I, The Great and Powerful Trixie, have been reduced to performing magic tricks in a Trottingham tavern. One would think I'd never sink this low, but it's not as bad as it could be. The food is good, the beds are soft, and the company plentiful. The only problem? I'm stuck here until I earn enough bits to buy another caravan so I can get back on the road where I belong.
So imagine my delight when one evening, a conpony walks through the door and starts cheating at cards. It was a golden opportunity: a chance to line my purse, play the heroine, and teach an amateur magician a thing or two about misdirection.
I had a perfect plan. My only mistake was getting a friend involved.
“I am proud to be a great magician! I have performed scores of dazzling tricks for thousands of ponies all across Equestria! Whole families flock to my stage to be amazed and gaze in awe at my magnificence! I am The Great and Powerful Trixie, famous in legend and song!”
I like to remind myself of these facts every so often, because the circumstances sometimes suggest otherwise. Such as now, for instance. Striking a pose in front of the mirror, I admire how even in the worst of times, The Great and Powerful Trixie still manages to look stunning. The fact that I’m posing in front of an old, slightly chipped and cracked bathroom mirror doesn’t bother me in the slightest. No, not in the least…
Times were hard after that disaster of a show three months ago, I’ll freely admit it. How could they not have been? Every earthly possession I had was smashed up by the Very Large and Angry Ursa Maj—no, Minor. Ursa Minor. All thanks to those two little brats who kept nagging me for “cool magic.” My own hubris had something to do with it too, I suppose. Maybe. It’s possible I came on a little strong that day in Ponyville, but ceremony comes naturally to a showpony such as myself, and getting the audience to believe in the act is half the fun. How I acted onstage had absolutely nothing to do with what happened later that night. I wasn’t the one who woke up a giant magical starbear.
Though I’d lost everything to the Ursa, that didn’t mean I was about to curl up into a ball and give up and cry. “Lost” does not mean “Gone Forever.” I still had my magic, and really, that’s all I’ve ever needed. My caravan could be replaced. I earned enough for a new cape and hat ages ago; they’re tucked away somewhere safe right now. Trottingham isn’t known for glitz and glamor, after all.
As I look into the mirror and see a wonderful, beautiful mare staring back, I can’t help but feel a surge of well-justified pride. I think to myself, Well, Ms. Sparkle? Could you have gotten back on your hooves this quickly? Could your “talents” have earned you a warm bed and three meals a day? No? What about your immeasurably rude pack of friends who dared boo me while I was onstage, doing what I’m best at? Hmm? I thought not. A lesser pony would have given up! Trixie never gives up!
I allow myself to gloat for a brief moment at my little victory.
My moment is interrupted by an urgent rapping at the bathroom door.
Heavy sigh, roll of eyes. I push the door open and am skewered with glares from the long line of mares waiting to use the accommodations.
“Took ya long enuff, Miss Great an’ Powerful Prissy,” growls one of the older and more… seasoned pub goers.
“Girl, you’ve gotta eat more fiber!” titters another one from the back. Everypony laughs except me.
I don’t counter the insults. For one thing, I’ve realized all too late that starting arguments has never worked out well for me. I’ve tried to be good since then, and I have so far. Mostly. The other reason I say nothing is because I know all of these mares, and I know they don’t really mean any harm. They’re some of my regulars.
Toss of mane, strut past the line, shake my tail as I pass the pretty blue pegasi at the end. As expected, her cheeks flush a very nice shade of crimson. I give her a wink and a nod. I already know I look fabulous, but it never hurts to double-check.
As I push through a second set of doors I’m surrounded by the wonderful sounds and smells of a good tavern. Fragrant pipe smoke hangs heavy in the air in thick layers and ponies laugh and cavort around. The Tin Whistle is a clean, cozy pub that fits well around my shoulders—the kind where intrigue, plots, and endless chatter fill the room, and where reputations are made and destroyed at the game tables.
This is my domain. The Tin Whistle has been my home for the past three months, and I’ve loved every minute of it.
Years ago, when I first struck it out alone, before I became well-known and my travels took me to the edges of the world, Trottingham was my oyster. It’s always been one of my favorite places to perform. The good-natured ponies here are tough, but they like having fun as much as anypony should. The working class appreciates me and what I do for them; and I have to admit, performing without the fanfare or pretense I’d grown accustomed to has been easier to adapt to than I was expecting. A return to my roots, I suppose.
As I pass by the front door, an enormous stallion named Locke Smasher gives me a friendly wave, and I wave back. He’s one of the main reasons I’m so comfortable staying here, night after night, my door never locked. A glare from him is all it takes to stop any troublemakers, and if that doesn’t work his meaty hooves are perfectly capable of aggressive negotiating.
Stock, the proud owner of the Inn, is working behind the stoves preparing meals for his loyal customers. His daughter, Barrel, works the taps. She waves me over to the bar, my drink already being pushed out onto the counter.
“It’s a nice crowd tonight,” I say to both of them as I slide up onto the barstool.
“Sure is, Trixie,” says Barrel, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But you always bring in good business. What’s your secret?”
“Tell me what you put in the root beer tonight, and maybe I’ll share.”
“Nope!” She laughs, brushing a few loose strands of sandy blonde mane out of her eyes and tucking them back into her ever-present braid.
I shrug and bury my muzzle in the foamy head and gulp the drink down. Sweet and vibrant flavors dance across my tongue and the carbonation tickles my throat in the best of ways. Let’s see… nutmeg and clover and honey, and… and I don’t know, it’s so good I don’t give a pig’s ass what’s in it, I just want more. If Barrel wasn’t an Earth Pony, I’d swear she was adding magic.
“Good, huh?”
Barrel’s rich, brown coat is the same delicious color as my rootbeer. I peer over the rim of the mug in time to see her smiling, freckled face flash a wide grin at me. I can’t help but smile back. I do so love good taverns.
“Give ‘em a bit of the old razzle dazzle. Knock em’ dead, kid,” Stock says to me.
And I do.
** ** **
As is usual when I perform, I close the act with flash and smoke and thunderous applause all around, with many whistles from the stallions—and from some pretty mares, too. I shake my tail and give them all a winning smile. The flirting is shameless, I know, but I also know that if there’s trouble, Smasher will step in and save me.
Barrel and I divvy up my tips, as per our agreement. I’m not keeping much for myself, considering that part of it pays for my room and board, but I’m not complaining either. It will be a long time before I can afford to travel again, and having a roof over my head is worth the price. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I suppress a heavy sigh. It could be a lot worse, I know. It’s always better to do business with somepony like Barrel—a pony who cares, I mean, instead of a snivelling theater owner that takes half your ticket sales. I know I’m dear to Locke, Stock, and Barrel, and they treat me well. Like I’m family, almost. Considering how I fell into their care, I know very well just how lucky I’ve been.
After being made homeless and penniless in Ponyville, I spent exactly one week breaking rocks to earn enough bits to catch the first train that would take me as far away as possible from Ponyville and all who dwell there. I think my ticket was actually for Manehatten, or perhaps Baltimare—I wasn’t in the best of conditions. I don’t remember the exact circumstances that led to me getting kicked off the train at Trottingham Station, but I seem to recall excess amounts of Northern Talon Vodka being involved. All I know is, I woke up lying in a warm, unfamiliar bed with the second-worst hangover I’ve ever had, being ministered to by none other than—you guessed it, the goddess of brewing herself, Barrel. She asked me my name. I tried to answer. Instead, I threw up. I’ve never forgiven myself for that.
The next evening, once I was feeling well enough to walk around, I tried doing a little magic, just practice, dont’cha know, but the patrons loved it and asked for more. Soon I had a show going. By the end of the night, I’d made enough tips to make up for my previous night’s stay, and for another three as well. As the lazy writer once said, one thing led to another, and here I am, three months later.
It’s been a fun three months, too, especially since Barrel and I have become friends—you know, after I got over the sheer embarrassment of being sick on her. We talk when we have time, during lunch and dinner and the slow hours, and sometimes in the evenings she comes upstairs to see if I need anything before I dim the lights and doze off. It’s a friendship that’s all strictly business and such, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t enjoyed it. She certainly has.
It’s so much more pleasant to do business with a friend, I think to myself as I scrape the last few bits into my coin purse and snap the flap shut. Barrel and I shake hooves and I finish off another complimentary drink before I turn to go. It’s been a long day, and my limbs are feeling especially lazy and heavy. I make it a few steps up the staircase that leads to my room and my lovely, soft bed, but a sudden explosion of cheering from the other side of the tavern stops me. I prick up my ears. This time, I hear a wave of murmurings before the gasps of amazement and the applause.
I forget about bed for a moment, and go seeking out the source. It isn’t hard to find. A much larger crowd than normal has gathered around one of the card tables. The unicorn at the center of attention is a newcomer I’ve never seen before, and he’s practically embarrassing the other players. His ghastly canary-yellow mane is slicked back with gel, the color matched by the equally tacky vest buttoned over his chest. He acts all innocent, shrugging helplessly as another round of cards ends with more bits being pushed to the sizable pile on his side of the table. His cutie mark is—what else?—a fanned-out deck of cards.
I smell a scam. He’s taking his winning streak with far too much modesty. I’m pretty sure a real winner would be excited. I know I would be excited.
The others at the table refer to the newcomer as “Squire,” and compliment him politely on his good luck. He takes the praise with humble grace, but I see the hungry look in his eyes; a look I know all too well. I work my way through the crowd to get by the table, but don’t sit down. My instincts tell me this next game will be worth watching. While the cards are dealt I feign disinterest, yawn a few times, just another spectator, don’t mind me, sir. I pay special attention to Squire’s hooves.
It’s a trick, and it’s not magic. For one thing, not so much as a spark jumps from his horn; for another, using magic would be one of the dumbest ways he could possibly cheat. It’s just too risky. He isn’t even trying to be inconspicuous, and serious card players distrust unicorns by default. The fact that the cards are enchanted to make play easier is just icing on the suspicious cake.
The game is the sort where the deck is passed around after each hoof of cards is played. Although the cards he’s using have the Whistle’s mark on the backs, I’m sure the deck has been tampered with—perhaps stolen on a prior visit. As the pile of bits on Squire’s side of the table grows larger, my suspicions are confirmed. I haven’t a clue if he’s any good at proper magic, but I’ll concede that he’s quite good at sleight of hoof. I can see that he’s dealing doubles, and the cards are marked. He’s probably shaved the deck for good measure, too. Like any decent magician, he distracts the players at the perfect time, but he gets nothing past me. The Great and Powerful Trixie will not be fooled by simple card tricks.
I’m wearing a satisfied smirk as I slide up to the bar, the gears in my head turning as I ponder a new and exciting possibility.
“What’s up, Moneymaker?” asks Barrel as she finishes wiping down the counter and starts pouring me a drink. I take a few sips before answering.
“You’ve got a cheater in the house,” I say, indicating the table with a jerk of my head. I need say no more. Barrel’s pretty amber eyes darken.
“Thought something smelled rotten. Little weasel… cheat in my tavern, will he? Oi!” she calls over to the front door, “Oi, Uncle Loc—”
“Don’t,” I say, laying a hoof on hers. “Let the cheater have his fun for now. I’ve got a plan.”
She hunkers down, grin back in place. A mare after my own heart, truly. “What’s the scam, then?” she whispers, and I lean in and whisper back.
“Give me a pack of the house’s cards. I’ll take him for everything he’s got next time he comes in.”
“How?”
I wave my hoof dismissively. “It will be a simple trick for The Great and Powerful Trixie. Ponies will be dazzled. Mares will faint. All will be well.”
“Then why not do it right now?” Barrel glances at Squire, then over to her brick wall of an uncle. “Why can’t Uncle Locke just trounce the sodding prick? I don’t like watching my regulars get fleeced.”
“Mmm. I know. As delightful as it would be to see Mr. Locke get his daily exercise, that won’t work to your advantage. If Locke tries to throw him out, he’s going to switch the marked deck with an unmarked deck and feign innocence. He’ll shout out his rights. You won’t find evidence of mischief, and so he’ll keep all the coin. A few days later, the Whistle will suddenly get a tainted name. Might be serious, might not be. Depends on how mad he gets.”
“How do you know all that’ll happen?”
“It’s what I would do.”
That makes Barrel pause and think for a moment, narrowing her eyes at me. Probably considering reassessing her opinion of my character; I’m not worried. I know what kind of mare she is. A little admission like that won’t bother her, especially since she’s already convinced I’m a good pony.
She’s far too naïve, I think to myself as I sit and sip my free drink.
Her positivity comes as no surprise, though. Those clinking mugs on her flanks help balance out Stock’s golden scales. While her father runs the business, she provides that essential personal touch. It’s in Barrel’s nature to trust other ponies.
I continue, “I can’t do it tonight because I need to fix the cards, and I need time to do it right. He’ll be back soon, though, and when he is, I’ll be ready for him. With what I’ll win back, you’ll be able to pay your regulars back in full. Maybe even keep a little extra for the bar?” I give her a quick flutter of the eyelashes, sweet but not too sweet. “I know he’s loaded. He’s probably cleaned out every tavern from here to Zebrica.”
The greedy little pony in my head kicks and screams and tries to bargain with me, It isn’t right! We should keep all the bits to ourselves, Trixie! but I tell her to shush up. I have no desire to make an enemy of Barrel over money. I want to keep one of the few good friends I have.
Rather, the only good friend I have.
As I knew she would, Barrel eventually agrees and slips me a deck. I tuck it into my mane for safekeeping and bid her goodnight, and hope she sleeps well.
When I reach the stairwell, I note with an evil grin that she still hasn’t looked away. If past experience is anything to guess by, she’s probably blushing at least twice as hard as that poor flustered pegasus was earlier.
Careful, you. Don’t think I haven’t caught you staring at my magnificent flank when you think I’m not looking. Multiple times.
Frankly, I catch the eyes of pretty mares all the time, but it’s rare to get the attention of one without even trying. I completely understand Barrel’s dilemma. It’s hard to resist The Great and Powerful Trixie. I make sure to give my rump an extra wiggle just for her before I begin my climb upstairs. Yes, I know, I’m so getting my own circle in pony hell for teasing her so badly, but it’s great fun to make her blush and squeak like a trapped mouse, especially when she thinks I don’t see her doing either.
Hmmm… perhaps I can use this to my advantage.
I turn over the new idea in my head and I must say it works rather well, and also solves an important problem. We shall see.
The instant I’m in my room I dive right into bed, my mind whirling with plans and schemes and beautiful things. I fall right asleep without any of the usual tossing and turning, and dream wonderful dreams of the stage and the ponies who love me.
** ** **
I’m up early the next morning and throughout the day I pour all my efforts into altering the deck to suit my purposes. It isn’t enough to simply mark the cards; its condition also has to resemble that of the one Squire was using. It isn’t hard. He didn’t have the sense to steal and alter an old, scruffy deck that saw a lot of use.
Hmmm. Maybe I’m not giving him enough credit? He’s surely been through many tavern’s before this one, but nopony has caught him yet. Anypony could learn those tricks from books, but it takes at least some talent to pull them off consistently. Still, no need to worry. Squire might have an aptitude for tricks, but I’m the master.
Stock brings me my meals and doesn’t ask what I’m up to. He respects my privacy, and for that I silently thank him. It’s very possible that if my plan works, he won’t continue to be so kind to me.
As evening falls, I descend from my room without fanfare. My coin purse hangs heavy around my neck, weighed down with all the tips and bits I’ve scraped together while performing here. My new midnight blue cape comes down low across my flank, covering my cutie mark. I give my mane a little toss, knowing from the nods of approval I’m winning from my dear regulars that I look absolutely stunning. Sin of Pride, I know, but I do so love being the center of attention.
Tonight, though, I won’t be. Not yet. And as much as anypony might insist I’m showing off, my cape serves an important purpose tonight.
Though I intend to put on a show tonight, it is not of the magical variety, so I take a seat in the corner near the fireplace and quietly observe the events of the evening for a while. Instead of rootbeer, I order a large tankard of hot buttered beer. It goes down wondrous smooth, the creamy richness spreading warmth from my horn to my hooves—it also gives my breath a certain bite that will surely aid me in The Deception.
Tonight’s entertainment is being put out by two young griffins, one ripping a lively tune on her violin and the other playing accompaniment on her flute. They’re quite talented and, as a fellow member of the Sisterhood of Performers, I see a bright future for both of them. It’s rare to see a pair so young whip the working stallions into such a frenzy of celebration.
Yes, there is much dancing, stomping of hooves, and general carousing tonight, but instead of joining the fun, I observe the card tables and wait. I’m halfway through my second tankard of butterbeer when Squire arrives in a vision of yellow and false smiles. He takes his place, and immediately begins throwing out bets that are even more outrageous than those of last night.
It is at this point that I am convinced he is an idiot. A smart con wouldn’t come back two nights in a row, but he’s grown complacent, and he’s gotten greedy. I knew he’d be back. I also note that his playing partners are not regulars, nor are any of them the stallions from last night. That’s good. I don’t want anypony to identify me as a magician before I put my plan into motion.
Well then, Squire. Plainly you don’t care about being kicked out after tonight. I’m a bit rusty on my card tricks, but it’s now or never. Let it never be said that The Great and Powerful Trixie ever backed down from a challenge!
There’s just one more thing I want to do before I set my plan into action, but I’m not entirely sure how it will go. I head to the bar and Barrel scurries over to greet me, wearing that toothy grin she always does. I get right down to business.
“I’m almost ready, Barrel. To make it work though, there’s something I’m going to need from you tonight. I won’t lie, you might not like it.” She cocks an eyebrow and leans in so I can explain my plan. As I whisper into her ear, her eyes go wide. Then her jaw drops open.
Well, stunned silence is better than getting tossed out.
“If it’s too much to ask, you don’t have to do it. It’ll just be harder otherwise, and you’re the only one I trust tonight.” I fail to mention anything about her not wanting to do it, because I’m pretty sure she totally does. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. “Is everything alright?”
She blinks at me, stunned, then snaps out of it. “N-No, no! It’s fine!” She grins again, albeit not as brightly as before, and looks over her shoulder. “I’m actually really, really okay with that plan, but dad…”
“I’m sure he’ll understand. Fathers often try to understand their girls.” I reach across the bar and pat her on the shoulder. “It’s okay, dear. You’re in good company.”
Barrel bits her lip and nods slowly. She knows why I understand. All the regulars know. I haven’t exactly been shy in that regard, and that’s exactly why having me be the one to help her is such a good idea. It’ll make it easier, like. More fun for her, since all the burden of responsibility will fall on me.
This promises to be fun for me, too. I haven’t helped another mare out of the closet in ages.
As I knew it would, it only takes Barrel a moment to see the wisdom in going along with me. Her grin returns and she nods eagerly, ready to make some mischief. “Gimme just a moment,” she says, coming out from behind the bar and heading for the stairs, presumably to her bedroom.
“For what?” I ask.
Barrel giggles. “You’ll see.”
And so I wait. The crowd around the card table grows thicker, and there aren’t quite so many outbursts of clapping. It’s getting tense over there. I’m on the verge of heading upstairs after Barrel when she reappears. Now it’s my jaw’s turn to drop. She’s wearing a svelte red dress that suits her very well. Understated, simple, but unquestionably elegant. I can’t think of a better dress for a mare of Trottingham.
“Not bad, huh?” she asks, striking a pose. I can only nod weakly in agreement.
Not bad at all.
Barrel’s brought a coin purse of her own. We leave the bar and mingle with the ponies around Squire’s table. I let Barrel lead—even the non-regulars recognize her as princess of this establishment, and the crowds part to let us through. When we reach the game table, one of the finely dressed stallions asks if she would like to grace the table with her radiant presence.
