Spitting out pieces of her broken luck, Trixie laments her past mistakes. Everywhere, those who have heard of her shun her. When a doctor offers her shelter, things begin to change.
They say that Equestria is the prime example of what society is meant to be. Ponies, working hard and leading good lives. Good, honest folk who would like nothing more than to sit down with a cold beer after a long day of work, reminiscing over past experiences and basking in the nostalgia. If you were to walk through any Equestrian town, you’d be wading through a pool of diversity. Everypony is unique, from personality to their technicolor coats and cutie mark. It’s the ‘Equestrian Dream!’ but of course, there are no dreams without a few nightmares. When Trixie's 'Equestrian Dream' is shattered, and she herself cast away like filth, she thinks herself to be beyond saving. Upon meeting a socially awkward doctor who offers her shelter, things begin to change. She doesn't know it, but Fate isn't done with The Great and Powerful Trixie yet.
(Loosely based on Jethro Tull's album Aqualung. References to songs will be everywhere. Listening to said album is not required for full enjoyment, but is recommended.)
A mare looked at her reflection, a slight feeling of sentimentality showing through a weary smile. She knew it was only light reflecting off the water, but sometimes it is nice to think you weren’t alone. The tired pony sat alone on the bank of a small pond. The moon shone overhead providing a nite light, one for which the mare was eternally grateful for. Her reflection was trapped in a gap in the thin layer of ice. It was ironic, really.
The mare shifted onto her back, the nails in the bench digging into her flank. A guttural, wet cough escaped the pony, seizing her cold body with pain. A purple cloak embroidered with stars provided meager warmth, and December’s foggy freeze still seeped into her body. The hat that once symbolized her superiority now acted as it was made to. It hugged the top of her head, insulating her cranium. There was once a point in time where the name Trixie meant something, although it’s mention brought mixed emotions. Flashes of a small rural town and a lavender unicorn popped into her head.
The morning came, and Trixie had watched it arrive. The cold of winter had prevented any sort of sleep, and the deep wind chill had prompted the mare to retreat to one of Manehattan's many alleys from her park bench. They were on every block, with Manehattan’s working class sections closely resembling Fillydelphia excluding the style. Fillydelphia’s historical buildings provided an example to follow; grandeur was disregarded in the bustling hub of Manehattan. Rats scurried to and fro, going about their daily scavenging but paying no mind to the shivering mare curled up in newspapers.
As the sun began it’s routine path across the sky, ponies began their days, trotting and or stumbling groggily to work. Trixie had developed a sort of habit of watching ponies as they went. It was a time passer for the destitute. Homelessness brought a sense of self-despair which led to chronic laziness. When one wallows in self-pity, they begin to think themselves beyond saving, which in and of itself is a potential cause for their situation.
Trixie sat against the wall adjacent to the alley she had attempted to sleep in. Her magician's hat lay in a wrinkled mess, a cue for passing ponies to toss in a bit or two. She was past pride and shame. She was just hungry.
“Change? Please. I- I just need food.”
Some ponies tossed a small sum into Trixie’s hat, others scoffed at the mare’s suffering. Trixie let loose a throaty wheeze, a fluid of some kind spraying into the crook of her foreleg. A passing unicorn recoiled in disgust. Trixie could barely make out something about ‘filthy mongrels.’ A frown crossed over her face. She wasn’t a mongrel, she had standards. The Great and Powerful Trixie was above these pompous fools.
Trixie shoved those thoughts from her head.
“That’s what got you into this mess. Keep your ego about you.” Trixie drilled into her brain.
The hours passed and the Sun’s warmth did little to placate Trixie’s frigid bones, but it did help alleviate her probable hypothermia. As the river of pedestrians slowly dwindled into a trickle of tourists and ne’er-do-wells, Trixie began to debate getting up and buying breakfast. She had only thirty-one bits in her hat. A small fortune as beggar’s standards go, and enough to purchase a hearty breakfast. Trixie climbed onto her hooves, a series of ratcheting coughs halting her ascension.
She began a weary trot. Her cloak now covered her body, but the once pristine silk weave bore the scars of poverty. Mud stains camouflaged the night sky pattern, hiding what was once beautiful. Trixie had stuffed her hat under her cloak. It would only draw unwanted attention to the pony who ironically used to live for the spotlight. The unlit neon sign of “Donut Joe’s” loomed over Trixie, inviting her in for a cup of coffee and a donut... or two.
A small bell dinged as the door opened. The diner smelled of cinnamon, glaze, and espresso. Fine red upholstery covered the bar stools, and booths lined the walls. It resembled a retro diner one would see in a movie. A vanilla unicorn stallion with a brown mop of hair stood behind the counter. The paper hat that adorned his head did little to stop hair from falling, but Trixie suspected it was more symbolic.
The stallion looked up upon hearing the bell’s ring. A warm smile spread across his face.
“Good morning, Trix. What can I do for you’s?” The stallion asked.
“Good morning, Donut Joe.” Trixie replied taking a seat. “I’d like to order an-”
“Come on, now. Call me Joe. Everypony else does, and I already know what you’s gonna order.” Donut Joe interjected.
“Sincerest apologies, Joe.” Trixie grinned sheepishly. “Trixie would like a mocha cappuccino, please.”
Donut Joe chuckled and trotted over to the coffee machine. A slight hiss emitted from the dispenser as the steamy cup of coffee was filled.
“A cappuccino? Faaaancy... Whaddya do, get a raise?” The stallion asked lightheartedly.
Trixie forced a laugh. It was better than having to answer that question, and Trixie was not one for awkward situations. Donut Joe returned to where Trixie was sitting, and placed the cup on the counter.
“Your cinnamon eclair’ll be done in about five minutes, Trix.” Joe called out as he entered the kitchen.
Trixie was glad that she could sit and wait. The outside air was awful to her lungs, causing fits of retching and wet coughs. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the taste. She hadn’t had coffee in months, not since she had been shamed for the second time. The door behind Trixie opened, signaled by the ringing of the bell. A frigid draft of air flew in, temporarily putting Trixie in a shivering state.
Trixie cast a glance behind her. A rather small-framed earth pony stallion sat on the barstool next to Trixie. The pony looked anxious, almost as if just walking into the diner made him nervous. A wiry blonde mane topped a mahogany coat, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses sat on his nose. Trixie stole a glance at the stallion’s flank. His cutie mark was... Well, Trixie didn’t know. What she did know was that it was rude to ask what a pony’s cutie mark was.
Donut Joe came through the kitchen doorway carrying a tray. A plethora of scents permeated the diner, creating a pleasant and homey atmosphere.
“How you doin’, Broom? I haven’t seen you’s in awhile!” Donut Joe exclaimed upon seeing the mahogany stallion.
“O- Oh, I’ve b-been doing w-well, I suppose. S-say, you w-wouldn’t happen t-to have a j-jelly donut on that t-tray?” Broom stuttered. Trixie couldn’t determine if Broom was his full name, or just a nickname.
“Actually, it so happens that I do! Here ya go.” Donut Joe answered. “An’ a cinnamon eclair for you.”
Plates clattered slightly as their orders were presented to them. Trixie feverishly attempted to stem the waterfall of saliva that was pouring from her mouth. Steam billowed from the fresh pastry, calling for the mare to consume it. In a complete act of baked good slaughter that would put even a certain Wonderbolt to shame, Trixie finished the half-foot pastry. She let out a content sigh and wiped her muzzle. She leaned back, completely unaware of the wide-eyed stallion next to her.
“W- wow, I g-guess you were h-hungry, h-huh?” Broom said.
Trixie’s blue coat went as red as an apple as she realized what she had done. She shrugged, a sheepish grin across her face. Her grin turned into an expression of pain as coughing racked her body. It seemed to be getting more painful by the day. Broom raised an eyebrow. Donut Joe trotted up to the countertop, a wet rag in his hoof.
“For you’s, Trixie, the cost will be ten bits. Four for you, Doctor Broom.”
Trixie reached into her cloak’s pocket, one that had been sewn by Trixie herself. She look at the bits for a moment before placing them on the counter. Doctor Broom placed a dozen or so coins on the counter.
“K-keep the ch-change.” He said with a smile.
Not to be outdone, Trixie pulled out an extra bit and flicked it onto her small pile. While she did want to tip Joe further, she could not afford it. Trixie waved goodbye to Joe as she got up. As she neared the door, a coughing fit overcame her. This fit was different from the others. Trixie’s insides screamed with agony as each convulsion and expulsion of air took place. Trixie wobbled as her legs began to give out with pain. In the crook of her foreleg, pink, frothy sputum contrasted her blue coat.
