Trixie vs. Roadside Assistance
The Great and Powerful Trixie was having a good day.
Indeed, she truly deserved the title of ‘Great and Powerful.’ After two years of grueling labor upon a dusty rock farm, she was finally back on her hooves and ready to show all of Equestria exactly how radiant and amazing she was. Just the previous morning, she had told her slave driving bosses, the mudpie family or something, to stuff it. She’d then gathered up the generous savings that she’d accrued from her labor there over the last 24 months, and hit the road.
The first thing she’d done was hopped on a train to the mysterious little town of Hollow Shades. There, she’d managed to buy a nice used wagon from a couple of singing brothers in silly hats. The pair were an annoying, fast-talking duo, but the wagon they sold was functional, rode smoothly, and didn’t break the bank, so she thought little of them. After using her earnings to fill up her wagon with all the necessary enchantments, fireworks, props, and living necessities, Trixie was finally ready to get back on the road again and make a name for herself! A fresh start was just over the horizon. Trixie could practically taste it!
There was just one little thing to take care of before she reclaimed her title of Equestria’s favorite star, though.
The ‘Plan.’
Oh yes. The ‘Plan.’ The one that she’d been mulling over ever since that frumpy purple upstart humiliated her back in Ponyville two years ago. The plan that would see her triumphant over her greatest rival. The plan that would gain her her deserved respect from a town that had so outrageously denied her. The plan that would make her the highest level unicorn in all of Equestria.
Yes. That ‘Plan.’
And she was ready.
The previous evening, as the rest of the sleepy town of Hollow Shades sheltered themselves from a downpour, Trixie had ducked inside a shop known as ‘Uncle Curio’s Odds and Ends.’ Most ponies knew it as a little mom-and-pop corner store, good for buying incense or exotic teas and maybe a knick knack or a minor magically charmed item or two. But Trixie, after two years of searching libraries and sneaking through transaction records in her spare time, had discovered that it also held an item of untold power. A cursed necklace called the Alicorn Amulet.
The Amulet was said to grant any unicorn the untold magical abilities of an Alicorn, and it could not be forcibly removed by anypony but the wearer. The drawback was that there was supposedly an evil influence within the amulet that would drive the wearer mad if their mental fortitude was not strong enough. Trixie scoffed at the idea though. Even if there was some sort of mental magic upon the necklace, she was the Great and Powerful Trixie! She was the most mentally fortuitous pony around and she knew it. She was in no danger of falling prey to the enthralling effects of any mere piece of jewelry.
The item had cost almost the entirety of the her earnings over the past two years, but if the plan was successful (which of course it would be; she was the Great and Powerful Trixie, after all), then she would certainly make it back instantly after using the amulet to show up that despicable Twilight Sparkle and become the greatest stage magician of all time.
‘Yes,’ she thought, as the small town of Hoofington came into view, ‘it is an excellent day to be Trixie.’
The mare was all smiles as she crossed into the city limits. Soon she would be in Ponyville, where she would don the magical amulet and take revenge upon everypony who wronged her. This day was going to be perfect.
And then her wagon thumped.
Trixie did not take notice of the thump immediately. She merely assumed that it was a pebble in the road that caught under the wheel of her wagon for a moment. And no mere pebble was going to ruin the Great and Powerful Trixie’s day.
But when the thump repeated and her wagon suddenly lurched to the side, rattling noisily as it futilely attempted to roll for about 20 yards, Trixie realized that it would be unwise to attempt to pull the wagon any farther without checking the wagon for damages. Grumbling, she pulled her wagon over to the side of the road and unhitched herself from the wagon’s rope harness with a glimmer of magic and stepped around the side to inspect her front-right wheel.
Trixie’s mood immediately soured when she saw that her wheel had cracked and broken in three places, fragments of the rim completely missing and several spokes broken.
The powder blue showmare groaned, slapping a hoof to her forehead. “Ugh, and it was such a good day too. Trixie does not have time for this!” she growled, angrily gazing up and down the road she had just come from, looking for the source of her woes. Her eyes landed upon a shallow rough dip in the pathway, perhaps an inch deeper than the rest of the road at best. Trixie gaped “That’s it? That’s what broke the wheel?!” she cried, with a stamp of her hoof. “Stupid lying wagon salesmen. They said it was in perfect condition.” She shook a hoof at the sky. “Mark Trixie’s words, brothers Flim and Flam! When Trixie finishes Twilight Sparkle, she’s coming for you next!”
Trixie lowered her hoof from the sky with a dramatic stamp. She snorted a little and flipped her silver-blue mane out of her eyes. Her little fit over with, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Trixie supposes, then, that she must fix her wagon.” With a flip of her stormy gray cape, the mare trotted to the back of her wagon and opened a small compartment, pulling out a spare wheel. The mare looked over the wheel carefully, looking for any cracks or imperfections in the wooden circle. Finding none, she gave herself a satisfied nod and reached further into the compartment with her magic. Removing a jack, she trotted back to the right-front wheel.
“Very well then,” Trixie said to nopony in particular. “Trixie is the greatest and most powerful unicorn in all of Equestria. Surely she will have no problem fixing a simple wagon wheel!”
With another dramatic flip of her mane, Trixie alighted her horn and placed the jack beneath her wagon. The periwinkle unicorn grabbed ahold of the lever and pushed down upon it as hard as she could with her magic.
The jack did not budge.
Trixie growled and lit her horn once more, pouring her magic into a basic kinetic spell. “Come on...” she grunted, sweat rolling down her forehead as she attempted to crank the lever with all her might.
The jack still refused to budge.
“Grah!” Trixie hissed, grabbing the jack’s lever with her hooves. “Come on, Trixie!” she groaned as she pushed the lever down as hard as she could, the metal rod barely moving under her weight. “You can do this!”