“Oh, no,” she says all demurely, fluttering her eyelashes like any brazen hussy. “But my good friend here would like to play. She doesn’t know much about cards, but her attempts do… amuse me.”
Barrel reaches out and gives me an affectionate pet on my head, just as I had instructed. The tickle behind the ears, though, that’s all her doing. Hale and hearty male laughter breaks out all around. “Of course, let the lady play! You there, out of that seat!” and knowing looks are exchanged as the next bets are laid, but we shall see, gents, we shall see…
I sit, Barrel standing right behind me, and Squire shuffles the cards—his cards, of course—and announces grandly, “It’s Dealer’s Choice again. Oh, by the sun and moon, this is so exciting! What will it be?” He mimes thinking for a moment. “Ah yes! Five-Card Stud, one card down, four up, with a bet on each card. Are we well agreed? Excellent! Ante up, my gentlecolts, and milady, too, if you would…”
Hmph. Same game as last night, is it? Makes sense. Easy to cheat at, but not so easy to catch.
The first cards are dealt, face down, and piles of bits are pushed out. Sweat beads on the brows of most of the players, but not on Squire’s fine self. Some throw him shifty looks while he deals. I picked a good time to join. It would have turned nasty after another few rounds.
If Squire were really smart, he’d be cycling through three decks or more, so his tricks wouldn’t be so easily caught or exploited by one such as I. He isn’t smart, though, or else his overconfidence is showing. The deck is exactly the same one he was using last time. A glance at the back of my card, and I’m sure he’s given me a Prince. Good. That makes it easier. I allow myself a tiny smile.
Last night while watching the game, I’d payed close attention to the backs of the cards, looking for any irregularities. Ha! I recall thinking. There, a very slight extension of a curlicue on the corner of that card right there. Is it a face card? And it turned out to be a Princess. Squire’s system was easy to decipher after that, and now it’s time to put that knowledge to use. I simper and swoon and feign ignorance over the nature of the game, asking questions to the big, strong stallions seated around me. My breath smells like butterbeer, and I make a scene of wobbling in my chair and slurring some of my words.
A few of the regulars who watched and participated in last night’s game have suddenly become interested in this one, seeing their darling resident magician playing the fool over cards and acting drunk when half of them know very well it takes a lot of booze to put me under. They nudge each other, nod in my direction, gather around the table, but all keep their mouths shut.
Good boys! Keep it that way for now.
I reach over and lift our down card. It is indeed a Prince; a very good card, but I don’t believe Squire has given it to us for our benefit. Our next card is a ten of spades, and I make a bit of a fuss and put the tip of my hoof to the card. “But it doeshn’t look like a sphade! Sphades have handles!” I know that Barrel, sharp mare that she is, does not miss the fact that I bet very lightly this turn. Sure enough, we end up with two Princesses and Squire, blessing Luna’s night and stars, turns over two Aces. A pity, that. What rotten luck.
The deck is passed along, and this time we win a small pot. Squire smiles and nods and congratulates us along with the others. After all, he’s got to keep us playing, work us up to the big score. Or so he thinks.
One of the regulars passes over a brimming tankard of butterbeer as a gift, and I bury my muzzle in the foam and gulp it down. I don’t wipe my mouth afterward. When the deck reaches me, I clumsily pick it up and deliberately shuffle it badly. I deal like an amateur, no wrist at all. I make sure we lose that hoof.
As I’m about to push the cards over to the gent sitting next to me, he makes a quip about shuffling my cards for me next time, since I’m plainly hopeless at doing it myself. I turn to Barrel and gaze into her eyes and laugh. “Boys, I swear. They always think we’re interested, hmm?”
On cue, Barrel takes the chance to slip her hooves over my shoulders. I smile and gab aimlessly for the benefit of the other players and pretend to be completely uninterested in the current hoof we’re playing and the bits I’m losing on purpose.
Barrel’s hooves shake as she presses them into my shoulders, memorizing every muscle, the feeling of my warm skin, all that nonsense. She’s exactly like I once was, savoring the touch of her first mare with excitement, confusion, Is this okay? Can I do more? And when I lightly touch my hooves to hers and nod, she kneads her hooves deeper into my back and I melt under her touch and she hears the sigh of supreme bliss escape my lips and knows she’s doing good, real good, and her hooves stop shaking and grow more confident, more sure of themselves. I gaze into her eyes and drink in the adorable nervousness I see in them, the eyes seeking acceptance, praise, encouragement. All virgins have eyes like that, but she won’t remain a virgin for long. She’ll make a wonderful partner for somepony, someday.
Oh, she may think she wants me, but it’s really just the hormones. I’m her friend. I’m doing her a favor. She’s only touching me because I say it’s okay… and it is okay, and… Hmm. I do love to be appreciated, especially by pretty mares like her, and I don’t think she’s faking, and she does look tasty in that dress… I know she wants it. What’s the harm in having a little fun later, upstairs…?
Barrel leans in and gives me a hug from behind the chair. All those watching go D’awww.
I nuzzle into the crook of her neck and banish the evil thoughts from my head. Focus, Trixie. You can’t be thinking about doing that with her. Landlord’s daughter and all. That’s just asking for trouble… that, and she’s my friend, I think, continuing to flirt shamelessly for the sake of our act. Friends don’t do that sort of thing together.
There are big grins all around the table and the audience multiplies. Eventually, the deck reaches me for a second time. As soon as it does, and just when everypony is sure they’ve seen it all, I turn around in my chair and kiss Barrel right on the mouth, and she kisses me back, oh yes, she does.
Her lips tremble against mine, her eyes are squeezed shut, her breath comes in adorable little gasps through her mouth and not her nose, not like a properly good kisser, but that’s okay. Her sloppiness and inexperience is making a great show, just as planned. I give her a little ground, just to let her know it’s okay to go farther.
And she does. I jump a little as something warm and wet flicks into my mouth and darts between my teeth, searching. I press lips back against hers and take the lead, show her how it’s really done. I can tell she appreciates my little contributions. I take her head in my hooves and pull her closer.
Apparently, she brushed her teeth while she was upstairs. She tastes fruity and sweet, like ripe strawberries.
Our act of passion has the intended effect. Needless to say, every single eye in the tavern is upon us. Randy stallions hoot and whistle, and the mares all look disgusted or envious. I don’t mind the attention, and I don’t think Barrel’s in any condition to mind about anything. It’s at that point, of course, that I switch Squire’s deck with the one hidden under my cape. With all eyes on our mutual exchange up above, it’s easy to slip his deck into the garter pulled up around my right thigh and replace it with my own deck, sliding it out onto the tabletop as I break the kiss, wipe the spittle from my mouth, and turn back around.
That, Mr. Squire, is how you make a distraction. No flash, no cool magic needed. Just a willing assistant.
It’s time to wreak havoc.
“The same game as before,” I gasp, clumsily shuffling and passing the deck over to Squire to cut. “Five-Card stud, four… whatever. The one you said.”
Barrel’s entire face and neck is flushed a most delightful and enticing shade of crimson, the blush showing right through her dark brown coat. She’s wanted to do that to me for ages, though perhaps not in such a public place. Hmm… is that the color of excitement, or shame? If the latter, I badly misjudged her and I’m sorry. If the former, I’m tempted to do it a second time, just to see her squirm and blush all over again. She’s very good at doing that.
My fears are soon assuaged. The regulars all cheer their support, the bold ones pushing forward to give her hearty slaps on the back, and she smiles all around, beaming her joyful countenance on her adoring public. She has ascended to legendary status in the eyes of her patrons, and the Whistle might never be the same again. I fear Stock might be giving us the evil eye by now, but since he hasn’t asked Smasher to live up to his name, we are safe for the moment and I carry on with the plan.
Squire cuts and I reassemble the deck and deal. Like his deck, mine is shaved; the important cards had their edges sanded so I could put the deck together the way I wanted after the cut. I give each player one card, face down. The other three players get unimportant cards—a three, a six, and a seven—but Squire gets a Princess of Diamonds. I know it and he knows it too without looking, because I left the marks on my Princess cards the same as his. In fact, I have made all the marks on my cards the same as his, except on one card, which he does not know about yet.
I deal myself a Knight of Spades, face down.
While nuzzling a very cooperative Barrel, I whisper in her ear, “This is it, sister. We’re betting everything on this one hoof. Let’s break him!” She nods, eager to please on multiple fronts.
“Twenty five bits,” she says, pushing out a little pile of coins. Squire covers the bet, but the others drop out, one of them swiping what little coin he has left off the table and storming off. I deal again, one card up for our opponent. For him the Princess of Clubs, for us, the Knight of Diamonds. Squire licks his lips, perhaps smelling blood in the water.
“High card bets twenty five bits,” he says, making an admirable effort to keep the grin off his face.
“Done. I call,” says Barrel, choosing not to raise this time.
Good girl. We don’t want to scare him off.
I deal another two cards up; a Princess of Hearts for him, and a poor Eight of Hearts for us. There is a stir from the audience. “Two Princesses showing!”
Since Squire once again has the high card, he says “Seventy bits, Miss.”
Barrel appears to hesitate, clutching my shoulder. I’m glowing with pride at her act. We’ll make a thespian out of you, yet!
“Seventy it is, sir,” she says, covering her bet but emptying her purse in the process. Now it’s up to me. “Trixie, deal.”
I do it.
I turn up a ten of hearts for our opponent, and a Knight of Clubs for us. Another gasp from the crowd, and I know what they’re thinking; Two Princesses up against two Knights? What cards do they have face-down?
Barrel licks her lips and gives me a nudge. I open my purse. “The bet ish, uh… one hundred bits, sir,” I meep in my best woeful waif voice which, believe me, is actually pretty good.
Squire looks at the top card on the deck and smirks. It’s marked as another Princess, the Princess of Spades. I even set the deck down for a moment to ensure he sees it. He reaches for his pile of bits, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Excuse me, Miss,” he says, all polite and such, “but I will see your one hundred bits and raise you another seven hundred.”
I imagine I must look as if I’ve been slapped in the face. Did he see through me? I’d planned to carefully raise him to my limit, but I can’t cover this outrageous bet with my meager earnings, and he must know it! Since I can’t, and since he knows I can’t, and since the rules of the house say so, all I can do is call his bet and play for a paltry two hundred-ninety-five bit pot, and resign myself to the knowledge that I will leave with far less than I wanted—
“We’ll see that bet,” says Barrel, looking Squire dead in the eye, “and raise you another seven hundred bits on the good credit of this establishment.”
With a start, I realize that Barrel is putting both her trust, and herself on the line, and all for little old me. She actually trusts me.
Am I honored? Yes. Yes, I am. I’m not used to earning trust.
Squire’s eyebrows go up. “Are you sure? I won’t be held responsible if your luck runs out, but I will hold you responsible. The Whistle might be in debt for quite some time.” He pauses for a moment, the better to let his words sink in. “Considerable time.”
“I’m no foal. I know what I’m doing.”
Squire shrugs. “Then I’ll see your raise and raise you another thou… no, another fifteen hundred.”
“Done!” says Barrel, pounding the table. “If that’s it, then I’ll call.”
“But of course.”
Briefly, I reflect on the fact that growing up in a tavern has taught Barrel how to bet and gamble very, very well.
Everypony holds their breath as I pick up the deck and prepare to deal out the last two cards. Secure in his victory, Squire flips over his down card, the third Princess. Unshaken, Barrel does the same, revealing our hidden third Knight.
The old saying about being able to hear a pin drop is true, apparently. Who could have guessed?
Squire crosses his legs and leans back in his chair, confident. Too confident. Oh, Squire, you remind me far too much of myself. We can’t have that, now can we? The world is only big enough for one Great and Powerful Pony.
I deal out his last card.
The biggest gasp of all comes from Squire, as I flip a deuce onto his pile. His face is frozen in a mask of the most delightful and hilarious shock I’ve ever seen. I can hardly blame him. His Princess of Spades just transformed into the Two of Clubs—considered by the rules in some games to be the very lowest card in the entire deck. I thought it would be appropriately humbling.
I then deliver the Knight of Hearts onto our pile, the sly grin on the guards face matching the ones that Barrel and myself are both wearing.
The place explodes.
“Four Knights over three Princesses!”
“Over two-thousand bits in the pot!”
“It’s a record! A new bloody record!”
While everypony else is busy screaming and jumping, I slip my deck back into its holster beside the Squire’s. No need for him to want it back now, I reason. It makes for a nice souvenir of my grand success.
Smasher, after having stood aside the entire time, now takes this moment to escort The Very Broke and Dishonest Squire to the back, no-doubt to discuss the matter of payment. Seeing as Barrel was the one doing all the important betting, this victory belongs to her and his debt is owed to the Whistle, not to my own insignificant self.
It’s better this way. This victory will surely never be forgotten, and Barrel will forever be remembered as the stalwart warrior. I’d rather be immortalized through my magical magic tricks, not through a clever bit of con artistry. I was just the dealer, after all.
In the heat of the moment and among all the excitement, Barrel jumps into my chair and smothers me in a big earth-pony bear hug, yelling “You did it, Trixie! You did it, you did it, I can’t believe you did it!” I know she must be playing it up for my ego, and I appreciate it. I show that appreciation by giving her another kiss, slow and long, eyes shut. What’s the harm? Hardly anypony notices it among all the celebration.
It’s my gift to her. I’d say we’re more than even now, hmm?
After things settle down, Barrel reluctantly leaves my lap and returns to her place behind the bar. Her regulars come up and congratulate her and she reaches over and pats their hooves and pours drink after drink after drink. It’s all smiles and nods and dirty jokes among friends. A few mares, whom I know to be of the sporting type, lean waaaay over the bar and flutter the eyelashes, but she blushes all demurely and shakes her head ‘no’, and they leave looking disappointed. Good for her, I say. It won’t do for her to jump into bed with somepony else right away. I don’t want her turning out like me.
In any case, I wish her the very best now that she’s come out into the open. I found my own life to be much more pleasant once I’d embraced that side of myself, too.
Stock remains oddly quiet. I’ll admit I’m more than a little surprised that he sat and observed everything and was so… let’s say, accepting of all this, especially of me doing what I did—but I’m not going to complain, either. If he’s fine with things as they’ve happened, all is well.
The two griffin entertainers continue their set in earnest, and this time I eagerly join the fun. I tear up the dance floor with everypony I can, being, as always, the center of attention, the belle of the ball, the cream in the coffee. As each song finishes I cheer and clap and toss them a few coins and beg for more music, which they are all too happy to provide. I can hardly remember a night when I’ve enjoyed myself so much or when the butterbeer has flown so freely. The moment when Stock comes over and wordlessly tosses a huge bagful of bits onto my table is just a bonus, and an unexpected bonus, too. I didn’t know Locke was capable of getting this much out of Squire so quickly; he must have been extra persuasive, just for him. Lucky stallion.
With a quick word of thanks, I scurry up to my room and dump the coins on my bed. Just looking at them—at how many of them there are—makes me whinny with delight and jump on the bed and roll around in the golden pool of money. I can buy the very best caravan available, far better than that small old thing I had before, and be out on the road again by this time tomorrow evening!
I hop off and shake a few loose coins out of my mane and scrape my winnings back into the bag, hiding it under a loose floorboard. The yawns are starting, long and loud, but this is no time for sleep! This is time for more celebration! More dancing! More drinks! More music! More everything! I, Trixie, daring resident magician of the Tin Whistle, is here on her last night, and she's going to have the best night ever!
And I do. I really, really do, but even the best night ever must end eventually.
** ** **
After the taps are finally shut off and the regulars begin staggering into the streets outside, singing songs of glory and beauty and brotherhood, Barrel comes over to join me by the fireplace. She brings supper for both of us. While we eat, we take turns swapping stories; I speak of my many adventures (leaving out that little fiasco in Ponyville, of course,) and she tells me stories of growing up here, in the inn her great grandfather built. Little things, unimportant. In the time I’ve known her, she’s never really opened up to me, but that’s fine. Friends don’t need to know everything about each other to be friends.
As the town clock strikes one, just as my eyelids are starting to feel especially heavy, Stock emerges from the backrooms and walks slowly over to our table. His gaze is hard, serious, centered on me and only me. He stops and stands over the both of us, but doesn’t even glance in his daughter’s direction.
“What’s wrong, daddy?” asks Barrel, frowning.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he lies. He finally throws a quick smile at Barrel, then motions at me. “You, come along. It’ll only take a moment.”
“Sure,” I say, not really sure if I can say anything else.
As I get up from my chair, Barrel fidgets in place, twisting her hooves in her lap. “Daddy, what’s wrong? Are you m-mad at me?”
There is a noticeable waver in her voice, and its presence there disturbs me greatly. This is the same mare who kissed me so boldly just a few hours ago, yes? What’s going on? I’m the one in trouble, not you, dear girl.
Stock reaches over and gently tousles Barrel’s mane, giving her a reassuring smile. “Of course I’m not mad at you, sweetie. And I’m not mad at Trixie, either. We’ll only be a minute.”
Barrel is relaxed by his words, and nods. “Okay. I’ll wait here.”
Stock leads me over to the bar and motions for me to sit down. I do. He pulls a rag from his apron and mechanically begins wiping the already-shined and polished countertop, like he doesn’t really know he’s doing it. His mind is clearly elsewhere.
I cough, and the motion of his hoof slows. Stock is a shortish pony, smaller than me, but I have to admit I’m feeling quite a bit of pressure from him right now.
“So,” I say.
“So. Was Barrel always a part in your plan tonight, or was kissing her a spur of the moment decision?”
He came right out and asked, so I’ll come right out and answer.
“The kiss was essential, yes. I told her about it right at the beginning, and she agreed knowing full well what she was doing.”
“Was it really necessary? Don’t lie to me, now.”
Very well, then. I won’t. “No, not really. It was fun, though, and I think she enjoyed it.” I smack my lips, contemplating. “What kind of toothpaste does she use? I have to say I liked the flavor.”
He continues wiping the bar with the rag. “If you’re looking for approval over your methods, you won’t find it. If you’d been a stallion, I’d have had Smasher disembowel you for leading her on like that.”
“Protective father? I’d expect nothing less from you, sir.” I tilt my head to the side. “Don’t deny it though, this is good for her. She’ll be more comfortable now, smile more often. She’ll make friendships, find love. Granted, I made the experience a little too easy and enjoyable for her, so she might very well encounter a few stumbling blocks along the way—”
“You used her,” says Stock. “You used her to make your bits so you could leave as soon as possible. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”
“No, not really.”
Stock says nothing to that, and instead lets me sweat it out for a while. He might have a point, in a way. I did use her. Yes, she was extremely enthusiastic about it, but that won’t make it right in Stock’s eyes. Plainly, he’s never had to argue about the ends justifying the means before.
“Would you rather she struggled with her insecurities and be unhappy? Now that she’s done it once, she’ll be perfectly capable of doing it again. The first time is always hardest.”
Stock’s hoof stops moving across the countertop. “I knew…” His shoulders droop and he sighs, a great, heavy, fatherly sigh full of responsibilities, unsaid words. “I knew about… that she liked mares. Ever since she was little, I knew. She never told me, though. She was scared. Can’t help but wonder if she’d have told Honeysuckle…”
“Honeysuckle?”
Another great sigh. He clenches his teeth as if in pain, shuts his eyes. “Her mother,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.
Is he… is he blaming himself for this?