“Never seen that before.” She mumbled, her chest recovering.
A hoof wrapped around her torso, lifting her up from her knees. Doctor Broom steadied her against the cushion of a booth seat.
“T-thank you, sir. The Grea- Trixie is ever grateful.” Trixie said between breaths.
To Trixie’s befuddlement, Doctor Broom only knelt next to Trixie’s chest, his ear to her barrel.
“Y- you realize you just c-coughed up b-blood, right?” He asked.
“Yes, but Trixie hasn’t the foggiest idea as to why.”
Broom stood up, nodding. He held out a hoof. Trixie stared at it until she realized that she was supposed to shake it.
“My n-name is Doctor Broken Broom, p-pleased to meet you. I-I happen to be a pulmonologist, that is t-to say, a doctor who sp- specializes in the lungs.”
“Trixie doesn’t see what the relevance of that is.”
“Well, you s- see, you just coughed up blood. Th- that in it of itself is c-cause for alarm. If you have no plans, I’d l-like you to come w-with me to my office. Just f-for a few tests, is all. It’s f-free, too. Equestrian Medicare’s a neat thing, heheh.”
Trixie sat for a moment, her eyes rolling about in thought. Well, she didn’t have any plans for the day... Or the next... Or the next.
“Trixie accepts your invitation.” Trixie announced, her chin raised in false pride.
The stallion in front of her nodded erratically, his stutter showing through his body language. He motioned with his hoof to follow, which Trixie did. The sooner she got inside the better. As it turned out, Broken Broom’s office was only two blocks away from Donut Joe’s. The lack of traffic in the noontime hours resulted in empty streets and a more leisurely walk. As Trixie and Doctor Broken Broom rounded the corner of Rockefilly and 51st street, a banner appeared over head. It bore the words, “Broken Broom Pulmonology.”
Trixie and Broken Broom entered the aptly named clinic, the building’s heat providing relief from the winter. Snowflakes had begun to fall, drifting on the icy breeze. The clinic looked like any other; white with health posters plastered on the wall. On one of the posters, a green-looking filly sat with a sad look on her face. A thermometer and an ice pack completed the picture. Trixie's nose wrinkled; it was nigh impossible to escape the smell of medicine.
Directly opposite to the entrance, an empty doorway led down a hall with multiple doors on both sides. To the right of that was a window that looked into the receptionist’s room. A dark brown mare sat behind the window, scanning over stacks of files. Her black mane was curled into a bun that made Trixie pine for a chocolate covered donut. She looked up, tapping the stack of papers on the desk to straighten them.
“Hello, doctor. I see you have company.” She spoke, a thick Saddle-Arabian accent masking her words.
Trixie managed a weak smile. She recently had acquired a trait of being nervous in crowds. Being recognized usually led to embarrassingly berating comments. Trixie followed Broken Broom into a spacious room. The smell of antiseptics and window cleaner bombarded her nose. She fought back a gag. Broken Broom trotted over to an unmarked door, inserting a key and turning. In the locked room, a futuristic looking machine took up much of the space. A small computer sat on a desk in the corner. As Trixie stepped into the room, a bright yellow sign contrasted the white room. In bold letters, “DANGER: X-RAYS” admonished unwary intruders.
“P-please, remove your c-cloak, and climb into th-the machine.”
“Why would I do such a thing?” Trixie replied, still suspicious of the white tank thing.
“It’s an X-ray m-machine. It will l-let me take a l-look into your lungs.”
Trixie looked at the machine. There was something about machines that irked her. Wheels especially. With a sigh, she shucked her cloak and climbed onto the machine.
“Will this hurt?” Trixie stammered.
Broken Broom let out a hearty laugh, which did little to appease Trixie’s angst. The doctor pushed a few buttons and twisted a few knobs. Sweat broke on Trixie’s forehead. She despised machines with the fury of a thousand suns.
“Stay still.” Broken Broom commanded.
The doctor stepped out of the room, shutting off the lights. As the darkness suffocated Trixie, her terror grew. She didn’t like the doctor’s office. A zap sounded, presumably from the machine, Trixie assumed. The lights flicked on.
“All done!” Broken Broom beamed.
“I hate you.” Trixie replied.
“Oh, c-come now. A l-little radiation never harmed an-anypony.” The doctor giggled at his little joke.
The Great and Powerful Trixie was not amused. She let out a huff, lifting her chin in indignity. Broken Broom trotted over to a screen on the x-ray machine. A few beeps emanated from the machine. Trixie tapped her hoof impatiently. An image popped up on the screen. Trixie squinted, trying to make out the picture. It looked like blue lines with a black background.
“Uh, Miss T-Trixie? You m-might want to look at th-this.” Broken Broom spoke, a nervous tone in his voice.
Trixie felt goosebumps on her skin. She trotted over to the machine, getting a better view of the image.
“This is a p-picture of your t-torso. See th-these white splotches a-around where y-your lungs are? Th-that’s interstitial f-fluid. In other w-words, water. Y-you have pulmonary edema. There aren’t an-any internal in-injuries. M-my guess is m-malignant hypertension, which is very high b-blood pressure. H-have you b-been in any stressful situations?”
Trixie’s eyes popped. Out of all bad things, this was the worst possible.
“Uh... Trixie... has had problems at work?” She stammered. Well, it wasn’t too far from the truth.
Broken Broom nodded.
“Well, I’d like t-to keep an eye on y-you. C-can you g-give me your in-insurance?”
“Oh, um, Trixie’s insurance?” She replied, desperately trying to avoid her predicted ooutcome.
“Yes. T-trixie’s insurance.” Broken Broom replied, rolling his eyes.
“Trixie doesn’t, um, have insurance.” She squeaked.
Broken Broom giggled a little bit, which slightly confounded Trixie.
“Heh, b-but it’s required b-by law that all ponies have i-insurance. Unless of c-course, they’re below the p-poverty level.”
The floor suddenly became very intriguing.
“Wait. Yo- y- y-.” The doctor had to compose himself, his stutter overtaking his speech.
“You’re b-below t-the p-p-poverty line? L-like, how b-bad?”
Trixie forced a laugh. It actually kind of hurt her lungs.
“Oh, you know... homeless and the like.” The mare replied.
Broken Broom began pacing back and forth, mumbling and possibly stuttering whilst doing so. His eyes shut close, and he nodded slightly. It had appeared he had decided on something.
"D-do you have anywhere to g-go?" The doctor inquired. Trixie shook her head
“I-in your condition, you c-cannot b-be outside. It s-sounds unprof-f-fessional, but the oaths I t-took supersede that. Y-you should stay with m-me."
Trixie jumped backwards, startled by the stallion’s suggestion. They had only known each other for about an hour, after all.
“Are you insane?! We’ve only just met!” The mare exclaimed.
Broken Broom winced, not expecting the sudden and rather abrasive response.
“F-fair enough, but t-tell me, is d-dying worth it?”
Trixie froze up. Staying with somepony she had just met seemed much more appealing.
“If you stay in the c-cold for any l-longer, your c-condition could get worse. T-then, when y-your l-lungs slowly f-fill with fluid, insidiously and p-painfully killing you. Y-you’ll regret it.”
“Well, that is a terrifying way of putting it, Dr. Broken Broom.” Trixie replied, still stunned.
“Y-you’re definitely right. Tt is a s-sudden th-thing. I wouldn't agree t-to something l-like that myself, but at th-this point, it’s n-needed. I t-took an oath, Miss Trixie, and th-that oath is to do no h-harm. By n-not giving you sh-shelter or t-treating you, I’d b-be doing the worst k-kind of harm: Negligence. P-please, consider it, if n-not for your own h-health.”
Trixie thought about this for a moment. On one hoof, she could live outside, freezing and slowly dying. On the other, she’d receive free shelter, and presumably food. Knowing doctors, it would be a rather posh setting as well. Trixie looked at the doctor and nodded.
“If it’s for my own well being, then I accept.” She said. Good bye, bench.
A gleam of excitement glimmered in Broken Broom eyes. Maybe this was his chance at something more than just lungs. He could barely contain his excitement. He hoped that Trixie would like his apartment. It was no villa by any standards, but it was better than most.
“W-well, we c-can’t do anything about y-your condition right n-now. It’d b-be best if we head to my ap-apartment.” Broken Broom spoke, feverishly containing his giggle fits.
The two left Broken Broom’s office, giving a quick goodbye to Hesaan and making their way over to the nicer part of Manehattan. Trixie walked along side Broken Broom, relieved. Hopefully her luck was turning. She even had twenty bits in her pockets. Broken Broom also hoped that his luck was turning. All he wanted was a chance with a mare. Even just a small one.
