She took a step forward and raised her voice, sounding more like the performer she was. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is not like those stuffy academics hiding their ivory towers. While they debate abstractions with one another, Trixie has been out in the wide world, applying her knowledge and amazing skills to the betterment of ponykind! When the ponies of Hooftington were threatened by the dreaded Ursa Major, Trixie was there to vanquish the monster. When Foal Mountain was plagued with parasprites, Trixie was there to remove the pests! When the river overflowed its banks in Rainbow Falls, Trixie was there to redirect the flood! Exhibiting spellcraft on stage is merely a satisfying way for Trixie to hone her craft and support her travels.”
The next morning, Trixie pulled the curtain aside just enough to peer out the front window of the farmhouse. “They’re still here?” she muttered.
“Look closer,” Moondancer suggested. “That isn’t the press.”
Trixie looked closer. Instead of satellite vans she saw ordinary cars parked up and down the side of the lane, and the front yard was crowded with humans of all sorts, male and female, young and old, of varied shapes and sizes and wearing all manner of garb. They seemed to have nothing in common.
Moondancer ruffled Trixie’s mane lightly with her hand and said, “Those are our volunteers. The first, anyhow. I think this is only the beginning. Let’s go out and meet them, shall we?”
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God, I can be morbid sometimes.
But no, this chapter was pretty good. I'm glad Trixie finally managed to get decent coffee. Go figure they would be defeating news drones with bows and arrows! I'm still not confident that there's anything of value to this project at all, but when it completely fails in their faces, at least they'll have some good stories to tell as ponies. It's funny how insecure Trixie is about her magical qualifications, despite the fact that the Senior Enchanter for the London Bureau isn't exactly jumping to volunteer himself as a magical consultant, nor is anypony else in particular. I still think it's kind of sad that her only pony contact turned out to be such a sociopath.
7681679
Thanks for that! I laughed.
Your analysis of the situation is pretty good, and it's encouraging that I seem to be putting across what I intended. Now, I need to get back to work on this!