“Please, Stock, that’s enough,” I murmur, reaching out to put my hoof on his. “What’s done is done. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think she could handle it, and she could, and she did. Really, this isn’t so bad, right? When I leave she’ll be happier, and you won’t have to worry about—”
Stock jerks his hoof out of my grasp. “You’ve given me plenty to worry about. That was her first kiss.”
“It… was?”
I steal a glance back at the table, where Barrel is anxiously watching us from across the room. As my eyes meet with hers she gives me a nervous smile. Then a little wave. Then more smiles. Just like when Stock reassured her, she seems to relax a bit, as if merely seeing me is bringing her some comfort.
The reason behind why Stock is so concerned suddenly hits me like a freight train.
She tried to Prench kiss me. Her first kiss.
“Trixie? Can you hear me?”
My head jerks up. “Wh-What?”
I realize my mouth’s been hanging wide open. I’m feeling lightheaded, and it’s not from all the butterbeer. I shake my head and try to pull myself together but it isn’t working, not with Stock standing right there. He takes pity on me and turns to head into the backroom.
“Let me get you a drink, Trixie. On the house.”
“Wh-What, like… all those other drinks weren’t… free too…?” but my heart isn’t in it, and he doesn’t hear me.
Once alone, I can almost feel Barrel’s eyes drilling into the back of my skull. I glance over at her again. Even from this far away, I can see her fidgeting, eyes daring around the room, like a foal afraid of being scolded, but those eyes always settle back on me, and every time they do, her fidgeting ceases just for a little bit. Looking at her gives me the very strong urge to go over there, give her a hug, and let her know everything’s going to be alright, and the fact that it feels like I have to do it scares me.
I think I might have just made a terrible, horrible mistake. Barrel isn’t as confident as I thought she was. In front of her customers, when in control of her bar, her domain, she’s bold, proactive, assertive, but when the pressure is on her and her alone, she turns into a scared little mouse.
I thought she knew what she was doing. I thought she was more experienced, more worldly. I mean, sure, a mare like me only comes along once in a lifetime, but I felt sure she’d at least kissed one pony before. A failed relationship, perhaps from her days in school—she is quite young, after all, younger than me, and—well, I don’t know, something that toughened her up somehow! But if she really is that inexperienced…
Why did she agree to kiss me? Why did she agree to go so far? I don’t think even I would have done it if I’d been in her position.
It doesn’t fit. Is it possible there’s something else going on, some small detail I’ve missed all this time? Her interest in the physical me couldn’t have been more obvious. She started staring at my flank a mere week after we met. It’s more than that, though. When she’s in a bad mood, she brightens up the moment she sees me. She’s gone out of her way to talk to me during her off hours, and she trusts me, she likes– no, scratch that. She really likes me. Almost as if she…
As that thought reaches its inevitable conclusion, my stomach drops out from under me. It all makes sense. Not only the stares, but the blushing, the dress, the kiss—the fact that she brushed her teeth before she kissed me—the way she’s looking at me right now, and the way she turned all those other hopeful mares aside… it makes sense, but I really, really don’t want to believe it.
It’s not my fault, though! I mean, if she feels something for me, that’s her fault, not mine. I can’t help being beautiful and charming and amazing! I didn’t do anyth– well, no. I totally did. I kissed her, for one. I let her feel me up. I made it very clear that I enjoyed letting her feel me up. Every second of that act was like an open invitation for her.
...Horseapples.
I rack my magnificent brain, desperately trying to come up with a plan, a loophole, anything, but it fails me and my head sinks to the bar. What can I do? What am I supposed to do? I’ve never been in a situation like this! I've—
No… no, calm yourself, Trixie. You’re jumping to conclusions. It’s puppy love, nothing more. A little crush, that’s all, and it didn’t help that you were a bit free and easy tonight. Too much excitement, too much butterbeer. You got reckless, you gave her permission to be bold, you were both swept up in the heat of the moment, and in the end, it doesn’t even matter. It wouldn’t ever work out between us and she knows it. I’ll be out of here and back on the road tomorrow anyway.
Stock chooses that moment to reappear, pushing out a foaming tankard of my favorite pick-me-up. I push the root beer aside, not wanting or needing the distraction. He soon realizes I’m not going to touch it, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He expected this. I’ve a feeling this is exactly the sort of reaction he wanted, actually.
“I know why you made the mistake, Trixie. You’re impulsive. You want the road. You saw a chance and you took it. That’s fine with me, I wouldn’t ever hold you back on purpose, but since you understand why I’m concerned about Barrel now…”
“...You want me to resolve everything between her and me before I go, is that it? Don’t leave her with a broken heart, and all that?”
“That’s exactly right. I like you, Trixie, but I love my daughter. If you break her heart, I’ll never forgive you,” he says, smiling.
“...I don’t know how,” I mumble, shrugging helplessly.
He blinks twice. “You’ve never had to break up with somepony before?”
“More like nopony’s ever been in lo—well, no, they have. Trixie is so easy to love, after all— but this, this is different! Th-This is… it’s...” I groan and bury my face in my hooves.
“Now, now, none of that,” he says. “Sleep on it. I trust you. I know you won’t disappoint me.”
As he vanishes into the backroom again, I stare into my drink and try to cope with this turn of events.
I can’t.
Barrel’s known for ages how I planned to leave as soon as I had the bits, but if this is true and she really does happen to… to love me, I… no, of course she doesn’t. I can’t allow myself to think like that! I need to give myself time to think. I won’t talk with her tomorrow. I’ll just—
“Hey, um… Trixie? You okay?”
I tense up, noticing all too late that Barrel’s slid onto a stool next to mine. Her hooves tap uneasily on the bartop, and her big amber eyes gaze at me, filled with worry. They’re quite pretty, really, those eyes. I look deep into them, trying to draw up the confident, self assured barmare I kissed earlier this evening in front of almost a hundred witnesses, but all I see is a small, naïve girl looking for help from literally the worst mare possible.
“I… suppose I’m fine,” I say cautiously. “He just told me to warn him the next time I’m about to… you know, do that to another cheater. Not that he said it was wrong or anything.”
“He’s okay with me?” she asks, leaning forward just a bit. “He wasn’t mad about what we did?”
Great, let’s jump right to the tough questions.
“Of course he’s fine with it. He didn’t even mention it.”
“R-Really? He didn’t say anything?” She grips my foreleg hard as she says it. I can feel her hooves shaking again.
I really don’t have the patience to deal with her right now.
“Not a word, I promise. That’s not surprising though, right? He even told you not to worry.” I gently brush her hoof aside. “So stop it. Quit worrying so much. Everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t mad? I watched you talking. He—”
“Are you calling me a liar?” I snarl, and Barrel jumps a little in her seat. On cue, her big, pretty eyes well up with tears.
“Oh nonono!! You’re not a liar! You can’t be a liar! Nopony as amazing as you could possibly be a—”
Resisting the urge to slam my forehead into the bar, I hop off the barsool and give her a hug. Not a long hug, nothing like that, just a hug that pins her legs against her body and gets her to stop squirming around so much.
Her chest is warm and smells like vanilla and honey.
Ah. That’s probably what she put in the rootbeer tonight.
I break away. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say in my best authoritative-yet-kind voice. “You and I are both going to go upstairs. We’re going to fall into bed and dream wonderful dreams. Tomorrow, we’ll talk. We won’t worry about any of this until that talk begins. Okay?”
Barrel sniffles. “Okay. Night, Trixie. And, um… thanks. For everything.”
I manage a small, sincere wave to her as I trudge upstairs, my mind refusing to let me ignore the fact that she was blushing like a schoolfilly the entire time she was talking to me.
I push open the door to my room and collapse onto the bed. As I sink into the mattress, I close my eyes and think harder than I’ve thought in ages. Harder than I thought when my caravan was wrecked and I was made penniless. I don’t know what to do.
I know there are ponies out there of both genders who take rejection quite hard. It isn’t entirely unreasonable to assume Barrel is one of them. Stock would probably know something personal like that, seeing as he knows her better than me. She’s his girl, after all. His ‘sweetie.’ He just wants her to be happy, I can understand that.
Thinking of my own father, I can’t help but sigh wistfully. They have a really nice relationship.
Assuming, for a moment, that she does have feelings of some kind for me, I—no, I’m not going to assume anything. If I do, I risk overcomplicating things. At most, she’s got stars in her eyes; the ones on my flank, to be specific. The extra bits in the kiss were a surprise, yes. The sheer enthusiasm with which she massaged my shoulders, undeniable. But beyond those things, she didn’t do anything I wasn’t already telling her to do. If she makes a move tomorrow, I’ll know for sure. All I can do right now is wait.
She can’t possibly love me. No way. It’s just simple lust, and let’s face it, I made myself into a wonderful subject to lust after tonight.
If anything, I suppose the most telling sign of how Barrel might feel is how she turned those other hopefuls away. Does that mean she was trying to “stay faithful” to me, the pony she loves but isn’t even dating yet? On the one hoof, that’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. On the other, it’s terrifying.
Flank stares aside, Stock said he’s known about Barrel’s interests in the fairest sex ever since she was little. Does that mean she’s had a crush before? What happened to it? Did it not go anywhere? Did she watch the object of her affections from afar, never daring to make the first move? Sort of like what she did with me, but—no, focus. Obviously, this crush of hers never went anywhere. Did it end badly, if it started at all?
What about her mother? If they were so close, why hasn’t she said anything to me about her before? Did she have a hoof in how Barrel feels about relationships? Does it even matter?
...Does it matter what I think?
No it doesn’t. This is stupid. Me, The Wild and Uncontrollable Trixie, party mare extraordinaire, she who was almost kicked out of magic school for being too damn charismatic, is worrying about simple relationships? Commitments? What Barrel might actually feel? I haven’t worried about those kinds of things since my first “fillyfriend,” and she turned out to be straight! What in Pony Hell do I know about relationships? I know as much about relationships as I know about pegasus wings. They’re soft, warm, easy to lose yourself in, but they don’t belong to me. I’m no more capable of having a stable relationship than I’m capable of flying. Or teleporting. I bury my face in the pillow and turn over. My head is pounding.
I’ll deal with her tomorrow. I won’t lie, I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life. Kissing my best friend couldn’t have been the worst one…
The gulls from the ocean have flown up into town looking for scraps. Their lonely cries echo sadly through the wet air, lingering just outside my window.
My stage is shining like a beacon in the evening midsummer air. The crowd is already thickening. I step out, cape swirling around me as fireworks provide the flash to my substance. I begin to go into my “Great and Powerful” act. They’ve never seen anything like me before! They cheer for me! They love me!
Magic, Schmagic. Boooo!
There are neighsayers in the audience. I give them what they deserve, and then my poor caravan is smashed into a million pieces. I run off into the night, fighting back angry tears.
What in Equestria went wrong? Why did it go wrong? If it hadn’t gone wrong, what would have happened? What if I’d conquered the Ursa? What if I had sold myself a little differently?
Or chose another profession? Lived another life?
What if I… what if I actually had friends?
The scene switches.
The Squire is sitting on the curbside begging for coins and asking passersby if they’d like to see a trick where a Princess of Spades turns into a Two of Clubs. He is arrested for loitering.
My father is the officer that collars him. He makes no effort to see the Squire’s point of view – that he was cheated into poverty and he can’t afford to buy so much as an apple. Squire tries to proclaim his innocence, but Dad shouts him down, throws the cuffs on him and hustles him into the carriage. He never tried to understand criminals, just like he never tried to understand me.
“What do you have to do with me having no friends?” I ask, but he ignores me.
And just like that, I’m dreaming of purple unicorns.
Strange... I only know of one purple unicorn. What’s she doing in my dream?
“Shoo, shoo! Get out of here! I’m trying to sleep! …What’s that? You want to give me a drink? Fine, I guess. Give it here. Mmmm… okay, I’ll admit it, that’s good. I still hate your guts though. Goodnight.” I roll over, but she pokes me in the side. “Now what? …Oh. Sure, climb on in. I don’t know what good it’ll do, you being a dream and all, but I don’t like sleeping alone either.”
And then the purple unicorn turns into a brown earth pony, and I’m suddenly much more receptive to this particular dream. I can’t explain why, but I don’t want to explain. I just want to cuddle.
Then the wrongness of the situation jerks me out of my fantasy. But even though it's wrong, I can't help but want it. All my life, I’ve wanted a friend. Somepony who won’t get jealous when I spend the night curled up against another warm mare, who’ll always be there when I need her.
“Is that too much to ask? I just want you as a friend! You shouldn’t be in bed with me!”
I gently push her aside. What makes her so special?
As if in answer, all the faces of all the ponies I’ve ever slept with float up in front of me. I size each one up, remembering how they looked, their unique smells, the little details about how they kissed me… and the greedy little pony in my head whispers, Why can’t we have all the pretty mares, Trixie? Why not?
I tell her to shut up, disgusted with myself. I’m not that bad! There’s more to a girl than just being pretty! They need certain qualities: brains, cunning, compassion, and a touch of mischief, too. They need to be able to match wits with me, not necessarily best me at magic.
That would be too easy. I’ve never been very good at doing magic, after all.
Just light shows. “Cool Magic.”
When I wake up, my bed is empty and my pillow is damp.
I sigh, roll over on my back, and stare up at the ceiling for a while. My brain feels like it's full of cobwebs. I almost want to go back to sleep, but I’ve got things I have to deal with today. Ponies to talk to. Equipment to buy. Today’s the day I set out again on the open road!
Yes, The Great and Powerful Trixie is at home on the road! Totally free from commitment and worry, depending on nopony but herself! As it should be.
Somewhat cheered by the idea, I crack a smile and glance over at the window. My grin promptly fades. The fog over Trottingham is as thick as pea soup. The weather captain of this city must have interesting tastes, and the citizens a great deal of patience with him. Or her. Probably a him.
With a few groans of self-pity, I wrench myself from the warm covers and stumble over to the sink to begin my morning routine. My thoughts keep drifting back to my talk with Stock, and, much to my annoyance, over to Barrel. I try my best to keep her out of my head for now, but fail miserably.
As if to torment me, there is a knock at the door, and Barrel opens it, bearing a tray with my breakfast. I nod wordlessly over at the table, and she sets it down.
She flashes me her customary grin. “Morning, Trixie! Sleep well?”
“Like a foal,” I lie through my teeth. “Why are you up here so early?”
“Heard you moving around. If you’re getting an early start, I’m not complaining.”
I say nothing else, just nod again. Without another conversation topic, the atmosphere in the room soon grows awkward, and Barrel shows herself out and locks the door behind her. I turn back to the mirror and study my reflection. My usual rosy complexion is gone, my mane is all askew, my teeth need brushing... I admit that I don’t look like a pony eager to be out on the road, much less out of bed. I blame my haggard look on having to speak with Barrel so soon.
But that’s not it. It’s not that I don’t want to talk with her; it’s that I don’t trust myself to talk with her. If I do, I might make another mistake. On reflection, I made plenty of them last night. I swear on Celestia above, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was trying to seduce her.
I explain to the mirror, “Of course Stock is wrong about how she might feel about me. He’s just worried about his daughter. With no wife around, she’s all he’s got. Typical of a father to be worried about his daughter...”
Right. Like my own father would have shown the same worry for me if I ever took a shine to some wayward girl. Barrel doesn’t know how lucky she is.
A short time later I prance out the front door, throwing my cape around my shoulders for the much-needed warmth. The gas streetlamps burn very softly in the thick morning fog, appearing as little beacons of yellow in a sea of gray mist. For some reason I find the image appealing, even a little romantic, in an old-world kind of way. Trottingham is the opposite of downtown Manehattan. It’s made of brick and mortar, not steel and glass.
My first and most important visit is to the carpenter. I have very specific requests for my caravan in terms of looks and function. Weight is an important factor too, but I can afford to make this one a little bit larger than my old one.
While I could easily get carried away with requests due to the (frankly) absurd amount of bits I’m carrying, I curb my enthusiasm and try my best to keep the giddy happiness out of my voice and overall demeanor as I dictate my requests to the carpenter. I draw special attention to some of the extra doodads, like the planets and stars that pop out the top when the stage unfolds. After all, presentation is half of show business.
I had, rather optimistically I admit, expected he would be able to finish it tonight. Obviously that isn’t the case, but he promises it will be done soon. Within the next few days, assuredly.
Ah, well. No harm in that, I suppose. I can survive a few more days of waiting.
I’m not sure my attempts to subdue myself have worked, because by the time I shake hooves with him and leave, I’m smiling a most un-businesslike smile and practically bouncing away instead of trotting.
Logically there isn’t anything else for me to do today except go back to the inn and bide my time. Forget logic. I want to have fun while I’m still here. Trottingham might very well be my new favorite place in Equestria: the food is good, the crowds are accepting, the prices are right, and it’s a rare thing for me to spend the night without some form of company, preferably curled up under some cute pegasi's soft wings. Or... that is, it was normal for me to end the nights like that. As in every town I’ve visited, my bedmates grew bored of me long ago. No surprise there. The mares I attract tend to be the fickle ones.
Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted. Still, I have to admit that I don’t relish the idea of being totally alone again, not after all the merry company and cheer of the good Tin Whistle...
...Ugh. Stop that, you. You hate it when your girlfriends get clingy, so practice what you preach. For once.
I try to push the ugly thought of loneliness aside, and go for lunch instead. By now the fog has lifted and the ponies of Trottingham are moving about in groups of twos and threes.
The cozy restaurant is filled with couples of all shapes and sizes, gabbing endlessly among themselves. I am the only one eating alone. My mayonnaise and watercress sandwich isn’t quite as satisfying as I would like, and I leave without giving a big tip, purely out of frustration.
Oh horseapples, why do I have to keep coming back to the thought of being alone? I never had a big problem with it before; at least, I don’t recall it hurting this badly. At this point, just having somepony tag along while I shop sounds welcome.
I bet Barrel would jump at the chance to spend some time with her idol.
I push that thought aside too. Instead of asking her to leave her post and join me, I go to buy books. They’re the best company out on the road, and I can at least read a bit while I’m waiting at the inn.
There is one series in particular I’m quite fond of. It’s set many years in Equestria’s past and tells the story of a young, adventurous mare named Faber. It is she against the perils of the world, sailing the seas in between escapades on land, with some new threat or challenge always coming between her and her beloved. I admire her persistence and loyalty to the boy, specifically how she's stayed “pure” despite the many not-altogether unpleasant advances of other handsome stallions with impure intentions. She's clever and crafty, but not too clever; any mare could be like her.
I know I'll never truly be like her, though, and it goes far beyond how I threw my chastity out the window ages ago. Despite all the near misses, adventures, and challenges Faber faces, she's never alone. She's always surrounded by good friends.
As I drop the latest volume into my bags and pay the kindly shopkeeper, I can’t help but sigh wistfully. I wish that accepting my lot in life wasn’t so hard. And it shouldn’t be! The Great and Powerful Trixie is at home on the open road, free from worries, obligations, and commitments! She doesn’t need to be tied down by so-called friends! She is happiest on the road!
…
...aren’t I?
- - -
Such thoughts plague me all day, gradually chipping away at my willpower and my patience. By the time I finally stagger down the street towards the Tin Whistle, it’s nearly sundown.
It feels like somepony’s been hammering away at my skull. All I want is a warm meal and a warm bed.
Then a chilly gust of wind blasts down a nearby alleyway, followed by a smattering of freezing raindrops.
Fog and rain in the same day? If I were on the city council, I’d have that lazy lout of a weather captain sacked–
A sharp crack of thunder cuts me off and the rain starts falling in sheets. I break into a gallop and make a beeline straight for the inn, but it’s of no use. I’m soaked to the bone in seconds. Dripping wet and feeling miserable, I push open the door. The inn is packed, of course. I take off my bags and lay my cape out to dry before the roaring fire. I soak in the heat, stopping the shivers before they even arrive.