Trixie could not do this.
“Grrrrrrr...” She growled, her eyes clenched shut as beads of sweat cascaded down her face. “Ugh!” She shouted, finally releasing the metal rod. “Alright, you asked for it!” she screamed at the jack.
The jack did not respond.
Trixie backed up a few paces, lowering her upper body to the ground. “Trixie has seen this at many an earth pony wrestling match when she was working for those rock farmers!” She reared up on her hind hooves, glaring at the jack’s lever. “It’s time to bring the hurt!”
Trixie took off toward the jack at full speed, her head lowered and her face contorted into a furious scowl. Her hooves thundered as she raced towards the jack, leaping into the air. “Elbow drop!” Trixie cried, positioning herself over the jack lever and aiming her elbow right at the offending metal rod as she descended.
“HiiyaaaAAAAUUUGH!” Her battle cry turned into one of anguish as her elbow slammed down right onto the end of the unyielding metal rod. The rod did not give at all, but a searing pain shot through Trixie’s foreleg the moment her tender elbow hit the metal.
“Ow ow ow ow ow!” Trixie cried, as she hobbled around on three legs, favoring her right foreleg. Growling, she sat down and rubbed her sore arm, glaring daggers at the heinous jack. “Rrragh!” She roared, grabbing the lever with her magic and giving it a twist.
The lever moved.
Trixie gaped for a good ten seconds before driving a hoof into her forehead. “Twist and push... gotcha,” she grumbled, grabbing the lever with her magic again, giving the lever a twist and a push. The wagon rose slightly. She twisted the lever and pushed it down again and again, nursing her sore arm all the while. After about a minute and a half of twisting and pushing, the wagon had lifted far enough off the ground that she could easily get at her broken wheel.
Trixie allowed herself a smile. Her victory over the treacherous wheel was almost at hand! Sidling up to the wooden wagon wheel, Trixie grabbed at the lugnuts holding it in place with her magic.
They didn’t budge.
Trixie’s eye twitched.
“FFFFFFFFFFF-”
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie paced back and forth inside of her wagon, now lopsided the other way thanks to the jack. She had cursed and sworn and shrieked at the lugnuts affixing the wheel to her wagon’s axle for a good five minutes, twisting with all the might her magic could muster all the while. Her face was drenched with sweat (not at all helped by the heat of the afternoon sun) and veins were visible under the skin of her forehead as she ground her bared teeth.
Indeed, the lugnuts had proven too much of a challenge for the vexed and aggravated Trixie. They had simply been screwed on too tightly back at the wagon lot, likely by a power tool of some kind. There was no way that she was going to be able to get them off on her own, even with her great and powerful magic.
Trixie glanced over at the Alicorn Amulet, sitting in a glass case on her shelf in the corner. The blue unicorn tapped her chin. She could use the amulet to boost her magical power and take out the lugnuts. The mare considered it for a moment, but quickly dismissed the idea.
“Absolutely not.” Trixie said, punctuating her statement with a stamp of her hoof. “Trixie shall not sully this artifact by using it for such menial labor. No, this is for the downfall of Twilight Sparkle and that task alone.” She shook her head. “No, for once in her life, Trixie needs...” she grimaced, the word tasting foul upon her tongue. “...help.”
Trixie trotted over to her dresser and opened a drawer. Using her magic, she lifted out a plastic card and an odd, reflective rectangular prism. Trixie flipped open the prism to reveal a keypad. The Flim Flam brothers had called it a ‘gem phone’ or something like that, and they had thrown it in with her wagon as a package deal.
Trixie was familiar with the concept of phones, of course. They weren’t particularly common, but some public buildings had them. They were big, blocky things mounted on walls that you spoke into while holding a conical earpiece to your ears. She had never seen a portable phone of any sort before, though. According to the Flim Flam brothers, it had been carved from a baby-blue sapphire and inlaid with silver runes to tune it to the magical telephone network. It couldn’t call any phone in Equestria, but it could apparently be used to call for assistance if you had trouble with your wagon on the road. You could call for the guard, medical assistance, firefighters, or other emergency services. It also allowed you to call a service that the Flim Flam brothers referred to as ‘roadside assistance.’ They claimed that if your wagon suffered damages while you were out on the road, a pony would come out and fix it for you.
Trixie nodded. Roadside assistance was exactly what she needed at the moment. Trixie sat down on her small, twin-sized bed and pressed the button on the keypad marked ‘R.A.’
The showmare grasped the gem phone in her hoof. Her magic had been exhausted after all her attempts to work the jack and lugnuts, and she didn’t wish to tire her horn out anymore by holding onto the phone with it. Holding the phone to her ear, Trixie waited as a jingling ringtone played as she waited for somepony to pick up on the other line.
After a few seconds of ringing, a synthesized, female voice spoke into her ear.
“Welcome to the Equestrian Roadside Assistance hotline. Your call is very important to us.”
“Yes, yes, Trixie needs-” Trixie attempted to say, only to be cut off as the strange voice continued to speak over her.
“This automated voice directory system will take you to the pony you need to speak with.” The voice continued.
Trixie blinked. “Automated? You mean I’m not even speaking with a real pony yet?” She said, her shock stunning her out of the third person for a moment. “What kind of assistance is this?!”
“To begin the process of assisting you,” the voice went on, “please read off your six digit ERA account number as provided on the card that came with your mobile phone.”
Trixie stared blankly for a moment before realizing what the voice meant. She quickly grabbed for the plastic card that she’d gotten with the phone and flipped it over. There were a bunch of meaningless words and numbers on it, but six digits stood out in particular.
Trixie opened her mouth to speak but the phone cut her off again. “Please read off your six digit ERA account number as provided on the card that came with your mobile phone.” The voice repeated.
