Prologue
Cadance

Cadance had always found the lilting jingle of her magical laptop’s boot-up sound enjoyable. The melody was a lovely little opening tune for her daily royal duties, which she loved to perform.

Unlike Celestia, who had to raise the sun... Luna, who had to raise the moon… and Twilight, who had to ensure that the magic of friendship was alive and flourishing, but Cadance’s domain was love.

Over the years, she’d grown more and more potent as she became familiar with her abilities. She could still fondly remember her early days as a novice when she could only create new relationships and love-lives for ponies within eyesight.

But it hadn’t been long before her confidence in her skill began to grow, and she found herself stretching out with her newfound abilities into the ether. It came like a sixth sense to her, sensing the potentials of love swirling around her, a vast and complex network of ponies’ affection for one another.

It wasn’t easy.

She’d once described it to her husband as trying to track bubbles in a raging white-water river: it was not dissimilar from the sea of quantum foam and probabilities that the Empire’s leading physicists were exploring. Every sapient creature in the world fizzed and tumbled in the rapids of circumstance, sometimes colliding and forming a new, greater whole. It had been intimidating at first, trying to navigate the chaos, to choose tiny bubbles from the cacophony and bestow upon them a gift of potent love-magic, ensuring that a new relationship would bloom.

Soon, she found herself mastering the demands of the swirl, able to twist and weave the red strings of fate connecting millions of ponies… but the responsibility that came with that power was crushing. It drove Cadence to isolate herself for increasing periods to gather the concentration needed to handle so significant a burden as managing the romantic interactions of an entire planet. It might have become a dangerous obsession, if not for her sister-in-law’s incredible invention.

Twilight’s magic laptop had applied boolean logic and brilliant programming to sort through the vast array of potentials, distilling Cadence’s task to a far simpler one: instead of surfing a thaumic dimension of bubbling possibility, she now had a convenient and straightforward desktop program that displayed all pending decisions that required her additional level of scrutiny, and a basic set of commands that would allow her to decide how to proceed.

In other words, Cadance had the world’s ultimate dating simulator app.

She pulled up the day’s pending decisions, scrolling through and quickly clicking the ‘approve’ / ‘green-light’ button on nearly all of the possible relationships. More love was always a good thing - and it was only those relationships that were illegal, unsavory, or could politically harm the kingdom that she would defer or delay.

Except for one pony. She frowned as her mouse scrolled over the name…

Trixie Lulamoon.

‘Her again.’ The permanently perky pink princess couldn’t prevent the grimace from crossing her face. It was the fourth time this year the magician’s name had popped up. It was like fate herself was angry at Cadance for constantly denying Trixie any romantic satisfaction. The laptop was creating chance after chance for Trixie to become entangled with another pony.

She clicked through the history of denied opportunities that she’d already canceled for the magician. Starlight Glimmer. Sunburst. Snips and Snails. Maud Pie. Twilight Sparkle (as if Cadance would ever let that ship sail).

Cadence growled and shook her head before checking the newest possible connection. Twilight and Ponyville may have forgiven the stage-magician for her misdeeds, but Cadance was not merciful. She made no qualms about being a vindictive and protective mare. Mess with her family... or even worse, a family member and her favorite former babysittee, and you got the horns.

‘Huh, looks like the new romantic opportunity is… a fan?’ She didn’t know the name, unlike the previously denied options. From the quick background, her program provided, it looked like he was a reporter. Further clicks revealed that he’d started skeptical of the showmare’s obnoxious ways, like most who’d crossed paths with Trixie… before slowly being won over as he covered the show-tour. He was a lonely bachelor, with the beginnings of a crush.

And now, a small window was opening over the next week when the two would cross paths in Manehatten.

Not that it mattered. She grinned evilly, sliding her mouse cursor over the approve button… then continued on to hover over the red deny, prompt.

‘Mess with Twily, you end up forever alone you blue bi-’

“Mom! Are you in here?” The door to her room burst open. Her teenage daughter, Princess Flurry Heart, kicked open the solid crystal barrier, sending it rebounding off the wall with a noisy slam. “We’re gonna be late for dad’s birthday brunch! Come on!”

“Honey! You spooked me!”

“Hurry up already, mom… I’ve been ready for like… ten minutes already! I don’t want to make dad wait!”

Cadance sighed, Flurry always got so anxious when it came to her father. She was such a daddy’s girl. It was cute, really.

‘Wait. What button did I click?’ Cadance gulped as she stared at the screen. ‘Was it approve? Or decline?’

Trixe - Day 1
Another town, another show.

Trixie took a deep breath as she fastened the clasp of her cape. The purple, silky garment — adorned with decorative moons, suns, and stars — showed its age. It didn’t help that this was the same cape she’d worn since she first started doing magic shows as a young filly, nor that she still had no idea how to cast a half-decent garment rejuvenation-protection spell, if such a thing even existed.

And she’d be damned if she went into that prissy white unicorn’s circus-ride excuse of a shop to ask for help.

The announcer on-stage finished his introduction, calling her up.

Trixie let the breath escape her slowly. ’Manehattan is always such a tough town, especially when I play in the park.

The rumble of an eager crowd, the creak of floorboards under her hooves, the muffled calls of the announcer on the microphone… despite her veteran showmare experience, it still made her feel like her stomach was full of horseshoes. That anxiety, the slinking fear in the buildup before the performance could never be truly conquered. It was something all performers dealt with, handling the energy of wanting to have a great performance, but Trixie’s butterflies were a bit more brutal.

There was no shaking the cynic inside — the one armed with about how pathetic she truly was.

Charlatan, it said. Fraud. Weakling. Incompetent.

And this would be the show that revealed it to everypony — her fans, friends, family… and most importantly, herself.

“No! That’s not true, Trixie! You ARE the Great and Powerful!” whispered to herself, before chanting the mantra in her head for the millionth time, her tried and tested ward against those dark feelings.

The stage curtain rose to thunderous applause, and those thoughts were put on hold. The Great and Powerful Trixie had no doubts; she was perfect in every way conceivable, and with the tip of her hat, an equally jaw-dropping salvo of magical fireworks lit up the stage behind her.

The show had begun.

...

“Thank you, Manehattanites!” Trixie called, bowing as she removed her hat with a theatrical flourish, sweeping low. Raucous applause rolled through the crowd, which had grown exponentially as the show went on. Flowers and bits rained onto the stage as the ponies chanted her name over and over.

“Trixie, Trixie, Trixie!”

“Yes, yes! Thank you, thank you!” Trixie chuckled, heading toward stage left. “Please enjoy the rest of the show. Up next is…” she checked her hoof for the notes she’d received. “...uh, the styling of Octavia Melody and her string quartet.”

Trixie sighed, already missing the basking glow that came with the intoxicating approbation of a supportive crowd. Already their cheers had died down to a soft murmur as the cellist and her team of musicians made their way onto the stage. As the melodious tuning strokes of Octavia’s bow were drawn across her instrument, Trixie wondered if anypony would even remember her name by the end of the soiree.

Her head dipped down as she made her way out the back entrance to the large stage, heading toward her wagon tied up at the other side of the park. At least she’d quelled those demons for a few minutes, had stopped her anxious self-destruction for another night. The bottle of wine in her wagon would help too.

“Ex-excuse me, M-Ms. Trixie?”

She looked to her side and found a little purple unicorn filly nervously eyeing her with a notepad and pencil in her mouth. “Oh my!” Trixie smiled, flipping her hair and cape back. “Could you be a fan of the Great and Powerful Trixie?”

The filly nodded nervously. “Y-yes. I was hoping… I mean… if it’s not too much trouble, c-could…”

Trixie chuckled, sweeping the filly up into her forelegs and giving her a big hug. “Trixie always has time for her fans. They have the best taste in all of Equestria, after all.”

The filly giggled and laughed as Trixie sent her flying about in a kinetic field, before bringing her gently to rest right in front of her; no easy task, unless you were an alicorn or high-class, town-dominating unicorn.

But maybe it was easy. Maybe she was an incompetent thaumic user, only capable of simple show-magic?

The twinkle of the filly’s eyes: filled with love and admiration for her quieted the thoughts.

“Now, I could give you only an autograph...” Trixie mused aloud playfully, as she signed the filly’s pad with a flourish. “But tell me, little filly… are you a magician too?”

The filly nodded with a smile. “Yup! I’m the AMAZING Flash Star! I know three tricks.”

“Hmm… Flash Star, eh? Needs a little more pizazz… How about the Fantastic Flash Star?” Trixie sent sparks up into the night air, illuminating the filly’s name in the sky.

“That’s awesome!” Flash Star squeed, her eyes as big as saucers.

“But you know what? I think that Flash Star the Fantastic needs a new prop.” Trixie brought out her wand and offered it with reverence to the little filly, like a guard would offer a princess their sword. “Would this be of any interest?”

“W-what!? Your wand? F-for me?” The filly looked like she was about to cry.

“Of course! But you must promise to take great care of it, and dazzle me with your show when I’m back next year, Fantastic Flash Star!”

Clutching the wand to her chest like a million-bit treasure, she looked up with tears in her eyes and nodded emphatically. “I-I will!” She ran off back toward the crowd of ponies with a happy skip in her step, pausing only to look back over her shoulder at her hero.

With a happy sigh, Trixie turned away, looking back toward her wagon with no small amount of disappointment. Foals could be so lovely — so full of energy and happiness, so innocent… not crushed down by the realities of the world, surrounded by family and friends who loved them dearly…

Trixie opened the door to her wagon interior, revealing the cramped space, jammed full of various magical tricks and trappings — room enough for only one lonely showmare.

…Where had she gone wrong?

She reached under one of the cardboard boxes, picking up the half-empty bottle of wine that she knew she’d left there from the previous evening’s show. It wasn’t fancy wine; she’d always been good about living within her budget while traveling, but it was effective wine. The nomadic life tended to teach one how to be pragmatic, and she’d quickly discovered that price didn’t always reflect quality.

It also afforded her plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to reflect. Plenty of time to worry.

Maybe that’s where the doubting came from.

Things had been getting better in more recent years, yes. She’d made a new friend in Ponyville — somepony who could really understand her. She’d also managed to somewhat make amends with the ponies of that town, even the ones she’d purposefully antagonized. Even the ones who did deserve it.

An extra-long draw of her wine bottle accompanied that particular memory. Jealousy, especially when combined with an all-corrupting magical artifact, could make a mare do crazy things. A part of her relished it, though — a deep, dark part of her that she hated — despite it being the wrong thing to have done;for a time, the world had to listen to her, because she was just too great and powerful for them to ignore. Such an easy way to get everything she’d always wanted. And such a sinister way.

She shivered.

She wasn’t even really sure why she’d been so jealous of Princess Twilight. Power? Prestige? The fact that friendship and love seemed to come so quickly to her pseudo-nemesis? As it stood, Twilight was objectively the most beloved pony in Equestria, possibly even surpassing the Princess of Love herself. It wouldn’t be long before Celestia’s favored pupil was smothered in friendship from every nation. And should she wish for it, she probably wouldn’t need to try all that hard to find somepony to start a family with — Trixie had already saved the world upwards of a dozen times, so there’d be no shortage of admirers so long as she stayed in the spotlight.

Trixie, however…

What could she do? What claim to fame did she have? Sparklers and fireworks and the art of illusion, performed day after day, night after night, to town after backwater town... only to be tossed aside and forgotten like the stale popcorn that littered the showgrounds each morning. She wasn’t Twilight and never would be, and every new exploit she read in the news or heard by word of mouth only served to remind her of that.

Another swig of the red wine drowned that particular sequence of thoughts away.

When she was in one of these black moods, memories of the adoration of her fans helped. The way their eyes sparkled, the way their hooves shot up in the air, the way their tails swished merrily. It gave her confidence that she was a good pony. At least, for a little while.

Their love was a mere placeholder. A tiny sip of the acceptance she truly wanted. Somepony who would give her that affection for who she was when she was off the stage. Somepony to travel with across Equestria — to go on adventures with, to giggle with. Someone who would be there, with her, when she was alone.

Alone in her tiny wagon. Like now.

This wine was poor company.

Maybe she could try one of those dating services. Or hang out in bars and nightclubs like in one of Starlight’s steamy romance novels. Hay, maybe Trixie should just go to the town square, hike her tail up and beg.

Another swig. She jumped into her hammock with practiced ease.

Maybe going to one of those ‘town-studs’ was the only way she’d ever have someone to care about…

She shook her head to clear the thought — they were just old mare’s tales anyway. She’d have to do something though. It wasn’t like some foalish prayer to Celestia would send the love of her life knocking on her do-

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Hello? M-ms. Trixie?”

The voice jolted her up and out of her hammock. Unfortunately, her right hoof caught in the webbing as she disembarked, sending her ass over teakettle into a pile of her famously effective smoke bombs. She froze, not moving her forelegs a millimeter, making sure to very carefully keep the pile of orb-shaped glass capsules from exploding and filling the entire wagon with the acrid diffusion.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Hello? Are you in?” The voice asked with hesitation. “I thought I heard something.”

Sure that her entire wagon wouldn’t be set ablaze, Trixie let out a sigh of relief and began to carefully go about getting her head out from under her plot. “What is it!? I have a permit to keep my wagon on the park grounds this year!” Shaking her completely disheveled mane out of her face, she stomped toward the door. The Manehattan park cops were always crawling up her tailhole with their ridiculous regulations: they never cut her any slack! “I swear, this is hara—”

She ripped the door open to see what was decidedly not a police officer standing there. The rusty-haired stallion looked unsure of himself, his beard-framed mouth stammering to find words as his surprised green eyes raced over her.