The regulars wink and nudge each other as they look in my direction. First one, then many begin calling over to me.
“Trixie, love, give a poor workin’ stallion some cheer fer the night!”
“Give us a show, girl!”
“Trixie! Trixie! Trixie!”
I’ve been called many things in my life, but hearing my name called by adoring fans is still my absolute favorite sound. I force a smile. Why not? I have nothing better to do.
I step up to my usual spot in front of the fireplace and try to throw myself into my act. It starts off well enough with my usual airs and little tricks, until I see Barrel standing in the back, giving me a look of deepest concern. She can tell my heart isn’t in it. My magic lacks a certain sizzle, and my personality is only coming across at half strength. We both know it’s only a matter of time.
I put on a brave effort, I really do, but when I teleport one of my bouquets of flowers into somepony’s ginger beer, I finally throw in the towel.
“I... The Great and Powerful Trixie is sorry,” I cry out, “but she can’t do it! Trixie is not feeling so great and powerful tonight, and it would be a waste of your valuable time for her to continue. Forgive me, Fillies and Gentlecolts, but you’ll have to wait a little while longer for a proper show. Please excuse me...”
Murmurs of sympathy and scattered parting applause fill the room as I turn and climb upstairs, defeated but still grateful. Even on a bad day, they understand. I promise to make up for disappointing them as soon as I can.
At the moment, though, I am most ashamed in myself. I haven’t actually had to walk offstage like that in ages. I repeat to myself that it doesn’t matter because I have no energy, that I’m exhausted – and I am exhausted – but the lie doesn’t work.
I open and shut the door and throw myself onto my bed. I want to cry, and I want to relax by having a good cry, but I do neither because I know what’s about to happen next. Barrel is not that hard to predict. She’s naturally going to be concerned about me and once she has a free moment, will come up to check on me. I should be hearing something from her in five, four–
I am off by three seconds. She knocks and I undo the lock with magic, not moving an inch. I look pathetic and I know it and don't care, either. She’s brought my cape and my discarded saddlebags with her. Laying both over the chair to continue drying, she looks at me, and I look back. Her expression reminds me of one my mother often wore, a look she’d always give me after I'd spent another wild night out; a look of quiet concern for my well-being. Almost as if I had poor judgement.
I press my face back into the pillow. Thankfully, Barrel knows better than to make me more uncomfortable by sitting on the bed; I hear her sitting on the floor nearby instead. Neither one of us makes a move.
I really, really don’t want to talk to her, but I can’t just tell her to leave me alone. Then she’d feel bad too, and I don’t want that hanging over my head. Thankfully, she breaks the silence first.
“Your mane’s still wet.”
“Didn’t have time to dry off,” I mumble through the pillow. “Don’t care either.”
“Mmm. You know, I haven’t seen you all day, then you staggered in looking like your soda went flat mid-sip. What’s wrong?”
There’s no point in denying it if it’s that obvious. With my face still resting on the pillow, I glumly say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don't have any energy and I can't think straight. Thinking hurts. It’s the weirdest thing, and... ugh. It’s also none of your business, Barrel. Don’t you have customers to serve?”
“I’m on break.” She flashes me a grin, trying to make me feel better. It doesn’t work, and her smile falters, eventually falling away completely. “Is there anything I can do? Can I get you anything?”
She’s back to wearing that look of worry. I take pity on her, reaching out and giving her mane a friendly tousle.
“Some soup would be nice. I’m in the mood for onion.”
She brightens up at once – the bounce in her steps as she prances away to do my bidding gives it away.
I am left to stew in my own guilt for a while. Since I promised the ponies downstairs another, better show, it’s not like I can leave until I actually give it to them. Perhaps tomorrow. There’s a trick involving some party streamers, a mouse, and a deck of cards that I’ve wanted to try for a while now. We’ll see.
Truthfully, I don’t want to think of my act right now, I’d like to sleep. But Barrel will be here in a moment, so what’s the point? I wasn’t kidding about being hungry either. I can almost smell my dinner now.
Hmm... Barrel. What to do about her?
I silently curse Stock for planting the seed of doubt. He was out of line, suggesting something so serious without any proof at all. I know Barrel’s type. She’s just another adoring fan. And believe me, I know she wants to adore me. It would be so easy to tempt her, too.
“Oh, Barrel. I had this dreadful nightmare. Could I sleep with you tonight? The storm keeps me up, and I don’t like sleeping alone with thunder crashing outside my window, no I don’t, and I know that you, good sweet friend that you are, won’t mind some extra company tonight. Hmm? Scoot over, that’s a good girl...”
“What’cha thinkin’ about?”
“Eeep!” I spin around, seeing Barrel standing at the table, two bowls of steaming soup ready and waiting. “Y-you should have knocked first! When did you get in here?”
“Oh come on, I did so knock. You were just spacing out. I brought some for me too, hope you don’t mind. Thought you could use the company.”
“How astute of you,” I dryly comment as I float my dinner over and begin to chow down, still not having moved off the bed. The soup is wondrously good, with bits of bread and lots of melted cheese to complement the bite of the onions. I make sure not to stain the linen.
Barrel shrugs and starts to eat her share, making loud slurping noises as she tips the bowl into her mouth. Poor dear, it would be so much more dignified if she had a horn.
I suppress a heavy sigh. What am I supposed to do with her? She’s my friend, not my companion. She doesn’t love me… but I know she wants more from me. After the card game, when we were talking by the fire, she kept scooting closer. Why would she do that, hmm? That doesn’t seem so innocent to me.
But then there’s the simple fact that she’s keeping me company, just eating here with me. Like a friend would. Would somepony eager to jump in my bed go through that kind of trouble? She should know it wouldn’t be hard. I’m tempted to give my mental scenario a try, just to see her squirm and blush as I slide in between the sheets next to her and run my hooves slowly up her chest, lingering on her face as I lean in, feeling her hot breath on my neck–
NO. Stop that, you! That’s not going to solve anything! That’s just wrong! W-why am I even thinking about that? Am I that lonely?
Barrel groans with pleasure as she licks the inside of her bowl. “Mmmm... That really hit the spot. How was yours?”
She looks over to see my meal less than half eaten, and just like that, she’s back to being concerned. She comes over and sits by me again, and then she leans in close and… She’s put a hoof to my forehead.
I raise an eyebrow. “Barrel, what are you doing?”
“Your face is all red. Do you feel hot?”
Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.
“No.” I swat her hoof aside. “I’m fine. Just tired and angry. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Is something wrong with your soup?”
“It was delicious.”
“Then what’s... Rrgh, it’s me, isn’t it? It has to be me, then. Was it something I did?”
I force a smile. “It’s not your fault,” I lie.
"Well... okay then. If food’s no good, how can I help you feel better, Trixie? I won’t forgive you if you make me sit here and feel useless.”
I ponder for a moment. How can she help me? There are a lot of things she could do to make me feel better... Heck, I could teach her a dozen or so such things right here, right now. Even after I’ve left, I’ll bet she can put some of my tricks to especially good use–
Ugh. I’m getting sick of all these mental images the greedy little pony in my head keeps tempting me with. It stopped being funny a while ago.
Right, yes, think of something else. It would be easier to think of something practical for Barrel to do if I knew more about what her strengths are.
Aside from what I believe her special talent to be, I know she has a few other talents – mostly amusing little ones – and a few other things that are mostly just guesses of mine. But I can’t very well ask her to demonstrate any of those things, now can I? Even the more harmless things I’m not comfortable burdening her with. I can’t even rationalize asking her to stay and talk with me, because I can’t think of anything to talk about.
As I eat a few more spoonfuls, Barrel just sits there, watching me. I wish the awkwardness in the room would go away. When she clears her throat, I set my spoon and bowl aside. If she wants to be the one to start a conversation, that’s perfectly fine by me.
“So uh, Trixie. About last night. During the game.”
“Yes?” I ask, an evil grin slipping into place while she fidgets for a moment. She’s already turned quite a nice shade of crimson. “It was a fun night, wasn’t it? By the way, was I right about Stock?”
“Oh! Uh, Daddy hasn’t said anything. Still think it’s pretty weird, but I think you were right. He’s okay with me. With what we did. You know what I mean, right?”
“Of course, dear. Thanks again for agreeing to go along with it. You helped me out a lot back there.”
“No problem, Trixie. Anyti– uh, well not ‘anytime’, that was probably the only time ever, but... oh Goddess, I look like such an idiot right now, don’t I?”
I shake my head. “Relax. You have no reason to be nervous around me, remember?”
“I-I’ll try, but it’s kind of hard. See, when I..." She swallows hard. Nervous sweat breaks out on her forehead. "Wh-When I kissed you, it felt really, um, weird. But, in a good weird way?" She bites her lip. "That doesn’t make any sense...”
“It makes perfect sense. To be honest, I’m jealous how easy it was for you."
“W-Well... yeah, sure. That’s why I did it, you know? Because I was doing it with you." A flick of the eyes, faint blush. "I feel safe around you, 'cause you always know what's best. You’re kinda like a big sister, and– shoot! No, no! Not like incest or anything icky like that, or–”
I’m laughing so hard I’m almost falling off the bed. Barrel goes even redder, staring down at the floor. Her tail gives a nervous flick. She’s about to burst into tears.
I stuff a proverbial sock down my throat, stifling my laughter as quickly as possible. “Sorry Barrel, I just... heh. Kinda lost it there, but I’m okay now. That’s actually a really sweet thing to say.”
“Really?” she meeps. “B-But it's a stupid thing to say, right? It’s weird to say things like that.”
“I don’t think so. I'd say you’d make a great little sister, actually—in a completely innocent, family sort of way. Hmm?”
She goes quiet all of a sudden, fidgeting and looking around. Perhaps I went too far somehow, or perhaps her perspective is different from mine, she being an only child and all. Either way, with neither one of us wanting to press the question, the room turns silent again. I turn to my soup, finishing it off and setting the bowl on the table.
Eventually Barrel shifts again, nervously rubbing her forehooves together. “Please, what can I do for you, Trixie? Do you need me to get you something to drink? I’m sorry I didn’t remember to bring anything with dinner, but I forgot and–”
I wave a hoof, cutting her off. “Think nothing of it, dear. I’ve had a good meal, and good company. What I need most right now is a good sleep.”
And good companionship, the greedy little pony in my head whispers, but I shake her off. I can’t help but sigh wistfully to myself, but I’m not tempted a fourth time.
Now she looks like her soda just went flat.
Well, we can’t have that, now can we?
I reach over and give her a few sympathetic pats on the head. She gives a sheepish grin, and her ears perk up again. Interesting that somepony with such a rich brown coat can still manage to blush so well. Her freckles are probably helping.
“You’re making me feel useless,” she mumbles, obviously enjoying the attention I’m lavishing on her.
“Oh, but you’re far, far from useless. You’ve already done more than enough to make me feel better tonight, Barrel. We should talk like this more often, hmm? I’ll make an effort to see that we do in the future. Now go on, get some rest.”
I feel bad about making her leave, but at least she leaves smiling. After she quietly shuts the door behind her and returns downstairs to resume serving her regulars, I sigh for the umpteenth time and dim the lights. The rain will let up soon, and things will be looking up tomorrow. If the carpenter is timely, I can leave tomorrow and put all of this nonsense behind me.
Nonsense, is it?
I don’t see how it can be, if I can’t help but come back to the “main issue” again. It was just a simple question of clarification, so why would she go silent? Perhaps I was a bit too specific, or she was nervous. I probably would be too, if I were after a pony like me. Especially one who made it seem like it’d be easy.
On the other hoof though, her eyes, her body language – most of it, anyway – and how she’s being so helpful; that’s all compassion, not lust. If she really wanted me, well, we were alone, in my room, and I was already in bed.
She isn’t acting like she’s supposed to be acting! She’s not supposed to care for me! She’s supposed to support me, be there to make me feel better, help me when I need helping, and never complain. That’s what friends are supposed to do, right?
I don’t even know. What’s the point in worrying about it anymore? I’ve spent all day worrying about things I shouldn’t be, and it’s making my head spin.
I repeat the “starry-eyed mare” lie to myself again. There’s nothing strange at all about it. And especially considering some of her slip ups, it makes perfect sense. Many a mare would love to get their hooves in… er, on me. Hooves on me, not in… well, yes, in, but–
I didn’t mean it that way! I meant it like ‘working their hooves in’, like during a massage. It’s an innocent observation. She’s rubbed my shoulders before, and friends do that all the time, don’t they? I didn’t mean anything by it!And why in the world am I getting so flustered over this!? I’m supposed to be the one in charge of everything here, aren’t I?
Oh. Four times now. I’m disgusted with myself for being so predictably cliché. Performers aren’t supposed to be predictable at all.
Perhaps I should sleep with her after all, just to be unpredictable and to help get it out of her system. I know I’d want her to stay a friend afterwards, but that kind of relationship would be too messy. I can’t see how it would work out – it simply couldn't work. Mares like me break hearts like hers. And, as I’m all too fond of reminding myself, I hardly know her.
How much do you really know about your friends, though? What about your loved ones? You know their names. You know their hobbies, their mannerisms, their little quirks. Sometimes, you meet their parents. But the actions of friends are what make them friends, right? Not even lovers tell each other all their dark secrets.
When one loves another, is the lover or beloved the friend, or can both of them still be friends? I guess that if only one pony loves the other, they are nothing more than mutual friends. That doesn't make it any less awkward, though. Could that awkwardness eventually ruin a friendship?
If I were to fall in love – just supposing – what would happen then? I... I don’t think I would be able to travel the world anymore. I’d rather do Ponyville over again than risk losing my freedom. Except this time, I would stand firm while the Mighty and Pissed-Off Ursa crushed my caravan. I’d forget the rope and think of something else. But then again, no matter how brave or clever I might act, I still wouldn’t get very far, and I’d still be left with nothing. The angry faces of the townsfolk would still follow me everywhere.
Eventually, the nightmare fades and I wonder how long I’ve been asleep. I focus, and as if by magic, Barrel appears at the side of the bed… along with a few others. I shoo the others away, only interested in one mare tonight.
“Barrel, dear. How kind of you to visit me,” I imagine myself saying. “Since you’re a dream, and very conveniently here in my room, I want you to do something for me. Oh, it’s nothing, really. There’s no reason for being nervous, even though I know you are. If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.”
The last time I said those words, she ended up kissing me. She suddenly seems to grow anxious, but I know that she’ll do anything to please me. Her intentions are not as pure as I keep mistaking them to be. How do I know? This is how I’d like her to act.
I flash her a coy smile. “Now, now, no need to be shy. If you want to rub my back, then rub my back.”
I had imagined she would be stunned for a few seconds, perhaps with her mouth hanging open in disbelief. But only for a moment. And since it's my dream, that's exactly how it works out.
“Yes, of course! Where does it hurt, Trixie?”
“Oh, everywhere, dear,” I delight in teasing her. “But upper shoulders only, please. You and I are still just friends, after all.”
“Well… okay then. If that’s what you want, I’ll give it my best.”
She gives me a look as if to say, “But why won’t you let me do more?” and then begins. I can’t help but arch my back and sigh in bliss.
Ahhhhh...
I needed this, and she's obviously enjoying it too. No harm in all that, though. In fact, let’s try and make this even more interesting. I suppress an evil grin. Then I slowly roll onto my side and stretch out luxuriously, groaning with sinful pleasure.
To my satisfaction, she makes the most adorable squeaking sound and bites her lip. I swear steam's about to come pouring out her ears. From the way her eyes travel up and down the length of my own fine self, she’s probably thinking exactly what I want her to think; where her eyes happen to linger is quite telling.
Much to my surprise though, instead of taking the bait, she redoubles her efforts and focuses on my shoulder. Her hoof shakes, her breath is getting more ragged by the second, but even as a dream, she remains a good girl.
I am angry and insulted. Why won’t she jump into the bed with me? I’ve laid myself out on a damned silver platter for her! This is my dream, and I’m going to have what I want!
Before she can react, I’ve turned, grabbed her, and stuffed her under the covers next to me. We are at eye level, and even in the gloom I can see that her face is all different kinds of shock. Before she can say a word, I lunge forwards. I snuggle up next to her, hugging her tightly like she’s an overstuffed teddy bear. I know it’s really a pillow, but it still brings me comfort. I breathe deep, imagining I can almost smell her. For the first time all day, I finally feel relaxed.
Barrel whimpers, and I put a hoof to her lips.
“Hush now, and don’t say anything,” I pout feebly, already feeling the dream start to slip away and change into something else. “You could have at least played along from the start. We both wanted it, didn’t we? So don’t complain. Just stay with me tonight.”
- - -
I wake to the drumming of rain on my window. I don’t even want to open my eyes to look, but eventually I crack an eye and take in the gloom of my room. Cold air is seeping in from around the window. After shutting the curtains with magic, I turn the gas lamps on in the same fashion. I burrow under the covers and lie on my back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
I stick out my lower lip and feel sorry for myself. I want my dream back! I don’t want to think about being responsible, or what to do next, but I know I have to. Now isn’t the time to feel sorry for myself.
I can’t leave tonight, in any event. By now, the roads will be mud, and I can’t drag my caravan through muck that thick. I’m no earth pony. If I am to stay here tonight, there’s no point in stressing over the little things. No reason for me to sleep alone tonight, either. Plenty of willing recruits for that just downstairs.
The prospect of good company cheers me up at once, and I turn again to the thought of where to go and what to do. I’ll have to leave soon, since winter will be here shortly and the roads will be blocked up with snow for weeks. Ponyville is always an option, but not one I’m interested in. At all. Stalliongrad always welcomes entertainers. Fillydelphia should be having their autumn feast soon. I think Hoofington is out of the question, it being a place I’ve recently toured. Baltimare’s too far away, Canterlot is much too rich for my blood, and New Yoke City is...
...Wait. Why is there... Why are the sheets moving?
“Mmnhnn...”
A form shifts under the covers, and suddenly I’m wrapped in a warm, tight hug. My first instinct is to scream, or run, but instead I go stiff as a board from shock. A very familiar earth pony has just begun nuzzling into my side, sighing in apparent bliss. She shifts again, yawning and blinking. Without letting go of me, Barrel looks up and gives me another of her big smiles.
“Morninnin’ng Monymakerrr,” she slurs, still half asleep but as happy as I’ve ever seen her. “Howw’d ya sleep?”
“I... b-but you... when did– Barrel!?” I come to my senses and wriggle out of her grasp. “What are you doing? Why are you in my bed?”
“Aww, don’t be like that,” she whines, looking at me with big puppy eyes. “You said you needed this.”
“I said no such thing! Why are you– Explain yourself at once!”
Having been chided, she quickly loses the boldness she had a second ago, awkwardly looking down at the sheets instead of me. For some reason, the little pony in my head chooses that exact moment to point out how Barrel's mane is tied into a ponytail. It must be how she goes to bed every night.
She's cute, isn't she? The pony in my head gives a low whistle. Yeah. She’s really cute.
Quiet, you, I hiss at her. Barrel's trying to say something.
"Yes?" I ask. "Go on. Speak up."
“It’s pretty simple, I guess. You were having a nightmare, and um, I came to see what was wrong. I tried to snap you out of it, then you started talking in your sleep and, uh...”
Oh, no.
“...Did I ask you to rub my back?”