The showmare huffed. “Trixie’s getting to it!” she snapped.
“I’m sorry. I did not understand your response. Please read off your six digit ERA account number as provided on the card that came with your mobile phone.” It repeated once again.
She growled. “839361” Trixie snarled out into the phone.
The phone repeated. “I’m sorry. I did not understand your response. Please read off your six digit ERA account number as provided on the card that came with your mobile phone.”
“What?!” She shouted, “But Trixie just did, you imbecilic pile of horseapples!”
“I’m sorry. I did not understand your response. Please read off your six digit ERA account number as provided on the card that came with your mobile phone.”
“Rrrrrgggghhhh...” Trixie rumbled. The showmare took a deep breath and spoke very precicely and articulately. “Eight. Three. Nine. Three. Six. One.” She spoke slowly into the mouthpiece.
The phone remained silent for a moment before the voice spoke up again. “Thank you for calling, miss... LULAMOON, TRIXIE.” Trixie winced at the use of her hated surname. “Please direct your call to the appropriate representative. For Equish, say one. Para burro decir dos. Für Griffin sagen drei. Kwa Zebra kusema nne. Для Минотавр сказать пяти-”
After the fifth language listing, Trixie merely rolled her eyes and said, “One,” not allowing the machine to get any further.
The machine paused again before continuing. “Please choose the option that most closely represents the problem you are experiencing with your vehicle. If you are lost, say one. If you have been in an accident, say two. If you have run out of fuel, say three. If you are experiencing engine failure, say...”
Trixie’s eye began to twitch. “Sun and moon spare me” she said, clenching her teeth.
“...if your vehicle has been stolen, say eleven. If your vehicle has a lost or damaged wheel, say-”
“TWELVE!” Trixie shouted into the receiver, her pupils smaller than pinpricks and her eyes bloodshot.
“One moment please while we direct your call.”
Trixie sat on the bed and waited in her wagon, her arms crossed over her chest as the voice paused once again. Trixie was breathing heavily and shaking a little. She hadn’t dealt with anything so frustrating since... well since Twilight Sparkle!
She took a deep breath and let it out. It was okay, there was nothing to get angry over. Sure, the automated voice thing was a pain in the flank, but it was over now. In mere moments, she’d be talking with a real, live pony who could send somepony to help her fix her wheel and she’d be back on her way. There was no reason to be upse-
“We’re sorry. Our lines are all busier than usual at the moment and all of our operators are busy with other callers. Please hold until one of our operators can get to you. Your wait time will be more than FIFTEEN MINUTES, but less than TWENTY MINUTES. Thank you for waiting.”
The voice ceased talking and the phone suddenly switched to playing a quirky jazz tune.
Trixie’s jaw dropped wide open.
- - - * * * - - -
After the police had been sent away when Trixie assured them that she had not, in fact, been brutally murdered and she was merely screaming out of immense frustration, Trixie resigned herself to listening to the peppy jazz music and waiting for an operator to finally talk to her.
It was then, though, that she learned something about holding a gem phone in one’s hoof for an extended period of time. Not only did hooves cramp up particularly quickly when they were made to grip something for long stretches, but gem phones, the longer they were actively used, tended to get exceedingly hot incredibly quickly.
It wasn’t two minutes before she hissed in pain as the phone got too hot to handle. Trixie placed the phone down on her bedside table, grumbling at the infernal device. Unable to hear the phone on the desk, though, she hit the button marked ‘speaker.’
She immediately regretted it.
Trixie, you see, was a Neigh Orleans filly, born and raised. She had grown up on all sorts of jazz, and actually quite enjoyed the genre. And while the jazz coming from the phone wasn’t particularly good jazz, it was bearable, if a little fuzzy sounding.
The moment she changed it over to speakerphone, that all changed. The ‘slightly fuzzy’ quality of the jazz suddenly became a full blown static blowout, the jazz muffled by screechy noises and overloaded speakers. The volume amped up to considerably harsh levels, causing it to blare all around the small wagon.
Trixie grit her teeth. “What fresh hell is this?!” Fifteen minutes. She had to sit in her wagon with fifteen minutes of this noise. Fifteen minutes of this wretched thing butchering her favorite musical genre. Still, it was either that or letting her hoof cramp up in terrible agony and setting her ear on fire.
No. Trixie could take it. It was just fifteen minutes. She was a strong, independant mare. She could handle a little annoying noise.
The powder blue unicorn sighed. “Besides, it’s not like it could get any worse.”
The song looped.
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie dropped the slip of paper into her wastebasket. “Disturbing the peace, my FLANK!” She snarled whipping around and jabbing a hoof at the offending, jazz-mutilating gem phone. “It’s this piece of trash that’s desecrating the legacies of Buddy Bold and Louie Hockstrong!”
She sighed, flopping onto her bed. “How long has it been?” she mumbled to herself, reaching over next to the phone and picking up an alarm clock. Her eyes twitched as she saw the clock’s face.
“Four minutes?!”
Trixie banged her head against the wall repeatedly. “I’m not going to live through the day, am I?”
- - - * * * - - -
Two minutes. Loop.
Two minutes. Loop.
How many loops had it been now? Four? Something like that.
Trixie sat up from lying flat on her back on the wooden floor of the wagon, turning to look at the clock. Nine minutes.
“This is hell.” Trixie muttered. “I am dead and in hell.” She nodded. “My wagon went over a cliff and I died horribly. Now I’m in the furthest circle of hell.”
The unicorn leaned against the wall. “I mean, even speaking seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if the ancient evils were actually subjected to this sort of thing as they rot in Tartarus.”