“Uh… I… huh…”

Trixie clicked her tongue in impatience, quickly assembling her emotional armor. “Well? What is it? The Great and Powerful Trixie was busy… perfecting the most advanced of alicorn magic!”

The stranger blinked, and then he creased his brows, apparently stunned out of his stupor. “But you’re… not an alicorn.”

“Hah!” Trixie put a hoof to her chest, “Experimenting with alicorn energies is trivial to the Great and Powerful Trixie. I have extensive experience with vast, swirling, ethereal powe—”

“Because of the time when you had the Alicorn Amulet?”

She paused, staring off into the sky with an open mouth for a moment, then brought herself and narrowed her eyes at him in guarded suspicion. She didn’t think there was anypony she hadn’t apologized to for those dark few days in Ponyville, and she’d certainly spent enough time in the town itself that she was rarely harassed for it, so she was sure that chapter of her life had been put behind her. But she supposed that maybe she should’ve seen this coming: if this was indeed what she thought it was: a Ponyville emigre who didn’t think saying sorry was enough, and preferred to settle things the old-fashioned way. “Just who are you?”

The pegasus slunk back, ears splaying against his ruffled red mane as he pointed a hoof at himself questioningly.

“Yes. You.” Trixie arched an eyebrow. “Somepony who comes knocking on my door in the middle of the night, demanding to know if I’m Trixie and dredging up the most awful event of her life... Who. Are. You?”

He shuffled his wings. And was he sweating? Trixie never understood how easily it came to some ponies, nor did she have much of a mind to tolerate those who did, even if it wasn’t their fault, strictly speaking. “I’m… sorry.”

“Well, ‘Mr. Sorry’, what exactly do you want?”

“No! I mean… I’m not that kind of sorry.” He sighed and looked to his right, casting his gaze over the empty lots on the edge of the showgrounds. Pulling the cart all by herself tended to get her to her destinations a little later than she liked, so all the best spots were usually taken by the time she arrived, just as they were here. She’d had to relocate to an empty camp-ground, far from the stage and most of the park traffic. “My name is… Bawdy Jot,” he continued, returning to her. “I’m a reporter for the Manehattan Monthly.”

Trixie cocked her head slightly, but made no comment; she wasn’t sure how to deal with this. She’d spoken with the press before, of course — trite pieces about her show and the event she was performing at, generally followed by her making a desperate pitch for some good publicity. Unfortunately, she often had to consider herself lucky if her name made it to print: they usually accredited her quotes to “a magician.”

Then she’d had the incident.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t get away from reporters. They’d hounded her every step. She begged to keep her name out of the papers, only moving from town to town seemed to work as a remedy to the unwanted public attention of ‘The World’s Most Egotistical Unicorn’. Needless to say, the headlines were not flattering.

That’s how she found herself wandering the edge of nowhere, trapped in a kind of paradox; attention is what she sought, but without any of the baggage her name had already acquired.

She’d learned her lesson when it came to the newspaper rag-merchants, going so far as to disappear for a while after helping Starlight save Equestria from the return of Queen Chrysalis. And the irony wasn’t lost on her, nor was it merciful: it had been the proudest moment of her entire life, and there she was, refusing to acknowledge her part in it.

Her. Trixie Lulamoon.

Twilight made it all look so effortless, but what did she know? She’d lived in privilege all her life, always told she was destined for greatness, groomed and tutored by Celestia herself. Of course, everypony loved her, no matter what she did. No way the press would spin their webs of lies and deceit about her. But Trixie? Oh, Trixie was fair game.

And she was beginning to regret not having brought her bottle with her to the door.

“Uh-huh…” she finally replied, eyelids lowering to halfway in a glazed look. It was better to pass this charlatan on to somepony with more patience for his tomfoolery, or else nip this weed at the bud before it sprouted. “Well, the press office for the park show organizer can be reached for—"

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to you.” The reported smiled weakly. “The Great and Powerful Tri—"

“Trixe doesn’t do interviews.”

“O-oh. Well, shoot…”

Trixie waited for him to leave.

He didn’t.

“Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

“Oh.” He blinked as if it surprised him to learn that he was acting out of the ordinary. Then he bowed his head and lowered his attention to the grass beneath his hooves and kicked at it. “Well, I was, uh… hoping to get an autograph, truth be told…”

That made her blink, her brows rising high in surprise. “A-an autograph?” And then she began frowning again. “Why?”

“Oh, uh… sorry, it’s just...” He drifted off, growing distant in his gaze as well. And then he sighed, lowering his eyes, and started to turn away. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

This was what she wanted: to be left alone. But now she was interested — just what was this stallion after? So few adult fans ever actually made an effort to look for her after her shows... except for that creepy Saddle Arabian, Hoof’ar.

No.

Action had to be taken. She’d been trodden on by the press for far too long, and she wasn’t going to let this guy get away with what was probably a failed defamation attempt either.

“No, wait! Don’t go.”

He stopped in his tracks and peered up at her, ears attentive, but his expression still somewhat crestfallen. A dedicated con artist, it seemed — rare that one would keep their ruse up after their bluff had been called. It almost made her feel guilty — disarmed her. Almost.

“It’s no problem at all, I swear. I wasn’t expecting… a fan.” She turned around and began rummaging through the supplies inside her door. “Give me a second; I need to find a pen.”

His spirits seemed to brighten, facing her with a hopeful smile. And then he looked down and watched as he offered his notepad and pencil, almost as if he could hardly believe his luck. “You could use this.”

“Oh, how kind,” Trixie said, putting on the most flattered tone she could manage without coming off as fake. She accepted the offer with a small but gracious bow of the head and then scribbled out her signature with a flourish, the bold strokes quickly filling up the entirety of the page. “To whom should the Great and Powerful Trixie make this out to?”

“Oh, uh… Bawdy Jot.” He smiled, extending a hoof. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Lulamoon.”

Trixie returned the gesture. He undoubtedly acted like a nice fellow, but so did quite a few. Maybe he thought he had her fooled, but Trixie knew better. “For my dear friend, Bawdy Jot,” she said as she wrote, looking up at him with a smile from behind the notepad.

He grinned back.

And then her smile darkened. “Now, let’s see what you really think,” she defiantly announced, snapping back to the notepad and immediately flipping through the pages, searching for any and every scrap of dirt she could find. And sure enough, she found scribblings on the next page over.

‘How did you get into stage-magic?’
‘Ask her about interesting stories about her time traveling throughout Equestria’
‘Ask her favorite trick/spell.’
‘Bring up how many foals she’s made happy throughout her tour.’

‘Find out what she likes/dislikes, her dreams, her aspirations’
‘How is she so beautiful’

Trixie stopped, and she found herself staring.

“Hey!” he yelped, snatching the notepad back and scowling at her with an open mouth as if he had more to say. But he stayed there, frozen in a look of indignation, seemingly unable to speak. And then he blinked, and the expression faded to a rattled one, and he did his best not to look at her. “I mean, uh… th-thanks for your time. I’ll… I’ll get out of your hair now.” He quickly turned and trotted urgently away through the field. “Good luck with your next show!”

She could only watch, still processing what had just happened, what she’d just seen.

She was beautiful. That was a fact. Everypony she met also knew it, they were just too afraid to admit it, especially to her face. But for a reporter, of all ponies, to jot it down and scratch it out as if it were a forbidden thought? That was bordering the absurd.

But she saw it. With her own eyes, she saw it. Clear as day, bright as the sun, even in the light of the moon. None of those questions were aimed at attacking her credibility, or her character, or seemed in any way like they had an ulterior motive in mind. And to top it all off, he asked himself why she was so beautiful.

Why, if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he almost genuinely…

‘Sweet Celestia…’ she murmured internally. ‘Was he actually…?’

Then she had the thought to speak out, and when she finally blinked, she scanned the grounds, only to find them empty. He was gone, and she hadn’t seen where he’d vanished to. And when she had the thought to lift her hoof and step outside and venture forth for him — for what purpose, she couldn’t be sure — the air seemed to grow colder. The world was less inviting. Empty. Imposing.

Lonely.

He hadn’t come to attack her, had he?

She’d just pushed him away.

She spun around and retreated inside, slamming the door shut behind her, slumping against it and sliding down with both forehooves to her temples. What was she supposed to feel? Disgusted? With whom? Him? Why? She wanted attention, didn’t she? It was only natural that somepony might — no, would — find her attractive, if not immediately then definitely when they gave her a chance and got to know her. He was allowed to fantasize — she’d caught herself doing the same with other ponies plenty of times, some of whom weren’t ponies at all.

Herself, then? She had every reason to be suspicious! No reporter before him had taken her all that seriously, and those who did were usually out for blood, and she was easy pickings; his profession practically demanded ruthlessness, in all its forms. How was she supposed to know that he wasn’t like the others?

How was she supposed to know he thought she was beautiful?

Could she remember his face? She had to. His name was memorable enough: Bawdy Jot. Sounded like a shot of brandy. Looked like he could do with one to calm his nerves. Redish hair, greyish coat, a pegasus to boot. Memorable enough. If he were in a crowd, she’d pick him out quite readily.

But still, he was gone, and she’d done that to him. Chased him away.

Buck.

She grabbed the bottle of wine and finished the rest of it off with a single, multi-glugging gulp, then threw it with frustration against the cardboard box filled with scarf-sleeve tricks.

What an idiot.

Jot Day - 1

What an idiot.

Jot groaned to himself, opened his wings and took to the sky. He’d bumbled over all his words like some moronic pubescent teenager! Just when he’d done everything he could to finally meet Trixie in person, when he finally got a chance to speak with her, to get to know her better: he just crammed his hoof in his mouth!

He soared over the busy manehattan streets while keeping an eye out for other flyers in the twilight sky — it was never fun having a mid-air collision in the traffic-heavy airway. It was a short flight to his destination — the Manehattan Journal’s main building. With a few flaps of his wings, he came to a quick, hovering halt before pushing open the door to the lobby.

“Hey, Cuffs.” Jot gave a quick wave to the security guard.

“Yo, Jot.” The security guard didn’t look up from his chessboard. “Working late again?”

“Mmhmm... “ Jot sighed, “Live to work, right?”

“I think that’s supposed to be work to live, isn’t it…?”

“Eh, never could figure that one out.” Jot slid into the elevator and punched the button for his floor. “Catch you on the way out.”

“Mmhmm.” The guard waved a hoof idly at him as he walked into the elevator.

The soft ping alerting him to his arrival at the correct floor brightened his mood. This was the writer’s home-territory.

The big, open work-floor after regular business hours was a quiet place. Here and there a few night-shift reporters toiled over their articles and the odd sportswriter looking to cram in the sports score from the recently completed buckball game was far too preoccupied trying to quickly smash out a few lines that they had no interest in speaking with anypony else on the floor.

Bawdy quietly trotted over to his cubicle and slumped down with a heavy thump, before turning to look at his cluttered desk. With a grin, he reached forward with his wings, spreading out his feathers and stretching the various muscles and tendons that he used to do his work. Reaching out quickly, he pulled the unstarted piece of paper from his pride and joy — a classic black typewriter.

Of course, eventually he’d have to finish his work on a company-provided laptop, submitting it in the digital file format required by the printers downstairs before the weekly deadline, but there was nothing that could replace the clickity-clackety rhythm and tactile feedback of an authentic typewriter. The way the mechanical linkages whirred and clicked, filling the white page with black symbols as thoughts poured out of his head, racing down his feathertips and onto the blank canvas. The satisfying ding of the carriage reaching the end of its travel track, necessitating a hoof-push to reset the whole thing and begin on a new line. He even loved the way an error couldn’t be so quickly deleted but instead had to stand as an annoying blot of backspaced-out X’s. It meant he had to be entirely in the zone, in-synch with his feathers, mind, and the clattering keys.

His whole writing process was like a jazz recital of words.

It had bought him some street-cred with the few old-timers that had survived so many of the waves of incoming new journalist ponies. Many of those veterans shared stories of the publication’s glory days when the news was hard and breaking a story meant something… Not many of those ponies were still around — they’d been replaced by ponies of Jot’s age, or younger, most of whom were more concerned about just how controversial they could make their next piece, how they could integrate their stories with the latest media pusch, all so they could aim of getting more followers.

But he wasn’t one to complain. It was a great job — and there were many starving writers out there who would kill to make the cushy salary he did.

“Hey — Jot… Equus to Jot? You there?”

Jot looked up from his page — he hadn’t noticed what he’d been writing - he was too much in the flow… but he’d filled the thing up with a half-baked essay on the importance of believing in yourself and speaking from your heart. But his frame of mind had completely distracted him from his surroundings — and the senior editor hovering over his cubicle wall.

“Hard Copy?” Jot looked at the older unicorn, who was grinning down at him. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you! I was writing…”

“Yeah, I could hear you from halfway across the floor — that old thing makes a real racket late at night.” He chuckled, then extended a cup of coffee. “Need some fuel? You behind on a story?”

Jot shook his head but accepted the cup. He wasn’t a coffee drinker, but wouldn’t refuse a kind gesture. “No, I already got my piece for the next submission date out… I just… I wanted to think…”

The older, mustached pony glanced around the floor with an arched eyebrow. “...so you came into work in the middle of the night?”

Jot grinned. “Hey, I might end up tricking a senior editor like yourself into thinking I’m working harder than I am. What keeps you here so late?”

“I had a call with a Neighponese source. The time difference can be brutal… mutually annoying for both of us if we split the difference — so I agreed to come in really late.” He chuckled. “Good strategy on your part, though. For the record — I know you’re working harder than most of the other writers around.” He patted Jot on the shoulder. Hard Copy was one of the better bosses to work for. “You’re one of my star writers, and good to have in the team — which is why I’m giving you the cover story next week.”