I have one foot in the graveyard and the other on the bus, And the passengers do trample each other in the rush. And the chicken hearted lawman is throwing up his fill To see the kindly doctor to pass the super pill. Well, I'm going down, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom. Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom.
Well I've tried my best to love you all, All you hypocrites and whores, With your eyes on each other and the locks upon your doors. Well you drowned me in the fountain of life and I hated you For living while I was dying, we were all just passing through. Well, I'm going down, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom. Well, I'm on my way, three cheers for Doctor Bogenbroom.
The smell of Broken Broom’s apartment vaguely smelled of fresh cut mahogany. Trixie and Broken Broom walked through the doctor’s home. In the immediate vicinity, a long hallway divided the kitchen and the living room, with the bathroom adjacent to both. The bedroom was connected to the living room, the door somewhat isolated in the corner of the room. The apartment was furnished with rustic styled furniture, covering most of the furniture spectrum, from loveseats to coffee tables. Dimly lit lamps broke the haze, giving a warm glow to anything within it’s range. It was a far cry from Trixie’s fantasy of marble pillars and serfs catering to her every whim, but it was better than a park bench.
“W-well, Miss Trixie, welcome to my h-humble abode. I kn-know it’s no penthouse s-suite, but I hope it’s alright.” Broken Broom said, hoofing at the carpet.
Trixie looked around. Portraits of stern looking ponies covered the wall. A particular painting above the television caught her eye. A stallion with a blue coat and a wiry blonde mane aloofly stood next to an equally mean-looking mare with a charcoal coat topped with a voluminous fudgey mane. Standing in front of them were two foals; a colt and a filly. The colt was the spitting image of Broken Broom. Scratch that, it was Broken Broom. The small colt looked sickly, almost as if he had trouble standing up. The ocre filly looked energetic and full of life. A toothy grin was plastered on the foal’s face. She was the antithesis to Broken Broom, who barely managed a smile. Both foals’ golden locks mimicked their father’s.
“It’s wonderful, Mr. Broom.” Trixie responded, her tone flat. Broken Broom didn't notice.
“Oh, good! Now, I d-don’t have an ex-extra bedroom, b-but I d-don’t mind the c-couch.” Broken Broom returned, fiddling with some pillows on the loveseat.
Trixie was painfully tempted to just let Broken Broom take the couch, but she thought better of it. She knew that milking this out would be much more beneficial.
“Oh no, I couldn’t! Trixie is a good houseguest, and would never deprive a pony of their bed.”
A blatant lie, but it was better to start off on a good hand rather than come off as snobbish.
“I insist, Miss T-trixie. Besides, y-you need the r-rest if you want t-to feel b-better.”
Trixie nodded in agreement, allowing herself a small smirk.
“Oh, g-good. Anyways, I w-was thinking of st-starting dinner soon. How d-does soup sound?” Broken Broom asked as he trotted towards his kitchen.
Trixie shuddered. She had always viewed soup of any kind as a poor mare’s delicacy. Her disgust turned into a self-condescending chuckle. It was now her delicacy.
“That sounds wonderful.”
As Trixie had expected, Broken Broom whipped up a pot of soup relatively quickly, and had even garnished the somewhat plain brew with rosemary. Trixie had always liked rosemary. Bowls clacked on the wood table, followed by the clangs of stainless steel utensils. Broken Broom pulled out a chair and plopped onto it. Trixie stared as the stallion began to spoon knots of noodles into his mouth. Broken Broom looked up, a perplexed look distorted by noodle-stuffed cheeks.
“Whfa yu wayn forf?” He asked, bits of noodle spraying from his mouth.
Trixie looked at the chair before her and back to the still-confused doctor.
“D-do you need something?” He asked.
“Yes, I do. A gentlecolt always pulls a chair out for a lady.” Trixie replied, more snobbishly than she’d intended.
Right as Trixie realized what she had said, Broken Broom’s eyes widened as he processed the sheer gravity of his mistake. He jumped from his chair, slipping in the process. The rag doll Broken Broom slid across the polished floor, coming to a squeaking stop at Trixie’s front legs. He looked up, his face a maroon glow. A sheepish giggle was the only verbal communication he could manage. He got up, rubbing his fetlock. After a moment, he slid the chair out from under the table, and presented it to Trixie. Trixie sat without a word.
The two ate in silence. Not that it was awkward, rather there was just nothing to talk about. Trixie found herself staring at the family portrait over the television. The more she looked, the more questions she had. She figured that asking might be out of place, and that leaving it untouched is the better solution. She resumed eating her ramane, which to her surprise was one of the best things she’s ever eaten.
Broken Broom sat opposite to the mare, intently focused on consuming his bowl of soup. Ramane was a staple in his diet, being cheap and easy to make. It was a relic of his college days that never quite went away. The only downside was having to burn the calories off. He looked up at Trixie to find her staring at something. Following her gaze, his eyes met with one of the many paintings on his wall. Specifically, his family portrait.
“Like the p-painting, huh?” He asked, breaking the silence.
Trixie snapped from her daydream, and turned towards the doctor.
“Oh, uh, yes. I was just wondering about the other ponies next to you. I am to assume they are family?”
“Your assumption w-would be right.”
“Your mother is beautiful, you know.” Trixie observed.
“Th-thank you. She was always v-very sweet.”
Trixie chuckled at Broken Broom’s simple but sentimental description.
“A painting doesn’t tell the whole story, it seems.”
“Heh, she d-does look a b-bit mean. D-don’t let the look f-fool you. She was the m-most gentle pony I ever knew.”
“Knew?” Trixie asked, catching the last word.
Broken Broom gulped and rubbed the back of his head. Trixie grimaced. She knew she had hit a sore spot with the doctor.
“I’m so sorry.” Trixie stammered, unable to say anything else.
Broken Broom smiled in a reassuring way.
“It’s alright. You c-couldn’t have known. B-besides, I’m over it n-now. And since I kn-know that you will b-be afraid to ask, she d-died of lung c-cancer.”
Trixie nodded, prudent in keeping her tongue in check.
“It’s actually what in-inspired me to g-get my m-medical license.”
“I suppose that would make sense.” Trixie replied.
“Funnily enough, my c-cutie mark d-didn’t show up until after my m-mother passed.” He continued, turning to reveal his flank.
Trixie peered at the cutie mark, trying to make sense of it. A pair of lungs in front of a red cross adorned his flank. While it wasn’t what she would have picked for him, it couldn’t be helped. At least she didn’t have to ask what it was. The doctor returned to his chair.
“Now, my f-father. H-he was a character. He was a d-drill sergeant for the r-royal guard. D-didn’t speak much, but when he d-did, you’d barely hear him. That’s w-why he quit the g-guard. Didn’t like yelling m-much, even though he c-could, surprisingly so. He d-did like painting, though.” He paused to eat some noodles.
“He actually p-painted all of those pictures you s-see on the walls.” He finished.
Trixie nodded.
“He’s very talented.” She replied.
“Mmhmm. Well th-that’s enough about me. What’s your st-story? How’d you end up on th-the streets?” He asked, hoping to find a common wire.
Trixie gulped.
“Well, um, I am- used to be a traveling magician. The G-Great and Powerful Trixie.” She began.
Broken Brooms eyes widened as he recognized the name.
“Y-you were the mare that g-got whooped by P-princess Twilight, twice?” He exclaimed, mouth agape.
“I don’t know if ‘whooped’ would be the correct term...”
“Well, I guess I w-wouldn’t know what words t-to use; I wasn’t th-there when it happened. Still, I b-bet that’ll make f-for a good story.” He replied. A flash of anger passed through Trixie's face.
“A good story, indeed.” Trixie spat inwardly.
Rather than try to say something, Trixie forced a chuckle, hoping to humor Broken Broom. Broken Broom took the bait, mentally patting himself on the back. Soon after, Broken Broom retired from the table to prepare for bed, leaving Trixie. Trixie had poured herself another bowl of soup, hell bent on achieving food coma nirvana. After she had stuffed herself to the point of bursting, she levitated her bowl to the sink. Warm tap water began to pour from the faucet, which reminded Trixie of something that she desperately needed: a shower.
“I smell awful.” Trixie thought aloud. “A proper bathing is definitely in order for you, Trixie.”
As the mare washed her dishes, she couldn’t help but notice the towering mass of silverware next to the sink. A little voice in her head told her to let somepony else deal with it, but another, quieter voice told her to clean them. Trixie bit her lip, weighing her options. She shook her head and began to dismantle the monument of grimy plates and forks. After five grueling minutes, Trixie sat on the floor with a huff. How did anypony put up with this labor? Trixie couldn’t comprehend it. It was so tedious!