She slumped back down and sighed. “At least I’m over halfway there...” she mumbled, covering her ears as the phone continued to sputter and crackle and generally defecate on music as a whole. It let out a particularly shrill screech over what sounded like it could have been a trumpet at some point, causing Trixie to wince and cover her ears tighter, practically crushing her head between her hooves.
“Make it stop. Please, Celestia, make it stop.”
- - - * * * - - -
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UUUUUP!”
Trixie was literally crying now, beating her hooves futilely against her bed like a filly throwing a tantrum. All love of her previously favored musical genre had been systematically destroyed by this point. She hated Jazz. She hated Buddy Bold for inventing it. She hated Louie Hockstrong for defining it. She hated Jazz with every ounce of her being.
The hellish noise continued to fill the wagon with the cries of innocent double basses and trombones. The shrieking souls of damned pianos, tortured for eternity by static demons.
“It has to have been fifteen minutes, hasn’t it?” Trixie pleaded with the universe, reaching for her clock.
It had been twenty-two.
Trixie’s hair suddenly caught fire.
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie tossed another ticket in the wastebasket. “Ohhhh, just wait ‘til my wheel’s fixed. I’ll show THEM a fire hazard!”
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie lay on her bed, holding her alarm clock above her head. She watched as the hands moved across the clock face. Slowly. Ever so slowly.
Why hadn’t they picked up? Had she been abandoned? Was rescue never coming? Was she all alone? All alone in the universe? Doomed to this hellish screeching and banging and noise forevermore? She shuddered, the wicked song of the old ones still playing from her phone.
Trixie lay unmoving. Unspeaking. Unblinking.
The minute hand moved.
Trixie’s eye twitched. Something in the back of her mind snapped
“You... said... FIFTEEN MINUTES!!!” she screeched, her voice cracking in her throat as she raised a hoof back above her head and hurled the innocent alarm clock out the window.
“RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!!!!”
- - - * * * - - -
The unicorn that had once been Trixie sat and stared at the wall, the ticket she had gotten for littering unnoticed in her bin.
The noise. The screeching. The neverending screeching. It burned her. It scorched her to her very soul.
A line of drool escaped Trixie’s mouth as her eyes stared off into two different corners of the wagon.
She didn’t know who she was anymore. She had no name. She had no past, no present, and no future. She had nothing that could be defined as a ‘life.’
What was life? Was it nice? The unicorn wouldn’t know. She didn’t have one. She never had one.
All she had was the song.
The chirpy, bouncy, twangy song. It wasn’t a bad song. Or was it? What was bad? She didn’t know.
A breeze fluttered in through the broken window.
The unicorn fell over.
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie blinked. Somewhere along the line she had blacked out. Shaking her head, she attempted to bring herself back to her senses. She attempted to stand up, only to pull her hoof back when a stinging pain shot through it. Lifting her hoof to inspect it, she realized that she was bleeding. She didn’t remember that happening.
Looking around for her first aid kit, she was stunned solid when she discovered a red, dripping message scrawled messily upon her wall.
Day 43.
By now I realize that nopony is coming. I’ve been cast adrift in this sea of madness, doomed never to return to the world of the living.
I see strange visions. Screaming ponies, burning in the night, their flesh falling off of their bones as pale-skinned horrors descend from the sky to devour them whole. Tendrils of meat and bone break free from the earth and drag whole cities below to the depths of the underworld. Seas boil as putrid pus and grease floating atop it burn eternally. The sky rains acid and blood.
Ragnarok is upon us. There is no light. There is no God. There is only the song.
I pray to my masters. I offer myself at their altars that they spare me the torment and make my death quick. I have been tortured enough by their melody of sorrow. Let mine be a quick death.
V’hu-ehn n’kgnath fha’gnu n’aem’nh. V’glyzz k’fungn cylth-a v’el cylth-Sm’uuz k’fungn’i. I’a ry’gzengrho. I’a Tirek.
- - - * * * - - -
“Hello? Is anypony there?”
Trixie shot up from where she lay on the floor. She scrabbled over to the phone as quickly as she could, grabbing it in her hooves, ignoring the heat it was putting out. She switched the phone off of speaker mode and back to normal, sticking the phone to her ear.
“Yes! Trixie is here.”
“Ah, okay then. Thank you for calling the ERA. This is Beige Barmpot speaking. How may I help you?”
“First of all, you can explain why it took an hour and a half to finally get somepony to talk to me! And while you’re at it, you can change your Celestia-forsaken hold music!” Trixie screamed into the receiver.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The stallion called Beige Barmpot said, dispassionately. “I’ll take your request about the music up with my superiors. As for the wait, there were a lot of calls coming in from up north. Lot of snowbound vehicles up in the Crystal Empire.”
“The Crystal-” Trixie shook her head, bewildered. “They’re not even technically part of Equestria! Why are they covered by Equestrian Roadside Assistance?”
“Ma’am, I don’t decide who we cover, I just man the phones. Now do you actually have a problem, or am I going to have to hang up on you?”
“Fine,” Trixie growled, “I’ve been waiting for the past hour and a half to talk to somepony about my broken wagon wheel!”
“Okay, ma’am, and are you in a safe location?” Beige asked, sounding as bored as ever.
The showmare rolled her eyes. “If I weren’t, then I’d have probably ended up in a horrible accident about, oh, an hour and twenty nine minutes ago.” She snapped.
“There’s no need to get snarky, ma’am.” The stallion spoke in about as condescending a manner as his monotone voice could muster. “Now what is the make and model of the wagon?”
She put a hoof to her forehead and sighed. “It’s a 993 Clydesdale Caravan.”
“Alright, and you said it’s a broken wagon wheel?”
“That’s what I said, yes,” she growled.
“And where are you right now?” Beige Barmpot asked.