Jot blinked and leaned back, scratching his head. “Wow. I mean, I really appreciate that… but… I don’t have a big story on the go right now — what are you expecting me to—"

“Oh, come on.” Hard Copy scoffed, before taking a sip of his coffee. “Everypony knows you’ve been doing that big Lulamoon exposé for months now. You can’t sit on something forever, Jot.”

“Trixie?” Jot blinked again, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Why do people think I’m doing a—"

“Jot, please. You don’t need to be an investigative journalist to figure that one out.” Hard Copy gestured at the various stacks of materials in the cubicle, most of which had something to do with Trixie. The short stack of Trixie photographs wasn’t helping either.

“Ah.”

“Yeah, so just punch up your hit piece a bit and run it by me next week. It doesn’t have to be whatever giant thing you’re prepping — just a taste… if it takes off, you can run a series on her.”

“Okay, I guess, but… wait… hit piece?” Jot pushed back from his typewriter and sat upright, a serious look crossing his face as he stared at his tired boss.

“Well, I just assumed. She is Trixie Lulamoon, former evil villain after all.” Hard Copy took another sip.

“Boss, I…” Jot hesitated, considering his next words carefully. “...It’s not a negative piece. It was a profile story of a pony who’s changed and actually deserves a lot of credit for —"

“Eh… that’s probably not gonna fly.” Hard Copy sighed, setting down his cup and rubbing his temple. “Paper’s owned by FlimFlamCo, you know.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, for starters, they didn’t buy us to lose bits… they want stories that sell, that get clicks, that improve subscriptions and advertisers. Biographies won’t cut it! Scandals and outrages about former villains operating in Manehattan would.”

“That's ridicu—"

“And.” Hard Copy quickly cut him off. “I happen to know that the brothers, Flim and Flam, have a personal grudge against that unicorn. Something about her suing them for wages owed when she worked for one of their traveling shows back in the day... In fact, their acrimony for Trixie was the main selling point I used to get you that cover story: I think they’re drooling to get some revenge on Ms. Lulamoon.”

Jot snorted, a scowl forming on his lips. He took the pencil out of the crook of his ear and tossed it onto his desk with dismay.

“You gotta be joking me.” Jot crossed his forelegs across his chest.

“What?”

“With all the political claptrap that’s filling up the other papers, with all the reporters out there with an agenda… we’re going to go this way too… fake news?”

“Oh, spare me the drama, kid.” Hard Copy rolled his eyes. “Fake news is just the latest in a long line of epithets used against us — nothing has changed.”

“That’s crap, and you know it.” Jot spat. He could see the negative impact his words were having on the mood. He wasn’t usually so forceful around the office — and definitely not with his boss, but this was just… wrong! “Ponies depend on us to do our best in telling the truth of what’s happening out there! What’s gonna happen if they need to discount everything we tell them — always wondering what our angle is?”

“What’s up with you Bawdy Jot? You got a thing for the mare or what?”

Jot felt a flush cross his cheeks and the wind come out of his sails slightly. It wasn’t that he had a thing for her… was it? “N-no! I just… it’s really not the truth at all!”

Hard Copy shrugged and sighed, turning away from his young protege. “Well, maybe that’s the case… or maybe you’ve just got a soft spot for the lady… either way, we’re running a front-page exposé on Trixie next issue — get it done!”

Jot groaned, slumping back into his chair. He knew that Hard Copy meant it — the pony would find another writer to make sure that the story got out on time — if there was one thing that the aging editor didn’t do, it was to miss deadlines.

The passion project he’d been working on in his spare time had suddenly turned into the bane of his existence — Jot angrily swatted the photos and notes that lay strewn about his cubicle, knocking them to the ground. If only he’d been more secretive about it, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

He growled at himself before looking up at his typewriter.

Suddenly the keys and paper were more menacing than a rabid timberwolf.

Trixie - Day 3

“Well then, what if I instead of a flower… I gave you a whole bouquet?” Trixie flicked her wrist, letting the spring-loaded stems shoot from her fake sleeve before she plucked them free and handed them to the young fan, bouncing in front of her after having just received her autograph.

“F-for me!?” The young colt’s eyes glistened as he took the flowers to his chest and hugged them. “Thanks!”

“Anything for such a handsome young stallion!” Trixie smiled.

The colt’s father nodded at her. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He wrapped a hoof around the colt’s shoulders. “This will really cheer him up.”

“Of course! Just… make sure he doesn’t eat them — I’m not sure if the factory that makes them is concerned about culinary quality.” Trixie grinned.

“Eat them!?” The colt squeaked as he danced on his hooftips. “I’d never! These are going up on my wall, forever!” He trotted away with his father, both of them chatting about the show happily.

Trixie smiled as they departed, happy to have gotten through the last of her Manehattan shows without incident. She loved the city, and especially her audience members, but the ponies here always seemed to be a rallying cry away from forming a mob. It had been the same in Ponyville, of course, but her long-term residence in the provincial village had helped to spread a more positive view of her personality — nearly all had learned of her changed ways and forgiven her… unlike in the big city.

“That was very nice of you.” A familiar voice spoke from behind her. “I guess that’s why you have so many returning fans every year…”

Trixie turned and noticed the light grey pegasus with ruddy red hair, sipping a coffee with a soft smile as he watched from a nearby bench.

“You!” Trixie’s ears perked up; her eyes opened in pleasant surprise at seeing the stallion from the previous night once again. But her reaction didn’t have the desired effect — the pegasus flinched slightly, eyes darting guiltily from side to side.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you again, I just happened to be walking through the park and —"

“No, no!” Trixie coughed out. “You’re not bothering me at all! I’m, uh, happy to see you.”

“I was just thinking that I had been so rude the other night—"

“No, I was rude — it had been a long day, and I snapped off at you—"

“Then I just ran right out of there, after knocking on your door—"

“I was wondering if…

“If it’s OK with you…

“Want to get a coffee?” Both ponies said at the same time, after fumbling over their words. The air was thick with tension, two pairs of eyes staring at one another for a few moments… before breaking down in chuckles.

“Aren’t I supposed to say ‘jinx’ now?” Trixie grinned. “Then you can’t say anything until another pony says your name.”

“I think so.” The stallion laughed back. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind having the ability to put my hoof in my mouth taken away from me.” He reached his hoof out to her to help her up from the impromptu autograph table she’d been sitting behind. She considered the hoof for a moment — considering… gracious, a bit old fashioned, but charming.

It would do.

She took his hoof in hers and let him help her up. A small part of her mind clicked — how long had it been since she’d had another stallion make physical contact with her, with any kind of romantic intent, in the past months… years? She realized just how starved for affection she truly was.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we Mr. Jot?” Trixie smiled back, nodding to make sure he would understand that he was no longer jinxed.

“Oh, just Jot!”

“Well, Jot, please continue to address me as the Great and Powerful Trixie!” Trixie turned her nose up slightly, the r’s rolling off her tongue with well-practiced flourishes.

She watched with amusement as Jot’s eyes widened in surprise. “R-really?”

“No, of course not… I’m joking.” Trixie giggled, bumping her hip against his. Gods, it was fun to be flirting with a stallion again! Why had she chased him off the previous night, anyway? “So, where’s a good cup of coffee to be found around here?”

The two trotted along toward the center of the park, making small-talk. The stallion seemed content to stay on incredibly boring, safe subjects. The weather, the city and how it had changed over the past year... throwaway questions about her travels and what she had eaten the night before. Trixie was no master socialite like Rarity, but even she could tell that this stallion was beating around the bush.

Not that she was doing much better.

She’d always been awful at this part of the elaborate dance of socializing with the opposite sex. She’d learned long ago that her usual manner with mares — boasting, self-aggrandizing, haughty… tended to not work out so well with stallions. In a society where mares outnumbered stallions three to one, they could simply pick somepony else.

Still — bits of her ‘self-confidence’ managed to leak out in their idle chat. She couldn’t help it if she was amazing!

“...they’ve actually cleaned up the park a lot — no more crazed wildlife, like timberwolves or raccoons… there was even a rumor about an ursa minor running amok for a while!” Jot motioned around him at the beautiful expanse of trees.

“You know, Trixie once assisted the princess of magic herself, Twilight Sparkle, in subduing a wild ursa minor.” Trixie hummed with self-satisfaction, holding her chin up. Internally though, she was roiling. ‘Why did you have to say that? It’s not even true!’ But she couldn’t help it — this stallion only knew her from her stage shows! And if she wasn’t great and powerful… what was she?

“Wow!” Jot exclaimed. “I bet the kids in town must have been going nuts after that!”

Trixie smiled, happy that her little boast hadn’t been ill-received.

“W-well… not really… actually two colts were pretty big fans.” Trixie grinned, remembering the two young teenagers.

“You’re so good with foals — how do you manage?” Jot asked, as he casually used a wing to swat away a branch that hung over the park path.

“Oh well…” Trixie sighed, trying not to think about how she had treated those two colts only a few moons later. “Foals just have so much love in their hearts — you don’t need to blow them away with impossible stories or feats of great power… you just need to give them a little bit of encouragement, and they love you! You can be their hero so easily.” Trixie sighed, kicking the ground with a hoof. “Unlike with grown-ups, to have respect you need to be so much more… to be a hero… it’s pretty much impossible.” The soft-spoken words slipped out of her mouth with a touch of sadness. “Unless you’re a princess…”

“It’s hard to be great and powerful, huh?” Jot grinned at her.

The remark brought her back to reality; she’d just made herself seem weak, vulnerable. How very un-mare-like! She quickly straightened her shoulders and flipped her hair back.

“Hah! Not really! Not when you’re Trixie!” She added a haughty chuckle to the mix. “It just comes naturally!”

“Uh...huh…” Jot seemed a bit off-put by her statement. Perhaps she needed to crank up her self-confidence even further?

“I just wonder why ponies far and wide don’t fall down at Trixie’s hooves, recognizing her as the most powerful magician in Equestria!” She tapped her forehoof to her chest before gesturing outwards, “It’s not like Trixie didn’t single-hoofedly save everypony from the return of Chrysalis!”

Jot cocked his head slightly. “Um… didn’t Starlight, King Thorax, and that chaos dude help out too?” Trixie stumbled slightly, clearing her throat with a cough as Jot went on... “You don’t need to pump up the amazing stuff you’ve done to me — you know you’re not on stage, right? You don’t have to put on an act if you don—"

“Well hey there, feather-butt!” A mare chirped from nearby, standing up from the small picnic blanket that she and her two friends had spread across the small grassy clearing to the side of the park path. Trixie could see that strewn about the small sheet were numerous bottles of cider — clearly, this young mare and her friends were well into their cups on this lovely summer afternoon. Trixie looked from the pastel-pink unicorn to Jot with wariness, unsure if the reporter knew this mare.

“Do I… uh… know you?” Jot asked, cocking his head.

“Not yet, stud.” The unicorn tottered slightly, swishing her tail and wiggling her eyebrows. “But you will… Why don’t you ditch the old bag and come hang out with me and my sorority sisters? Down a few ciders, head back to our place, and let me rock your world?”

“Excuse me?” Jot looked more confused than insulted, but his wings were already shuffling, his back stiffening with alarm.

“Petunia!” One of the other unicorns stood up from the picnic. “Leave ‘im alone. You’re smashed.” She trotted down to the path as well. “Sorry about my friend, she’s from a rather sheltered Baltimare family — she has some more… traditional views on stallions.”

That was an understatement. Trixie scoffed aloud. It was like something out of an old comic book — the out of touch sorority jock aggressively hitting on a stallion. All that was missing to make it complete was some misandrist statement about how he should know his place...

“Awww… buck off, Tulip. No mare will say it anymore, but everypony knows a fine piece of stallion like that..” She looked over Jot, licking her lips like a wolf, “Belongs in the bedroom, making babies, taking care of a mare’s needs.” She took an awkward stumbling step closer to the pegasus. “C’mon baby, why don’t you make me the luckiest mare in the Pie-Cupcake-Cupcake Sorority house tonight.”

“Pfft…” Trixie laughed, shaking her head at the soused lout.

The mare quickly craned her head to look at Trixie with a fierce growl. “What the buck are you laughing at?”

“You. You’re like a bad caricature of a Saturday morning cartoon villain.” Trixie clicked her tongue. “Pathetic.”

The last mare of the trio stood up from the picnic blanket, a sturdy looking unicorn who seemed to be half a drink short of losing consciousness. “Wha the feck is all this racquet…?” She staggered forward, taking position next to her other two friends, violence flashing in her eyes. “Is she givin’ you trouble Petunia?”

“What did you just say to me you ugly bitch?” Petunia prodded Trixie right in her chest, the sharp edge of her hoof tip digging into her painfully. “Why don’t you just fuck off?”

Trixie growled slightly, hackles rising. “Why don’t you try to make me?”

Tulip, the one mare who had seemed to have any semblance of sanity, quickly took station next on the other side of her inebriated friends, a scowl setting across her face. “Hey lady, you should just butt out and get out of here before you get hurt.”

“Nah, fuck that.” Petunia smiled, glancing over Trixie’s shoulder. Trixie’s eyes started to move that way, wondering what the drunken lout was looking at… before realizing too late that it was a textbook distraction to set up a vicious sucker punch. “I wanna hurt her!”

Trixie only saw the blur of the unicorn’s forehoof as it flashed through the air. Instinctively, her nose began to scrunch up, already anticipating the stinging strike that she was sure would land flush against her face, with the full drunken force of the ne'er-do-well's body weight.

