Happy endings cost a Bit.
Southern Equestria, Year 354 of The Sun Goddess’s Reign
The Grand and Prodigious Hexie looked out at the angry crowd of peasants, then down at the burning stake to which they’d strapped her.
She’d expected this outcome of course, but she didn’t expect to get here this fast.
The flames weren’t high enough, nor was the smoke thick enough for Hexie to have the cover needed to fiddle with her bonds and make her escape. While she waited, the traveling showmare mentally reviewed her performance today thus far.
She’d done what she always did: walked into a new village on aching hooves, ascertained where the path with the highest passerby traffic was, then took up a position facing the east so her prospective audience would hopefully be more inclined to look away from the setting sun and instead towards her.
What should have tipped Hexie off that her street magic wouldn’t be well-received was that this recently founded settlement, this “Neigh Orleans” as she’d heard it called, seemed populated exclusively by Earth Ponies. Such villages were, in her very thorough experience, pretty hostile to an unknown Unicorn drawing herself up and demanding attention.
But, compelled by exhaustion and sick to death of foraging for wild clover to eat, Hexie had decided to try to make a little money in this town before continuing on. Her cramped stomach had been crying out for real food for almost a week now, and Hexie was down to her last Bit. The very same Bit that got her strapped to this stake, actually.
Hexie shook her head, partially to clear her now sweaty bangs out of her face and partially to hide her morose smile. Being able to laugh at her own misfortune was a coping mechanism Hexie had honed over the years.
She remembered brandishing the Bit, the only thing she owned in the world aside from the two hoofmade smoke bombs in her ensemble’s pocket, and tapping the shoulder of a passing milkmare.
“Excuse me, miss,” Hexie had rasped with as much false cheerfulness as she could manage, “but what’s that glint that Hexie spies behind your ear?”
Waving her forelimb to give the false impression of conjuring a coin from the aether, Hexie flicked her fetlock and presented the Bit with a modest flourish. When the milkmare didn’t immediately respond, Hexie tried flashing her trademark smile, the one she often practiced in the reflection of puddles she passed to make sure it absolutely, positively didn’t show off her slightly crooked bottom teeth. Hexie was about to introduce herself as a mystic vagabond when the milkmare suddenly snapped out of it, dropping her bucket and gasping in horror.
“Southpaw!” she screeched, pointing to the dumbfounded Hexie’s left hoof still holding the coin. “Spawn of the Mare In The Moon! Poisoner of crops!”
Several blurry minutes later, the Grand and Prodigious Hexie was being burnt at the stake for supposedly being a harbinger of bad luck. Somewhere along the line, somepony had even confiscated her Bit, the loss of which hurt Hexie far worse than the flames presently underneath her.
Speaking of which, the hem of her cloak had caught fire at last, the cheap dye producing enough thick choking smoke for Hexie to start contorting her limbs and working to get them free of their bindings. Ignoring the cheers of the crowd at her imminent death by immolation, she got to work.
Hexie still couldn’t believe that it was her left-hoofedness that brought out the pitchforks. Not her black hat, not her self taught sleight of hoof trickery, nope. It was her left-hoofedness. As far as superstitions went, that was one of the newer and more backwards ones Hexie had heard. The end result was certainly the same though.
After some minimal struggle, the first of Hexie’s forelimbs came happily free. A little lightheaded from smoke inhalation at this point, Hexie urgently worked to get her non-dominant leg unshackled as well. Most escape artists had the privilege of being born double-jointed, but not Hexie. She was simply emaciated enough to slip through most bindings. Hey, whatever worked, right?
Coiling her hinds, Hexie threw all her meager spellcasting into a strength buff so her flying leap broke through the last of the twine and sent her soaring over the heads of the stunned mob. Despite herself, Hexie giggled a bit, imagining how striking she must’ve looked whirling through the air in a billowing black cloak and hat that were both still somewhat on fire.
Hexie landed roughly in the dust but sprang back up immediately, facing the still awestruck rabble. She knew she should just turn tail and run, but the Grand and Prodigious Hexie so very rarely got to end her shows with a bang. She felt that after the rotten day she’d had (and the several more she was no doubt about to have alone in the wilds between towns), she was entitled to one piece of fun. Call it repayment for her lost Bit.
“Citizens of Neigh Orleans!” Hexie shouted rapturously as she reared up. “I hope you spread the word far and wide...” she stealthily reached into her cloak pocket to grip one of her smokebombs, “... and tell of the fabulous feats of mysticism you witnessed performed today by the Grand and Prodigious Hex-“
The smokebomb went off while it was still in Hexie’s pocket, prematurely ignited by the stray flames still lapping at her cloak. The resulting explosion completely shredded the spindly showmare’s clothes, toppling both her and most of the mob members before coating everyone in a choking blast of glitter and chalkdust.