Trixie poked her head out of her broken window to look at the street signs. “I’m in Hoofington Square on the corner of Fulton and Victory.”
“Alright, and that’s in Hoofington?”
Trixie’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’m almost ninety-nine percent sure that Hoofington Square is in Hoofington.” She spat.
“If you’re not sure I could look it up on my road atlas for you.” He suggested.
“Of course Hoofington Square is in Hoofington you imbecile!” Trixie shouted.
She could practically hear the stallion at the other end roll his eyes. “Well you’re the one who said you weren’t sure.”
“I...” Trixie stammered. “I- you- GAH!” she threw her free hoof in the air.
“Now then,” Beige Barmpot continued. “If you’re going to get roadside assistance you’re going to need to speak to our representative office in Hoofington. Please hold while I connect you.”
“...what.”
“I said I’m going to have to put you on hold while I connect from the ERA headquarters to the local Hoofington office. Don’t worry, ma’am. It won’t be but fifteen minutes.”
“No, please!” Trixie pleaded. “Anything but that! Don’t put me on-”
Jazz music started to play from her phone.
- - - * * * - - -
The funny thing about insanity is that it eventually reaches a limit. Once you’ve cycled through the despair, the rage, the homicidal tendencies, the gibbering fits of horror, and the comatose ennui, you really don’t have much anywhere else to go with it. This is the moment when a pony becomes cognizant of the fact that they’ve gone completely battynuggets out of their gourd and enters a state of meta-insanity. They accept that they are no longer sane, but there’s really nothing else they can possibly do with that insanity, so they resign themselves to simply going with the flow in the world gone mad. By all rights, ponies in this state appear perfectly normal. They are calm, collected, and well spoken. The trick to recognizing such a pony is that they may be just a little bit too calm in the face of unspeakable horror or unbearable pain or ultimate despair.
Trixie had reached that level.
Despite the howling cries of foals and innocents that arose from her accursed phone, Trixie remained calm. She lay on her belly atop her bed, resting her head on her hooves and gazing at the infernal device.
Her face betrayed no emotion. Her mouth was set in a perfectly horizontal line; her eyelids fixed exactly halfway down her eyes. Her ears didn’t flick. Her tail didn’t move. She was as still as stone. Were it not for the steady breaths she took in and out and the beating of her heart, one could have easily mistaken her for a particularly dispassionate statue.
Trixie had achieved nirvana. It was not peace. It was not enlightenment.
But it was calm.
Oh sure, she was still angry. She was utterly incensed. She wanted to rend meat from bone and burn the ERA to the ground and relieve herself upon the ashes.
But what would that accomplish? It certainly wouldn’t get her wheel fixed.
So there she sat, silent as the grave.
The stallion had been wrong, of course. Just as the original hold, it had taken longer than fifteen minutes. But Trixie did not move, even as the noise from her phone rent time space and reality. And at the twenty-five minute mark, it seemed that the universe had realized she wasn’t going to do anything particularly entertaining, so it allowed a sweet-sounding young mare to answer the line.
“Hello, thank you for calling the Hoofington ERA. This is Sunshine Smiles speaking. How may I help you?”
Trixie calmly brought the phone to her ear, switching speaker mode off. “Yes, hello.” She said. “My name is Trixie Lulamoon and I appear to have a broken wagon wheel.”
“Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that!” the young mare called Sunshine Smiles said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “Are you in a safe place?”
“I am.” Trixie said, nodding serenely.
“Okay, miss Lulamoon, can you tell me the make and model of your wagon?”
“Certainly.” Trixie nodded. “It is a 993 Clydesdale Caravan”
“Alright, and is there any other issue, or is it only the broken wheel?” Sunshine asked.
“Just the wheel,” Trixie replied.
“And where are you right now, miss Lulamoon?” Sunshine Smiles questioned.
“I’m in Hoofington Square, on the corner of Fulton and Victory.”
“Alright.” Sunshine said. “One last thing: Was the wheel last attached at a wagon shop? If so, we’ll need to send our guy with a power tool to get the lugnuts off.”
“Yes it was.” Trixie nodded. “Thank you for bringing that up. I had almost forgotten.”
“No problem, miss Lulamoon. Our guy will be out there in about thirty minutes. If you have any problems, you can reach us here in Hoofington directly by speaking the extension ‘zero-six-six’ when you first dial Roadside Assistance. And might I say thank you too!”
“Oh?” Trixie replied.
“Yeah!” Sunshine said. “Usually after ponies get off of hold they’re very bitter and angry, shouting at us operators and calling us names, but you’ve been so calm and pleasant, so thank you for just being so polite.”
Trixie tittered politely. As she did so, she heard Sunshine Smiles laughing on the other end.
“I wiLL SwALLoW yOUr SOuL...”
The laughing on the other end ceased. “What was that, miss Lulamoon?”
Trixie smiled sweetly. “I said have a good evening, ma’am!”
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie allowed herself a smile of relief as she closed the gem phone. The magical item was literally steaming from how much heat it was giving off. She set it upon her bedside table to let it cool off as she allowed herself a long sigh of relief. Finally, no more operators, no more terrible mutilations of a decent musical genre, and she could rest easy knowing that in thirty minutes she’d be back on the road to getting revenge upon the ERA...
...er... she meant Flim and Flam...
...wait...
“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” she shouted, causing a passing mailpony outside the window to jump.
Trixie shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Yes. In but thirty minutes, she’d be back on the road to getting revenge on Twilight Sparkle with her amazing Alicorn Amulet and becoming the greatest, most magical and glamorous unicorn in Equestria.
Still, the lack of demonic hymns, molten earpieces, and obnoxious operators alerted the powder blue unicorn to another problem.
Her stomach let out a groan.