But another grey blur intercepted her vision, as Jot slid into the punch, letting the strike deflect off his forearm. The look on Petunia’s face was one of shocked surprise as the stallion stepped into the force of her punch, positioning his body under hers. For a moment it looked as though he was about to flip the stunned mare ass over teakettle, pivoting her around and slamming her down with all the force she’d tried to punch with... which Trixie thought would have been a fitting and justified punishment… but he shifted instead, using an ingenious slip of his wing to trip her and bring her to the ground, pinning her under his weight.

“Calm the buck down!” Jot snarled, pressing hard into the unicorn’s shoulder joint.

“Would you look at that, Tulip?” Petunia grunted from the ground, “stallion’s got a little fight in him — cute…”

“Let her up, asshole!” The unnamed third unicorn snarled.

“I will... once everypony just calms down!” Jot coughed. “You two better take a couple steps back, or I’ll pop your friend’s shoulder out! I know how! I wrestle at the Y every Friday!” Trixie could see Jot wasn’t lying — he was big for a pegasus, not sleek and lithe like many city-stallions tended to be. If anything he looked as strong as one of the earth ponies that worked in Ponyville’s many farms. His powerful muscles flexed, easily overpowering the drunken mare and keeping her pinned in the dirt despite her efforts to get up.

“Lemme up!”

Trixie blinked as she watched her new friend pin the smaller mare with his strength. On the one hoof, she was impressed and grateful that he’d helped her to avoid taking a solid blow directly to her face. On the other hoof, he looked… scared, unsure of what to do. He looked like he needed help. She wasn’t sure why that surprised her: perhaps she had been in too many altercations if this sort of scenario wasn’t evoking the same feelings in her, but her life on the road and her adventures with Starlight had given her valuable experience.

“Ain’t that cute, he knows how to wrestle — owch!” Petunia grunted her snout pressed into the earth as Jot added a bit of extra leverage.

“So fuckin’ what.” The surly unicorn growled, “I know magic.” Her horn lit with a sparking yellow glow, quickly encapsulating the pegasus in her magical field and lifting him away from her friend. Jot’s legs thrashed helplessly in the air. All those muscles did him no good now, his wings panickedly flapping and thrashing at the air, desperately trying to escape the magical field.

Petunia’s magic added to the levitation field, smoothly spinning Jot upside-down. The stallion vainly swam against the field, trying to hide the more private parts of his body from view as the unicorn mares easily pulled his limbs away, exposing all to see him.

“That’s enough!” Trixie growled, charging her horn. “Put him down now, or else.”

“Or else what?” Petunia laughed, now all the way back up on her hooves. “Why don’t you get the buck out of here?”

Trixie grinned to herself.

Of course, it would have been better if these three mares had just put her brave, if somewhat foolhardy, companion down. But with just how annoying and obnoxious these young college mares had been, Trixie had been hoping that they would continue to push the envelope… and give her more than enough reason to unleash her abilities. The law would already be clearly on her side: Equestria, in general, frowned very heavily on using magic against non-magic users — besides being quite unsporting, it could be dangerous for a skilled unicorn to lash out against an earth-pony or pegasus who had little to no magical defense.

But Trixie was no pegasus or earth-pony.

She was a unicorn. A unicorn with experience.

A quick teleport of one of her smoke bombs from her saddle bags into Petunia’s still open muzzle was an unexpected and clever way for her to start the row. So many novices expected the first blows in a magical confrontation to be bolts of energy or a battle of contested telekinetic force. Trixie had learned from many practice duels with her friend Starlight that if you were outmatched in terms of raw magical talent or power — there was still a whole world of sneaky and effective tricks that could bring the fight to a conclusion in your favor.

Not that Trixie was admitting that Starlight was more powerful than her… it was just… Starlight had a better warm-up routine… yes, that was it. Trixie needed her tricks to stand a chance, but once she learned how to warm-up properly, she’d easily overpower her friend.

Speaking of tricks, the smoke bomb went off in Petunia’s mouth, sending the mare’s eyes wide with fright as a small explosive singed her mouth and sent choking, acrid smoke down her lungs. She fell backward onto the grass, rolling back and forth, hacking and heaving as she gasped for air — entirely out of the fight.

“W-what the f—" her surly friend started to turn toward Trixie. But she was too slow. Maintaining the magical field on Jot meant that her casting time would be way too delayed to set up any magical trickery defense against Trixie. A quick flick of her horn and the spell blast caught the mare square in her side.

“Wh-what did you do to me… I don’t… feel so gooo…. *BLEGHHH* The next thing to come out of the mare’s muzzle was a set of novelty, spring-loaded, pop-can snakes. Vomiting and coughing out the bizarre objects for another few moments, she desperately covered her mouth… whereupon she noticed the corner of a handkerchief sticking out of her left nostril. With her avenues for getting oxygen rapidly diminishing, she grasped the edge and pulled, hoping to clear the obstruction.

Of course, a whole line of handkerchiefs, tied corner to corner began to come out of her nose; the classic gag-novelty trick now used to stun and panic a foe.

As she continued to pull, the mare’s eyes flashed to one side: streamers were now pouring from her ears!

“What did you do to my friend!?” Tulip shouted, her horn alighting as she tried to diagnose what was wrong with the panicking, once-macho mare.

“Oh, I’ve just made it so her body has become a party-favor dispensary… nothing too fancy — her orifices will just be expelling some fun for you three for the next hour or so.” Trixie giggle-growled at the last pony of the trio that stood any chance of engaging her.

“Her… orifices?” Tulip asked, her confused face turning from Trixie to look at her friend.

The mare’s stunned face, handkerchief line coming out of her nose, streamers pouring from her ears, hoof covering her mouth, paused, eyes flaring even wider in momentary shock. “EEEP!”

*Ppppptttt!*

A small ‘poot’ of sound came from her rear, accompanied by a light shower of colorful confetti that sprayed out and showered down over the still writhing Petunia, falling like ridiculous candy-colored snow. It was all too much for her, and her eyes rolled back in her head, as she slumped backward, totally passed out.

“Ha!” Trixie let out a single chuckle, then proceeded to imbue the handkerchiefs with a snaking, coiling spell… not too dissimilar to one she’d used years ago to bind Applejack when the farm-pony had tried to interrupt her first Ponyville show… and quickly bound the hooves of the two incapacitated mares. “Amateurs!”

Trixie turned to face the last remaining mare. Doing her best to project as much menace and confidence as she could. She’d always found that half the battle was a good, menacingly evil attitude. “Care to try your luck?”

“You’re crazy!” Tulip stumbled backward, her horn flaring up as she prepared to deflect any spell from hitting her. “J-just leave me and my friends alone!”

Trixie snorted derisively, flicking her hair back. “Just take them and get out of here.”

Tulip struggled with the ensnaring handkerchiefs for a moment, never turning her back on Trixie, until giving up and simply picking her two friends up in her magic and levitating them back toward the picnic spot they’d just vacated moments before.

“I… I’m gonna tell the cops about this!” Tulip whined, still retreating without showing her back to the magical pony. “Y-you’re a menace!”

Trixie heard a grumbling voice from the ground beside her, where Jot had landed in an ungainly heap after the magical field holding him aloft had turned off. Jot had found his voice and bellowed furiously, “Tell them what? That you were drunk and disorderly in public? Besides you don’t even know who—"

“Remember this the next time you try to face the Great and Powerful Trixie Lulamoon!” Trixie proclaimed theatrically, throwing her hoof out in the air with pride.

“Trixie!” Jot groaned.

“What?” Trixie looked down at him. It almost looked like he was disappointed… hadn’t she just rescued him?

“Nothing… just… I think I see now why you catch so much bad press.” Jot got back to his hooves, using a wing to brush off the dirt that he’d gotten on his legs.

“What do you mean?” Trixie asked, using some of her magic to help and sweeping a kinetic field down the right side of Jot’s flank, brushing away some of the leaves and twigs that had snagged in his fur. It wasn’t until she’d already rubbed against his flank that she realized just how intimate that contact could be construed. She quickly snapped the magic off her horn and tried to suppress the growing blush on her face.

Jot seemed to be blushing too. “Nothing… I’m just glad I can refute whatever bogus story those mares dream up… if they even do go to the cops, that is.”

“Thanks.” Trixie nodded. “These things never seem to turn out in my favor.”

“Of course!” Jot smiled. “You really saved my butt back there. I guess pegasi really don’t stand a chance against unicorns, huh.” Jot sagged a little bit. “Really sucks to feel so helpless, despite being bigger, faster… it’s all useless against magic.”

Trixie shook her head vigorously. For some reason she hated seeing Jot feeling down — she much preferred when he was upbeat and chatty… and ready to laud her praises, of course. “No! Not at all… I know some earth-pony and pegasus mares in Ponyville who could take down even the strongest unicorn mages!”

“I guess…” Jot’s shoulders still slumped, and he gazed wistfully at the retreating trio of lugubrious mares.

Trixie saw that her words had little effect on him, so she slid in beside him and gave him a little hip-check, hoping to jolt him out of his funk. She wanted him to be happy; he should happy… he was in her presence, after all. “Seriously! I could show you a few tricks to make those three a cake-walk! You’ve definitely got the physique and the size to do it!” Trixie pointed at Jot’s strong limbs, her eyes sliding over his powerful back muscles… and his flank.

“Y-yeah?” Jot asked. It was apparent to Trixie that he’d noticed where her gaze had been lingering… she quickly coughed to clear her throat and looked back at him.

“Sure! It’s just a matter of technique!”

“W-well…” Jot rubbed the back of his head. A small grin finally started to appear on his face — Trixie was surprised by how much it warmed her mood… obviously it was just a case of wanting to make sure a fan was happy! “I guess if you don’t mind… I can’t always depend on you being around to save my flank.”

Trixie shook her head with a smile. “And it is a flank worth protecting.” Even as the words slipped out of her mouth, Trixie felt her brain catch up to her. ‘What did you just say out loud, you bucking idiot?’ She resisted the overwhelming impulse to slap her face with her hoof, instead opting to smile like an idiot.

“Uh… thanks? Y-you too…” Trixie watched as Jot blushed as he failed to resist what was likely a similar urge, slapping his face with his hoof.

Trixie giggled, throwing her mane back and glancing back at herself. “It is a nice flank, it does belong to the great and powerful Trixie, after all.” She threw up her chin with pride.

This got a more wholesome laugh out of Jot, who shook his head cheerfully. “How about we exchange that coffee for a drink instead? I could use one after this little sideshow.”

Trixie glanced out of the corner of her eye, head still held high with pride. Her mouth cracked into a full smile. “Trixie will allow this.”

Both ponies laughed again as they made their way further down the trail.

Jot Day -3

With a raucous laugh, Jot stumbled out of the bar.

Trixie followed him half a beat later, with an apologetic glance to the annoyed bouncer, before trotting to catch up with him. He winked at her goofily as she caught up, and they began to giggle and chat. The two had become fast friends - both enjoying the same sort of impish humor best enjoyed over an intoxicating beverage with salubrious cheer.

A quiet stall near the back of the establishment had been their refuge for the evening, and the clumsy awkwardness of their earlier conversations quickly became a relic of the time before ‘the incident,’ as the two had taken to calling it.

Throughout the peaceful night, with Trixie sipping on rose wine and Jot nursing a dry scotch, it only took a joking impression of any of the three ponies who’d assaulted them earlier, and their ignominious defeat, to set the couple to laughing loudly with mirth.

Now, as they took a step into the warm Manehattan summer night, the atmosphere seemed a bit more subdued, a little more… intimate.

“You don’t have to walk me back to my wagon if you’re headed in another direction, Jot.” Trixie smiled.

Jot grinned back. “Naw — it’s right on the way to my place.”

“Really?” Trixie arched an eyebrow at him.

Jot sighed, hanging his head playfully. “Well… no, but I wouldn’t mind escorting you back.”

“As if the great and powerful Trixie needs an escort!” Trixie grinned and winked at him. “Let’s not forget whose plot was plucked out of a magical suspension field!”

Jot laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, call it a guide service then!” Jot blushed a bit as he looked at the blue unicorn, her silvery mane sparkling in the streetlamps of the Manehattan night. “I’d… like to chat more.”

Jot watched as Trixie’s face melted slightly, that dopey-happy grin that he loved to see on her flickering across her features for just a moment before it resumed the facade of a haughty showmare. “W-well… I’ll allow it…” Trixie held her chin up for half a moment before looking down at her hooves with a blush. “I guess I’m enjoying chatting with you too…”

The two began to trot along, comfortably close to one another that Jot could feel Trixie’s tail hairs brushing his back legs from time to time, could smell the lavender scent of her perfume, could hear the little breaths she took.

“S-so…” Trixie coughed. “I-is there a Mrs. Bawdy?”

Jot choked out a scoff. “Not hardly. Nope! It’s the bachelor life for me.”

“Why have you given up so quickly!?” Trixie cocked her head to one side. “Trixie would have thought a handsome, strong stallion like you would have been snapped up by a mare by now!”

Jot felt a bubbling glee deep inside him. ‘She thinks you’re handsome!’ That statement alone would make tonight a good night. “Well, I have to admit I’m a bit of a curmudgeon — long hours working… not the most active pony when it comes to social events.” Jot sighed. “...and of course I’m a hopeless buffoon when it comes to such things. But what about you? How come the most famous showmare in Equestria doesn’t have a bunch of A-list celebrity ponies wrapped around her hoof?”