“Well, um, yes. I think you did. It was kinda hard to tell, but then you seemed to be enjoying it a lot, and... nnngh...” A powerful shiver runs through her; I swear I can feel heat coming off her face. She guiltily starts rubbing her front hooves together and shrinks away, cowering like a cornered field mouse.
Ugh. So all that actually happened? I seriously asked her to –
…
Oh, Fffff...
“Barrel, sweetie, when you were giving me the massage, did I...?”
“...Uh huh.”
I'm so charging her for that, next time.
Oh, wait. There won't be a next time. Bad thoughts.
I bury my face in my hooves, feeling another headache coming on. Brilliant work, Trixie. It’s obvious what happened next. You pulled her in, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
I reach out and raise her chin so I can study her eyes. The honest compassion in them still hasn’t gone away. She looks pathetic, like a foal who’s had her favorite toy stolen away. The irony isn't lost on me.
I want to do something for her, anything to make her feel better, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve already done enough damage by putting her in this position. If I say or do the wrong thing, I’ll only make it worse. Do I hug her, do I tell her it’s alright and that I still consider her a frie–
Her lip quivers; she’s so scared she’s done something wrong, she’s actually on the verge of tears.
Oh, no. Please, please don’t start crying on me.
On cue, she gives a great hiccup and two fat tears roll down her cheeks. Before she breaks down completely, I pull her into the hug I should have given her right away. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, a few more tears leaking out. She is shaking with the effort to maintain control and not have a total breakdown right here on my bed.
I softly rock back and forth, pet her head, coo gentle reassurances. “It’s okay... there, there. You didn’t do anything wrong, you only did what I asked you to do. No shame in that. Friends are supposed to help each other, right?”
“Yeh... yes,” she sniffles.
"Then don't talk. Let me help you."
We stay that way for a long while, but even after she’s had her cry, she doesn’t break away. As she cuddles with me, I stare at the far wall and ponder how to salvage the situation.
She probably thinks we have something special together, and at this point I can’t blame her. What can I do? I don’t want to encourage her. On the other hoof though, I’d be fine staying like this for a while longer. Maybe even catch a little more sleep, there being little point in staying awake with the storm outside... ergh.
Focus, Trixie.
It’s hard to focus though, with her warm body pressing up against me.
Since her mane is right in my face because of where her face is, I can’t help but smell it. Her mane actually smells really nice. Something clicks into place. I raise an eyebrow and wrench my gaze away from the wallpaper.
This is... I think it’s vanilla. Did she throw on perfume or something? But when? For dinner? Before she brought me dinner last night?
I smile, and hug her closer. If that’s how things went, then it was a very sweet gesture on her part. Were she anypony else, I might actually make fun of her for trying so hard, but I’m finding her little attempts to please me endearing. Besides, I want her to feel better. What’s the harm in showing a little appreciation?
Above the sound of rain on the window, she whispers something into my mane, but I don't catch it. “What was that, dear? Don’t be afraid. You can tell me anything.”
There’s a pause, and then she hugs me even tighter.
“I love you.”
...Except that.
...
Okay, stay calm, Trixie. No reason to panic. This is an easy situation to get out of. She loves you. That was always a risk. Now I know for sure. But this is easy to get out of, because while she might love you, you don’t love her. If one loves another, but the love isn’t returned, there can be no love, just friendship... right? Right, good. Let her off easy. Just tell her, “Oh Barrel, that’s so sweet of you, but Trixie doesn’t love you in that way. I still love you as a friend though, and would hate to see our friendship torn apart over something so simple. So let’s stay friends, hmm?”
The words sound simple in my head, but I can’t say them no matter how hard I try. Boasting is one thing, little white lies are another, but breaking somepony's heart...?
Ages pass. Eventually, Barrel eases herself out of the hug, looking at me through still-watery, red eyes. “Thanks for that, Trixie. I know you don't actually love me back. I’m not stupid.” She laughs shakily and wipes away a few more tears. “That’s okay though. I f-finally said it. I wanted to say it before you left.”
We sit, eyes locked together, the rain on the window barely louder than her breathing. Her admission is brave, and I definitely owe it to her not to say the wrong thing.
“I had trouble telling my first crush I loved her, too. You handled it much better than I did."
Sniff. "R-Really?"
"Really. There's no shame in admitting true feelings, Barrel. I'm proud of you for doing it. And before you ask, yes, we're still friends. Just a little closer, that's all. And if you ever have more questions or things you'd like to talk about, my door is always open. Feel free to come and talk whenever you want."
Hmm. Sounded a bit like my old headmistress there, but I got the words out alright, and that's what counts. I didn't just say them to bring her comfort. I do mean them, because in effect, she’s solved my problem for me and I no longer have any reason to fear talking to her anymore. In fact, the day as a whole already looks much brighter.
She slides off the bed and leaves my room without ceremony. I flop back onto the pillow, but this time I am smiling. Things seemed to have worked out well... very well.
Barrel is being very mature about this. She knows that Trixie is a travelling mare. She’s got places to be and shows to give. She understands that I cannot return her feelings. Ours is a passing ship in the night. She knows that The Great and Powerful Trixie refuses to be tied down to anyplace, seeing as that is not her style.
Thinking in my typical showmare style helps improve my mood even further. For once, I look forward to the day and all it will bring.
- - -
After I’ve completed my morning rituals, I descend from my room and take breakfast at my favorite table by the fire. The small talk floating around in the inn this morning is centered on the storm outside. Apparently, the rain will remain for another three days, at least. Something about conflicting weather schedules with neighboring farmland... It’s all pegasus business I don’t really care about.
Barrel comes to take my plate away. I am pleased to see that she’s recovered somewhat. Around me, her cheeks seem to be perpetually rosy, and she tends to avert her eyes when talking, but otherwise seems fine. I mention in passing that with this much time on my hooves because of the weather, it only makes sense for me to try and complete my secondary shopping today.
That look of genuine concern returns. “Trixie, are you really planning to go out in a storm like this?”
I give her a confident smirk. “Of course I am. A little rain isn’t enough to stop The Great and Pow–”
“Who are you kidding? It’s like Seaddle out there.”
I laugh. “I still have to buy these things sometime though, dear. No better time than now. Besides, I hate sitting around doing nothing.”
“Then at least let me lend you something to keep you dry. I don’t think you even have an umbrella, do you?”
No, I don't. I'll have to buy some proper raingear soon. For now, though, I end up accepting her generous offer.
As I'd guessed, she's almost exactly my size. Her raincoat fits perfectly, as do her boots; the hat is tricky because of my horn, but I manage anyway. Decked out all in bright yellow, I imagine I must resemble a perfect seaweed farmer. I'll fit right in; Trottingham's a coastal town, always packed with sailors tromping around in gear just like mine... well, like hers.
I think I'll get my stormgear in ruby red. It'll look nice.
Outside, the smell of salt and rainy sky rolls through town on a wet autumn breeze. I splash down main street, heading for the shops for the second time in as many days. The carpenter is first. He’s made good progress on the caravan part, but the folding stage is causing a little difficulty. Completely understandable, though. He’s doing a great job so far.
Come to think of it, my old stage didn’t take only one day to make, either. Ah, well. When one is perfect, one expects perfection all the time. Not everypony can be like me.
I spend the day buying all sorts of little things: cloth for the caravan’s rear curtains, fabric for yet another starry cape and hat, some oil lamps, some dried fruit to snack on, a small vanity mirror – I’m sure the name is just a coincidence – and cookpots, and candlesticks, and oh, just everything looks so good!
I'm especially charmed by a clever little flint striker in a cozy shop window. It's been enchanted to set fire to anything, even wet grass. Winter will be here very, very soon, and I'll want my campfire roaring. I fancy myself quite the survivalist, when the need strikes me. Provided, of course, that I have a nice place to sleep.
I ensure that I will by placing an order for the very best mattress –Yay for real down stuffing!– I can afford, which means it’s fit for a princess. Since I'll have it custom made to fit into my caravan, it’ll be pretty expensive, but that’s fine.
I do have standards, after all. I hate sleeping in the dirt almost as much as I hate sleeping alo... Ugh. Really? Am I back to that again?
I shake off the thought and pay the elderly mare behind the counter, instructing that the mattress, like everything else I’ve bought today, be sent to my room at the inn when it’s most convenient. The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time I step out of her shop. The stars will probably be out tonight. Maybe I’ll watch them from my window.
It’s nearly six by the time I finally return to the inn. I’m absolutely starved, having skipped lunch. I savor each bite of my dinner, and when I’m through, I knock back a few drinks and relax for the first time in what seems like months. Between the sweet-smelling smoke in the room, the endless talk, the drinks, and the blissful near-comatose feeling that comes after a big meal, I find myself almost lulled into sleep right in my chair. I lazily cradle my head on one hoof, my thoughts drifting.
Most everywhere I go, the crowds aren’t easy to please. It’s unavoidable, magic being so commonplace. My acts are often seen as simple boasting. I guess it’s not so far from the truth, but it’s unfair for them to judge so quickly.
Levitation is second nature to us unicorns, sort of like learning to read. Aside from that, though, we are lucky to learn three other spells – in our lifetime – that we can perform just as naturally and without a great amount of practice and study. I don’t think non-unicorns can appreciate the fact that many of my “little tricks” use different kinds of magic.
It’s interesting, actually. Trottingham is filled with earth ponies, with only the rare pegasus or unicorn. Perhaps the fact that magic isn’t common around here is why I have so many fans. Earth ponies can’t appreciate how much work goes into my magic, but they don’t have to. I don’t care who’s doing the admiring – I love enthusiastic little admirers, no matter their blessings or talents.
My drifting eye has roamed over to the bar, and over to a specific admirer of mine. Barrel herself actually has plenty of admirers too. In the time that I’ve been staying at the inn, I’ve seen many a poor working stallion blow her a kiss. Obviously, they never tried anything more serious, since she’s the innkeeper’s daughter and all, but I think plenty of them were sincere.
I can certainly understand why, I muse to myself as I watch her talk with a few of them now, smiling brightly. There’s something honest about her personality that chases away the aches and pains of a long day’s work, replacing it with cheer.
In that way, I suppose I’m a little bit envious of her. She doesn’t need flashy magic to make other ponies like her. She’s probably had many friendships over the years.
I wish it was that easy for me.
I take a few more generous swallows of my drink. In between greeting new customers and talking with her regulars – The dogs, look how they stare when she turns around! –I see Barrel throw me a wink. I give her a smile and wave, both of which aren’t missed by the stallions she’s serving.
Now now boys, be good. You should all know you’re wasting your time on her. She’s taken, seeing as she’s mine and... wait. That’s not right.
I stop and stare down at my cup. It’s not right, but it’s not an entirely inaccurate thing to think, is it? In a way, she is actually mine, because she’s chosen to be mine. Rather, she wanted to be mine. She has a crush on me. Until she gets over her crush, she might as well be taken. It’s not like I want her to be mine, or anything like that.
I drain the rest of my drink, ready for an early retirement tonight. As I slide in between the covers a few minutes later, I feel somewhat guilty that I didn’t fulfill the promise I’d made to myself earlier.
I would have liked some company tonight, honest. Somepony to talk to until I nodded off, maybe even somepony to give me a proper massage. But that promise was made before I realized Barrel was in the bed with me. If she saw me bringing another mare upstairs, the poor dear might be heartbroken. I wouldn’t sleep well if I knew I’d done that to her.
Have to admit though, the girl does give a great massage. Would it be teasing her if I asked for a special favor, hmm? But no, that would be out of line. I couldn’t possibly ask her to keep me company. It would be leading her on, even if I were being sincere and-
There’s a knock on my door.
Oh. Of course.
“It’s unlocked. Please, come inside, I don’t mind having visitors.”
The handle turns, and Barrel pokes her head through. Since she’s within ten feet of me, the shyness from last night is back in full force. I can see it in the way her eyes dart around the room, refusing to center on me for longer than a few seconds at a time.
“Hey, Trixie. I just wanted to know if you needed anything before I close up tonight.”
“No, I don’t need anything. But I’d like some company, actually. Why don’t you come in?” I thump the bed with my tail.
“Well, um... alright. If you really want me to, sure.” She pushes through and stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, wearing the most strained smile I’ve ever seen. She’s acting like there’s a bomb about to go off under her hooves.
Heh. Nervous Barrel is even more adorable than Regular Barrel.
“Sit down,” I offer, hoping to make her feel more at ease. “Oh come now, what’s done is done. You and I are still good friends no matter what happened last night, so let’s act like we’re friends. Sit and talk with me for a while, that’s a good girl.”
Her voice shakes as she thanks me, then she takes the chair I've pointed to. Her forehooves fidget around, and she still refuses to meet my gaze. “Are you’re sure you’re alright?” she asks.
“You should know I’m always fine, after all the times you’ve come upstairs and asked me that.”
Her eyes have moved to the window, streaked with more fresh rain. “I guess there’s something about you that makes me worry sometimes. I dunno.”
“Well, I appreciate the concern, but there’s no reason to worry on my behalf. If I have a problem, I’ll be sure to come and talk about it.”
“Will you though? I don’t know if you will. You weren’t telling me anything about what was wrong last night.”
I shift, propping myself up on the pillows. “Oh? I thought we’d put all that to bed.”
She flushes slightly, but doesn’t waver. “No, I don’t mean what happened then. I mean before that, before I brought you your dinner. You were really bummed out about something, and you said it wasn’t any of my business. Well, fine. It isn’t, but I can tell something’s been bothering you for a while.”
“What could possibly bother me right now, when I am warm in my bed and enjoying myself and your very good company?”
“Okay, so maybe not right now,” she admits, “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t still there. I’ve seen that look on a lot of ponies, and I know it’s not something that goes away overnight.”
Ah, of course. Because she’s a bartender, she also has to be part psychologist and part therapist. Hmmm...I can admit she might be right. In a way. She already knows what my problem is: that I looked lonely, which is true enough. Have I been that obvious?
“I suppose your customers speak quite freely to you, Barrel. Well, as a customer, I’d appreciate it if you would talk to me. Just for a bit longer, I could use the company.”
Of course, she brightens up at once.
The nightmares stay away.
- - -
I don’t feel bad about waking up in an empty bed this morning. Not really. Barrel has agreed to continue talking to me in the evenings, so I have plenty to look forward to tonight.
The rain has turned into sleet that rattles against the windows. Naturally, only the most devoted regulars have appeared, so the inn is unusually empty this morning. I spend most of my time turning pages while curled up next to the hearth.
There are only two things of interest that happen all day. The first is that some of my purchases started to arrive just before noon. After I directed the courier to put them upstairs, I bought him a hot drink. I felt he deserved it, even though he assured me it wasn’t any trouble.
“Oh, hush. I appreciate the trouble you’re going through. Try getting good service like this in Canterlot, it won’t happen. You’ll either end up with a lackey wearing a vest who’s too posh to get his hooves dirty doing any real work, or a village idiot who doesn’t even think to use magic to carry your bags.”
I wave him off, and he leaves much happier than he was when he arrived.
The second thing of interest is that the weather captain and his team – yes, his, I was right about that – actually comes in just before dinnertime to talk to Stock and the other patrons. They’ve apparently been making the rounds for the past two days, apologizing in person over the terrible weather, with reassurances that it won’t last much longer.
Wonder if they go through that much trouble every time a storm takes this city by surprise? Hardly see the point, but I suppose it makes for good community relations. Canterlot’s weather team isn’t so considerate, that’s for sure. Then again, 'considerate' isn't even in Canterlot's dictionary.
I take another sip of warm spiced cider and continue flipping through pages. I elect not to try putting on another show this evening, and I remember talking with Barrel for only a half hour before sleep takes me. Again, the nightmares stay away.
I could get used to sleeping like this, I groggily think to myself upon waking up.
As the weather captain had promised, the rain has slowed to a drizzle and the clouds have actually broken up a little bit. As I head outside to greet the sun, I am surprised and delighted to see my new caravan being pulled up the street by the carpenter.
It’s a splendid thing. The wood smells like fresh varnish and the smart new paint almost seems to glow. I insist that we give the folding stage a try, right there out in front of the inn. It springs out as if by magic, and I happily give him a fat tip and many thanks for doing such a good job. I spend the day outfitting it, floating my purchases out from my room through the window. The final piece is the mattress, which arrives in the evening.
The urge to throw together a performance and give my new stage a proper test is enticing, but my fans deserve better.
I’ll spend tomorrow coming up with some new acts. It’ll be just like old times.
Dinner is uneventful. When Barrel comes up to visit, I invite her to sit on the bed with me, since I know that chair she’s been perched on isn’t very comfortable. About ten minutes pass as we go over meaningless gossip, swap stories, and make small talk.
“... and Dad and I never figured out where he was hiding his mongoose,” Barrel finishes her story, both of us laughing ourselves silly.
“That was actually really good,” I say between chuckles. “I’d find a way to make it into an act if you had a real ending to it. The filly’s and colts love stuff like that. Where do you think he was hiding it?”
“In his mane.”
“Didn’t you say he had a mohawk? Where could a mongoose hide in a mohawk?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t say it made sense. Maybe he used magic to hide it, then he just pulled it out of thin air? Can’t unicorns do those kinds of things?”
“I work magic, not miracles.”
She laughs again. “If you say so. It all looks pretty miraculous to me.”
I laugh too, but for a different reason.
She’s finally getting back some of her confidence. Good for her.
I have a theory for how Barrel works; when things go her way, she has almost as much confidence as I do. But when something goes wrong, or when she’s nervous, she turns into a different pony altogether. Personally, I prefer the more confident Barrel; the one who smiles, who’s talking to me right now. I don’t feel like I’m walking on eggshells around her.
“Hey Trixie, you went to one of those big magic schools, right? What was it like?”
I do a double take; the question completely blindsides me. Not only that, but it's the last thing I wanted to hear right now, especially when things were going so well. I cough, and do my best to play it off.
“And what makes you think I went to a magic school?”
Barrel shrugs. “Dunno. Just thought it was something all unicorns did.”
“Only the special ones,” I spit. "Half the unicorns that get shipped off to big colleges get in because their parents have deep pockets. That doesn't mean that any of them are actually talented at magic. There were plenty of them that were happy honing just one spell in the entire time they were staying there. No imagination at all.”
“A-ha! So you have been to magic school.”
"Yes. I’d rather forget about it.”
“Why’s that?”
I recline on the bed and stare at her. “Take a good look at me, Barrel. What do you see? Do you see a unicorn who coasted through school without a second glance back? Whose natural talent ensured a ‘degree in magic’ the moment she walked through the doors?”
“Kinda.”
I sigh and rub my temple. Do I really come across as that arrogant?
Barrel shifts on the covers. “And now you’re gonna tell me I’ve got you all wrong?”
“If I told you what it was like for me, I don’t know if you could appreciate it. You’re not a unicorn.”
“I went to school too, you know.”
“There are other reasons, too. Drama is my life, but I hate melodrama.”
“C’mon, how bad could it be?”
You have no idea how bad it was.
For a moment, I lie back on the bed, conflicted. She’d be the first pony to hear the story. Do I tell her, or not? I don’t want her to see me as a whiner or a hard luck case. It would ruin the mystique I’ve put so much effort in building up. At the same time though, I hardly see the point in putting it off. It might not be as bad as I think it is, either. After all these years, telling it could be good for me.
I give in. I know I’m going to tell her anyway.
“You have to understand something, Barrel. All you needed to learn to know how to run the inn, you learned from your family. You didn’t need to learn magic before you discovered your talent.”
“Ah. That makes sense, I guess. If you needed to learn magic first, how did you know it was part of your talent?”