Trixie blinked, looking out her window. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon and the very first stars of the night were beginning to peek out in the sky. Trixie patted her stomach. It had been a full two hours since she first made the call, and it was well into dinnertime. Trixie tapped her chin and poked her head out of the wagon’s door, spotting a friendly-looking diner across the street.
Trixie hemmed and hawed. She was very hungry. And now that she thought about it, after all of the tantrums and screaming the past two hours, she was very thirsty as well. She hadn’t had anything to drink in at least eight hours, and nothing to eat in at least half a day.
Trixie shrugged. She supposed if she had thirty minutes to kill, she might as well grab supper at the diner across the street. Levitating a small sack of bits out of her drawers and donning her stormy gray cloak, she ventured out of her wagon and down the street into the diner across the way.
After all, she was ravenous. There’d be no way she wouldn’t be able to eat a whole meal in thirty minutes.
- - - * * * - - -
Rusty was a hard worker.
The old donkey pulled a large cart down the streets of Hoofington Square. Rusty wasn’t a particularly bright soul. Nor was he much to look at. But he was a hard worker. When Rusty got the job done, he got the job done well.
Not only that, but Rusty got the job done fast.
It was a point that Rusty prided himself upon. When he was called in to fix a wagon, he’d get there in a third of the time that was asked of him. Ask him to be there in fifteen minutes? He’d be there in five. And he’d get the job done in two and the pony would be back on the road before you could shout “whoa, nelly!”
Ponies were always happy when he showed up so fast, and even happier when they got back on the road again, their wagons and carts rolling like brand new. Rusty lived to see the happy, relieved smiles of ponies as they finally got back on their journeys.
So when he was called roundabout dinnertime to fix some poor mare’s wagon in the middle of Hoofington Square, he was down there as fast as he could be, ready to make some poor filly’s bad day a little better with his quick, hard, high-quality work.
Which was why Rusty was so disappointed at the moment: Because when he got to the wagon in question, there was no mare there.
Rusty frowned. It was obviously the wagon he was supposed to fix. It had a jack underneath it and the lugnuts had been exposed. The wheel was damaged beyond any hope of repair and the spare was resting against the wagon’s base.
But there was no mare there to meet him.
Which left Rusty in a bit of a pickle. See, ERA protocol clearly stated that if there was nopony there to sign off on the job and waive responsibility of any accidental damages or injuries, he was to leave a note on the door of the wagon and continue on his way.
Rusty didn’t want to do that. He didn’t like leaving jobs behind unfinished. Obviously, whatever poor mare owned this wagon couldn’t fix it herself and she needed somedonkey like him to help her with it. Still, protocol was protocol.
Rusty debated with himself. Eventually he simply decided to wait outside the wagon for a while. Yeah, he could do that. Surely whoever owned this wagon had simply stepped out for a minute for some air. She’d be back in a few minutes and happy to see him there to help her.
At least that’s what he would have done, if a ringing noise hadn’t suddenly sounded out from inside his cart.
Rusty hobbled out of his harness, his old joints creaking as he undid the latches and shuffled over to the back of his cart. Reaching in with a hoof, he pulled out a shiny, red gem phone with silver runes inlaid in it. Flipping the phone open, he put it to his big, floppy ear. “Y’ello?” he said in a gravelly voice.
“Rusty, are you there at the site?” A stallion on the other end asked.
Rusty nodded slowly. “Yup.” He answered. “Bit of a problem though.”
“What’s that?” the stallion asked.
“The Lulamoon lady ain’t here’bouts.” Rusty answered.
“Oh?” The stallion asked. “Well, you know the protocol. Leave a note on her wagon and get moving.”
“But sir-” Rusty tried to argue, only to be cut off by his boss.
“You don’t have any time to waste hanging around there, Rusty,” his boss interrupted. “We’ve got another accident to deal with over on Lycan and Merlos. Some family’s cart apparently tipped over and broke an axel. They need somebody to right it and replace the axel as soon as possible, and I’m sending you to get on it.”
Rusty looked back and forth between his phone and the wagon. He contemplated these new orders. He didn’t feel right leaving a job like this behind, especially since the Lulamoon mare would doubtless be upset to find she’d missed her assist. Still, his boss had said a family’s cart had tipped over. A family implied children. And Rusty certainly couldn’t abide by the idea of little foals being late for their bedtimes stuck out in the cold. No, sir! Bad for the blood, that would be. So, with a little huff, Rusty spoke into the phone.
“Alrighty, boss. I’ll be over there in a jiff.”
Rusty flipped the phone closed and pulled out a notepad full of pre-written apology notes. Pulling one sheet off of the pad and affixing it to the door of the wagon, Rusty re-hitched himself to his cart and trotted off, whistling a jaunty tune as he left the wagon behind.
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie stepped out of the diner at the twenty minute mark with a grimace on her face and a soda floating in her magical aura.
“Blech. Best tacos in Hoofington, Trixie’s flank!” she remarked. “It was like eating congealed grease from underneath the fryers at Burger Princess! Trixie has had pinecones that tasted better!” She said, taking a gulp of her soda as she trotted up to her wagon. “Soda’s flat too...”
As Trixie approached her wagon, though, she noticed the note stuck to her wagon door. “What’s this?” she asked nopony in particular, snatching the slip of paper with her magic and bringing it to eye level. Her eyes darted back and forth across the sheet of paper, her face growing more and more horrified as they went on. When she finished, she lowered the sheet of paper from her vision and dropped her soda, causing the liquid to spill out all over the road.
Trixie stared blankly into space for a few moments, still as death. Her face contorted into a rictus grin and a tear of blood trickled from her eye.
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie slammed the door to her wagon as she stomped inside, grumbling all the way. She didn’t even know she could hit such a high note. It was completely unfair giving her such a massive fine for all the property damage. How could she know all those windows would shatter? She crumpled up the ticket with her magic and threw it into the bin with the others.