“No, no. Clean the dishes.” Trixie commanded herself as she began to scrub furiously.
“You’ve already done so much, though.” She mumbled to herself, her own brain fighting itself.
“That may be so, but you can not ruin this.” She pointed out.
“Trixie, you have been through so much. Let someone else do it for once.” Trixie replied.
Engrossed in her inner battle of will, Trixie never noticed the amused Broken Broom leaning on the wall, a coy smile on his face.
“H-having fun th-there?” He asked, a mischievous grin plastered on his muzzle.
Trixie whipped around, dropping a fork in the process.
“Oh, uh, hello! I was just, um... cleaning?” She offered, magically grabbing the fork she had just dropped.
“Uh huh. J-just so you know, f-forks aren’t the best floor c-cleaners.” He replied.
“Oh! I wasn’t cleaning the floo-” Trixie began.
“I know, Ms. Trixie, it w-was a j-j-joke.” He cut her off, winking.
Trixie rubbed the back of her head, attempting to hide her embarrassment. Instead of giving Broken Broom another chance to poke fun, she turned around and resumed the cleaning dishes. The repetition of taking a soiled platter, scrubbing the scraps, washing and rinsing took it’s toll on Trixie, and it wasn’t until the clock passed nine that she had finished. She took a step back to admire her work. Trixie sighed with relief as she wiped her forehead. She stole a peek at the clock. Her eyes suddenly felt like lead, threatening to clamp shut at a moment’s notice.
It was time for bed, but not before a grooming. Trixie walked out of the kitchen and into the den. Broken Broom lay on the couch, belly up. He reminded Trixie of a dog that she had once seen. She thought for a moment, trying to fetch the memory. Pictures of an orange mare wearing a brown stetson appeared in her head.
“Oh yes, Twilight’s friend; the fruit one.” She mumbled groggily.
Broken Broom stirred, shifting on the sofa. For a moment, Trixie worried that she had roused the stallion. A few seconds passed, and Trixie relaxed. She trotted towards the bedroom in search of a bath. She pushed open the door to Broken Broom’s bedroom. His room was the complete opposite of what Trixie had expected. Instead of rustic decor, a contemporary style was implemented. Light gray walls and jet black shag carpet contrasted the red furniture that filled the room. A queen-sized futon sat in the middle of the room, backed up against the wall. Nightstands sat on both sides of the bed, each with lamps.
A single window filtered the moonlight, softly illuminating the space. Trixie did a panorama, scanning the room from left to right. A door was open to the right of the futon, which Trixie assumed led to the master bathroom. She walked into the room, and the distinct clop of hooves on tile confirmed her suspicions. A soft blue light emanated from her horn, illuminating the room. She flipped on the now-visible light switch, purging the darkness. The door clicked behind her as she shut it slowly, careful not to slam it.
The bathroom was more of a hallway, with a cabinet to her immediate left, followed by a toilet, then a sink, and finally a shower. Trixie’s magic gripped the handle of the shower and opened it. She immediately died of pure joy. Broken Broom, like Trixie, had cosmic standards for bathing. Trixie stepped into the shower and bounced with giddiness. Jets lined the ceiling and the three walls that weren’t part of the frosted glass door. Knobs and buttons glistened on a fancy chrome panel, controlling everything from temperature to jet stream intervals, and a cabinet filled with soaps and shampoos beckoned to her. It was sheer ecstasy.
Trixie closed the shower door and began to examine all the options Broken Broom’s shower had to offer. To Trixie’s pleasant surprise, the knobs that controlled temperature displayed how many degrees it was. Having to find the sweet spot would not be difficult. The best part was that the water did not flow until the shower’s occupant pressed the “begin” button. Trixie set the temperature at 95 degrees. She felt a hot shower would do her good. At last, she pressed the “begin” button.
Water shot out at Trixie from four sides, drenching her in steaming rain.
Steam poured into the bedroom as Trixie opened the door. The click of the light switch left her in darkness. She let the pima cotton towel fall from her magical grasp, the thick weave landing with a soft thud on the carpet. Trixie would pick it up in the morning. For now, it was time for some well deserved rest. The black sheets of Broken Broom’s bed were pulled back, allowing Trixie to lay, or rather, fall onto the mattress. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and let out a sigh.
Trixie began to recount the day, from begging to eating soup with a strangely sociable Broken Broom. Come to think of it, the doctor acting completely opposite of the nervous stallion she had first seen at Donut Joe’s. Trixie furrowed her brows. Broken Broom had still stuttered, but he had been much more... casual? Trixie halted the train of thought. She was too tired to think. Her eyes fluttered close and slowly did she fall into Luna’s embrace.
Broken Broom let out a sigh. His couch was not even remotely as comfortable as his bed. He glanced over to the kitchen, hoping he’d be able to make out the glowing digital clock. He huffed in disappointment. There were times when he wished he was an optometrist, and this was definitely one of them. His glasses sat folded on the oak coffee table, waiting to be donned in the morning. The doctor rolled onto his side.
“Damn couch...” He grumbled.
The couch was old, bought when Broken Broom first rented his apartment. That was around seven years ago. Now, the fabric was fading and creased. Broken Broom actually sort of liked it. It added to the homey feel of the den, but made sleeping on the couch a literal pain in the neck. The doctor rolled off of the couch and onto his hooves. The apartment was dark, save for the glowing lights of sleepless Manehattan. Broken Broom trotted over to the window and drew the curtain. His eyes slowly adjusted to the neon as he opened the window. He climbed out onto the fire escape.
He came out here frequently. More frequently than he’d like to admit. He inhaled deeply, letting the cold air warm in his lungs. He stared at the sidewalk, watching the throngs of nocturnal ponies go to and fro, some venturing into the late night pastimes, some returning to their beds. Broken Broom looked to his left. On a small table sat a box made of redwood imported from Roam. He opened the box, and took a cigar from the container. A lighter sat by the box. It clicked as he opened it, followed by a soft scratch as he flicked the flint. He held the lighter up to the tip of the cigar, slowly inhaling.
He exhaled, a plume of smoke billowing out of his mouth. Broken Broom knew better to inhale, but he allowed himself a few deep breaths. Cigars were meant to be savored, but the nicotine rush was too hard to resist. He exhaled once more, expelling the smoke from his lungs. The doctor took another puff, fishbowling it instead of inhaling. He tasted Griffonian herbs, accented by Saddle Arabian pepper.
“You’re a l-lung d-doctor, man. You should kn-know better.” He said to himself, sadly chuckling.
Broken Broom’s mother smoked, and so did his father. After his mother passed, his father quit, and Broken Broom took up the habit. It was a terrible thing, and he knew it. The only reason he never bothered to stop was the memory of his mother. He’d always thought that he’d never smoke when she was alive. She’d always tell him not to. He took another taste of the cigar. It was about halfway done.
He leaned against the railing, rolling the cigar in his mouth. The burning tip was now approaching Broken Broom’s mouth. He sighed in disappointment. The cigar butt’s glow was snuffed in Broken Broom’s ashtray. He returned to the open window and clambered in. The doctor began to shiver, the cigar’s warmth leaving his body. He closed the window and stumbled over to the couch. He flopped down belly up and closed his eyes. Soon, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
When I was young and they packed me off to school and taught me how not to play the game, I didn't mind if they groomed me for success, or if they said that I was a fool. So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm -- their half-assed smiles and the book of rules. So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply, He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares): before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers -- I don't believe you: you had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays. Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school and have all the bishops harmonize these lines -- how do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son when that was just an accident of Birth. I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song `cos that's the honest measure of my worth. In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me, as you lick the boots of death born out of fear. I don't believe you: you had the whole damn thing all wrong -- He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
An incredibly loud crash reverberated throughout the apartment, sending Broken Broom tumbling off the couch, spouting profanity. He stood up and groaned, rubbing his head.
“Glasses...” He mumbled groggily, feeling the coffee table for his spectacles.
His hoof tapped against something and pulled it towards him. He opened the glasses and slipped them on. Instantly, the full clarity of the world was revealed to him. Colors no longer melted with each other. Everything was crisp and clear. With that small struggle out of the way, he trotted over to the kitchen to find the source of the disturbance. Standing in the kitchen in a sea of pots and pans, Trixie grinned sheepishly at the doctor.
“I was, um... making breakfast?” She said with a nervous chuckle.