“I didn’t, but I’d tried everything else, and we didn’t have a magic kindergarten in our town. I was positive my talent had something to do with magic; Mom and Dad agreed. So yes, they shipped me off to a big magic school when I was very young.”
“It sounds exciting.”
Memories of lonely nights in the dorm room threaten to make me shoot down her observation, but I nod instead.
“It was, I suppose. But there was a problem. See, Dad’s salary was hardly anything, and Mom’s was just enough to keep the two of them afloat at home. The problem was that the money he sent me for tuition every month wasn’t enough. I didn’t think I could just tell him that I needed more bits. It's not like saying that would have made more bits magically appear.”
“So what happened?”
I toss my head as if to scoff at her question. “Simple enough. I lied to them in my letters. I can tell a pretty good story myself, you know. And it wasn’t like it was all hopeless. I worked out a payment plan with the administration so I could stretch out the coin I started with. The food in the cafeteria was free, at least.”
“But the bits couldn’t have lasted long.”
“They got me through a month or two, I don’t remember exactly how long. None of the odd jobs I was taking around the campus were making enough. Then I got a flash of inspiration. I’d always liked to daydream I was a great performer, like Coppermane the Magnificent or Flashbang the Vanishing Mare. I was good at pretending I was like them, too. All I needed to do was turn my escapism into something productive. So late one night, I slipped through the dorm window. I left with a few bouquets of flowers, a cape made from a bedsheet, and some rope. I ended the night with enough coins to make the payment, and my cutie mark.”
I smile, remembering it well; how I’d seen it for the first time upon waking up the next morning, the squeals of delight and the congratulations from all the girls in the dorm, and knowing where I belonged at last. It’s been too long since I thought of that wonderful day.
“So that’s how you became The Great And Powerful Trixie, huh?" says Barrel, jerking me out of my memories. "It sounds like the whole thing was really hard for you. I mean, not knowing if your plan would work, having to make up an act on the fly, all that stuff.”
“You kidding? I lived for it! I didn’t know the first thing about what I was doing, but I was having fun. I don’t think a stage can replicate the feeling of turn- er, doing tricks on the sidewalk.” She giggles, hopefully not at the mental image I’ve planted in my own brain.
“What did you do after you figured out what your talent was? That was the whole reason you wanted to go to school, right?”
I shake my head. “There’s more to it than that. I knew I had to master a lot of spells to be the showpony I wanted to be. While it was true enough that my professors weren’t teaching me how to conjure up stormclouds or make smokescreens in the classroom, they were more than happy to help me, once I’d asked nicely. ”
“Wait, you were getting private lessons on top of everything else? So that's private lessons, street shows at night, keeping up with your parents, and you were doing all this as a little kid?” She looks at me with new respect and admiration.
I, however, feel differently about the accomplishment. My face darkens. “What do you want me to say? That I 'made it look easy?' I nearly burned myself out in the first semester. I thought the stress would kill me!”
“But why would you do that to yourself? Since you’d found your talent, couldn’t you have learned the magic for it outside of school?”
“Have you ever wanted to impress your family, Barrel? To make them proud?” Understanding dawns on her face. For a moment, she's lost in times long past gone. Her eyes even mist up a little.
Aww, how sweet.
“Anyways, I tried to keep changing my shows’ locations so I’d get new audiences and nopony at the college would catch on. Another student figured me out after a while; I’m sure you know how it is with fillies and secrets. In a week all the girls in the dorm knew. Then my teachers and the dean all found out, too. What they didn’t know was why I was doing it. I’d managed to keep that to myself.”
“Is this the part where it gets bad?”
“The dean wrote a letter to my parents... is what you were expecting me to say? No, not yet, actually. My teachers were impressed with my tricks. They encouraged me to keep honing my talent, that it would be fine as long as I kept up on my coursework. They acted like teachers should, and I’m grateful to them for that. Though I guess if I’d told them why I started performing in the first place, it might have saved me a lot of grief later.”
“But why didn’t you tell them?”
I hum and think it over for a moment. It’s a pretty good question, one that I have no “right” answer to.
“I guess I was overconfident. I didn’t think there was a good reason to tell them. I’d gotten good enough to make in one night what used to take four nights. I could take my time on my homework, so my grades improved. And with free time, I could plan my acts out well in advance. They started getting bigger.”
“How big?”
Too big.
“I didn’t think they were that big, honestly. How could anypony blame me for wanting to put on better shows? It’s not like anypony complained after the first one, not even after the second one. So when the police were called halfway through my third big show, well...”
“Ouch.”
“The dean really let me have it. How I’d gained an unwarranted sense of self-importance, how my 'boasting' reflected so poorly on her school, and how my use of magic in pursuit of coin was shameful. Then Mom and Dad walked in. Oh, they were plenty happy that I’d discovered my talent, but that didn't last long. They only knew what they’d been told, so they also thought I was misusing my magic for the fun of it.”
“Wow. Caught between a rock and a hard place, huh?”
"If you must use that dreadful cliché, yes. Were it up to the administration, I would have stayed, but been barred from putting on more shows. There wasn’t any way out of it, so I resigned. Dropped out.”
“You didn’t tell your parents the truth?”
“What point would there have been in telling them? They couldn’t afford my tuition either way, and I didn’t want to put them on the spot. So I didn't tell them."
...I didn't tell them. Why didn't I tell them? Pride? Stupidity? I mean, if it were me now, sure. I'd tell them in a heartbeat. Anything would have been better than...
"Dad thought I was being lazy. Mom thought I was being defiant. My teachers were just disappointed and confused. They still don’t know the real story." I sit, looking straight ahead. I blink hard. "I keep telling myself I was never “kicked out” of school, since it was my own decision, but I... I don’t know anymore. If I’d just told them, I... It's all my fault. There’s no way around it.”
The room is silent for nearly a minute.
“So,” Barrel says, quietly. “Even though you never told them, you still told me.”
“Yes, I have. I don’t know what good it’s done, b-but thanks for list... for...”
I sniff back tears, resisting the urge to jump up and run out of the room. I turn to the wall, trying to hide my face from Barrel.
I’m not crying. Not really. It’s just some dust in my eye, that’s all. Don't look at me. Don't look at me!
As I furiously try to wipe my eyes dry, Barrel pulls me into a hug. At first I resist, but then I give in and halfheartedly hug her back. I try and fight back the tears, angry at myself for being so weak. Why am I losing it over something so pointless?
My anger dissipates as Barrel trembles, sniffling. I feel tears drip onto my shoulder.
Oh, please don’t start doing that... why do you have to go and do that? Don’t you know it just makes me feel worse when I make you cry? Like I’ve tricked you into pitying me. I don’t want to be pitied by you! This is my problem, and I... I... I don’t care anymore.
Just hug me tighter.
“Trixie?”
I try to pull myself together and answer her, but all I do is make a weird noise in my throat.
She breaks the hug so she can look at me. “Trixie, why do you make yourself carry all your problems alone? You don’t have to be alone anymore. You have friends now.”
“Friend or not, I don’t want to drag you into my problems more than I already have. I don’t like causing drama offstage. Let's talk about something else.”
My string of lame excuses doesn’t sway her look of motherly concern one bit.
“Fair enough. What else is there to talk about? I don't– oh! Since your caravan showed up, what’s that mean for you? Are you leaving as soon as the rain stops tomorrow?”
I falter for an instant. “Uh, no. I need to wait at least, um, two days for the roads to dry out. And I need to plan out a route to take. So no, Barrel, I’m not leaving right away.”
“You’ve been around here so long that you kinda feel like family.” She rubs her eyes, getting the last of the tears out. “Least I’ll get to say goodbye, right?”
I pet her on the head, since I know she likes that. “Of course you will. I promise.”
After that, our conversation turns much more subdued. Neither one of us wants to bring up any subjects that might be offensive. The rain has made the city cold, but I feel warm inside, tonight. I know exactly why, and she has my thanks for that.
Much later, after I lie down and she thinks I’m asleep, I hear her get up. At first I think she’s just going to leave, but then I feel her lightly kiss my forehead and then start tucking me in. I manage to hide my surprise. After I watch her turn and shut the door behind her, I roll over and tightly pull the covers around me.
That’s the sweetest thing anypony’s ever done for me. But... wait. Does she do that every night? She comes and checks up on me, keeps me company until I fall asleep and then tucks me in like a foal?
I fight back tears yet again, suddenly feeling very small.
The sound of rain drumming on the roof is gone, replaced by a silent grey morning. Predictably, I can’t muster up the willpower to get out of bed. Instead I draw the curtains and sulk for a few minutes. Those minutes turn into two hours. Stock eventually brings me a late meal while I pretend to snore. I pick at my toast and eggs and try not to think about last night.
Instead, I think about Stock.
He knew what was going on from the very beginning. Has Barrel talked it over with him yet? Has he given her emotional support? The poor dear needs it, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that I’m not good at giving that kind of advice.
It’s almost like whenever I’m sincere with her, I make her cry. That’s not fair, especially not when she’s doing so much to make me feel better.
...Make me feel better? Because I’ve needed comforting, haven’t I? Poor little Trixie can’t sleep well anymore without companionship? It wasn't that way before, so why now? I’m not a weak pony. I’d never apologize for doing something I believed in. So if I believe that I need her for comfort, why can’t I accept it without feeling guilty?
Ah, right. Because you’re not supposed to put burdens like that on your friends. I don’t think so, anyway.
Hmph. What with all this weakness Barrel’s seen from me, she probably thinks I’m some fragile flower. Getting weepy over family, always worrying about where I’m going to go from here. The Great and Powerful Trixie doesn’t need a home to go to, and she doesn’t need to stay here! I only need myself to be happy.
Fortified by these thoughts, I bring out the parchment and try to brainstorm some new acts, like I promised myself I would.
I give up after a few hours. I don’t have any focus today – the sun is out now, ponies are filling the streets, the city is awake again, and I want to be outside with them! It’s not fair!
I keep reminding myself I absolutely must wait for the roads to dry. They probably have rules about carriages on the paths; they don’t want them ruined. I have to stay, at least one more day. Then I’ll go. No harm in waiting.
I turn down Barrel’s offer to talk that evening. I don’t know why I did it – after a day like that, some idle conversation would have done me good – but I guess it’s to prove a point to myself.
It doesn’t work. After a restless night, I find myself downstairs nursing my third cup of coffee. I yawn for what feels like the thousandth time, slumping forwards in my seat, my chin resting on the table.
So predictable. I talk with her, I sleep like a foal. I don’t talk to her, no sleep for me. Yay.
I curse the greedy little pony in my head for wanting what I won’t let it have. I can only imagine how hard it’ll be to get over it once I’m on the road again.
Feh. I shouldn’t need to get over anything at all. I’m like a broken record.
While I’m sitting there feeling sorry for myself, Stock comes round to fill my cup again. I bring it up, take a long swallow, then stop and look around. Something about the room is wrong today.
“Stock, where’s Barrel? Isn’t she up yet?”
“Don’t think so.” he sighs, pouring another cup of java for another customer. “She hasn’t been sleeping well, so I’m giving her an extra hour. You wouldn’t know anything about why she can’t sleep, would you?”
His tone is conversational, but I can tell it’s only that way because he’s being professional.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” I half-lie. “Do you want me to talk to her later?”
He nods and walks off to another set of tables. I sigh yet again, intent on studying my drink.
More complications? Really? It’s so irresponsible of her! Doesn’t she know her worrying isn’t helping anypony? It’s just going to make me worry about her!
Aaargh, why do I keep hurting her without meaning to? Why does she have to be so sensitive? So I told her a sad story. Fine. So I’m leaving soon. Also fine. So she loves me. Whatever. It’s not like any of this affects me. It’s not like I love her too. I mean, if I did, it would be harder to leave, but I’d still go. I’m not about to lose my freedom over one mare. And I’ll be leaving tonight anyways. Heck, the roads are probably dry already. I could leave right... right now. I could get up and go right now. It would be easy. Barrel’s a strong enough mare, when she wants to be. It wouldn’t hurt her much, would it?
And then my mind decides to buck me in the chest by conjuring up a mental image of her crying into her pillow. I give in.
Fine. I’ll talk to her. I owe it to her anyways. The only time you can avoid saying “goodbye” is if you never say “hello”, after all.
When she stumbles downstairs and takes her place behind the bar, I'm waiting for her. As we make small talk, her gloomy look gradually vanishes – but small talk is all we do. I don’t want to bring up the real issues here where everypony could hear.
I beckon her closer so I can whisper in her ear. “Hey, can your dad take over the bar for a while today? Like for a few hours?”
“I guess. Sure. What’s up?”
“I want to talk with you. Really talk with you. Can we take a walk?”
- - -
The streets are dry, and the stonework of the city is shining, washed clean by the rain. Like yesterday, it seems like everypony in the city is out enjoying the weather. I admit it; I’m happy to see Barrel finally come out of that inn. She really needs to get out more. Staying in one place like that has to get depressing eventually.
She’s steered us towards a park about a mile or so away from the inn. I agreed with the destination in earnest. Nopony will take notice of us in the crowds and who knows? I might have a chance to practice a few tricks while I’m there too.
At the moment though, I’m struggling with what to say. I’d like to tell her, “Just get over me and be done with it,” but that’s impossible. And it’s not like she could start travelling with me, or anything like that. No matter how I look at it, she’s let herself fall for the worst possible mare. So–
“What did you want to say to me?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, still trying to come up with a topic to latch onto. “I’ll think of something eventually. Let’s just walk for a bit.”
A few minutes of awkward silence pass. Barrel soon grows restless.
“Did I do something wrong again? You didn’t want to talk last night, and–”
“That had nothing to do with you. Why are you always blaming yourself first whenever I seem to have a problem?”
“Because I screwed up! Back a few days ago, when I told you I... it was a stupid thing to say when I said it. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that! Of course I’m to blame, of course it’s a big problem, and of course I'm gonna blame myself for being a big problem.”
Is that what’s been bothering her all this time? Seriously? I thought we’d already cleared this up.
“All you did was tell the truth, and then after you told the truth, you tried to avoid making me feel like you were pressuring me by saying it. I’ll keep saying it as much as I have to for it to sink into that thick earth pony skull of yours; all the time you’ve kept me company has been time well spent. How many times do I have to say you’ve done nothing wrong?”
“I-I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. I just don’t want to ruin everything by being, you know, that girl, the one that you remember because she was such a pain. You’re so brave, so open and honest about who you are. I could never be like you.”
“You shouldn’t want to be like me, Barrel. You should want to be yourself, always. When you act like yourself, you’re a wonderful pony, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Friends like you are hard to come by.” She smiles and blushes, like I knew she would.
“Thanks, I guess. Nice of you to say that, even though you’ve probably had loads of friends and girlfriends.”
Wait. What? She thinks I’ve had girlfriends before?
I burst into laughter. “Girlfriends? Friends? I haven’t met a single pony in years that I've wanted to be friends with! They were just fans. Onlookers. Pretty mares standing in the back row. None of them had any personality, charm, or depth.”
“You mean I’m different? But I’m such a boring pony!”
“And yet here you are, talking to The Great and Powerful Trixie. I know a good thing when I see it. It’s a rare thing to be recognized for being good, you know. Take Canterlot – they’re so full of themselves they don’t even know a good thing when it’s thrown right in their faces.”
Barrel snorts. “Did your shows there bomb?”
"Horribly. Doing a magic act in a city filled with unicorns wasn’t my most brilliant plan.”
We both laugh and press on. I honestly don’t think Barrel understands that it’s never been easy for me to make friends. It’s like the longer I know them, the greater the chance that they won’t want anything to do with me. It’s unfair. I’m not really as bad as my stage persona suggests. Granted, I’m not modest, but why would I be modest? I’m an amazing pony, or so I’ve been told, and I’m... getting off track.
Hmm. Weird. It used to be so easy to imagine us in closer circumstances. But now I don’t want to think of her like that. So does that mean that whatever I felt then is gone now, or is it that I don’t want to think of a friend like that? Or that thinking of her like that is an insult? She’s more than a pretty face, after all.
“You’ve got a lot on your mind, huh?”
“Hmm? What?”
“You’ve been staring off into space for five minutes.”
“Have I? I was just thinking... oh. We’re here already?”
Barrel nods. The green park stretches out before us, packed with pairs of ponies. I could spend ages using thousand bit words to describe the gardens, the carefully manicured paths, the pond in the center – where right now, a family of ducks is swimming across the glassy surface, while foals on the bank toss them breadcrumbs – but I would much rather look at her while she smiles.
“Here, come on. I know a good spot.”
She leads me over to a bench by a fountain. There is a popcorn salespony giving out free samples, a few young pegasi are having flying lessons over the lake, and couples are–
Wait. Couples?
It’s true. Barrel’s ‘good spot’ is practically overflowing with lovers of all ages. As I digest this new information, Barrel scoots over next to me, passing over a bag full of popcorn.
Then, as if she was waiting for this exact moment, she reaches up behind her neck. Quick as a wink, her braid is undone and her mane is hanging free. She gives her head a little shake and sighs in relief, her hair hanging in curls around her face. It's the first time I've seen it completely untied, and it's actually very... fluffy.
She’s not even trying to be subtle anymore, is she? Oh well. So what? Even if she’s doing this on purpose, what’s the harm? It’s not as if I don’t like spending time with her.
I still float out my popcorn instead of reaching in the bag with my hoof. I don’t want to give the wrong impression to the passersby. I can see it now: "Oh, no sir. No Ma'am. We're not dating. We just have a complicated friendship."
Right. So I got her out of the bar, and now I need to talk. How do I even broach the subject? “Barrel, your dad was talking to me earlier, and he’s really concerned about how you haven’t been sleeping well” ... no, too obvious. “Barrel, I was wondering what kind of dreams you’ve been having about me?” ...Heh. No. But it’d almost be worth her reaction to ask it.
“Hey Barrel, in your dreams am I a good pony, or a bad pony?” Or even better, “Hey Barrel, how good am I in your dreams? Oh, don’t stammer like that, it’s so unbecoming of you. The blush is cute, though. Have I mentioned how well you do that?”
Barrel is smiling and laughing at the antics of a few foals. I’m finding her smile infectious. She also does that very well.
And I love her laugh too. The way it sounds so sincere, and how her eyes light up. Am I like that when I laugh? Probably not. I’m so used to being bigger and better than everypony that I make everything about me bigger and better. I’ll bet my laugh is forced. My smiles, too.
I’d actually be fine with staying here all day and watching her smile. Just to sit here and watch the sunset with her. I’m sure we wouldn’t have to find excuses to be together. She’s been so good to me, she deserves something in return. And then after we watched the sun set, as we’re walking back to the inn, I’d stop her under a streetlamp. She’d look into my eyes, and then I’d lean in, and...
…
Wait, what the hay am I thinking!? I can’t let myself think like this! Get a hold of yourself, Trixie!
I give my head a strong shake and resist the urge to pound my skull with my hooves. I’ve been thinking about her without even realizing! Worse yet, I’ve been enjoying it!
I’ve settled for rubbing my forehead instead of beating against it. Barrel scoots closer to see what the matter is, but I wave her away and tell her it's nothing.
It most certainly is not nothing. At least she cares. And it's cute how she always wants to make me feel better. I’ve always wanted a nurse with a nice smile and a great fla– grrrrr... Stop it. Just, no. Why did this have to happen now? I was doing so well, too!
But not well enough. I tear my eyes off her to look at something else – anything else – but all I can see are the couples making out by the pond. Everypony is prancing around with childish glee, all as if to torment me further.
“Ergh. Barrel, be honest. Did you plan this?”