“Who says the great and powerful Trixie doesn’t?” Trixie sniffed, flicking her head such that her mane spilled gorgeously over her left shoulder. Jot had started to get used to this act — it seemed to be Trixie’s goto response whenever a question was asked of her — put on that prideful, showmare front; even though it was about as thin as a piece of paper. It was cute.

Trixie blushed and coughed into her hoof. “I just… my show takes up too much of my time.” And even cuter when that facade cracked.

“Yeah, work work work.” Jot sighed, scratching his beard while wistfully looking up at the moon. “I hear that… used to be, that was enough for me — along with friends and family.”

Trixie shivered next to him. The movement caught Jot’s eye, but before he could say a word, Trixie cut in. “Trixie…. I don’t need those… my show is all I need.”

“Ah…” Jot mumbled. “You don’t get a chance to see your folks much?”

“I… I never met my father,” Trixie whispered, staring up at the moon herself. “My mother… she’s amazing of course… and I love her dearly, but I… I find it hard to go visit her in Fillydelphia.”

“Why’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jot tilted his head.

“More research for that ‘article’ of yours?” She caught his eye and arched an eyebrow at him playfully.

The implication suddenly rushed back to Jot — he was a reporter after all. Trixie might think that he was trying to dig up dirt on her! His eyes widened slightly and he quickly waved a hoof at her to ward off the accusation. “No no! I… nothing for an article, it’s all off the record… not even background information, honest! I’m just interested.”

“Hmm?” Trixie grinned. “And why would you be interested, if not for a story?”

Jot swallowed nervously. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. “W-well… you’re an interesting pony, Trixie. I want to know more about you.” Even as his mumbles came out of his mouth, he felt like a complete idiot. He physically chewed the inside of his cheek as he regretted everything he’d said so far.

But the words seemed to have a different effect. Trixie blushed and coughed herself, before again proudly tapping her chest. “Well… of course you would want to know more about Trixie!” The bravado lasted only a moment, as per usual, her shoulders sagging. “But in reality… I haven’t seen my mother since that… amulet incident…”

Jot blinked. The Ponyville alicorn amulet debacle had been years ago now.

“Don’t get Trixie wrong!” She hurriedly went on. “I’ve had plenty of correspondence; I call her every other week or so! I just… I always find a way to be on tour around the holidays.”

“Why?” Jot couldn’t help but ask.

“Why do you think?”

“But… that was so long ago. And everypony knows that the amulet was cursed — it wasn’t even your fault. It—"

Trixie harumphed, her tail flicking with annoyance. “It was my fault. I was stupid.” She shook her head. “I appreciate you trying to be nice about it, just like Starlight and Twilight and all her friends… but I knew the amulet was cursed. I thought I could use it... responsibly... to show Twilight just how special I was...”

“That’s what I mean — it wasn’t like the first mistake makes you culpable for all the ones that followed!”

“Is that what they tell drunk drivers after they’ve killed somepony? That the mistake of getting behind the wheel doesn’t make them responsible for what happened after?” Trixie shook her head somberly. “I’m just lucky nopony was hurt. I had the power of an alicorn and was... a complete, evil… bitch.”

Jot closed his mouth. He’d never thought of it that way before. Had never even heard anypony else make that argument. Most of the ponies who didn’t like Trixie were convinced that she was evil incarnate, or had her head so far up her plot that she was beyond saving. He would never have thought that the Trixie-opponent with the most rational arguments against her would have been… Trixie.

“But you saved Equestria — you rescued all of the Princesses from the second changeling invasion! Your mother should be proud of that!” Jot pointed out. “And everypony makes mis—"

“I know.” Trixie sighed. “I just… it’s hard to go back and face my mom. I know… I know she wanted so much more for me.”

Jot nodded thoughtfully. “They always do, don’t they? Career, health, happiness… it’s not enough - gotta find that marefriend...”

“...get hitched to a nice stallion and start popping out foals…” Trixie agreed with a sigh.

“I used to roll my eyes at the regular lecture I’d get from my mom about settling down…”

“The crazy thing is… I think I’m starting to understand why they were going on about it…”Trixie smiled up at the moon.

“Yeah,” Jot said, following her gaze, looking through the silvery leaves of Manehattan’s Central Park trees at the crescent-shaped sliver. “I have to say, coming home to an empty apartment after a long day of work… it just isn’t cutting it anymore.”

“Heh. You should try a wagon.” Trixie glanced at him. “You don’t even get to know your neighbors.”

“Maybe we should get cats. I hear being a crazy cat pony is the next step in being a hopeless loner.” Jot snarked.

“Hee hee!” Trixie shook her head. “I’m more of a dog pony.”

“Oh me too, a nice beagle… or a retriever.”

“No, no, no.” Trixie shook her head. “It has to be a dalmatian, she would make such a great assistant for the show.”

“Well you can have the dalmatian, I’ll get the beagle.” Jot smiled. “It would be so nice to have something to come home to…”

“...someone who is always there for you.”

Jot nodded. He felt Trixie shift her walk slightly toward him, bringing their bodies into contact. Just the warmth of her fur against his was an alien feeling — it had been so long since he’d been so close to somepony.

It was nice.

He wanted to lift his left wing, extending it over Trixie’s back and draw her in closer… but he worried that was a step too far. Everything else could still be in the realm of platonic friendship, but doing that would be like grabbing her hoof: it was pretty definitive. In any case, the last thing he wanted to do was to ruin this perfect moment… under the stars.

Out of the darkness, Trixie’s blue and purple wagon came into sight. He felt his back stiffen with alarm — the critical moment was approaching. Next to him, he could feel Trixie quiver as well. Was she thinking the same thing? What did that mean? What should he do!?

The thoughts raced through his mind as the pair reached the bottom of the small wooden stairs to her home. Agonizingly, she pulled away from him. He was focusing on the area where they’d been touching so intently that he could feel pins and needles from his skin where she’d left him.

“Well…” Jot began a hoof reaching up to scratch the back of his mane.

“W-would… you… like to come in?” Trixie asked, unlocking her door and looking hopefully over her shoulder with a blush.

Fireworks exploded in Jot’s mind.

‘She… she wants me to come in! She wants me!’

Thoughts raced as he considered everything that might imply — his mind strained to remember every technique he’d ever learned, dusting off old memories of the few romps he’d had, what felt like years ago. Sweat appeared on his brow.

Trixie blushed slightly and covered her mouth with a hoof. “N-not l-like that! The g-g-great and powerful Tr-Trixie was inviting you in for a cup of tea is all!”

Jot blinked, his face turning crimson as he realized how he might have misinterpreted her invite. “O-oh! Y-yeah… what did you think I was thinking?”

Now it was Trixie’s turn to go beet red. “N-nothing! I… Trixie was just worried you might think that Trixie was trying to hit on you… I wouldn’t!”

“Oh.” Jot sagged.

“I mean — I would.” Trixie groaned. “But y-you’re probably not interested in… I mean… Trixie is not the kind of pony to do… that… on the first date.”

“Date?” Jot blinked. He watched as Trixie melted into a pile of confused pony, even worse than he’d been just moments earlier.

“Err… uh, the Great and Powerful… you see…”

She fell silent — the both of them standing there in the moonlight, blushing and staring at the ground between them.

“I-I’ll go…” She turned around.

Something inside him, perhaps a spark of Princess-intervention, compelled him. Every bone in his body wanted to reach out to the blue unicorn who looked so sad as she turned away from him toward her lonely wagon — and thankfully, something made him move.

“T-Trixie!” He stepped forward, just as the mare turned back at his cry.

He extended his forelegs in a swift movement, grasping her around the body just as she finished her half-turn, wrapping her in a tight hug. He felt his wings flutter and extend naturally, wrapping around her body instinctively, pulling her closer to him.

For a terrifying moment, he felt nothing in return, just the press of her warm fur against his, her muscles coiled in anxiety. Then he heard it.

A delighted sigh.

She melted in his forelegs, her hooves extending up as she pressed back against him, hugging him back under his wings. A rumbling little coo could be felt, as much as heard. Her muzzle carefully pressed underneath his chin, careful not to poke him with her horn.

It was incredible.

The sensation of being held by her — the sensation of holding. Of being so close. The affection of her nose against his neck. The pounding of his heart — and the pounding of hers… the little squeezes they traded.

He didn’t want to even breathe. He was worried if he did anything it might break the spell, wake him from the dream… it all felt so surreal. Only a week ago he’d never even spoken to her, and now he was embracing her!

“Mmmm… th-thank you Jot.” Trixie’s muffled voice came from below him.

“Trixie… I-I had a great time tonight.”

“I… I understand.” Trixie glanced up at him. Jot was surprised to see what looked like watery tears forming in her big, violet eyes.

“N-no! I…” Jot chuckled. “I want to see you again… tomorrow! I understand if you don’t do, uh… that… on the first date… but I really like spending time with you.”

Trixie sniffed slightly, a small smile starting to form on her face. “Y-you d-do?”

“Yes!”

Trixie’s eyes blinked, her grin becoming warmer. “Trixie also… I also like spending time with you.”

For some reason, Jot couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe his heart was just too full. But it was infectious, and soon Trixie was laughing too.

“We’re both just a couple of clods, aren’t we…?” Jot grinned, his laugh subsiding.

“Mmm-hmm…” She blinked, stared intensely at him, then began to close her eyes, and lean forward.

Jot felt his heart stop.

And at that moment, possibly due to the intervention of an evil princess or chaos god, his courage failed him. He coughed and stepped backward, releasing the embrace.

“I… I w-wouldn’t, want to make you break your rule…” Jot blushed, kicking the dirt at his hooves, bashfully. It didn’t help. He still felt like he’d let her down. “S-sorry.”

Trixie coughed, blushing herself and shaking her head. “We really are hopeless, aren’t we?” She laughed derisively at herself, then opened her door.

“So… tomorrow — can I take you to dinner?” Jot asked, smiling hopefully.

“Oh… of course not.” Trixie grinned.

“W-what?” Jot felt his wings sag slightly.

“I may not do anything on the first date.” Trixie chuckled as she walked into her wagon, flicking her tail seductively. “But the great and powerful Trixie has no qualms about taking charge for the second date…” She looked over her shoulder with a seductive smile. “Trixie will be choosing the nature of our second date, Mr. Bawdy Jot. And she intends to order in.”

Jot felt a flush overtake him, rushing through his face and boy… images and thoughts of the wild night that Trixie was preparing for him danced through his head. He found himself tucking his tail against his body as much as possible to avoid embarrassing himself, before swallowing heavily.

Trixie chuckled at his response, covering her mouth with her hoof. “Cute, Jot. But don’t worry — Trixie will take care of everything. Get lots of rest tonight!” She winked at him, closing the door.

Jot took a deep breath. Air rushed into his lungs for what felt like the first time in minutes, hours, days. He felt a trembling excitement coursing through him, shaking through his muscle fibers as he strained to deal with the adrenaline in his veins.

He crouched down then sprung up in a mighty jump, wings extending as he took off into the night sky, pumping a forehoof in triumph as he cried, exuberantly: “Yahoo!”

Trixie Day - 3

Trixie heard the shout from behind her door. She was pressing her back against the wooden entrance, having sat down against it as soon as she entered.

An ecstatic smile was bubbling on her face, threatening to boil over into laughter, or a scream of joy. She tried and failed to suppress the urge, breaking out into a giggle as she laid her head back against the door and let out a silent prayer of thanks to Celestia.

She’d used the booze as an excuse to herself to proposition Jot. The last five minutes of the walk home had been a constant mantra to herself, psyching herself up to ask the stallion inside. She’d failed so many times in similar situations that she’d given up hope. It helped to adopt her showmare persona — it came so quickly to her, like a security blanket, protecting her ego… she couldn’t be turned down if she was the best… it was something wrong with them not her.

But this stallion was different. He was so — understanding, so patient. If he turned her down… it must mean something was wrong with her.

And when she’d asked him to join her inside, her whole body had been shaking with fear. A fear that became a dark, bleak hole the longer he went without answering her.

At that moment she’d known. Beyond a reasonable doubt. That she had embarrassed herself, that she wasn’t irresistible and gorgeous and talented and powerful and great. The security blanket would not work this time, not when she’d put herself out there so courageously.

But she had to try.

She used her usual line, about inviting for tea and not being a mare who did anything on the first date…

Hah! As if mares these days would ever choose to not take a stallion in! Getting a date in the first place was rare enough!

Still, it would usually allow her to turn her nose up when the stallion would inevitably turn down her offer of a refreshment, reassuring herself that the great and powerful Trixie needn’t concern herself with stallions only looking for a quick roll in the hay. Even if that tired reasoning wouldn’t work with the genteel Jot, it was like muscle memory to her.

But then he’d sagged. Hurt by her words.

He would have come in! If only she hadn’t opened her big, dumb yap! And then, trying to make it better, she’d really put her hoof in it! But she couldn’t stand the thought that she’d somehow managed to break Jot’s heart, because she was worried that he was about to break hers.

She groaned aloud to herself, the flush coming back to her cheeks as she replayed the scene in her head. It was so embarrassing; she had tried to leave, but then… then he’d hugged her.

Trixie wrapped her forelegs around herself in her empty wagon, a far cry from the embrace she’d just had, but still enough to elicit happy memories of the moment.

She’d thought he was taking pity on her… just being the nice pony he was. But oh, how wrong she’d been! When he said that he liked her… her! And he knew about her… Trixie Lulamoon, not the great and powerful showmare, but the pony who’d failed Ponyville… and he still liked her!

She giggled to herself as she twisted back and forth in her self-embrace.

