Coming Home
It was hard to say how long she had walked. How does one measure a journey that ends where it began? She carefully tipped up her hat, just enough to see the gleam of Canterlot’s towers in the light of the dying sun. Here again, the place she’d been born, yet never truly called home. The place she’d spent her whole life running from, finally catching her in the end. She tipped her hat back down, painfully aware of how the tattered brim filled her vision. Really, she should have gotten it repaired ages ago, but food came first. Now, it was probably too late.
Drawing a deep breath, she set her hooves to the cobblestones, the creak of her wagon behind her the only sound in the evening. Wheels. She’d always hated wheels, the eternal companion of the outcast. Their creak had dogged her every step of her life, a testament that even her very home had never belonged. Oh how she would have loved to be rid of wheels, of the sound of eternal travel.
How she would have loved to belong.
She looked up briefly to read the street signs, having to light her horn in the growing twilight. Twilight. There was a name she wished she could forget. There were stories that she’d grown up in Canterlot as well. Had the two of them crossed paths in their youth, and simply never realized it? Then again, why would Twilight have any reason to remember a passing street performer? To think she’d once considered herself the rival of a princess herself.
Great and Powerful indeed.
The harness began to chafe, so she pulled to the side of the road and slipped out of it. One thing a life on the road had taught her was how to pace herself. Pushing that one more mile was never worth it, not when a harness could open sores when one’s limits were ignored. That had been how she first got her cape, actually. She’d looked like a burn victim that first stretch of the road. Without that cape to cover the wounds, she would have gone hungry that night, or at least been fed and put up out of pity rather than talent. Instead she’d performed to the oohs and ahhs and a full purse at the end of the night.
Great and Powerful indeed.
She glanced inside her purse now, and at the desultory few bits that rattled within. Just enough for one last meal. She looked around, her eyes settling on a small bakery. A somewhat pudgy mare was out front sweeping around a pair of tables, probably the proprietor. Taking a deep breath, she trotted over.
“Excuse me?” The mare looked up at her. “I don’t suppose you’re still open?”
“Oh! Oh, of course we are, I was just cleaning up.” She set aside the broom and quickly pulled open the door. “You’re actually just in time. A few more minutes and I probably would have locked up.”
“Lucky me.” Trixie stepped inside, glad to be out of the growing evening chill. Inside, the bakery was surprisingly modest for Canterlot, with simple wood siding and a few tables and chairs before a glass counter. As the plump mare rushed behind it, Trixie found herself eyeing the pastries within with no small measure of jealousy. When was the last time she’d sat down and had a proper meal? One year? Two?
“What can I get you?” The mare’s smile faltered as Trixie failed to respond. “Ma'am?”
“Oh?” Trixie blinked, snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, how about an apple fritter?” She quickly hoofed over the last of her bits, then sat down at one of the tables. Atop it were two salt and pepper shakers, each carved in the semblance of a pony. The salt, she noticed was white and smiling, while the black sat crushed beneath the weight of the world. For some reason she simply couldn’t look away from the latter. “What strange shakers.”
“Oh, those?” The mare let out a sigh, stepping outside briefly to retrieve her broom. “They were gifts from a friend. Said it was a metaphor.”
“A metaphor?” Trixie carefully picked up the pepper shaker, staring into its closed eyes. It almost looked asleep, but something about the way it held itself declared not restfulness, but exhaustion.
“Yes.” The mare settled into a seat across from her, setting down Trixie’s fritter before scooting the white salt shaker towards herself and staring it down. “He said, ‘sorrow and joy are pepper and salt. Pepper enriches our meals, but it’s salt that we need to live. Pepper and sorrow, for all they flavor our lives, are indulgences. A life without salt and joy is no life at all.’” The mare snickered, before scooting the salt shaker back to the middle of the table. “Personally I think he just likes making metaphors out of everything.”
“That’s a nice thought, I suppose. Nice shakers too.” Trixie sighed and set her own down, eyeing her apple fritter with sudden disinterest. “I wish I could make something like those.”
“I dunno. If the price of talent is being as much of a whackjob as he is, I’m not sure it’s worth it.” She gave a soft chuckle, but after a moment, it died. “Hey, uhm, not to pry, but have I seen you somewhere before?”