“Plan what?” she asks, wiping some popcorn butter off her mouth.
“Please, don’t play innocent with me. It’s obvious what you’re doing. Best seat in the park is next to lovers lane, huh? I knew you were bold, but outside of the inn? In public? I wasn't expecting that from you.”
To my surprise, however, she does not blush, nor look away.
“It’s not like that. The park is always like this, everywhere. It’s just that mom used to take me here when I was a foal, and I thought you’d like it.”
My voice softens as some of the fight goes out of me. “Really? You haven’t ever mentioned your mother before.”
Then again, I haven’t asked. Maybe I should have.
“She was the best, “ Barrel sighs wistfully, recalling some far-off memory. “I used to have nightmares all the time when I was little. She’d always come into my room and make everything better. I wish you could have met her. I think she’d have liked you.”
I pause, then give in. “Tell me more about her.”
I know it’s off track, but I think she wants me to ask. Why bring her up otherwise?
“Not much to tell, really. I remember her smile and the times at night, because there were so many of them. I remember how mom would take me under her wing when things got bad, and how soft and warm it was, and..."
She sighs wistfully, and I know exactly how she feels. It is wondrous soft under a pegasi's wings, and few places make you feel safer. Still, talking about all this can't be easy for her. I give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry she's not around anymore. She sounds like a wonderful pony."
"Yeah, she was. She always made me happy. She helped me get my cutie mark, too."
I glance down at the two clinking mugs on her flank, and curiosity wins out again. After I ask her to tell me that story, she nods and takes a moment to think.
“When your family runs a business, you want to help them any way you can. The first year I started, I was too young to be behind the bar with dad, so I stayed in back and helped mom with the brewing. I was decent at it, I guess. Not as good as she was. I wasn’t terrible at it – I was following her recipes, after all – but there was something missing. Not so much a taste, but a feeling you got from it.”
“A ‘feeling’? What kind of feeling? You mean from tasting the drink?”
“Yes, but no, not exactly. It’s weird, I can’t really put it into words. It’s the feeling you get when somepony else really likes something you’ve created.”
“I think I know what that feels like.”
“Yeah? I wasn’t feeling it. All I could see were flaws and I was too frustrated to have any fun. So you know what mom said?" I shake my head. "She said just because my batches tasted different from hers, that didn't make them bad. She told me to start brewing the way I wanted, not worry about different tastes or whatever, and you know what? It got fun again. I liked brewing, but what I really liked best was seeing mom smile when I’d done a good job. Still didn't get me my mark, though."
"If it didn’t get you your mark, why are you going into so much detail about root beer?"
“Because I was frustrated I didn't have anything to show for it."
Ah. I think I know how that feels, too.
"So anyways, one night this old stallion staggers in. He looks broken, tired, more depressed than anypony I've ever seen. He slides up to the bar and Daddy starts to play therapist, but Grey Mane ain't listening. He tells dad to hush up and bring a bottle of Spiked Horseshoe. Since he's sober and Daddy has to serve him, he looks at me and tells me to fetch it from the back.”
“And let me guess – you didn’t bring him the hard stuff. You brought him some of your own root beer, didn’t you?”
She laughs. “I guess it’s a pretty predictable story. I was taking a risk by doing it, sure, but I was optimistic. Bit vain too, I guess. I figured if my drink could make Mom and Dad smile, it could cheer him up too. When I pushed out the mug, he didn’t even glance in my direction. He tossed it back without even smelling it." Barrel giggles. "Oh, mare, if you could see the look on his face! He asks for more, and I give him another. And another.”
“And he was still smiling when he left, right? You must have been proud of yourself.”
“Sure I was. He was like a changed pony when he left, and all because of me. I figured if I could make ponies happy by serving them drinks and talking to them, then that’s what I wanted to do. And just like that, this popped up on my flank," she says, patting her whither. "And that's it. I know it’s not very interesting, no late night adventure like you, no winning a contest or big game, and no sudden epiphany. It just sorta happened.”
It almost sounds like it was underwhelming for her. But I couldn’t possibly–
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”
“Oh, sure. I feel the same way about mine.” I smile and nod, but inside I’m screaming in frustration.
How can I possibly bring up the sore subject of leaving after hearing a heartfelt story like that!? Maybe she’s smarter than I gave her credit for. I can’t keep underestimating the audience! I’ll have to be more careful next time. I’ll wait for a bit, and then I’ll– erk.
I’ve suddenly become most aware that Barrel has chosen this moment to scoot up close and nuzzle me under my chin. I can almost hear her purring like a kitten. Then she pulls back and gives me a hug.
“You’re such a good friend, Trixie. Thanks for listening to me. It means a lot.”
I struggle to regain the power of speech. Forget what she said earlier; she's definitely getting bolder.
“I... uh, you’re welcome. It’s no trouble at all.”
“It isn’t? Is it okay if I tell you something else, then?”
As we sit on the bench and she snuggles up closer, it suddenly dawns on me that this might be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The way she’s smiling, so clearly in bliss, the way she’s not afraid of being seen with me like this; it all says that she’s probably going to tell me something important and personal. I have a feeling I know what it is.
“Yeah. You can tell me whatever you want.”
Go on. Say that you want me to stay at the inn because you like me, or whatever. Be selfish. Even though you know what I’ll say, you’ll tell me anyway because I know how you think. I’ll be well within my rights to turn you down gently.
“You’ve done a lot to help me these last few days. It’s like I’ve gotten to know the real you. It's really weird... I don’t know if I lik– I mean, no! I don't mean it's weird! I mean the kind of pony you actually are and the pony I thought you were are like two different ponies, and I wasn’t sure if I liked the real you. Actually, I think I like you even more now that I know. The real you is such a strong pony, I can’t help but like you.”
The real me? Ridiculous. I’m still the same pony I always was.
“Would you mind explaining that? About the ‘real’ me?”
She nods. “The real Trixie has been through a lot more than I thought. The Trixie everypony sees is bright, cheerful, loud, loves parties and fireworks and knows all kinds of neat magic, but the Trixie I’ve seen is so lonely it makes me hurt inside to see you. But you don't cry about being lonely. You keep on going, no matter what. I liked that about you."
Hmm. So, I’ve been too obvious again. I need to stop that.
Barrel leans into me again. "Remember before, when I said you were like a big sister? It was ‘cause like a big sister, you always knew the right thing to do. You knew because the world made you strong. ‘Course, that strength made me start crushing on you, so...” she trails off, too embarrassed to continue.
I tousle her mane and give her a smile. “It’s not your fault. You aren’t the first.”
“I can believe it” She laughs. “You’ve learned so much out there, but it seems like it’d be really hard on you. Just going from place to place, doing a few shows, carrying on. I’ve seen how happy you are when you’re here with us. Being around you makes me feel happy too. Sometimes when we talk, you even smile.”
Really? Do I?
Barrel starts fidgeting again, looking down at her hooves. “A-anyway, you know how I f-feel. I want to help you, and I was wondering something. This is gonna sound really stupid, but, um, I was thinking, d-do you think you could let... um...” She bites her lip, shaking. She tries again a few more times but can only stammer.
I come to the rescue. “Barrel, you know that I can’t stay here with you and Stock and the others. You know I'll miss everypony, don't you? If it helps, I’ll be sure to write you, and to visit whenever I come to Trottingham. Knowing there’s a good friend out there I can talk to is all I’ll need to stop the loneliness from getting to me. Okay?”
Barrel stops fidgeting. She looks disappointed – almost angry at herself – but the look soon fades. “Okay, Trixie. If that’ll help you, that’s what I’ll do. But for now, do you mind if we stay like this for a while?”
“Nah, I don't mind. Sure we can. I think I’d like that.”
She rests her head on my shoulder and we sit silently together, oblivious to the families trotting by. We end up watching the sunset together after all. By the time I finally walk her back to the inn, the moon is high in the sky. She gives me a quick hug before she goes, while I smile, returning the hug as best I can manage. For once, it’s a real smile.
It’s only after I’m in my room with the door shut that I start actually thinking about what’s just happened.
What I’ve allowed to happen. My smile fades away as I start pacing the room.
It was a nice night. A nice day, too, and I didn’t have to raise a hoof to enjoy it. Maybe that’s why I let myself get distracted so easily. None of that talking solved the problem. She didn’t get closure. She’s still going to obsess over me, she’s still going to worry. If anything, she’ll be even more obsessed after today! And knowing she can’t help me is going to end up making her feel even worse!
Not to mention that even though we kind of talked about me leaving, I should have been able to bring up the subject myself, so why didn’t I? It was such a simple task, but it was so easy to forget about everything just so I could spend time with her. I can’t do that anymore. If I keep spending time with her, it’ll be harder to leave.
What kind of an image have I been projecting, anyway? We’ve spent so many nights talking, and then that? Sitting together on a bench – all day, no less – in what had to be the most cliched semi-romantic destination in the city?
Not to say she forced me into it. I mean, I went along with it all. I didn’t complain. I wanted to spend time with her. Not that that’s a bad thing, or that it implies anything. I’m not interested in her. Not really. I... I can’t stop thinking about her. Why can’t I stop thinking about her?
C’mon Trixie, deep breaths. This is just a passing thing, you’ll get over her. She’s not that special. You just want the company, you just want somepony to stick with you no matter what. You just want a friend who listens, who understands. A friend who would do anything for you, who wouldn’t judge you. And that’s what Barrel’s done – that’s what friends do. Right?
“It’s only natural to want to be around your friends,” I say out loud to the mirror hanging on the wall. “I mean, I could have left tonight, and it wouldn't have wrecked our friendship. Nothing that a letter or three couldn't have fixed. It wasn't a big deal. I'm only staying because it's the right thing to do right now.”
“And besides,” I say, climbing into bed, “I can’t leave yet. I’ve still got things to do here. Barrel can’t just get promises of letters and be perfectly fine. I need to be sure I’m not leaving her with nightmares about me. Nopony should have to lose sleep because of me. And besides that, of course, there’s the show I still have to give them. I’ll have to work on both of those things tomorrow. So no, there’s no reason to worry about staying here tonight. You have nothing to feel guilty about, Trixie. Of course you’ll sleep well tonight.”
- - -
Barrel stares blankly at me from behind the counter. Her eyes are bloodshot. It’s clearly been another restless night for her. The motion of her hoof as she wipes the counter down is mechanical – a purely reflex action. She’s running on autopilot, and I know exactly how she’s feeling.
“Have you slept at all?” she asks while refilling my coffee cup. I yawn and take a few swallows.
“Not much. Did you?”
“No. Not that much. We must look pretty pathetic, huh?”
I nod, sorely tempted to laugh at the irony. She worries about me? I sleep well. I worry about her? I don’t sleep well. We worry about each other, or whatever happened last night, and... well, here we are.
I drain my cup and she pours me another.
What does this make, the fifth? Oh well. Down the hatch, coffee, you wonderful thing, you. Ahhhhh... life-giving water. Nectar of the gods.
Now that I’ve been tended to, Barrel disappears into the back room to resume cooking. Stock is out at the market, so she's got run of the place. The plan was that while she was fixing breakfast for her other lodgers, I could talk to her through the serving hatch. Honestly, I don’t know what good it’ll do to talk about something so important while I still feel like my brain’s taken a vacation.
Oh well. No better time to tell Barrel to stop worrying about me then after she’s spent the whole night worrying about me.
“So Barrel. Have you had many other nights like this? Where you just couldn’t sleep?”
“Not many. But some. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that after yesterday, I thought you’d be happy. Sleep like a foal, and all that nonsense.”
“If you must know, yes. I did for a while.” The uneasy look that crosses her face makes it clear that her 'while' wasn't for very long.
I lean forwards. “Am I overstepping my boundaries if I ask what changed?”
“I woke up. You know how when you wake up at four in the morning, sometimes you start thinking things, and then you can’t relax anymore? That’s kind of what happened.”
“Can’t say I know what that feels like, no. But I know what you were thinking about.”
“And how do you think you know what I’m thinking about?” she teases, running her eyes up and down my fine self.
“I’m a magician. I read your mind.”
“Oh, cut it out. What did you really want to talk about?”
“Umm. This is what I wanted to talk about. Letters or no letters, I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t even want you to keep thinking about me after I’ve gone. I’ll be worried enough as it is about y–”
Oh, hayseed.
“Oh ho?” she laughs, flashing me her best grin. “So you do care after all.”
“Not in that way! I meant in a friendly, nice, friend sort of way. As in, I don’t want you to worry about me, and that’s why I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you. Erm, n-not that thinking about you is a bad thing, mind. Friends always think about each other, and our circumstances are so unusual. You’ve worried about me so much, so why shouldn’t I worry about you? But I don’t want you to worry, because that’s not what friendship’s about. When I leave, you shouldn’t be thinking about me. I shouldn’t be worrying about you. That’s what I meant, honest!”
While I’m making a fool of myself, Barrel comes out from behind the dividing wall, a plate of food at the ready, and stands before me. After I’m done stammering, she cracks a smile.
“I was joking. As in, ‘she does have a heart in there after all’. Did you know that you ramble when you’re nervous, Trixie?”
“Sh-shut up. You stare at flanks.”
She goes rigid and the plates teeter, threatening to drop.
“What!?How do you... erm... It’s not... I don’t, not like I–”
There are guffaws from the far end of the bar. Barrel’s face blazes crimson as she glances over at the group of stallions winking at each other, before snapping her gaze back to mine. She's not smiling anymore. Somehow, professionalism wins over, and she manages to keep her cool in front of everypony watching our exchange, which amounts to everypony in the tavern.
“Trixie, are you feeling okay? You’re acting kind of, um, weird. It’s not like you to say something like that.”
“I know, right? I thought you might like a bit of candidness, for once.”
I drain my mug and hold it out for another, but Barrel shakes her head.
“You’re buzzed. You’ve had enough. Come talk to me when your head’s on straight.”
“My head’s just fine,” I huff, getting off my chair so I can walk alongside the bar, following her to the other end. “Barrel, look at me when I’m talking. I’m serious.”
“Here you go, sir. Leafy greens, hay with sea salt, and a side of wheatgrass,” she says to one of the stallions, doing her best to ignore me.
I don’t like being ignored. I’m tempted to reach out with my magic, grab her by the ear, march her through the doors behind the counter into the backroom, and make her listen to me. But I repress the urge.
What’s the point? What could I even say? ...Ugh. Forget this, Trixie, it isn’t getting you anywhere. I just need to finish getting ready to go. No more distractions.
I snort, turn, and climb the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me. The map of the surrounding towns and counties is still on my desk, blank. I sit down, dip the quill in ink, and begin scratching. I’m not thinking while I’m doing it. I don’t want to think about anything. True, I could blame the coffee for making me snappish, or the lack of sleep. But there’s no fooling myself. I know who’s really making me upset.
And that just makes it worse. Hours pass before I hear the inevitable knock on the door.
“Come in.”
I hear the door swing open behind me, followed by hoof falls. I don’t even need to look to imagine her expression – concern, worry, regret at letting me walk off. I ignore it, maintaining what I hope is a tense silence. I’m not in a very talkative mood right now. I hear her fidgeting behind me, obviously unsure of what to say or do. Eventually, she clears her throat.
“So, uh... That day in the park, yesterday? That was a really good day, wasn’t it?”
Here we go.
“I just wanted to say thanks again for wanting to hang out and spend time with me like that. I never get to spend time with anypony these days. Sure, Dad’s turned running the inn into an art, but it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t help. So I don’t get much time off, and that time off yesterday was probably the best I ever had, so thanks again. Um, anyways, I didn’t mean to be short with you earlier. We were both tired – heck, we’re still pretty tired – and I wanted to clear the air. ‘Cause I don’t like it when you’re upset."
I grunt. Somewhere downstairs, a group of stallions break out into laughter.
“So... anyways, what are you working on?” Barrel leans over my shoulder to look, and... "Oh... Trixie, is that what I think it is?”
I don’t answer, just keep sketching and writing notes in the margins. She knows exactly what it is.
"Heh. A map. Of course. I knew it was... well, I thought it was coming. I hoped I'd be wrong though. I hoped you’d...”
She doesn't finish. Curious, I set down the quill. “...Go on. What were you going to say? What were you hoping I’d do? That I’d stay here?"
I hear her violently shake her head. “I was hoping you’d finally see that you don’t have to do this! It’s not an obligation for you to travel. Do you really think this is the right thing to do? To leave because you think you have to leave?”
I move my pen to the dot labeled Manehatten. Next to it I write, Lodgings cheap, but dirty. Venues numerous, but never full. No Caravan parking in city limits.
I put the pen down and bring my hooves together under my chin. I refuse to look in her direction. "Hmph. Of course I don't think I have to leave. I want to leave. I prefer being independent.”
Barrel moves to put a hoof out on my shoulder. “Trixie, please, it doesn’t have to be like that! I’m sure we can think of a better way–”
I pound the table, making her jump. “What, where I wouldn’t have to be out of reach, but not stay at the inn? Are you saying I should do birthday parties? Or that I should work at a theater, like some kind of sideshow?”
“N-no, that’s not–”
“I’m the only one who gets to decide how to chase my dream! In fact, getting lectured by you about my dreams is insulting! You sit at the bar all day, imagining how things could be better but never doing anything about it! You're wrapped up in fantasies!"
“Wh-what’s so bad about fantasies?” I hear her sniffle as she backs up, cracking under the pressure. “My fantasies and dreams keep me going. If I don’t have my dreams, what do I have left?”
“You have nothing with them! The one time you showed a bit of courage and said something important... that one time, you said it would never work out between us. If our roles were reversed, I’d have made you my pony! Did you? No. You're a coward. If you weren’t strong enough to follow your dreams, then what was the point of having them in the first place? I’ll tell you – there wasn’t any point at all! Dreams are for the weak who can’t do anything for themselves!”
“Where did yours get you!? When we met, you were starving, penniless, unhappy, and mad at the world! You had nothing! You were... you were...”
Did she just... no. She did not just go there.
I spring from the chair just in time to see her gasp and clamp a hoof over her mouth.
“H-How dare you! Are you calling me a failure? I'm... I'm proud to be a great magician! I’ve done amazing tricks for thousands of ponies all across Equestria! Whole families flock to my stage to see me perform for them! My travels made me famous, because I didn't stay at home like the other cowards – I went out and did! I'm better than the rest of them! I’m...”
...Am I really?
My moment of hesitation is all Barrel needs. She takes a step forward. “I’m not calling you a failure! You wouldn’t have found what makes you special without following your dream, but your dream doesn’t have to make you unhappy!”
No, no, no, no, no! This isn't happening! It's not! It's not! “My dreams were never supposed to end in a stupid little inn in Trottingham!”
Barrel blinks. “Huh?”
“Get out of my room!”
She moves closer, raising a hoof to hug me, but before she has the chance I’ve lifted her off the floor with magic and half flung her out the door. I slam it behind her. I’m breathing hard, tears are streaming down my face, it hurts to breathe, and my chest aches.
W-why did Barrel have to go and say those things!? She had no right! Sh-she didn’t know what she was saying. She knows I have to be free, but she was being stupid. I was justified. She should have known better.
As I stand in front of the door and try in vain to wipe my eyes dry, however, I suddenly get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm lying to myself again. More excuses. Another step down the same path that led me to Ponyville.
She wanted to help, and I threw her out. Literally.
I sink to the floor. It's like my brain's stuck on 'repeat', and all it wants to do is remind me how much of a bitch I am. It's far, far too late to go after Barrel and apologize. She's probably crying in her room right now. Why would she forgive me for saying all those horrible things? If I knocked on her door, would she let me in? I know I wouldn't.