Broken Broom picked up a pan in his mouth and placed it on the counter. Trixie’s magic enveloped several pots and stacked them. The two cleaned the mess, the silver pile of cookware giving way to the hardwood floor. The two paused for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Broom. I thought it only proper to repay you for your hospitality by making breakfast.” Trixie apologized.
Broken Broom shook his head smiling.
“It wouldn’t b-be proper to a-allow my g-guest to make food.”
“Oh, but I insist!”
The doctor shook his head.
“At this r-rate, you’d b-burn the complex down.” He paused to chuckle. “How about Donut J-joes?”
Trixie looked down at the mess, then back up to Broken Broom.
“Sure.” She replied.
Broken Broom trotted towards the door, Trixie in tow. The two walked down the hall towards the stairwell.
“What about the mess?” Trixie inquired.
Broken Broom waved his hoof dismissively.
“I’ll g-get it when we c-come back from your treatment.”
Trixie stopped, then shrugged and continued. There was no point in arguing over such a trivial matter. Besides, it wasn’t as if the mess would go anywhere. Trixie followed Broken Broom down the stairs, hoofsteps echoing. This continued for some time. Trixie grumbled. Exercise was not her forte, nor a hobby. It only seemed to go on and on. Sort of like seventeen flights of stairs.
They reached the lobby, which was strangely empty. Only the receptionist sat, idly skimming through an old copy of Cosmarepolitan. Broken Broom greeted her and approached the door. Before his hoof could pull it open, Trixie’s magic enveloped the door and pulled open.
“Gah!” Broken Broom yelped.
Trixie giggled at the befuddled doctor. The doctor’s face reddened in response.
“Uh, l-ladies first?” He stammered, trying to shift the subject.
Trixie walked out of the door, clamping down on her lips to stop herself from laughing. Broken Broom followed, head hung low. It was a Sunday, late morning and chilly. Slightly warmer than usual, but still within winter’s bounds. The streets were crowded, though not nearly as much as weekdays. The walk to Donut Joe’s was brief, unimpeded by a roaring river of pedestrians. The bell rigged to the door of Donut Joe’s rang, alerting Joe himself of customers. He trotted out of the kitchen, paper hat, smock and all. He smiled as he spotted two of his favorite customers.
“Ah, Trixie! Broom! How ya two doin’?” He asked, wiping down the counter.
Trixie and Broken Broom exchanged pleasantries with Donut Joe as they took their seats on the stools. What struck Joe as strange was the timing. The two came in at the same time, which could have been coincidence, but they also were coming from the same direction. He pursed his lips.
“The usual for ya’s?” Joe asked.
“Yes.” Trixie and Broken Broom responded in unison.
Trixie’s eyes began to wander. Idle silences tended to do that to her. She glanced at Broken Broom. Broken Broom glanced at her. She quickly looked away, and Broken Broom did the same. The doctor cleared his throat. Donut Joe emerged from the kitchen with a pastry tray in his magic’s grasp, giving both Trixie and Broken Broom a chance to exhale in relief.
“Busy day?” Trixie asked in between bites of eclair.
“More’n usual, I guess. Sundays tend to be livelier.” Donut Joe replied.
Trixie nodded, gulping down the last of her pastry. She glanced at Broken Broom, who had just consumed the last scrap of his. He reached into the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulled out a pile of bits.
“Just k-keep it all, Joe.” Broken Broom said, hopping off of his stool. “Oh, and I’m p-paying for b-both of us.”
“How gentlecoltly of you, Broken Broom. Is she your date?” Joe replied with a smirk.
Broken Broom froze up.
“Wha- No- I mea- She isn’t-” The doctor stammered.
“A little flustered there, bud?” Joe egged on. He turned to Trixie. “You keep your boyfriend in line, okay?”
Trixie chuckled at the baker’s teasing. Boyfriend? That wasn’t even a term that Trixie would even consider applying to Broken Broom. She glanced at the doctor.
“Why would Joe even think that we were... together. We’ve only known eachother for a day!. Even if he is kind of cute...”
Trixie’s thought train derailed. Did she really just call him cute? She shook her head. It was a platonic kind of cute. It had to have been. She shoved the thought from her head, giving no benefit of the doubt. Meanwhile, Broken Broom’s face was macintosh red.
“Hey, uh, Miss T-trixie, we should g-go, uh, to my office.” The doctor quickly said, throwing a random sum of bits on the counter.
Trixie nodded vigorously. Broken Broom hurried out the door, Trixie in tow. Donut Joe raised an eyebrow at the sudden exit. He shrugged and began wiping down the table.
“Good morning, Mr. Broken Broom.” Hesaan greeted, looking up from a stack of papers.
“Hello, Hesaan. H-how are you? Well, I h-hope.” Broken Broom responded.
“I am fine, thank you.” She replied warmly.
Trixie nodded and smiled to say hello, and followed Broken Broom into his office. She plopped onto a chair, awaiting the doctor’s orders. Broken Broom examined a few papers on his desk. Trixie could make out words like ‘stress’ and ‘hypertension’. She had no luck in deciphering the rest of his notes. The doctor turned to Trixie.
“B-basically, you have n-nothing medically wrong with you, asides from pulmonary edema. However, you are s-suffering from excess amounts of s-stress, a known cause for s-said affliction. Most l-likely from living on the streets, am I r-right?” said Broken Broom.
Trixie nodded, not having any reason to disagree.
“The only medicine I c-can really prescribe is to stay re-relaxed and off the s-streets.” He continued.
Trixie opened her mouth to speak, but was intercepted by Broken Broom.
“Yes, I am aware of y-your... situation.” He reminded her. “Which is why I’m g-giving you the ch-choice of action.”
Trixie bit her lip.
“It’s the streets, renting, or a socially awkward doctor’s house, and you don’t have the funds to rent.” She thought.
It was an easy choice.
“I’d hate to impose, but maybe... No, no, I couldn’t allow you to do that.” Trixie began but faltered.
“Play it reluctant, Trixie. Take this ride as far as it will go.” She thought.
Broken Broom pieced together Trixie’s implications.
“Miss Trixie, I understand, but i-it would be w-worse if I let you f-freeze on the streets. Please, d-don’t do anything detrimental t-to your health over something as t-trivial as opening my home to y-y-you.” He placated, an almost imperceptible glint of excitement in his eyes.
“Are you sure?” Trixie asked.
“Positive.”
Trixie pulled Broken Broom into a hug. The doctor, completely caught off guard, couldn’t manage a word. Trixie pulled away, feigned excitement on her face.
“Oh, thank you so much! How can I ever repay you?!”
He regained his composition and stood up straight.
“Well, th-that was it for your uh, f-free appointment. So, back to my p-place?” The doctor asked. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Broken Broom sat on his couch the way they were meant to be sat on: belly up. A certain lyre-playing unicorn would be proud. A soft snore escaped the stallion, a product of his bi-weekly nap. He decided the best time to take it was after cleaning the remainder of his guests breakfast attempts. Trixie, desperate to pass time, slaved over tidying Broken Broom’s rather expansive collection of books. She knew she could just read a book, but then it would just remind her of that Twilight Sparkle, whom she would rather forget.
Of course, forgetting had proved to be an insurmountable obstacle. While she had received some form of forgiveness for her bloated ego by the mare, the rest of Ponyville had no intention of letting bygones be bygones. There was something about covering their town in a giant dome and using children as carriage pullers that rubbed them the wrong way. Trixie remained adamant that it was the Alicorn Amulet’s fault. It was, but the denizens of Ponyville felt otherwise.
So, with no other place to go, Trixie emigrated towards the bigger cities. However, the busy ponies were too preoccupied with city life to pay any mind to Trixie’s lackluster performances. Cheap parlor tricks were not satisfying compared to other performers, and Trixie discovered that there wasn’t much money to be made. She was unwilling to turn to crime, and at first, her pride disallowed her from accepting charity. If she was going to eat, it wasn’t going to be on county gruel. Over time, this rock-steady promise of self-reliance was eroded by sheer hunger and arctic nights. The Great and Powerful Trixie Lulamoon became a beggar; one of many.
The mare sighed. Her hoof rose and landed on one of Broken Broom’s novels at random.
“Self Help: Getting out of the Rut.” She iterated.
She trotted over to the couch, but hesitated when she encountered Broken Broom, fast asleep on the couch. She chuckled and shook her head. Her course was realigned towards the love seat opposite of the sofa. As she wriggled into a nook that would provide adequate comfort with minimal shifting, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since she last opened a book. Trixie dismissed the thought and opened the book.