Reeling, Hexie attempted to stand again, but before she could, her second and only remaining smoke bomb detonated on the ground next to her head. For a split second, her world was earsplittingly loud and blazingly bright.
In the several minutes it took for Hexie to recover from being flash-banged, she lay helplessly where she fell, blinded by retinal splotches and deaf save for the ringing in her ears. Why wasn’t anypony hauling her back to the pyre? What was going on? All Hexie could do was stew in her own uncertainty as she waited for her senses to return.
And when they did, she was treated to the confusing scene of a well-dressed stallion standing over her and bellowing at the rapidly dispersing crowd.
“...dirt-chewing bloodthirsty oafs! Now scat, you hear me? Shoo! All of you get back to your duties or I swear you’ll all get nothing but burlap underwear for the next two months!” He looked barely older than Hexie, but he barked commands with authority far beyond his age.
“Are you the mayor?” Hexie croaked, curiosity outweighing her injuries.
The stallion flinched at hearing the burnt mare speak, but he recovered.
“Hmph. A ramshackle hamlet like this one isn’t good enough for a mayor,” he snorted. “But it does have a tailor who commands at least a little respect from the serfs.” The stallion bowed courteously. “Threadbare Lulamoon,” he introduced himself.
“The Grand-“ Hexie swallowed dryly. “I’m Hexie.” She had no family name.
“Well Hexie, I apologize for not stepping in sooner. Yelling in front of ladies is rude after all, so I was waiting for you to teleport away before I verbally let loose. For some reason though, you never did.”
Hexie hawked then spat a painful loogie full of glitter. “If Hexie was a good enough mage to teleport, Hexie would be attending school in Canterlot, not barely eking out a living doing party tricks for backwater Earth Ponies. Um, no offense to present company.”
“You travel, then?”
“Yes,” Hexie said, puffing out her patchy chest fluff. “With only...”
She was planning to say “with only the clothes on my back and props in my pockets,” but it suddenly registered to Hexie that the evening’s manic events had left her possessionless and naked as a foal. She had nothing left in the world.
Threadbare noticed the helpless unicorn’s trembling lip and cleared his throat loudly.
“I daresay you need a new outfit,” the tailor ventured. “Can’t trot from town to town without a proper hat and tunic to keep out the elements. Plus, that Cutie Mark of yours isn’t liable to win many friends if left uncovered.”
Hexie glanced at her flank. “Really? What’s wrong with an upside down star in a circle?”
Threadbare rolled his eyes. Hexie was clearly too innocent for this backwards age. “Tell you what, traveling showmare: you come back to my shop with me and I’ll sew you a proper magician’s ensemble. I’m thinking purple fabric with star and moon patterns. I’ll ask for no Bits in return. Just that you stay and chat awhile.”
“Stay and chat?” Hexie stood up, knees wobbling both from her injuries and from the handsome stallion’s generosity. “I don’t understand. Why would you be so charitable to a stranger like me?”
Threadbare did his best to look casual. “Well… intelligent company is hard to find in this part of Equestria, and I’m sure you have, uh, plenty of stories from your life on the... on the road…” he trailed off and finally shook his head. “Oh to Tartarus with it. I think you’re pretty, okay?”
Hexie blinked. Then grinned. It was a genuine grin, not the practiced teeth-hiding one. “Pretty? How sweet.” She sashayed her hips a bit, trying to broadcast some femininity through her matted fur and singed mane. “Good to know that a skinny little heretic can still turn heads.”
”A singular head,” Threadbare reminded her, openly embarrassed by Hexie’s saucy display. “Do not oversell yourself, showmare.”
“Ha! The Grand and Prodigious Hexie scoffs at your advice to downplay her natural charms!”
The two new companions filled the empty street with shared, comfortable laughter.
“Alright tiger,” Threadbare finally said. “Say and think what you like, but follow me. I left the cauldron on and barley soup doesn’t eat itself.”
Hexie eagerly trotted after the stallion, her mind reeling. After a lifetime of misfortune, all her good luck points seemed to have cashed in at once. New clothes, good food, probably a bed…
Possibly a lover…
Maybe settling down would be a good idea.
Hmm... ’Hexie Lulamoon.’ With a name like that, how could she not mother an entire family tree of master magicians?
Hexie reflected on her coin trick back in the town square. Perhaps it would be the best Bit she’d ever spent.