What’s wrong with me? Using her love as a weapon? That’s the lowest blow you've ever struck, Trixie, and you fight dirty all the time. Who would treat their friend this way? Barrel's been nothing but good to you – she didn't deserve this!
She deserves a better friend than me. She should have fallen for a nice, shy filly with a heart of gold. Somepony to look after her, who’d never yell at her, who’d always make things right for her...
- - -
I don’t remember falling asleep. When I wake up, it’s the middle of the night. I’m starving, but I can’t think about food right now. I don’t want to think about anything, but I start to anyway. My head is the clearest it’s been in hours, perhaps days; they’ve all blurred together over the course of this week.
As much as I hate to admit it, Barrel might have had a point about me. She’s right that being out on the road isn’t easy. I always had to keep worrying where my next meal was coming from. It was never a reliable way to make a living. But then again, it was the promise of adventure that made me go on the road, not the promise of fortune. I wanted fame and recognition too, sure, but fame’s been a fickle mistress.
Just because everypony in every town I’ve visited knows my name, that doesn’t mean it’s always known in a good way. I can’t assume that Ponyville was a fluke.
Then again, it’s all for the good of the audience. The whole point of my show is cool magic, after all, and that’s what I was doing – cool magic. So what was it about my act that offended them so much? Was it my persona, my stage presence, or the act itself?
Maybe Barrel was right. What has travelling really accomplished? I’ve actually done very well performing in this same city – in the same inn, no less – for three straight months! I didn't need a stage. I didn’t even need fireworks! I haven't even needed to weave any ridiculous tall tales. Everypony here accepted me for who I am.
Barrel accepted me for who I was. And I threw it back in her face when all she was doing was trying to help me. I really am a terrible friend. I was fine with having fun teasing her, until she told me she loved me. Until there were consequences. Is this what Stock meant? A mare like me, breaking her heart?
She cares more about me than anypony should care about me. She even said I was like family! Nopony’s ever said that to me before! Oh, why did I have to shout at her? It was such a stupid thing to say! Why did I say it? Am I that mean all the time?
The curtains are flapping in the breeze; when I’d fallen asleep, I’d left the window open. I rest my chin on the windowsill, gazing wearily out at the silent city. I know I can’t face Barrel like this, not after everything that’s happened – I’d just make a fool of myself. I can’t stay locked up in my room forever, though. I feel trapped.
I look up through the window again, and the answer suddenly comes to me.
- - -
Ten minutes later, I’ve slipped out the window and retrieved my caravan from behind the inn. I’m already well on my way, too. I’ve long since left the shadows of the buildings; they’ve been replaced by the shadows of trees along the dirt path. A light breeze rustles the leaves overhead, and the moon shines brightly near the horizon. It’s a cool autumn night, kind of like how last night was, too.
Arrive at another town by morning, send a letter by the early post explaining I need a few days alone to think, and then I’ll be back at the Tin Whistle again. It’s the perfect plan.
I gulp, and keep on walking. The fact that I have to keep trying to convince myself that this isn’t actually a horrible idea isn’t making it any easier.
I’ll have to do damage control when I get back, of course. At the least, Barrel will be terribly upset, maybe even still mad at me. That’ll be the hardest thing to deal with. I don’t even want to think about it.
But of course, I do. Barrel would put on a brave face and optimistically push my door open in the morning, ready to kiss and make up. Then, with a gasp, her smile would vanish as she sees my window open, the curtains flapping in the breeze. For a moment, there is stunned silence. Then the tray clatters to the floor as tears well up and she crumples like a house of cards, bawling her eyes out.
I shake my head, trying to force out the image, but it persists. The thought of making her cry again makes me feel sick, but I know she’ll cry. And I’ll probably end up crying too.
I’m sure she’ll be mad at me as well as heartbroken, but this plan will work out fine. All I need is some time to get my head back on straight. She’ll understand, right? After all, everything changed in the space of just one week. Even more than all the bits, my best friend confessed she loved me. So of course I haven’t been thinking straight.
It’s the first time in forever I haven’t been alone. I always used to walk alone, and that was the point, I guess. To be as far away from my parents as possible. They would have constrained me and held me back. They didn’t understand me or who I was.
For a few moments, I accept my answer. As I think it over a little more, though, I frown. It’s getting obvious that my supposedly airtight logic is actually full of holes.
How can I really know that they’d hold me back? I jumped ship as soon as I was old enough. I’ve been living on the ragged edge for so long, I’d forgotten what a normal life felt like, until now. And I guess it’s been nice, to not have to worry about breaking a wheel, or it starting to rain, or where my next meal is coming from. It’s nice to have a strong roof over my head, and good company, and... and being appreciated for who I really am, and... having a friend to talk to.
Some friend I turned out to be. Will she forgive me for walking out on her? I guess I’d forgive her if she were in my position, and I knew what the problem was. She can’t travel with me, I couldn’t possibly take her away from the inn. Running it is her special talent. She belongs there, and I belong on the road.
I could blame my outburst on any number of things: being angry, being tired, being pushed to my limit while being angry and tired. That’s not entirely true, though. My lame excuses about the road being wet and the show for the regulars were just those things – excuses. Truth is, I wanted to stay longer. Have I really grown that weary of travelling?
Th-that’s enough. You can’t possibly want to stay at some hole-in-the-wall inn forever! It has nothing to offer you that some other place won’t also... oh, horseshit. Yes there is. There totally is. There always was.
I stop dead in my tracks and reality comes crashing down on top of me. It's painfully obvious what's wrong; it's been hanging over my head all week. It’s not the comforts of the Tin Whistle I don’t want to leave. I don’t fear leaving the safety of four walls, or a legion of loving fans, or even fear the idea of travelling alone. It’s really that I don’t want to leave her.
N-no, that’s... that’s impossible!
I clutch my head and groan. It feels like the world is spinning. It’s getting harder to breathe.
I unhitch myself and lean on a nearby fencepost while I try to get my bearings. As I rub my forehead and groan some more, I see the clouds in the distance have turned a rosy pink. Dawn is coming. There’s no way I’ll be able to make the next town in time to catch the morning post. My mental image of Barrel breaking down suddenly seems much more real. I check my face, surprised when my hoof comes back wet. How long have I been crying?
Wh-what is this? This isn’t right. Why am I getting all weepy? Over one p-pony?
I sniff, trying my hardest to choke back a sob. The more I try to hold back, the more I want to let it out. It’s a losing battle, I know it, and I hate myself for knowing it. At least nopony’s around to see me like this.
It’s n-not fair! It wasn’t supposed to end this way! You’re not weak, Trixie, you’re free, and independent, and... I think I care more about her than anypony else I’ve ever cared about before. Am I really considering settling down with her? But I’d hate being stuck there forever! I can’t stand being tied down to one place!
Sure, there’s an obvious solution. If she could come with me, that would solve everything, but I can’t possibly ask. She belongs at the inn. But I can’t leave the inn either, because I’d leave her! Maybe the nights would get easier eventually, but what’s the point of seeking my fame and fortune without somepony to share it with? Somepony who matters?
“Aaaargh!”
I kick the fence in frustration, but all I get out of it is a sore leg. Swearing under my breath, I limp back to the caravan, resisting the strong urge to pound my head against the side. As I stumble through the thick curtains to get inside, the world goes black. I can’t even see my hoof right in front of my face.
While I’m fumbling around in the darkness looking for my bed, my heart keeps pounding, my breathing getting more labored by the second. It feels like there’s a heavy weight on my chest, and to make matters even worse, I can’t stop crying, either.
Nnnghn... I’m j-just as big a crybaby as she is. Why didn’t I realize this would happen? N-nothing’s gone right. Nothing. I can’t leave, I can’t stay, I’ll break Barrel’s heart for nothing! She doesn’t even know where I am! I’ve played with her feelings for so long, she w-won’t even want anything t-to do with me, but it’s not my fault I couldn’t reach town in time! I’m n-not like that, and this... I’m... my...
The blackness inside of the caravan feels claustrophobic, like the walls are closing in. This thing feels more like a prison than a symbol of freedom! It’s everything I want, and everything I can’t have. It’s...
Something inside me snaps, and as if somepony’s flipped a switch in my head, my horn starts glowing.
- - - - -
After Trixie and I fought earlier today, I was worried she might try to leave without saying goodbye. I’d thought it’d be a great idea to hide in the caravan and wait for her to show up. I could finally get everything off my chest and really wish her well, but I won't cry, Trixie, because we’ll always have the door open for you, won’t we? Yes we will, and you’ll always be in my thoughts and I’ll never forget you, honest I won’t, and Oh Celestia, why does it have to be so hard to say goodbye?
I didn’t plan on falling asleep, but leave it to her to buy the comfiest mattress in all of Equestria.
I suppose part of me is aware that I’m asleep when I’m not supposed to be, because all my dreams are nightmares. I’m in a void, hearing Trixie cry out, but I can’t reach her. She’s too far away. I have as much chance of catching up to her as I have of conjuring up a bouquet of flowers from thin air.
All at once, the dream breaks. I shift under the covers, suddenly woken up by the sound of somepony entering the caravan, and I shake my head to clear away the cobwebs.
Bleeeh... How long was I asleep? Did Trixie move the caravan?
It’s black as pitch inside, but I know it’s her; I can hear her mumbling something to herself. Apparently I was right about her leaving tonight, but my carefully laid plans have gone up in flames. I hear birds chirping, and it smells like a field outside, not of the river that runs under Blackbriar Bridge near the Tin Whistle.
Shoot! I thought if she tried moving this thing, I’d wake up right away! Stupid, stupid, stupid lazy pony! Now she’ll find me, and it’ll look really bad, and I– wait. Is she crying?
She is. Not quiet, girlish sobs either, but full-on bawling, her chest heaving.
My heart sinks. I knew it would be bad, but I’ve clearly done more than just really screw up this time.
Before I can toss aside the covers and try my best to do damage control, Trixie’s horn suddenly lights up like a Hearth’s Warming Eve tree. My eyes don’t like the light, and I have to squeeze them shut for a moment.
When I reopen them, many objects are floating in midair, held aloft by Trixie’s magic – inkwells and flower vases, quills, paper, cookware and everything else. She screams her throat raw and she flings everything across the cabin. She almost brains me with a lantern. Glass shatters and wood splinters. The room is trashed in seconds.
Not done yet, she turns to the curtains. With a great yank and a ripping of fabric, they’re cast aside, letting the blue-grey dawn light spill in. The light outside is faint, but her horn is blazing like the sun. It’s a miracle she hasn’t seen me yet, my mouth hanging open like an idiot as I lie there frozen in place.
Still not done yet, she grasps the one breakable thing not yet broken – the mirror off the wall – and starts pounding it against the floor. There’s no rhythm or method, no grace. She screams in rage with every downswing, the brass bending and twisting with each strike.
After nearly a full minute, she sinks down, her magic spent. The light from her horn dims, and all that's left is a shadowy figure sprawled out on the floor, completely shattered. Her chest heaves as it’s wracked by great sobs again.
Oh, G-Goddess. I wasn’t supposed to see that. No way was I supposed to see that! W-What do I do? If she knew I saw, she’d be so embarrassed, she'd never live it down! But... Trixie sits there on the floor, alone. Helpless. Pride or no pride, she needs somepony right now. I'd need somepony right now. I have to help her. I've got to.
I finally dare to move an inch. Then two. Then I’m next to her. She’s so far gone, she doesn’t even notice me until I shakily lie down nearby and give her a hopeful nuzzle under the chin. She jerks back and sits there, blinking at me.
“B-Barrel? You... It’s... b-but why are you...?”
She doesn’t even have the energy to be angry with me. Just looking at her like this makes me want to cry too, but somehow I hold myself together this time. I lean over and try giving her another nuzzle. This time, she stays put.
“I’m here now. It’s okay, Trixie. Everything’s okay.”
Her lip quivers. Then the floodgates open and she throws herself on me and starts sobbing into my chest. I hold her and gently rub her back. Mum used to do it for me all the time, so maybe it’ll help.
It does. The sobbing lessens, and her hug around me tightens. She’s still too far gone to form a sentence, but at least she’s not as scared anymore.
Just like me, when Mum– no, stop that, you. Think about what Trixie needs. What can you say to make it better?
“Shh,” I whisper gently. “It’s okay, Trixie. It’ll all be fine.”
I hope it’ll be fine. My gosh, what in blazes happened to her? It must have been pretty awful if it turned a pony as wonderful and strong as Trixie into me.
After a few minutes, she swallows hard and tries to gain back control. It’s not going to work for long, so I jump at the chance to say something.
“Here, come on, up you go. I’ll help you back to the inn. Whatever happened, Dad and I can help you with it.”
She looks away and shakes her head. And remains glued to the floor.
Urgh. Way to go, Barrel. You’re so good at cheering ponies up, aren’t you?
“W-why?” she finally chokes out. “Why’m I so special? I’m just some a-arrogant, greedy, vain little–”
I raise her chin and look into her eyes, still overflowing with tears, and shake my head.
“You’re my friend.”
More heaving sobs. My chest is getting slick with her tears and snot, but I don’t care. I just keep petting her head softly.
Dawn light is starting to spill through where she tore down the curtains, and for the first time since she crumpled to the floor, I get a good look at her face. It’s all scrunched up with her efforts to hold it back. I give her a look that says, it’s okay, really it is, but she’s too proud to let it all out again. Instead, she sniffles. Then my view of her face is lost as she buries it in the crook of my neck.
“Trixie. I swear I won’t tell anypony what I saw, cross my heart. What happened? Tell me what happened, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“...You,” she whispers.
“What?”
She raises her head and whispers three words into my ear. Three words I've dreamed her saying for weeks.
“I love you.”
Of course, I'm sure I've misheard. I blink twice, my brain replaying the words over and over again. I still think I've misheard.
What’s she talking about? She can’t possibly mean that, can she?
Hot tears splash on my neck. She leans against me for support, nuzzling me under my chin. When she finally pulls away a minute later, I stare at her like a complete idiot, my mouth hanging wide open. Having said the unthinkable, Trixie tries in vain to wipe her eyes dry again. As for myself, I finally force my jaw shut and try to process what just happened.
“Trixie, you mean, you... really?”
She looks at me through bleary red eyes, and nods.
She loves me? She loves me?!
In spite of the circumstances, I can’t help but break out into a wide grin and hug her. I can hardly believe it’s real and not just another dream, but it isn’t, it’s real, she’s real, and... and those tears are real too. I haven’t fixed anything yet. Time to try.
“If that’s how it is, then don’t worry, Trixie. You know I’d follow you wherever you go, don’t you?”
“N-no,” she croaks. “I can’t d-do that to you! The inn‘s your special talent. It’d be like asking me to stay...”
The big, stupid grin on my face is stubbornly refusing to leave. I reach up to wipe away a few tears of happiness.
So that’s what’s wrong. It’s a misunderstanding! There’s nothing wrong after all!
Before Trixie knows what’s hit her, I kiss her. Hard. Even though I’m still terrible at it, I don’t care one bit, no, I don’t. And when I hear her start moaning along with me, I know she doesn’t care either. When we finally come up for air, I shake my head.
“No it’s not. My talent has nothing to do with the inn.”
Her eyes grow even wider. “What?”
“My talent is cheering other ponies up. Making ponies feel happy. My cutie mark? ‘Cheers.’ Funny joke, huh? Mum always got a kick out of it.”
Trixie mouths back the words, and I try not to laugh at her completely gobsmacked reaction. She doesn’t seem quite sure what to do – scream, laugh, or cry some more. Honestly, I don’t know what to do either. So I say the first thing that comes to mind.
"It's my fault. All of it. When we were in the park, I was trying to tell you I wanted to come, but then I lost my nerve, and I... I should have asked! If I'd asked to come, then you'd have told me no, because of my talent, and then I could have explained what it was, and then... Sniff... It could have been so much simpler for both of us... We could have been together by now if I'd only just..."
Oh, Goddess, what am I saying? I'm blowing it...
But apparently, I'm not the only pony upset with herself. Trixie smacks herself in the face with her hoof.
"So that's what you were trying to do... I should have guessed, both that, and your talent. Your story, your cutie mark, all of it. I’ve b-been so damned stupid! I’ve–”
“Stop that. If you’re gonna go and lay blame on anypony, lay it on me for not saying what I wanted to. I want to come with you. I don’t care where, as long as it’s with you.”
That's enough to get both of us crying again. I keep holding her and don't let go. It helps both of us.
“Please let me come with you," I choke. "I, um... I know I’m probably making it sound way easier than it really is, but I mean it. It’s just, um...”
“...Yes?”
‘Cmon Barrel, think. Are you doing the right thing? Pressing it like this when her guard is down and she’s not thinking clearly? It might make her happy, and it’s all true, but it would be like I’m taking adva–
“Barrel. P-please, what is it?”
“But... it’s just, I know how I feel but are you sure about me? It’d be so easy for you to find somepony better–” She clamps a hoof over my mouth.
“S-shut up, you stupid, silly pony. Of course you’re worth it. All this b-bullcrap about you being worthless is a lie, so stop telling it to yourself. You’ve got loads of friends.”
Oh Trixie, no...
I shake my head. “Nopony ever wanted to be my friend because of me being, um... me, before you, but you were different. You respected me, you put up with me, you’ve done so much to make me feel happy, and now I wanna make you happy! I don’t want to see you sad ever again!”
She thinks for a moment that lasts an eternity.
Then she nods. “Okay.”
I feel my heart jump. “Okay! We could leave whenever you want. I could be packed in ten– no, in five minutes. We could leave today!”
“Heh. Sweet of you to say that, but no. Give me time. After winter, okay? We’ll go after winter wrap-up. B-both of us. And to hell with anypony that doesn’t like it!”
“Done,” says I, and the pact between us is sealed.
While the morning sunlight washes over us, we sit together in silence for a while.
Then Trixie leans over and whispers in my ear. “So, you wanna make me happy?” I gulp. She smiles, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “If you want to make me happy right now, then close your eyes.”
I do as she says. Gently, she pushes me down onto the floor, belly up, then lays down on top of me. I can feel her heartbeat, the warmth from her coat, and that my own heart’s decided to start thumping too. She reaches up and strokes my mane, then slowly embraces me. Needless to say, my face grows very hot.
Trixie dissolves into a fit of shaky, but happy giggles. I open my eyes to see her smile for the first time today. It’s genuine, warm, loving. And, I realize, it’s all because of me.
I can help her smile more. I can make her happy. I swear I’ll make her happy! After all she’s been through, she needs a bit of happiness, and I’m happy to be her pony.
As her fit of laughter subsides, she leans in close.
Very close. I feel her breath on my cheeks.
“Have I ever told you that you're cute when you blush?”
“No, you... never.”
“Let me demonstrate...”
“...Nnhmm...”
- - - - -
Dear Mom and Dad,
The snow is piled high outside, but I think this letter should reach you before Hearth’s Warming Eve. It feels like years since I last wrote you two. Perhaps it really has been, and I’m truly sorry for that.
I wanted to let you know that I’m safe and happy, and I hope you two are as well. In fact, I’m better than I’ve been in ages. Something wonderful has happened to me. A special somepony. The last three weeks have been a blur, but I’ve made sure to keep it slow. She’s a shy, sensitive one, and I don’t want to ruin this.
I didn’t think it would hurt to tell you two about her in advance. I don’t want there to be any nasty surprises when we finally come to visit during my tour in the spring, because I think I’m going to have a lot of making up to do. I want us to feel like a family again.
Her name is Barrel, by the way. I think you’ll both like her.