“In the event that you find yourself in a perpetual spiral of repetition or despair, it becomes essential that you, along with other important ponies, find a way to climb out of this. This novel, while not a cure-all, will assist you in the admittedly tedious process of gaining a foothold. To start, a few simple ground rules you need to follow:
1: Throw away any pride, grudges, and/or hesitancies that may impede your climb to the top.
2: Accept any and all help offered; while you may want to do it all on your own, you won’t be able to.
3: Honesty is the best policy. Cheating and lying will only put you back to where you started.
Trixie stared for a moment. Here she was, leeching off of the success of a pony kinder than she. She glanced over at Broken Broom, who lay on the couch snoring.
“How dare you?” Trixie’s conscience asked.
Her inner voice was right. How dare she, a mare with nothing to her name but foul memories, use a kind stallion like Broken Broom. How dare she even consider herself worthwhile enough to even speak to him. Trixie Lulamoon was a worthless and lying mare. She slammed the book closed, the thump of paper on paper jolting Broken Broom awake. The stallion blinked.
“You okay?” He asked, noticing Trixie’s saddened expression.
Trixie started for the door, completely ignoring the doctors.
“Are you ok-kay?” He asked again.
“I’m so sorry.” Trixie choked out.
She bolted out the door and down the hall. Faint yelling echoed from the hallways as she descended the staircase. Trixie didn’t care. She didn’t deserve to be cared about. She was a waste of space, a failure. Her legs ached as she flew out the door of the apartment complex. The mare, now in tears, continued onwards through the alleys, past Broken Broom’s office, past Donut Joe's, and beyond. She was running to one place, somewhere where Broken Broom couldn’t find her. Trixie didn’t notice, or maybe just didn’t care that her hat fell off at some point. She didn’t deserve it anyways.
Broken Broom frantically scanned the streets of Manehattan. He had to find her, he had to!
“Damn it, why did you run?!”
He slowed his gallop. Unwanted attention was not in his best interest. He looked around, hoping to see a star-studded hat, or for moonlight-blue mane to contrast the drab colors of the average manehattanite. The doctor rounded a corner. Donut Joe’s shone in the distance. Broken Broom’s eyes brightened as he saw it, and his trot accelerated into a canter. He barreled into the diner, a wild look on his face. No one was more surprised, or terrified for that matter, than Donut Joe. It wasn’t everyday that his favorite customer charges into his restaurant with a wolf’s hunger in his eyes.
“Uh, Broken Broom?” Joe asked, eyebrow raised.
The doctor held up a hoof, panting. As his breaths quickened, he spoke.
“Have... You seen... T-t-trixie run by?” He asked, still out of breath.
Donut Joe shook his head.
“Why? What did ya do?” Donut Joe replied.
“I have no c-clue!” Broken Broom exclaimed, throwing his hoof up for effect.
“Mares, eh?” Donut Joe retorted, snorting.
“T-tell me about it." Said the Doctor, rubbing his temples. “Look, if she shows up, p-please make her w-wait here. I need to t-talk to her.”
Donut Joe saluted in response, and with that, Broken Broom was out the door. He shivered as a blast of air chilled his bones. It was cold; colder than it had been in awhile. The sun had already begun it’s guided descent, and the skyscrapers of Manehattan blocked most of the light from reaching the streets. The doctor pounded his head in frustration. The worst part was that he hadn’t any idea as to why Trixie would storm out like that. It couldn’t have been something he said; he was asleep!
“Buck.”
On the empty street, illuminated by the pale orange glow, a deep purple cap stood alone, dirty and creased. Broken Broom approached the sad little object and picked it up. Draping it over his neck, he trotted along in the darkness. In the distance, tall corridors of mortar and brick gave way to a small park. Broken Broom trotted towards the greenery, Trixie’s hat still on his back.
The park, although not as expansive as those in Ponyville or Canterlot, was one of the more spacious in Manehattan. Lamps lit cobblestone paths, and under some of the lamps were benches. Trees dotted the place, specifically planted to make room for picnics, kite flying, and other activities. There was even a little pond, with a bench on it’s bank, under a tree.
And it was there, on that bench, that Broken Broom spotted a shaking and distraught unicorn. He sighed in relief, and immediately froze up.
“What do I even say? I have no idea why she left in the first place!”
The mental scrimmage between reason and emotion raged for a small time. For the longest time, Broken Broom stood under the orange street lamp. He shook his head.
“I don’t care.” He whispered.
As he took his step onto the grass, he hesitated, caught by doubt. Ignoring it, he slowly approached the sniffling and shivering mare. She sat on the bench, head hung low. Broken Broom tentatively took a seat next to her. Trixie didn’t look up. The doctor pulled her into a tender embrace, for comfort and for warmth.
“I’m so sorry, Broken Broom. I’m so, so sorry.” Trixie began to sob, her body shaking.
“F-for what?” He asked, eager to learn the reason for her fleeing.
Trixie looked up at the doctor, tears in her eyes, and buried her head in his chest.
“I used you.” She whispered.
Tears stained Broken Broom’s pelt. He didn’t care.
“I don’t understand.” He replied.
There was a pause. Broken Broom ran his hoof through Trixie’s mane.
“ You- you opened your home to me, and all I- I planned to do was get as much as I could out of it! I didn’t care about you, I cared about how much I could get from you! I botched any attempt at a career in performing and my reputation is already in tatters! I’m nothing but a liar and a failure! And now I’m a dirty freeloader!” Trixie wailed, her sobs becoming more prevalent.
After some time, Trixie sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes. Yet she still remained close to the Doctor. Broken Broom was speechless. He may be a pulmonologist, but he was no therapist. All he could do was one thing. One thing that he knew would make or break this moment. He wrapped his hoof around Trixie’s head and slammed his lips onto hers.
Trixie’s eyes widened in shock, but an ember of an emotion kept her from pulling away. The ember caught flame, and Trixie pushed into the kiss. He didn't resist. Her heart beating heavily, she pulled away, staring into his eyes, almost pleadingly. He stared back, and apparently understanding her feelings, drew closer to her. A few seconds passed before she finally felt his warm lips brush against hers. At that very moment, she felt her passion for him course through her body, causing her to shake uncontrollably.
She raised her hooves above her head, allowing him to wrap his forelegs around her waist and hold her tightly as he began to kiss her lips. She moaned softly, kissing back to the best of her ability. Moments later, she felt his wet tongue slide between her lips. She greeted it with her own tongue. He tasted faintly of spearmint with a hint of chocolate. Trixie wanted more. After what felt like eons to her, their mouths finally parted, and their eyes finally met. They continued to hold each other. After giving him a warm smile, she placed her head against his chest. The beating of his heart was audible, an indication that he felt the same way she did. He stroked her mane, to which Trixie responded by nuzzling into the crook of Broken Broom’s neck. His fur was incredibly soft, uncommon for the average stallion. But at this point, Trixie had decided, Broken Broom was no ordinary stallion.
“Let’s g-get you inside, Miss-.” Broken Broom spoke through a smile.
“Call me Trixie.” Trixie interjected.
The two walked side-by-side, except this time, Trixie stayed close to Broken Broom. A coughing fit overtook the mare, sending needles of pain throughout her breast. She sniffled and huddled next to Broken Broom. He could feel her shivering.
“Here.” He spoke softly, shucking his bomber jacket and giving it to her. “Oh, and you d-dropped this.”
The doctor held out Trixie’s cap in his mouth. Trixie gazed at it, and silently, her magic levitated it out of the Doctor’s mouth, and into a trashcan. Her magician’s cloak followed, replaced by Broken Broom’s own jacket. That chapter of Trixie’s life was over with. It was time for a new one to begin.
Broken Broom sat on the sofa, draping his foreleg around the reading unicorn next to him. It seemed like such a long time ago. It had started slowly, like a newborn beginning to comprehend the world beyond it’s mother’s embrace. Before she knew it, Trixie’s life turned around, much like the cold winter that was now melting into a pleasant but cool spring. Four months was how long it took for the former beggar to claw her way back up. She applied for a job at Donut Joe’s as a hostess. It was a petty job, one that Trixie would never have considered a year ago, but it was a job. One that she was proud of.
“How ya feelin’?” He asked, running his hoof through his girlfriend’s mane.
Trixie sighed, “Well.”
“Really?” He asked, aware of Trixie’s lie.
“Yes, Broken Broom.” She responded.
“T-trixie, I’m not d-dumb.” He returned, his tone much more serious.
“I want something.”
“That’s vague.”
“I... I want to go on a date.” Trixie nuzzled into Broken Broom.
“We go on d-dates a lot!” He replied.