Trixie stamped over to the gem phone, sitting innocently on her bedside table. She whipped it open in her magical aura and dialed for roadside assistance. As soon as she heard the ringing stop, she shrieked into the receiver. “ZERO-SIX-SIX!”
The automated voice said nothing. The phone immediately started ringing again before being picked up by a particularly bored sounding stallion. “Hello, thank you for calling Hoofington ERA, how may I help you?”
Wait... she knew that voice.
“YOU!” Trixie shouted. “You’re the stallion from before! The one at ERA headquarters! Beige Barmpot!”
“Yes, ma’am, I do work at ERA headquarters during the day shift. Now how may I help you?” Beige Barmpot replied, sounding indifferent.
“But but...” Trixie sputtered. “When I called earlier, you said that you had to transfer the call from the ERA HQ to the Hoofington Local Office! I was put on hold for another twenty-five minutes! How are you in Hoofington all of a sudden?!”
“Oh, the ERA is headquartered in Hoofington” Beige said in his usual monotone. “It’s on the second floor. The local office is here on the first floor.”
“But then... but!” Trixie was at a loss for words. “You could have just brought the phone downstairs then! Or just done everything from where you were sitting! You didn’t have to put me on hold!”
“Oh I couldn’t have done that, ma’am,” he retorted.
“Why in the eleven circles of Tartarus NOT?!” Trixie screamed.
“It would have been a breach of protocol.” Beige said apathetically.
Trixie’s face deepened into a dangerous scowl. “I want to speak with Sunshine Smiles.”
“I’m afraid Miss Smiles has gone home for the day. Now do you have a problem you actually need help with or am I going to have to hang up on you?”
Trixie fumed. “You know exactly what my problem is! You know who I am!”
“I can’t possibly be expected to remember every caller, ma’am. I have no idea who you are.” Beige rumbled.
“TRIXIE!” the unicorn shouted. “TRIXIE LULAMOON! BROKEN WAGON WHEEL! 993 CLYDESDALE CARAVAN! HOOFINGTON SQUARE! FULTON AND VICTORY! POWER TOOLS! SEND SOMEPONY TO FIX MY WAGON NOW!”
“Ah yes, miss Lulamoon.” Beige hemmed. “Now I remember. We sent a guy out to your wagon a few minutes ago, but you weren’t there.”
“I was told it’d be a half hour! I was only gone twenty minutes!”
“Protocol is protocol, ma’am. If the vehicle owner isn’t there, the mechanic moves on.”
“That is a load of horseapples!” Trixie shouted.
“Maybe, but it’s still protocol.”
Every hair on Trixie’s body was standing on end. Her heart was hammering louder than a jackhammer. Nevertheless, she forced herself to take a deep breath. “Well send the mechanic back, then.” She said softly.
“I’m afraid Rusty is on another job at the moment, and he’ll get off right after it.” Beige replied.
“Well send somepony else then!” Trixie demanded.
“Rusty is a donkey.”
“I DON’T CARE IF HE’S AN UNHOLY SHRIEKING HYBRID BETWEEN A HYDRA AND A DRACONEQUUS WITH A BURRITO FOR A HEAD!” Trixie screeched. “JUST SEND SOMETHING TO FIX MY THRICE-DAMNED WAGON!”
“Alright, ma’am. We have all your information, so one of our guys will be there in about thirty minutes. Can I do anything else to help you?”
Trixie didn’t even answer. She simply slammed the phone shut.
- - - * * * - - -
It had been an hour and ten minutes.
The moon was high in the sky and Luna’s night was well into full swing. Most sensible ponies were cuddling with loved ones by the fire right about now, or even starting to crawl into bed.
Trixie, on the other hand, was still waiting.
Lies. This world was one of lies and deceit. That was all Trixie knew anymore. A universe of falsehoods.
That and lower intestinal cramps.
Trixie groaned. “Ohhhh, I should not have had those Tacos.” She burped, clutching at her stomach. She looked back and forth out the door fitfully, all the while her gut made a noise reminiscent of a cheap coffee maker.
She was angry. There was no doubt about that. She was ready to commit genocide against Beige Barmpot and anypony sharing his accursed bloodline. In fact she had just about been ready to call him up again and scream bloody murder at him again when the gastrointestinal distress hit. Now she was worried that if she exerted herself in even the slightest bit she might lose control and end up forced to quarantine her wagon to a biohazard tent.
The worst part about living in a caravan wagon: There was no indoor plumbing. If you were lucky enough to be in a town, you popped into a public bathroom. If you were in the wilderness, you simply found a private spot and made do.
Under normal circumstances, Trixie wouldn’t have had a problem. She’d have just popped out into the diner and gotten them back for their affront to her digestive system. Except she had somebody coming to fix the wagon.
And she knew. She just knew.
‘Still...’ Trixie thought as her stomach made a noise similar to what one might expect a Sasquatch mating call would sound like, ‘if nopony shows up anytime soon I’m not going to have a choice. It’s either find a public restroom or ruin my brand new wagon. And there’s NO way that anypony will let me trade it in if I did... that in it!’
Trixie’s innards felt like they were on fire and she had broken out in a cold sweat as she fought back against the gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius. She clenched her eyes and grit her teeth. It was official. She couldn’t wait any longer if she wanted to preserve her new wagon. She flew out of her wagon like a cheetah on methamphetamine and raced to the diner, dashing inside and slamming closed the door to the bathroom.
The sound that emerged from beyond the door sounded like a steamroller driving through a bubble wrap factory.