Gods she’d wanted to smooch him harder than any pony had ever been smooched. And more. But he was a gentlepony and remembered what she’d just said, so he’d pulled back.

Trixie groaned to herself, throwing her head back with a thump against the door. If only she hadn’t opened her big, dumb mouth! Even right now, they could be...

Trixie blushed harder, swallowing deeply as her imagination raced. After a moment of indulgence, she shook her head clear.

No, no… that hug was even better. It was fine! He was a shy pony.

She grinned to herself. She’d just have to take charge tomorrow. Tomorrow!

She squee’d aloud, giggling.

It would just make it all so much sweeter for having waited.

She couldn’t wait!

She jumped into her hammock, smile plastered across her muzzle, unsure how she would be able to get to sleep… until the combined drowsiness of a long day and a decent amount of booze overcame her.

Her sleep was fantastic.

Her forelegs stretched gloriously, and she let an almost triumphal yawn, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes she slipped out of her hammock quickly. She couldn’t seem to shake the goofy grin that had made its way onto her face, that she hadn’t been able to dispel since her little solo-squeeing session the night before. Rubbing her cheeks with glee as she replayed some of the different dreams she’d had the previous evening — various iterations of spending time with her new friend, and unusual ways of spending time with that friend… it was far too much fun.

A twittering bluebird outside her wagon window brought her back to reality. Usually, she’d shout at the annoying thing to bugger off — the creature had been a rather irritating neighbor for the past week since she’d parked her wagon here — but today she leaned out the wagon window and chirped “Good morning Mr. Bluebird!” back at the little thing. She felt like she was acting like one of those insufferable princess protagonists in those foal’s fairy-tales… but she couldn’t help herself!

“Well then, time to get Trixie some coffee!” She smiled to herself, walking out her wagon door as she cast the familiar spell that twisted and sussed her hair back into order, taming the strange muss of mane that always accompanied her after awaking.

She trotted out into the musty Manehattan morning, the sound of magic-powered lawnmowers explaining the smell of freshly-cut park grass lingering amidst the humidity of the air, as the night dew began to steam off in the light of the early sun.

She trotted toward the food-stand that she’d been frequenting nearby while in residence at the park — a simple place with simple fare… and awful coffee. She smiled at the stall owner as she trotted up, already snagging the bits from her saddle-bag to pay for her usual — a cream-cheese bagel and a paper-cup of the stall’s foul brew.

“Good morni—" Trixie began happily, the words dying in her throat as two of the customers who had just finished getting their order turned and gave her a dirty look.

She frowned. It would be one thing if the look she’d gotten was just the usual Manehattan scowl, the defacto grimace that all busy urbanites adopted as they tried to make their way through life surrounded by far too many ponies… but these two had been smiling happily until they’d seen her. Once their eyes had seen her, their bright faces had twisted into that bitter derision that betrayed the hate they felt underneath.

She swallowed and sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d run into somepony who recognized her and despised her, and it wouldn’t be the last… probably not even the last-time today. And she wasn’t going to let something like this get her down, not today. Not when she was going to see Jot later.

She cleared her throat and began again. “Good m—"

“It is her. So she really is in Manehattan.” A pegasus stallion whispered far too loudly to her left. Trixie twisted her head to look at him, but he quickly buried his head back into his newspaper, shuffling it slightly.

Frowning, she strode up to the stall. She hated that her good mood had been stolen from her so quickly — it wasn’t fair that fate could snatch away her happiness so immediately. But, all she had to do was get her coffee and bagel and retreat to her wagon; planning out her evening with Jot would more than make up for the intrusion of these annoying ponies.

Then she saw it.

The advertisement on the paper was in big, bold letters on the front page. It wasn’t the headline, of course, but it may as well have been — the red and black font standing out more than the paper’s cover story ever could…

THIS UPCOMING SUNDAY EDITION: TRIXIE EXPOSED — A VILLAIN VISITS OUR CITY… DON’T MISS IT!

Suddenly she wasn’t so hungry.

“Th-this can’t… this can’t be… r-right…” The words slipped out of her mouth — she couldn’t control them. The bits that she had intended for her food clattered onto the counter, used for the newspaper instead.

She walked back toward her wagon, all the sensations she had been enjoying just moments before lost in a swirl of adrenaline and shock. She held the paper in front of her with her magic, as if it were a bomb or hazardous waste… but still, the red and black words throbbed out at her, burning into her mind.

As she walked, mouth hanging slightly open in shock, she could feel the eyes of every pony around her, each landscaper, each park-jogger. All she wanted to do was escape, to shut herself out and away from the attention, to re-read the paper. Some little hope within her hoped that it might somehow read differently, if she could just get some time to sit down and study it.

The door couldn’t come fast enough for Trixie, even as she passed through it, she could already feel her breathing getting faster and shallower — not quite a panic, but she was getting there.

The nearest cabinet provided the only foundation she’d felt since taking the paper, and she slumped against it to take the weight off of her shaking muscles.

She poured over the advertisement, though she’d already read it several times on the way — it hadn’t changed of course, despite her hope:

THIS UPCOMING SUNDAY EDITION: TRIXIE EXPOSED — A VILLAIN VISITS OUR CITY… DON’T MISS IT!- Full cover story by Bawdy Jot

“W-why!?” The word died on Trixie’s lips.

She wouldn’t be sad. Not this time. She’d shed too many tears over betrayals and disappointments in the past; she’d hardened her heart against anything so foalish as crying over a newspaper article…

Then why did it feel so bad?

‘Because you let him in… you thought you’d made a friend. You thought, foolishly, that there was something there.’ Trixie’s inner monologue was always a bit too smug for her liking, especially at times like this. ‘But of course, that wasn’t the case… he was just using you — making you look like a complete idiot.’

Trixie threw the paper away from herself, the gray leaves of paper scattering in a noisy, flapping mess. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t. She wanted to be angry instead, furious. She wanted to spit in that stupid, evil pegasus's face. Fury felt so much more empowering than despair. It was more welcome.

Then why couldn’t she get mad?

Why were her eyes misting up?

Tears began to stream down her cheeks, and the first, choking sob escaped her. She knew that more would follow. She hung her head into her lap, tears flowing freely now.

She wanted to go home.

Jot - Day 4

This elevator was so damn slow.

Jot slammed the button again, snorting air out of his nostrils as he did so. Two interns who just happened to find themselves in the lift with him had already shrunk away, pressing themselves against the back wall as far away from his unbridled fury. At any other time, he would have turned around to reassure them that everything was OK… but right now he was content to let the negative energy radiate off of him, unchecked terrifying.

DING!

The cab reached its destination, and he burst through, eyes darting left and right.

‘Just give me a target.’ He wanted some stupid pony to come up to him with a cheery greeting — he’d love nothing more than to take somepony’s head off in the middle of the busy news area, a collateral sacrifice to the pure rage that he was feeling for his editor, Hard Copy.

His hooves stomped annoyingly into the corporate, industrial carpeting — he wished that there was something more solid beneath him — something that could provide him with a nice clacking rhythm for his rage. He’d never felt so angry before — his jaw actually ached with how hard his teeth were grinding into each other.

The grey mop of a mane came into view as he rounded a corner — his target was sitting in one of the larger conference rooms, surrounded by the division heads of different parts of the news organization. In the midst of some bullshit meeting about something Jot couldn’t care less about.

Good. He wanted an audience for the screaming match he was about to get into.

But just as he was choosing the particular invective that he would start his tirade with, Hard Copy caught sight of him… and for just a moment, Jot saw something that made him stop cold in his tracks.

He had the slightest, barest, sliver of a grin.

The bastard had glanced at the bigwigs all around the table… and then back at him… and he’d grinned. It was such a small thing, but it revealed everything to Jot. He wanted him to explode, to go off like a madpony, to curse him out and tell him to shove his forced Trixie story up his tailhole. ‘Hell, he would probably love it if I quit right here on the spot.’

The pieces clicked into place.

He wasn’t trying to give him an opportunity when he got me the Trixie story — he was trying to drive me out. He knew Jot was prepping a positive spin story for Trixie and set him up for an impossible position… either take the cover story and ruin your principles, resign, or flame-out!

That was how the old bastard had kept his spot for so long: by driving out young talent that could be a threat to him.

The strain on his clenched teeth was incredible. A part of him wanted to give in. He could march in there and turn the conference table on its side. Play right into Hard Copy's hooves and damn the consequences — who gave a buck at this point?

But that Celestia-damned grin. Jot couldn’t stand to see that again. He had to be smart.

It took every ounce of control he could muster, but he turned and started heading back toward his desk. He could feel his muscles aching from the tension; it was almost painful not to go after the editor… but somehow, he managed.

He collapsed into his seat, barely resisting the urge to sweep all of his stacks of research off the various cabinets and desks in frustration — if only he’d been less messy and more organized the subject of his research would never have been discovered.

But it wasn’t over. Not yet.

The beginnings of a plan were forming in his head — Jot slid open his Rolodex, fishing through the printing department personnel until he located the name he’d been looking for. Perfect.

“Jot? What’s up?” Hard Copy’s voice made him slam his hoof down on the Rolodex, shutting it quickly.

“Hmm? Nothing.” Jot coughed. He tried to focus on the typewriter in front of him — anything to avoid looking at the asshole unicorn’s face and betraying the depths of his anger.

“Really? I saw you storming around earlier and thought you wanted a word.”

“Nope, all’s good here boss, just working on the story.” Jot began punching some of the lacquered black keys, idly typing nonsense boilerplate in an effort to avoid thinking about or speaking to his boss.

“Ah?” Hard Copy’s voice sounded less sure than it had a moment before. “Well, good… that’s a big investment the company is making in you. They even took an ad out in the paper today — did you see?”

“Mhm.” The shortest reply possible. A grunt, really.

“I know you wanted to go a different direction with the story, but this is a good thing kid. It’ll show the higher-ups that you’re flexible to the needs of ownership. You’re alright with that, right?” Hard Copy was leaning over him more and more, trying to get into his field of vision.

“Yeah.”

“I mean if you don’t want to, I can have someone else do the story.” Hard Copy needled. “I know you’re a pretty principled writer and all that, I mean — it might look bad but if you want to maintain a high standard of journalistic integrity.” The fact he was saying it aloud so blatantly showed just how desperate he was for Jot to play into his little trap.

“No, that’s fine.”

“Really.” Hard Copy’s tone was clipped, angry. Good, it gave Jot some satisfaction — just enough that he wouldn’t stand up and deck the bastard across his face. “Well… fine then… but I want to see your article in full before it goes to press Saturday night, I want the final draft Friday afternoon.”

That was a full, half-day before the usual deadline, and a massive change from the routine procedure, where an established writer like Jot could clear his work with the proofer. More evidence that the old editor was desperate to get a rise out of him.

But Jot wouldn’t give that to him.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Good.” Hard Copy sniffed. “With a writer like you, I’m gonna have to do a lot of revisions I’m sure. Honestly, I don’t know why they gave you this shot anyway.”

‘Changing your strategy already?’ Jot hit the carriage return with a forceful tap, sending the whole thing traveling back with a loud DING, that punctuated their exchange.

“No problem boss, I’m writing it now. Kind of busy, actually… so….”

With a growl, Hard Copy turned and left.

Jot scarcely noticed. He was already lost in the clattering of his typewriter, keys flying as the words poured out of him. It helped that he had a new motivating force behind his writing — one that he’d never felt before.

Revenge.

Trixie - Day 4

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

The knocking sound echoed through the clearing. She didn’t want to do this, had no stomach for it, but it had to be done.

“Trixie? Are you in there? Please!”

Jot’s voice seemed desperate, needy. ‘Good.’

“Get away from my door.” The words felt good coming out of her mouth, like they’d boiled out of a deep painful pit in her belly, bringing some of that pain with them. A good opening volley as far as she was concerned.

“Trixie! Thank goodness, I’ve been here for almost half an hour trying to talk to—"

“Well Trixie is sorry she made you wait, Mr. Bawdy.” The sneer felt good on her face. She wanted to hurt this pony as he’d hurt her.

“Trixie, listen that st—"

“No you listen.” Trixie stepped forward, knocking the pegasus off of her doorstep with a blast of magic like he was a piece of paper, causing him to stumble off the small wooden steps and fall onto the grass. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you, understand? It’s one thing to regurgitate the lies that have been spread about me for years… but to go so far as to fake being my friend so that you could manipulate me?” She shook her head and stared down her nose at him, mustering every ounce of venom in her body. “Disgusting.”

Jot frowned. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you — it’s not true. You’re talking about that advertisement, right? My asshole boss was trying to force me to—"

“Save it.” Trixie snapped off. She hadn’t expected him to be so bold as to try to make excuses, to try to lie his way out of this. It was satisfying to shut him up. “I don’t want to hear another word from you. Ever. Ponies like you may have poisoned the public against Trixie, but I know a princess personally… and if you ever so much as come near Trixie again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” She flicked her nose up, staring down her snout at him.

She held him for a moment in the fire of her gaze, enjoying watching the stallion melt, hoping to shame him into withering away from her. But he wasn’t staying down. She was surprised to see him find his second wind, standing up and setting his broad shoulders squarely to address her.

“Just listen damn it!” His wings flared out. “I wasn’t writing a negative story on you. I never was! My boss knew that I was crushing on you, so he knew he could screw me into bucking up or quitting by forcing that damn advertisement through!”

Trixie straightened. ‘A… a c-crush?’ Gods how she wanted that to be true. She looked at the desperate stallion, his eyes set in a knotted frown, teeth grit, nostrils flaring with frustration. He looked just like somepony who’d been badly wronged, who wanted to lash out against some cosmic injustice done to them.