Unfortunately, Broken Broom was not perceptive to the emotions of a mare. His definition of a date was bare bones. Like most stallions, romance was not his strong suit.
“I mean on something more than just a walk in the park, or dinner at a fancy restaurant!” Trixie exclaimed.
“It does, it’s just... not what I imagine sometimes.” Trixie explained. “You know, something more... romantic!”
“Note to self: Romantic comedies are not reliable sources of information.” He thought to himself. A gleam of inspiration shone in Broken Broom’s eyes.
“I think I c-can remedy th-that. B-be dressed and ready to g-go at eight.” He replied with a sly grin. And with that, he was out the door, leaving a bewildered Trixie in his wake. Seventeen flights of stairs later, he was prowling the streets of Manehattan. His plan was spur of the moment, and it was brilliantly romantic. At least he hoped it was. It didn’t matter anyway, his girlfriend wanted something romantic, and he was obligated to figure something out. He carefully made his way to a flower shop, bits jingling in his pockets.
Trixie stood like a statue, staring intently into her bathroom mirror. She idly combed her hair. It seemed like such a long time ago that she wallowed in the slums of Manehattan, slowly dying as she begged for scraps. It seemed like such a long time ago that a socially inept doctor planted one hell of a kiss on her lips, not days after they had met. By all standards, Trixie should have drawn the line there. But something kept her from doing so. Maybe it was loneliness? Desperation? She hadn’t the foggiest idea. All she knew is that she liked it.
She cocked her head from side to side. Satisfied with her mane style, she trotted over to her wardrobe. A year earlier, her dream closet would have consisted of expensive and lavish garb. Fashion lines from the inspirations of Spitfire, or Photo Finish, or (as much as Trixie despised her) Rarity. Now, her wardrobe was her uniform for work, Broken Broom’s old bomber jacket, and a simple midnight blue dress for formal occasions. She sat on her haunches, and placed a hoof to her chin. She was no fashionista, but even she knew that she had absolutely nothing to wear.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing!” Trixie groaned, throwing herself onto her bed for dramatic effect. After a momentary rest, the showmare rolled off of the bed and onto her hoofs. A look of determination replaced her look of exasperation.
“Well, time to go shopping!” The mare exclaimed.
“Are you sure she’ll l-like these f-flowers?” Broken Broom asked again. “She c-can get really p-picky.” The mare behind the counter at Begonia’s Flower Shop nodded vigorously.
“Yes, sir, I’m sure she will.” She spoke, her teeth grinding. She was this close to kicking Broken Broom out of the shop. Broken Broom, on the other hand, wasn’t taking any chances.
“Okay, I’ll t-take your w-word for it, but if she d-d-doesn’t like them, it’ll be your fault, Miss Begonia.” The doctor continued, undeterred by the mare’s blatant annoyance. “You know how m-mares are, right? Oh y-yeah, you are a m-mare! Sorry, I f-forgot-”
Up until this point, Begonia’s anger had been slowly bottling up, and it took all her self-control to keep it in check. Unfortunately, Broken Broom’s inherent awkwardness had managed to pop the seal. Her hooves slammed on the counter. Broken Broom stopped his ranting and stared at the mare, befuddled.
“Listen, bud, I’ll only say this once. I am, in fact, a mare, in case you didn’t notice. I am absolutely, positively, one hundred percent damn sure that your girlfriend will love the everloving tartarus out of those Morning Glories. Celestia damn it, I know what I’m doing, so why is it that when all of the love struck stallions come into my shop, they question my expertise? Like what the buck, are all of you thick as a brick?!” The mare exclaimed.
She looked up with an exasperated, only to find that all eyes in the store were glued to her. She cleared her throat, and finally noticed that Broken Broom had slipped away, leaving only a pile of bits to pay for the flowers. Broken Broom trotted hurriedly out of the door and onto the streets. He was utterly confused. Had he said something?
“No matter. Flowers: check. Suit? Negatory. Picnic? Nope. Okay, let’s get to it.”
Trixie wandered through the boutique like a foal in a candy store. Dresses surrounded her on all sides, and she couldn’t help but ogle at the fancy ponies who pranced around in their expensive clothes. Her drunken stupor was broken when she felt a hoof tap on her withers. She turned around face a pegasus stallion. The stallion was of average build, with a curly but well kept fuschia and red mane. His fur was a light gray, and his eyes shone an even lighter gray. He had a smile that just radiated hospitality and humility. He wore a vest with blue bowtie.
“Welcome to Grant’s Garb. I’m Barnstorm. May I help you?” The stallion asked. His accent gave him away instantly as a native of Dodge Junction. It wasn’t nearly as abrasive as an Appleoosan native, rather it was gentle and soothing, much like that of a country singers.
“Yes, I need a dress. Preferably dark and simple, but still elegant.” Trixie responded. “Thank you.”
The stallion’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and then a smile split his face. He beckoned Trixie to follow and began trotting through the aisles.
“I know exactly what you need, ma’am. Something form fitting is a necessity with your figure, which is near flawless.” Trixie flushed. “And you’d like something simple? Definitely not one of Rarity’s or Knit Pearl’s designs.” He continued to browse the selections.
“Oh, are you? Her debut was breakout, but, between you and me? I find her dresses a bit gaudy, and her fame is owed to being an element of harmony and a friend of Princess Twilight. Still, I can see some appeal to her couture, if not for just the Canterlot nobility.” The stallion grinned. Trixie giggled at the comment, almost giddy that she wasn’t the only one to think that. Barnstorm brought out a rack with several dresses.
“Alrighty, I have some that I think you’ll like. Try ‘em on and tell me how you feel.”
Trixie nodded and stepped behind one of the many privacy curtains. After several minutes of wriggling into the dress, she stepped out in front of Barnstorm. The stallion had a pensive look on his face. He motioned for the mare to rotate. Trixie decided to break the silence. Barnstorm seemed like a pleasant pony to converse with.
“So, Barnstorm, was it? I can’t help but notice that you don’t seem like the stallion to be in this business.” Trixie observed. Barnstorm let out a hearty laugh.
“You ain’t the first one to point that out, ma’am. What gave it away: the name, the wings, or the accent?” Barnstorm asked, still keenly observing Trixie, who had switched dresses.
“All three, actually.” Trixie responded, twirling in a black dress with royal purple flecks.
“Well, my parents were both Wonderbolts. Fierce Wind and Gusty. They retired to Dodge Junction when I was born, but still thought it proper to give me a racing name since I was a pegasus. Hence, Barnstorm. They weren’t too happy when I decided to go to college rather than join the Wonderbolts, but eventually they warmed up and helped me get a degree as a chemical engineer. Turn around please. Technically, my job is to create synthetic fabrics for a variety of uses. I’m just filling in for my husband since the lab I work for is an extension of this store. Allergy season hits him hard... Ah, I’m ramblin’. Tell me, what is this here new dress for? Party? Date?”
“That’s quite a story, Mr. Barnstorm. As for the dress, it’s for a date tonight, and I just don’t have anything for the occasion.” Trixie responded. She was a little frustrated at this point. None of the dresses really suited her. She slipped into her bomber jacket.
“I’m terribly sorry, but none of these dresses seem to suit me. I just can’t seem to find the right one...” Trixie trailed off as she noticed the stallion staring at her jacket.
“Wait here, ma’am.” Barnstorm commanded. Trixie stood there for several minutes, waiting for Barnstorm to return from whatever quest for fashion he was undertaking. Several ponies passed by, giving hoity toity glares at the casually dressed Trixie. Barnstorm trotted into view, balancing a black bundle on his back.
“Here, I think this might be the one, ma’am. Oh, and put on your jacket after the dress is on.” Barnstorm said as Trixie lifted the dress magically and carried it behind the privacy veil. After a brief time, Trixie stepped out. Barnstorm grinned wildly and hurriedly pulled a mirror over. Trixie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A tight, black dress with white speckles followed her figure perfectly. The dress had a satin-like finish, but wasn’t overbearing. It was simple, yet graceful and elegant. What really topped it off, was Trixie’s jacket. The brown faux-leather and the fuzzy cream colored lining added depth to the outfit that she knew Broken Broom would appreciate. She turned to Barnstorm, beaming.
“I love it, I love it, I love it!” She squealed, hugging the stallion like a vice grip.
“All in a day’s work, ma’am. Now let’s get you measured.” Barnstorm replied cooly, rubbing his hoof on his vest.
Barnstorm took measured Trixie with a cold and calculating gaze, careful to make sure each measurement was correct. He sent the dress and the measurements back to the tailors, who recreated the dress to perfectly fit Trixie. Ten minutes of idle conversation and two hundred bits later, Trixie was trotting gleefully back to her apartment. This time she took the elevator.