- - - * * * - - -
Bruno was a young Minotaur immigrant and a new hire at the ERA. With a youthful spring in his step and all the enthusiasm necessary to make it in a pony world, he practically skipped toward his next job: helping a young mare fix her wagon.
Bruno eagerly combed his fingers through his shaggy blue mane. He was ready to prove himself and make a bit or two. Surely the mare would be so impressed with his job that she’d write a glowing review in to the company and he’d get a huge promotion. He’d be at the top of the game in no time!
His hopes were all dashed, though, when he spotted nopony at the wagon in question.
Bruno sighed. This was the fourth job this week where he reached a site only to discover nopony to sign off on the job. He suspected that they were afraid of him and hiding from him. Ponies were known to do that sort of thing among unfamiliar species, and he did look rather intimidating at first glance with his large horns and massive arms. He stopped his cart in the middle of the road and looked around with a dejected snort.
He wanted to wait around. Maybe look for the pony and assure her that he was just a big softie and that there was nothing to be afraid of. Then maybe he’d actually get a job done for once. But he knew the protocol and knew what his boss would say.
Still, maybe his boss wouldn’t mind if he waited around a little wh-
A jingle played from the pocket of his vest.
Groaning, Bruno reached into the pocket and pulled out a gem phone, flipping it open and putting it to his ear. “Da, boss?” he answered.
...
“Da, boss.”
...
“Nyet, boss.”
...
“Leetle pony nowhere to be found, boss.”
...
“Are you sure Bruno cannot just-”
...
“Da, Boss. Protocol.”
...
“Da, Boss. Onto next job.”
Bruno replaced the phone in his vest pocket and pulled out a notepad from his cart. Sticking a slip of paper to the door of the wagon, he continued on his way.
- - - * * * - - -
Trixie stumbled out of the diner, coughing and hacking. She shivered, a sheen of frosty sweat coating her as she shuffled back to the wagon tenderly.
As she got to the door of her wagon, she looked up. She sighed and nodded knowingly when she saw the little yellow scrap of paper attached to the door. Lifting it off, she trotted inside.
- - - * * * - - -
“I am going to murder you in your sleep.” Trixie spoke softly into the phone.
“Ma’am if you’re going to keep making threats like that, I’m going to have to hang up.” Beige Barmpot replied with nary an ounce of emotion.
Trixie sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.” she mumbled. “Just send another one.”
- - - * * * - - -
...Finally.
...FINALLY.
Trixie slumped with relief against the side of her wagon as she watched the big, fuzzy blue Diamond Dog affix the last lugnut in place with his power tool. The day of torment was finally, finally, FINALLY over.
“Thank you.” She said to the diamond dog, giving him the last of her bits from her stint as a rock farmer. “Thank you so much for finally getting that spare on.”
“Is no problem, pretty blue po-nee.” The big diamond dog said with a little two-fingered salute. “Fido is happy to be helping po-nees.”
“And I’m just glad that I can finally get out of this Celestia forsaken town.” Trixie chuckled. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
“Fido have bad day once. Whiny white po-nee come into Diamond Dog mines and get away with all Dogs’ gems. Rover very angry.” The diamond dog cocked his head. “Your day sound worse though.”
“You have no idea.” Trixie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Fido, and thanks again.” Fido gave her a little wave and lumbered off into the night.
Trixie let out a final relieved breath and wearily wandered up to the harness of her wagon. “Alright then, let’s get this show on the road!” she said, prepping herself for the journey ahead. As she hitched herself up though, she couldn’t help but reflect upon the day she’d had.
All day, she’d been so angry. All day she’d been kicking and screaming and threatening ponies. She’d gone to the brink of insanity and back again. She’d thrown fits and started fights. And where had it all gotten her?
All that anger accomplished nothing. The only time anything had ever gone her way that day was when she patiently accepted that the universe was indeed out to get her and let things be.
Maybe... just maybe it was all a sign. Maybe she shouldn’t use the Alicorn Amulet to get revenge on Twilight Sparkle and her friends. Maybe she should take a page out of Fido’s book and just let herself get past the whole thing.
Maybe things would be better that way. She certainly felt better when the whole ordeal today had been over once she gave in.
Heck, perhaps she could even do one better than Fido did! She could walk right into Ponyville, her head held high, and confront Twilight Sparkle face to face; not as enemies but as potential allies! Maybe she could even make friends with the studious unicorn!
Yeah! She was pretty sure that there was some fault on both sides anyway. I mean sure, she and her friends showed her up at her own show, but she WAS the one that filled those colts’ heads with fibs anyway. And once all sides got their apologies out of the way, maybe she could even have a new group of friends to call her own!
It sounded like a plan. A good plan. Maybe even a new ‘The Plan.’
The Great and Powerful Trixie: Showmare Extraordinaire and friend to the Elements of Harmony!
It sounded nice.
Trixie took a deep breath as she finished hitching herself up. She was gonna do it. She was going to walk into Ponyville, not looking to end things with Sparkle, but to start a new beginning! She’d be the best friend anypony could ask for!
“The time is now!” Trixie announced as she trotted forward, the wheels on her wagon rolling smoothly down the road. She grinned. “Trixie shall go to Ponyville and enact her new plan! Everything from now on is going to be fantastic!”
She got fifty yards.
Trixie stumbled, getting a face full of mud as her wagon lurched. Her wagon leaned to one side as her brand new right-front wheel cracked under the caravan’s weight and splintered into a dozen pieces.
She blinked, her face neutral. She unhitched herself from the wagon and trotted inside.
Trixie pulled a chest out from under her bed and removed the Alicorn Amulet, still in its case from when she bought it off Uncle Curio. She smashed the glass with a hoof, ignoring the crystalline shards now protruding from her hoof.
“Fuck it.” She said, fastening the amulet around her neck.
- - - * * * - - -