She knew that feeling well.

Her gut twisted with anxiety — she didn’t want this complication! Anger and outrage were so much easier.

“H-horseapples.”

“I swear.” Jot stomped his hoof, grinding it into the dirt. “I… I really like you, Trixie. I used to think you were just another pompous half-villain, back when I first started looking into your story, but then I saw how you are with your fans, with foals… and I got to know the real you. I’ve been writing a piece about you, yes. But it was a good story—"

“Stop.” Trixie breathed, twisting her head away as if trying to reduce the force of the words impacting her ears.

“NO!” Jot pressed on. “I need you to hear this. I want to tell the whole world how special you are Trixie, how you saved Equestria, how you help ponies all across your tour, how you won a place in my h—"

“STOP.” The shout came out of her, fading into a soft sob as it did. Why were there tears again? She’d just spent the whole morning crying out every last tear… getting over this… over him. how could she still cry?

“Trixie, it’s OK. Just let me—"

“NO!” Trixie flared a burst of magic through her horn again, a force bubble flashing outward.

She wanted to believe him, wanted it so badly. That fantastic feeling she’d experienced the night before, excitement and anticipation, the feeling of being wanted, loved… Could she get back to that? “I… I’ve just cast a truth spell, I’ll know if you’re lying!” She sobbed, fibbing about the nature of the magic outburst she’d just released.

“Trixie calm down, it’s… it’s OK, I’m not lying. I’m your friend.” He hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t flinched — he either wasn’t lying — or he knew that she couldn’t tell.

But maybe… maybe she could give him the benefit of the doubt?

‘No!’ Memories of her awful morning surfaced, the hurt, the betrayal. The only thing that had kept her from packing up and making a retreat to the comfort of Ponyville and her friends was the significant monetary penalty in her contract to perform for Manehattan Park. And after such a miserable morning, such a betrayal, out of it all, all the mistrust and sadness, she’d come to ask herself a single important question: why?

Why was she even putting herself through this? Life on her own wasn’t so bad. Certainly not so bad that she needed to expose herself to so much pain.

She took in a sobbing breath, chewing her cheek to stave off a complete breakdown. She might not be able to tell if Jot was telling the truth, but if she was OK on her own… did she need to?

“No.”

“No?”

“No — I don’t believe you, Jot.” Trixie hung her head, watching her massive tears fall to the ground.

“W-what?”

“What kind of idiot falls in love with somepony he’s never met in person? With somepony that he only knows from research and stories?”

“T-Trixie…”

She looked up at him, hoping that he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “You don’t know Trixie Jot. Even if you’re telling the truth — it doesn’t change anything. Thinking Trixie is some hero-mare is just as asinine as thinking Trixie is a villain.”

“I’m not—"

“Trixie is not a good pony, Jot.” Trixie cut him off before he could speak. “And she’s not a bad one. Trixie doesn’t know what she was thinking yesterday, but she’s thinking clearly now- you don’t know who she really is, you never did... and your precious story, good or bad, could never capture the real Trixie.”

It hurt to say these things, hurt to see their impact on the earnest pegasus, to see his ears folding back in anguish as she went on.

“I-I wanted to get to know you, the real you…. I thought I w—"

“You thought wrong.” Trixie sniffled, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry, Jot — but… you never will. Goodbye.”

Trixie turned away from the stallion’s stunned face before the sight caused her to reconsider, slammed the door behind her…. And started to sob. As hot streams poured down her cheeks, she realized how foolish she was to have wanted Jot to be telling the truth, to truly be in love with her — it would have been so much easier to know that he was an evil bastard. To know that she was hurting a pony who deserved it, and not somepony who had just gotten too close.

She couldn’t help but imagine the doors she was closing to protect herself.

Those sobs became heavy, uncontrolled, heaving.

Apparently, she wasn’t done crying yet.

Not by a long shot.

Jot - Day 5

Jot stared at the page on his typewriter. The damn hum of the light on his desk lamp was far too loud for his comfort. The rattling of his keys was usually enough to overwhelm the dim buzz of the fluorescent bulb, but the blank white page partially fed through the antique writing-device betrayed the complete lack of progress he’d made on the article.

It was infuriating.

For so many months, he had been ready to write — all his bullet points, all his research, all the opening paragraphs he’d planned. Hay, he’d even punched out several drafts of the article that he had planned to write — all of them completely useless now.

Trixie’s harsh words still echoed in his ears. In his heart. He had never wanted to hear such things from her, to know that it was even possible he really hurt her in such a profound way. He’d never wanted to do that to her… not to anypony… but especially not her. How could he have gone so wrong as to make her cry?

Buck.

He tore the draft piece of paper from the side of his desk, crumpling it into oblivion and firing it over his shoulder into the growing pile of detritus that had been building up there over the past few hours.

She was right of course. And wrong.

Mostly wrong.

Maybe.

He had been a bucking idiot, putting her on so high a pedestal. He wasn’t sure why his opinion had changed so much since he’d first heard of her — was he trying to like her? Was he rebelling against the status quo so that he could feel high and mighty compared to all those other judgemental Manehattan ponies? So that he could feel like he was a real reporter while all those others were something more? Was he so vain that he’d convinced himself that he could see the good in Trixie, just so that he could convince himself that he was special?

No. It wasn’t just that.

He shook the self-deprecating thoughts out of his head. Somewhere along the way, during all the time that he’d spent with her... he’d fallen for her.

Jot tapped on the space bar on his typewriter several times, advancing the key position without adding any ink, letting out a sigh as he did so. If he kept pressing space, if he filled the entire page with nothing, he’d walk away from the article loving that pony in his own heart. The story he was going to tell was really for other ponies. Not him.

How he felt didn’t have anything to do with his story. Not anymore.

She must have known that too, known that whatever he wrote at this point would not change their feelings for one another. So why had she been hurt so badly by the possibility he might have written an attack piece?

There was no way he could hurt somepony like Trixie without actually having found some spot in her heart — she wouldn’t care about the impact of a story on the public… she cared because she thought it might show how he felt… and she was too smart to think her affection was a one-way street.

A slow shake of his head accompanied the memory of Trixie slamming the door shut in his face.

Maybe she’d been so brutal to convince herself she didn’t want to be with him… to risk being hurt... but she’d also done it to hurt him. There had been spite in those words. There had to be.

So… She really wasn’t a good pony. Nor a bad one… she was just damaged, scared, alone… Like him. Like Trixie. Like every other pony on this planet.

“And just where the buck does that leave me?” He asked the empty room, slumping to his elbows and digging a hoof into his cheek.

He could write the slander piece. Trixie wouldn’t care. It would probably torpedo all of Hard Copy’s machinations. That would give Jot a chance to skyrocket in the eyes of the senior management at the paper, launching his career to the next level… but he would care. It might be bad for his career, but he couldn’t distance himself from his writing, couldn’t pretend that what he put to paper didn’t matter.

He could write his puff-piece and get fired. Become a pariah among the various writing outlets — lose any hope at being a professional writer in the city. Accept life as a despised pony on the streets — the loser who had tried to defend one of Equestria’s greatest villains.

He could run away.

But really, the blank page had already told him exactly what he had to do.

Write.

Never meet your heroes. An editorial by Bawdy Jot.

You’ve probably heard the adage many times. But how many of us actually take the prescription as issued? How many of us, instead, congregate around the various politicians, athletes, actors and heroes that grace our beautiful city, desperate to bask in the limelight of their celebrity, even if only for a moment?

Some of you are aware that our city has had a visitor for the past few weeks. You probably wouldn’t have known it but for the advertisement in the paper on Thursday. That’s right, Trixie Lulamoon has graced Manehattan as part of the summer festival’s ‘Play in the Park’ spectacle. The one-time supervillain has been delighting the city’s foals and families for almost a month, with feats of magical daring and flashy fireworks.

If you hadn’t known, Trixie would likely have returned next year as well, becoming the popular summer festival’s longest-standing attraction. Ever since the uproar, I’ve been informed that Manehattan’s Central Park Planning Committee will not be inviting the mare to return. Many fans who have waited long hours in line to speak with the showmare after her shows will be disappointed not to receive a follow-up next year and a chance to experience another special night filled with memories of Equestria’s greatest magic show.

But who can blame those denizens of our fine city demanding her immediate expulsion?

We all know the details about how Trixie Lulamoon remained one of the few villains to have escaped the Princesses’ justice. Nopony has forgotten just how she enslaved one of Equestria’s more productive farming hamlets for days and even threatened the safety of our most recently anointed Princess, Twilight.

But how familiar are you with the facts of the story, really?

We often gloss over details when the narrative is so compelling. We salivate with anticipation and jerk at our chains, eager to abandon the subtlety and nuance of a situation, discarding them as mere fluff, unneeded brakes applied to a steaming locomotive of self-assured righteousness.

Still, I owe it to our readers to make them aware of all the facts.

For instance, Trixie was under the influence of a cursed magical artifact, now known as the Alicorn Amulet. This device compelled its user to corruption and evil. She had obtained this artifact after a dispute months earlier with Twilight Sparkle as a means to level the magical playing field between them. And no, she didn’t know that the artifact had such corrupting properties.

After being freed of its influence, Trixie remained in the affected hamlet town until all of the damage she’d done had been repaired, and she personally apologized to Twilight before leaving in self-imposed exile from the area.

Few ponies know that she voluntarily surrendered to Princess Celestia’s royal academy for a thorough investigation of any ongoing corruption and the effects of the amulet. Even after being cleared, Trixie asked what she could do as a means to receive forgiveness from the solar diarch. My court sources in Canterlot told me that the Princess was surprised that any punishment was even being considered and cleared the unicorn’s record of any blemish.

A pardon was not even offered - because in the Princess’ eyes, she hadn’t done anything wrong.

She didn’t run from justice — she faced it.

But that doesn’t sell papers. That doesn’t empower our legislators to raid and regulate magical artifact shops across our country. That doesn’t help our news reporters to stir panic and division, or our business ponies to exact revenge on rivals.

Few ponies are aware that the owners of our publication, as well as several other media outlets in Equestria, obscure their holdings through an elaborate set of shell companies, trusts, and legal vehicles. Ultimately, over seventy percent of mainstream media groups are beholden to the Flim and Flam brothers. Those same brothers had a long-standing dispute with Trixie when she violated contracts with the brothers regarding endorsement of their brand of discount wands, capes and magical supplies.

Although it’s impossible to go into detail for each of the editorial decisions made by the Flim and Flam brothers-owned news organizations, a simple mathematical analysis shows that they ran with stories that portrayed Trixie negatively over 85% of the time during the year after the incident, while other more ‘neutral agencies’ averaged only 10%.

So who is Trixie, really?

Try asking your neighbors, friends, and family members that have gone to see one of her shows. Fan reviews of her events are always glowing. “I wouldn’t miss it even if the Wonderbolts were hosting free-shows the same night. I haven’t skipped a show since I first saw one five years ago!” Said Skip Hoofsmith, a thirty-year-old accountant at Tuesday’s show. “Trixie’s amazing, and I’m taking my niece to get her poster signed afterward, last year Trixie gave her a magic lesson!” Another glowing review from Jumble Jumper, a teenage mare in line last Friday with her younger niece for the much-beloved meet and greet that has become a staple of Trixie’s shows.

Trixie’s insistence on keeping her shows run out of smaller venues, and personal settings have kept her fanbase from exploding — but allowed her to keep a core, dedicated smaller group of fans. Although, looking at the lines after her shows might make you doubt that assertion, with lines that stretch out for hours. But Trixie spends time with each and every one. Stories abound from her fans about times that she has gone that extra-special mile for her supporters — even following one family home to provide a private magic-show to a sick filly who was unable to attend the actual show.

But so what? Just because she’s a good showmare, that doesn’t excuse a terrible and dangerous mistake, does it?

Maybe not — but she also saved thousands of ponies, the princesses themselves, and all of Equestria!

And not in some obtuse, indirect way. I’m definitely not suggesting that the increased regulation of magical trinkets has prevented further amulet catastrophes from occurring. She literally saved our nation.

We all recall the panic from two years ago when our capital suddenly went dark. Communications and infrastructure in the central core of our country abruptly cutting off, only to be replaced with confusing replies and bizarre outputs from ponies that seemed off.

Only later would it be revealed just how close our society came to complete destruction, with whole swathes of the population replaced by Changeling interlopers. This included our princesses, taken by surprise in their sleep.

Only the quick thinking and brave actions of former villain-unicorn turned hero managed to free our monarchs — freeing our new friends the changelings from Chrysalis’s grasp in the process. We celebrated Starlight Glimmer as a triumphant hero of Equestria. We even gave the mare a ticker-tape parade through our busiest streets, giving her the key to the city and hosting her on all our morning TV shows and late-night programs as a mare all of our fillies could look up to. And she deserved it.

But ponies quickly forget that she had help.

Again, news agencies suspiciously downplayed the fact that a group of four stormed the anti-magic citadel to rescue our princesses. In the case of King Thorax and Discord, this is somewhat understandable. One was a member of the race that had just made the coup attempt, which could confuse the story. The other is a well-known memetic hazard, and by convention, we try to avoid invoking the chaos god too often.

But Trixie was there too.

From direct testimony at the Canterlot Noble’s Special Commission on Capital Security after the incident, Starlight pointed out numerous times that Trixie risked her life and prevented the mission from failing. Efforts which received her commendations from the commission and the Hero of Equestria award, the highest honor our nation can bestow. Strangely, that was not mentioned in the press, which chose to cover Baltimare’s Humie-con instead, burying the award ceremony which was attended by all four princesses deep in the pages of their journals.