“Maybe. I liked to think so, once, but now I don’t suppose it really matters,” Trixie said.
“The… Great and Powerful Trixie, right?” The mare glanced around, hesitant. “I think I saw one of your shows when I was younger.”
“Probably not,” Trixie grunted, finally taking a bite of her fritter. “Haven’t been around here for a long time.”
“Oh, neither have I!” the mare declared, smiling. “I only set up my shop a little over a year ago. I used to live in Cloudsdale Fields. Have you ever been there?”
“Once or twice.” In truth, Trixie had been there many times. The fields below Cloudsdale were gorgeous and made for fantastic performing grounds. A good fireworks show could spread word of mouth for miles around. “Maybe you did see me. All in the past now, either way.”
“I take it you’ve had a rough day?” The mare frowned, briefly glancing at the window. “You can stay to talk about it, if you’d like.”
“I…” Trixie sighed and glanced out the window herself. For a moment, in the fading evening, she could see her own reflection. It was almost like looking at another pony, her once silver hair now looking little more than gray and worn. She tugged her hat low again to hide the image from her sight. “I don’t really know what there is to say. Once upon a time, a pretty mare with a little magic dreamed of being Great and Powerful. Then life happened, and she found out she wasn’t.” She took another bite of her fritter. “Now she’s just trying to go home.”
“You, um…” The mare fidgeted in her seat. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”
“Are we ever happy to find out who we really are?” Trixie didn’t dare look up, not for fear of seeing her reflection again. “It seems like kind of a disappointment most of the time.”
“Not always.” Something in the mare’s tone made Trixie look up. She was staring at the window too, at her own reflection. But rather than a broken plea in her eyes, the mare held a small, confident smile. “You know I always thought I was just another baker, but… have you ever had an adventure?”
“I…” Trixie thought back on her own life. Then she thought back on what she’d heard of Twilight. “No, not really.”
“You should,” the mare said, turning to Trixie with that same smile. “It can be good for you.”
“I’m too old for adventures.” Trixie stared at her fritter, half eaten and crumbled, not really a proper meal anymore. “I just want to hang up my hat and lie down.”
“That’s when we need one most, or at least, that’s what my friend always says.” The mare chewed on her lip for a moment, then her expression firmed. “Tell me something, is there something you always wish you’d done, back in your youth?”
“Lots of things.” Trixie thought back to those days on the road, those first days when her belly had been empty, but her heart had been full. “I always dreamed of making it to Neighpon you know. Have you ever heard of Kitsune? Master tricksters, able to change their appearance with the flick of a tail.” Trixie laughed, the sound feeling almost alien in her throat. “I always dreamed of the shows I could put on with magic like that.” She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. “I even dreamed of upstaging them, putting on illusions so magnificent even they were stunned to silence.” Trixie shook her head. “I really was so young then.”
“Well, you know what they say, it’s never too late!” The mare shot her a broad grin, which promptly began to fade as she watched Trixie.
“Well sometimes they’re wrong.” Trixie sighed, and munched the last of her fritter down, leaving only a few crumbs on the table. “Do you mind if I use the mare’s room? I have a ways to go yet.”
“I…” The mare seemed torn for a moment, then sighed. “Sure. First door on the left. I’ll get you the key. And… ignore the sign. I’ve been meaning to get it switched.”
“Thank you.” A moment later, Trixie had the bathroom key held in her magic as she trotted to the back of the small bakery. As she eyed the hall, she saw the first door on the left, and across from it, a door clearly marked “mares.” So that was what she’d meant about ignoring the sign. Trotting over to the unmarked door, she inserted the key, and turned it.
The door opened on a starry void.
“What in--eeep!” She had barely a moment to register the shove on her flank before she was tumbling into the abyss.
“Sorry!” Shouted the baker, her silhouette barely visible through the door as Trixie spun into the stars’ embrace. “Sometimes adventures happen. You’ll thank me later!”
And then everything became light.