Broken Broom walked into Grant’s Garb, fully intent on looking as snazzy as possible. He slowly trotted through the store, looking for the suit that he knew would blow Trixie away. His bouquet of flowers sat snugly in his saddlebags. He was muzzle deep into a suit rack when the sound of a clearing throat brought him wheeling around.
“Welcome to Grant’s Garb, sir. I’m Barnstorm. May I help you?” The stallion greeted Broken Broom, holding his hoof out, which Broken Broom promptly shook.
“Yeah, I have a d-date tonight, and I need a suit.” Broken Broom explained. Barnstorm raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and nodded. The stallion eyed the doctor, slowly circumventing the scrawny earth pony. Barnstorm trotted off, Broken Broom in town.
“So, tell me about your date. What are her tastes? That alone could make or break your date.” Barnstorm inquired.
“Well, she’s g-got simple tastes, I g-guess. She prefers d-dark and simple, but elegant. But she’d d-d-definitely want an aura of g-grace.” The doctor replied, slowly listing off Trixie’s preferences. Barnstorm’s eyes slowly widened as a sly grin crossed his face.
“I think I know exactly what you need, sir.” Barnstorm replied, his voice dripping with giddiness. The pegasus trotted off into the backrooms. Broken Broom stood there, unsure what to do. He stared around the room, occasionally making awkward eye contact with other ponies. Relief finally came when Barnstorm returned with a single suit on his back. He transferred it to Broken Broom’s possession, who in turn made his way behind a privacy veil. Broken Broom emerged slowly. Barnstorm coaxed him out, and when the doctor was fully exposed, he began to examine him. The suit itself was simple in design. A single breasted white suit with ivory buttons. What made it stand out was the black silk peaked lapel and the black chalk stripes running up and down the suit. On the back of the suit, a shallow cut vent further enhanced the dashing properties of the suit.
“Perfect.” Barnstorm whispered. Broken Broom was staring at his reflection, clearly impressed with Barnstorm’s expertise.
“I’ll take it.” Broken Broom exclaimed. Barnstorm nodded his affirmation, and began measuring the stallion. He took the suit back, and the two stallions shot the breeze about sports, politics and other masculine topics as they waited for the tailors to alter the suit. One of the seamstresses brought the suit out from the back and handed it to Broken Broom. He was trepidatious when the price tag of three hundred bits was presented, but these doubts were shaken when Barnstorm reminded of what was really at stake here. Broken Broom exited the boutique more confident than usual.
“Alright, let’s get that picnic.”
“Ahah! I knew you two love birds hooked up!” Donut Joe shouted. Words could not express his satisfaction when Broken Broom came trotting through that back door with a new suit and bouquet. “I was wondering why you’s of all ponies needed a picnic, and then it hit me!”
“Yeah, yeah, Joe. Look, is that order r-ready?” Broken Broom asked, desperate to escape embarrassment.
“Yessir, Broom. Two dee-luxe salads, a bottle of aged Canterlot Merlot, and the traditional pic-a-nic blanket and basket. You’re really goin’ all out, arentcha?”
Broken Broom nodded, as he fished for bits. “I didn’t th-think that you did this k-kind of business, Joe.”
Donut Joe shook his head with a smile.
“I don’t. But since you’s a friend, I thought I could make an exception... Y’know, Broom, in all seriousness, it’s good that you’s doin’ this for ya girl. I knew since that mare walked into this store askin’ for a black coffee that she’s been through some tough shit. I dunno what happened between you two, but whatever you did, it’s turned her life around. She may not be my best employee, but she sure damn tries, and that counts for something.” Joe said with a chuckle.
“Listen, I was young once too. I made mistakes, lost fillies that I loved, and won ‘em back. Life is too short for that. You’s good for Trixie, and likewise. Whatever you’s got planned for her, make her happy, aight?”
Broken Broom nodded with a smile, “Don’t worry, Joe, I fully intend to.”
Trixie sat in the den of her and Broken Broom’s apartment, wearing her new dress and feeling incredibly nervous. There she had been sitting, waiting for whatever Broken Broom had planned for the mare. The clock read 7:56 PM. Truth be told, Trixie’s nervousness was more excitement than anything. It was about time that Broken Broom had at least attempted something to Trixie’s romantic satisfaction. The mare began skimming through a copy of Ponies magazine nabbed from Broken Broom’s clinic. A knock on the door startled her.
“Wh-Who’s there?” Trixie asked worriedly. The door opened, revealing an incredibly handsome Broken Broom. His wiry mane was combed, and suit worn. One of the morning glories from his bouquet sat in his breast pocket.
“You poor old sod, you see it’s only me.” The doctor said with a grin, confidence radiating from his speech. His and Trixie’s eyes widened as they took in each others image.
“Wow...” They whispered in unison. An immediate spout of sputters came from both ponies. Trixie kept stuttering trying to compliment his mane. Broken Broom tried and failed to compliment his girlfriend’s eyes. Eventually, Broken Broom shoved the bouquet in Trixie’s face. Glad to end the stutterfest, Trixie pulled Broken Broom into a hug.
“Is that... Is th-that my old jacket?” Broken Broom asked with an eyebrow raised.
“Uh, yes? Is it bad? Should I change? I don’t w-” Trixie spouted, hit by a surge of self-consciousness.
“Trixie. Honestly, it’s... It’s b-beautiful. You look p-perfect.” Broken Broom cut in. A momentary silence overtook the pair.
“So, um. Are we ready to go?” Trixie asked. Broken Broom remembered that he was on a date.
“Oh! Uh, y-yea! Follow me!” He ordered. He walked over to the fire escape window. At this point, Trixie was slightly confused but followed anyway. On the balcony, Broken Broom’s ashtray and box of cigars was gone. Far above the neon haze and manehattan life, Trixie and Broken Broom slowly ascended. The two reached the roof after climbing a ladder that Broken Broom had set beforehand. Trixie gasped in astonishment. Before her lay a red and white checkered blanket with a wicker basket, a bottle of wine, and candles.
“It’s... How did you do this?” Trixie could only ask.
“Well, th-there are two fire escapes.” Broken Broom explained. Both the doctor and Trixie burst into a fit of laughter as they walked over to their skyline picnic. Twenty stories above the streets, the sounds of life below were dulled to white noise. Broken Broom poured the wine with tact only an earth pony could muster.
“You did all of this... for me?” Trixie broke the silence. Broken Broomed rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well, y-yeah. I mean, you asked f-for it.” He replied with a chuckle. The couple dug into their food, silence overtaking them save for the near inaudible sound of wine sipping and chewing. Candlelight bathed them in a dim light, allowing them to only see the prominent features of their faces. Trixie’s face was purple in the light. Broken Broom’s had turned a shade of red as well. The two finished their food quickly, both satisfied with Donut Joe’s culinary expertise. Broken Broom scooted over next to Trixie sporadically, eventually wrapping his foreleg around her.
Trixie leaned in, pecking Broken Broom on the lips. She looked away quickly, as did Broken Broom, both ponies beet red. They met for another kiss. Trixie pushed into it, shoving her tongue into Broken Broom’s mouth. The stallion fought back, using his own tongue to dance with Trixie. They broke the kiss and met each other’s gaze.
“This is nice.” Trixie stated simply. She couldn’t be closer to the truth. The couple sipped their wine, not speaking, rather enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. Trixie nuzzled into Broken Broom’s neck, sighing contentedly.
“So... Was this r-romantic enough?” Broken Broom asked coyly. Trixie giggled in response.
“Yes, this would’ve been romantic enough even if you would have served ramane.” She replied jokingly.
“Well, in that c-case...” Broken Broom shot back, a mischievous grin splitting his face. Trixie laughed heartily, but said no more.
Some time had passed with the two ponies intertwined in each other's embrace before Broken Broom had felt his mare shiver. He prodded her shoulder.
“It’s g-getting kind of chilly. Want to h-head inside?” He asked. Trixie nodded and stood up slowly. Broken Broom rose with her, stretching his legs. The two walked back down to their apartment in close proximity to one another. The pair entered the den. Broken Broom trotted behind Trixie. The mare had subtly begun swaying her hips. Broken Broom’s jaw dropped as he realized the implications. They reached the door quickly. Trixie whipped around, a sultry smirk plaster across her face. Her magic opened the door, and she walked into the darkness, leaving Broken Broom stunned in the doorway. Seconds later, he felt a tug on his tie, and was slowly drug into the room, the only light an ethereal glow from Trixie’s horn and his tie. The door slammed close behind him.