It was hard to say how long she had walked. How does one measure a journey that ends where it began? She carefully tipped up her hat, just enough to see the gleam of Canterlot’s towers in the light of the dying sun. Here again, the place she’d been born, yet never truly called home. The place she’d spent her whole life running from, finally catching her in the end. She tipped her hat back down, painfully aware of how the gilded brim filled her vision. Really, she should have gotten something far less gaudy, but reputation came first. Now, it was probably too late.
Drawing a deep breath, she set her hooves to the cobblestones, the creak of her wagon behind her the only sound in the evening. Wheels. To think she’d once hated wheels, their steady creak haunting her every step. Now, she treasured every squeak like the chatter of an old friend. The places she’d gone, thanks to those wheels. The things she’d seen and done.
They told her that no matter where she went, she belonged.
She looked up briefly to read the street signs, having to light her horn in the growing twilight. Twilight. There was a name she hadn’t thought of in a while. How was she doing as a princess? Trixie remembered it being too much work for her personally, but Twilight had always struck her as more of a put down roots type. Maybe she ought to swing by Ponyville later, and do a little magic dueling, for old times sake. See how Twilight measured up these days.
Great and Powerful indeed.
She pulled to the side of the road and slipped out of her harness. It was amazing what a bit of padding and a refitting could do. A little oil and a bit of machining and she’d never had her harness chafe since. She probably could have kept going a few miles yet, but she’d reached her destination. She glanced across the street, and felt her heartbeat hitch. The bakery was still here, just as it had been so many years ago. Or perhaps as it had been just today? She’d never really dug into time travel as a topic, which was somewhat ironic, in retrospect.
Staring at that bakery, she almost reached to check her purse on reflex, before remembering she didn’t even bother carrying one anymore. Her promissory notes from the Emperor could buy her a reasonable estate, to say nothing of an evening snack. She watched as the same pudgy mare from before emerged to sweep around a pair of tables. Taking a deep breath, she trotted over.
“Excuse me?” The mare looked up at her. “I don’t suppose you’re still open?”
“Oh! Oh, of course we are, I was just cleaning up.” She set aside the broom and quickly pulled open the door. “You’re actually just in time. A few more minutes and I probably would have locked up.”
“Lucky me!” Trixie stepped inside, almost sorry to be out of the growing evening chill. So many fond memories of evenings spent watching foxfire dance through the forests, before joining in with witchlights of her own. In a way, it almost made the mundanity of the bakery more surreal than her adventures. How could such a place exist in a world so fantastic and strange? As the plump mare rushed behind her counter all over again, Trixie found herself eyeing the pastries within with no small measure of suspicion. How could so much else in her life have changed, but this place have remained the same? Even the positions of the pastries were as she’d remembered.
“What can I get you?” The mare’s smile faltered as Trixie failed to respond. “Ma'am?”
“Oh?” Trixie blinked, snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, how about an apple fritter?” She quickly hoofed over one of her notes, then sat down at one of the tables. Atop it were two salt and pepper shakers, each carved in the semblance of a pony. Salt and Pepper, joy and sorrow, white and black, just as she’d remembered. This time, she found her gaze settling on happy little salt.. “What lovely shakers.”
“Oh, those?” The mare let out a sigh, stepping outside briefly to retrieve her broom. “They were gifts from a friend. Said it was a metaphor.”
“A metaphor?” Trixie carefully picked up the salt shaker, staring into its smiling face. It looked so cheerful, Trixie couldn’t help her own mouth curling into a smile in sympathy. “About joy and sorrow, right?”
“Yes.” The mare settled into a seat across from her, setting down Trixie’s fritter before scooting the black pepper shaker towards herself and staring it down. “He said--”
“Sorrow and joy are pepper and salt. Pepper enriches our meals, but it’s salt that we need to live.’” Trixie grinned playfully as the mare’s jaw dropped. “Something I heard a long time ago.”
“He said today was going to be odd.” The baker mare sighed then smiled at Trixie. “I take it you’ve been here before?”
“A lifetime ago.” Trixie shook her head. “You don’t remember?”
“I think I’d remember the Great and Powerful Trixie visiting my little shop.” The mare giggled, then sighed again. “Honestly, the only reason I didn’t start fangirling was because he told me to expect some weirdness today. I still remember when you visited Cloudsdale Fields.”
“As do I.” Trixie managed an apologetic smile. “I remember seeing you in the crowd, but I didn’t want to… unhinge time or anything. More than I already had, anyway.”
“I thought you looked right at me!” The mare squealed in delight, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “I always loved your Starlight Cascade. Such a magnificent trick!”
“I was inspired by the tumble I took through your back door. The first one on the left.” Trixie brought the fritter up to her mouth and took a bite. “You dodged my question. What is this place?”
“Can I give the short answer?” The mare frowned, briefly glancing at the window. “It’s already getting late, and the long answer is really long.”
“I…” Trixie sighed and glanced out the window herself. For a moment, in the fading evening, she could see her own reflection. It was almost like looking at another pony, her once silver hair now all the more glamorous against her gilded hat and cloak. She tugged her hat low again to hide the image from her sight, an embarrassed flush lighting her cheeks. It really was far too gaudy. “I suppose I can work with that.” She took another bite of her fritter. “I just need… something.”
“Well.” The mare was silent a moment, chewing her lip. Finally, she shrugged. “I had a very strange soul drop into my bakery one day. We became friends, went on an adventure, and now he lives in my basement.”
“Basement?” Trixie hadn’t been in Canterlot since her foalhood, but it didn’t take a resident to realize the impossibility of basements in a free-hanging city.
“Basement.” The mare smiled. “I told you he was very strange.”
“That short version was extremely short,” Trixie stated, deadpan.
“Stop by when I’m not about to close, and I’ll tell you about the time I saved the world.” The mare giggled, before turning deadpan. “No seriously, stop by. I could use the business. And the publicity.”
“With a hook like that, how could I say no?” Trixie smiled, and the mare smiled back.
“What about you, then?” The mare leaned in, as though expecting a good bit of gossip. “What happened after you came here?”
“That’s…” Trixie paused, then sighed and laughed. “That’s a long story too. I went to Neighpon, fell in love, saved a dynasty, and even made a Kitsune’s jaw drop.” She glanced back at her wagon, her smile growing even larger. “Had a foal, made peace with myself, and just generally had an adventure.”
“Yeah, that tends to happen around my friend.” The mare nodded, as though imparting sage wisdom.
“Am I ever going to meet this friend of yours?” Trixie raised an eyebrow.
“Depends.” The mare just grinned back. “Are you up for an adventure?”
“Not at all.” Trixie laughed and yawned. “I’ve had adventure enough for one lifetime.” She picked up the last of her fritter and popped it in her mouth, before pausing. She swallowed. “I never did get your name.”
“Humble Pie.” Humble smiled, before suddenly jumping up from her seat. “Oh, oh! Can I get an autograph?”
“Of course.” Before Humble could run off, Trixie’s horn flashed, and a rolled up photograph appeared from thin air. Humble gasped in reverence, taking the photograph from the air reverently. Her eyes scanned it swiftly. “Is this…”
“Yes, my family.” Trixie smiled, leaning in to glance at the photo. On it, a grinning Trixie smiled beside a likewise smiling fox, a bushy tailed foal snuggled between them. With a flash of her horn, she conjured a quill and prepared to write on the photo. “To Humble Pie and…” She paused. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Candyfloss,” Humble said.
“...and Candyfloss. Thank you, literally, for everything.” She finished the autograph with a flourish. “Signed, The Great and Powerful Trixie.”
“Eeeee!” Humble hugged the picture to herself and wiggled in delight. “This is the best job ever!”
“The least I could do.” Trixie stood up then, and tipped her hat to Humble. “I should be going. It’s getting late, and they don’t let you park on city roads.” She turned to go, then stopped. “One question, though. Why me?”
“Hm?” Humble paused, then snorted. “Oh. Why anyone? Why Celestia and Luna? Why Twilight? Why does anything happen to anypony? Why me, even?” She shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Just lucky.” Trixie snorted as well, and shook her head. “I guess so. You have a wonderful evening.”
“You too.” Humble waved as she stepped out into the night air.
Trixie took a deep breath, and gazed up into the glittering stars overhead.
“Lucky me.”