So, who is Trixie? A hero.

My hero.

And I made the mistake of meeting her.

When you elevate somepony to the level of hero, you set unrealistic expectations for them. We have been spoiled by Princess Celestia, who appears to be without fault, excepting the odd scandal involving cake and sweets. We have seen ponies who embrace fame and celebrity by choice, like the Wonderbolts or our actors and politicians, who are ready to handle all the pressure that comes with it.

Trixie wasn’t used to being treated like a hero. She was used to being treated like a villain. The burden of simply being a hero can be crushing, overwhelming. She rejected it when I tried to give those burdens to her. In doing so, she reminded me that ponies are not archetypes of justice and evil, not paragons of light and dark… but complex, nuanced creatures. It was a valuable lesson, but a hard one.

And during it, I didn’t meet a hero. I met Trixie.

So don’t meet your heroes, don’t meet your villains. Meet the real pony underneath, if you’re ever so lucky as to get the chance.

This will likely be the last article that I can write for this paper — and as I depart I place my faith in my fellow Manehattanites that we give Trixie the benefit of a fair shake — as a real, good, pony.

-Bawdy Jot

He slammed out the last letter on the typewriter, then gripped the page and pulled it out with a single motion, placing it reverently in the stack that he would shortly edit and proof before delivering directly to his contact in the printing room.

It had taken a hefty bribe and promises that no blame would fall on the printing staff, but he had been able to convince the crew awaiting the final copy that his story could be submitted directly to them, as opposed to the usual channels through the senior editors and the final proofreading teams.

It was a sneaky way to sidestep Hard Copy and his demand for a hit-piece, but it would work. As it currently stood, the machiavellian editor had no idea: Jot had submitted a completely separate, faked article for his sign-off, and that vile, slander-filled piece was what he thought would come out the next morning.

Wouldn’t he be surprised!

Jot shook his head with half-bemused mirth. If he was at all responsible, he would be using this time to update his resume and make sure that the important personal effects that littered his workspace came home with him. His termination was all-but-guaranteed; in fact, he would be lucky if he was able to avoid a civil suit for what he was doing. His career was over too — how could you employ a writer who had a history of going rogue and burning down the establishment that he worked for?

But he was too tired to care about that now. Writing his article had drained him. Emptied him.

All he wanted to do was sleep.

For a week.

Maybe the whole thing would have blown over by then.

He snapped the light on his desk off, likely for the last time, and turned to leave.

...

Jot - Day 6
He barely slept a wink.

Fitful and tossing-turning dreams kept him in a state of sudden re-awakenings, each time the clock glowing that it had only advanced a few slow minutes. When the clock finally rolled around to eight A.M., he’d had enough, rolling out of his bed and walking through his apartment.

But he couldn’t bear the idea of suffering in the small, unclean space either. More than anything else, he needed movement, energy, something — to keep the thoughts and questions away. An invisible leash seemed to pull him out of his home, through the sticky early-morning air and down the only slightly less-crowded streets of the city on a Sunday morning.

He couldn’t help but see his bold headline in so many hooves as he walked along. Some ponies were reading his article. Some had flipped along to other sections… but it had happened, his column was out there, in the wild. There was no going back.

His hooves already knew where they wanted to go, though his mind couldn’t believe what he was doing. It was stupid. Foolhardy. Destined for disaster.

Still, he headed toward the park. Toward her.

It wasn’t until he got within a few hoofball fields’ lengths from where he knew her to have parked her wagon that he slowed, found a picnic table, and plopped down heavily. His form slumped over the table with a sigh, his hooves digging into his cheeks as he let all of his weight rest on his elbows.

He could see the top of her wagon from here, off in the distance. Was this as close as he could get?

He knew he couldn’t go to her, not like this. Not after he’d just written that article. It would smack of a cloying attempt to get in her good graces, like money offered to a whorse. No, though it felt cowardly, this would be the best he could manage with Trixie — watching from afar, cheering her on, wondering what could have been.

Minutes ticked by.

Hours.

He blindly stared into the distance, head filled with emptiness, thoughts of his present situation spiraling off as he wondered what the mare might be doing at that moment, whether she’d seen the paper. It was somewhat more comfortable to think of such things, rather than the grim reality that awaited him — the end of his job, his prospects, prosperity.

For now sitting in the park, watching ponies walk by, hearing the sprinklers turn on and off, was enough.

Then suddenly, his vision went completely black.

“H-huh?”

He realized that a pair of hooves were covering his eyes quickly, and he stiffened in fear. A thug? Or maybe those mares, back to finish the job?

“S-so… you want to meet the real Trixie, hm?” The voice was whispered, weak, but unmistakable. He spun around instantly, the hooves falling away.

Standing before him was the mare herself, in all her shimmering glory. She stared up at him meekly from her seat on the ground, small tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It was hard not to notice the puffy, red eyes, and nostrils. Clearly, Trixie had not had a relaxing evening either.

“Yes… if she’ll let me.” Jot breathed, scarcely able to believe the mare before him was actually there.

“H-ha!” Trixie choked out, clearing her throat and touching her chest. “Th-the great and p-powerful… T-Trixie…” her words were coming out with so little confidence compared to their usual blustery ebullience that it pained him to hear. “... is obv-obviously s-so… *sniffle*... in-interest…” Whatever Trixie was trying to do to prevent herself from crying, it wasn’t working very well.

Jot watched as hot cheeks became wet ones, tears streaming from the poor unicorn’s face as she started to sob.

His heart took control of his body — wrapping the girl in a tight embrace, squeezing her firmly and rubbing her back. He felt her curling into him, muzzle pressing against his neck, her sobs coming harder and wetter now.

“Oh, J-jot… Trixie is… no, I am so sorry.”

“Shhh…. Shh…” Jot cooed, feeling tears trickling down that inner crevice of his face as he did so. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“I… I tried… *sob*... tried to push you… *hic*... away!” Trixie cries were muffled against his chest, making Jot only want to squeeze her in the hug even harder.

“It’s OK…”

“I… I’m… I’m so tired of being alone.” Her body heaved as she sobbed her confession.

Words wouldn’t do in this situation. They couldn’t. Jot took her by the shoulders, pushing her ever so slightly away from him so that he could see into her face, and the moment he could see her surprised, violet eyes, he plunged forward kissing her deeply. He watched her eyes flare and brighten with surprise, before melting into a droop and closing with happiness as she returned his kiss.

He felt her mouth open, letting him in more deeply, the passion of his kiss matching the love with which he pulled her to his breast once again. But there was no flurry of tongues or hooves, no lusty teenage-like pawing — just a contented, happy comfort, as stallion melted into mare and everything felt… right.

They stayed like that for a while, lips tickling one another’s snouts, little squeezes of reassurance here and there, as their bodies communed in silence, conveying between their hearts what their words never could.

When their kiss broke, Jot felt Trixie snuggle into him even more closely, with a happy sigh and a little sniffle following. Jot sank back onto the picnic bench, bringing Trixie into his lap as he did so, wrapping his wings around her protectively, a little bundle of love in their cruel world.

Their tears had stopped now. Little giggles and grins appeared on Trixie’s face, and Jot found himself unable to restrain his mirth. But they didn’t need words. Not right now.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, Trixie’s hoof playing with his chest fur as she snuggled into his neck, his feathers stroking her back, their tails swaying and intertwining with one another. It was like they were in a deep pool of joy — all other sensations drowned out, the pain of the world muted by the depth of their happiness.

But slowly, they began to rise to the surface. Their drunken happiness replaced by nervous excitement, adrenaline began to surge inside his body, his cheeks flushing as his conscious mind began to register just how intimate he was with such a fantastically beautiful mare, deeper arousals building in his gut.

“So…” Jot whispered, his voice feeling dry and crackly, harshly shattering the spell, as he began to lift Trixie off of him, gingerly placing her on the ground.

“Mmm…” Trixie mewled, sadly stepping out of the cocoon of warmth he’d created for her with a small pout. She blinked and smiled at him, tilting her head expectantly. “So?”

Jot blushed, shuffling his wings back to either side of his body and scratching the back of his head. He was terrible at this sort of thing. His hope that their cathartic moment would have bestowed some suave self-assuredness vanished. But she was looking at him with so much love! What should he say!?

“Umm… so, h-how about th-that date… and getting to know the r-real Tri—" Jot paused, noticing that Trixie’s grinning smirk and playful shake of her head was indicating that he had put his hoof in his mouth.

“You really are such a wuss, Jot.” Trixie giggled, covering her mouth and shaking her head at him again.

“H-hey!” Jot blushed, embarrassed at being called out. But Trixie shushed him by placing a hoof against his chest, right up against his pounding heart.

“You’re so nervous!” Trixie seemed to be marveling at the pounding organ.

“I’m not—"

“It’s cute.” Trixie smiled at him seductively. “You’re trying to be such a gentlecolt. But if I need to take the lead… well, I’m happy to play aggressive mare.”

Trixie turned and trotted a few steps away, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Jot? I thought you wanted to know the real Trixie.” The eyebrow waggle and bedroom eyes made the lump in Jot’s belly feel twice as large. Trixie’s flicking tail wasn’t helping matters either.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Jot.” She grinned with a predatory smile and a wiggle of her rear.

That made him chuckle. ‘She wants me.’ The thought was exciting, encouraging. It filled him with confidence.

He smiled back. “This is going to be fun.”

“You have no idea.”

Trixie - Day 7

*BANG BANG BANG*

“Ms. Lulamoon?” The whole wagon shook from the impact of a most insistent knocker.

“Go away…” Her groaned reply was that of a happy, if tired, unicorn. She had been having the most wonderful dream, and groggily waking up to find that her reverie of being curled up against Jot’s chest, under his protective wings, was real... only reinforced her decision to stay put.

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her face though, as memories from the previous day and evening flooded back to her. The smooches, the cuddles, the whispered promises… the intimacy. For the first time in a long time that dark voice, that lingering maw of loneliness wasn’t waiting for her. She wasn’t alone.

*BANG BANG BANG*

“I said go away!” Trixie shouted, getting annoyed, she snatched a nearby smoke bomb and hurled it at the door. Luckily the previous night’s romantic activities had disabled the device, which simply clattered against the door with a thunk.

“Hmmmf… who is it?” Jot’s sleepy yawn preceded his question, before he nuzzled her face with his nose and rubbed her lower back with his left forehoof.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Trixie giggled, booping the pegasus with her nose as she did so.

“Don’t you mean good evening?” He blinked. “We slept through most of the day.”

“Can you blame us?” Trixie wiggled her eyebrows. “We were up most of the ni-”

*BANG BANG BANG*

“Buzz off! I’m not doing my show today!”

“Ma’am, this is the police - if you don’t do your show we’re gonna have a riot out here.” A distinctly more authoritarian and insistent rumble came from the door.

That got her attention. Jot’s eyes were wide too, staring at her with wonder. ”Guess you better answer it.”

She slid from under his wing, feeling her grimy, sweaty body creak and click with soreness and exhaustion. The good kind.

She trotted over to the door, opening it with an annoyed push. A heavy blast of thick fog-like, humid air blasted out from inside, accumulated after hours of being cooped up with Jot. She was surprised to find two female police officers and the male organizer of the park show all standing there, nostrils flaring as the intense smell rolled over them, making the cops blush and the organizer cough and politely adjust himself .

Served them right for interrupting. “J-just… what is going on?” Trixie sighed with frustration.

“Your show is supposed to start in 5 minutes, Ms. Lulamoon… we’ve gotta get you to the stage ASAP!” The show director, a middle-aged unicorn-stallion with a mop of green mane chirped anxiously, checking his watch and dancing on his hoof tips. In all the years she’d done the Manehattan summer show circuit she’d never seen this organizer’s pulse rise above that of a lethargic sloth… now he looked like he’d had fifteen cups of coffee.

“I don’t understand, can’t you just tell the crowd that my show is cancelled this evening and go straight to the next performer?”

“You don’t understand miss.” One of the officers interjected. “There’s probably twenty or thirty thousand ponies out in the field - and they’re here for you.”

Trixie blinked. She glanced over the officers’ heads, toward the show-grounds in the distance… and saw a massive crowd of all shapes, sizes and colors, completely filling the usually sparse, multi-use field. Was she still dreaming? She’d never had a crowd larger than a hundred or so ponies… this… this was insane.

“We need to get you moving so we can escort you through the crowd to the stage.” The other officer checked her watch, then turned to bark something into her radio.

“I… I don’t understand…” Trixie whispered breathlessly.

“It was that article.” The director piped up. “The last day it’s been all anyone can talk about! Ponies have been clamoring for the Flim-Flam brothers to get out of the news business, and everypony has wanted to support you!”

“Manehattanites love to support an underdog…” Jot chuckled, trotting up from inside the wagon to take in what was happening with wonder.

“Well, sir…” One of the cops rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Manehattanites also love a good riot - which is what will happen if they think Trixie Lulamoon’s final show has been cancelled instead of giving the city a chance to make up for its past shortcomings…”

“We want Trixie… We want Trixie… We want Trixie…” The start of a distant chant rumbled through the evening air, as the voice of thousands of ponies demanded to see her.

And surprisingly, she found that she didn’t care. Only a week ago, she would have killed to get this kind of attention. Now… she pressed in against the side of the handsome stallion standing next to her… she only wanted the attention of one pony.

“Hey, Trixie… go on. Can’t leave your audience hanging.” Jot’s chuckle warmed her, his hip check got her to step forward.

But she didn’t want to go. Not really. She knew it wasn’t realistic, but she wanted to stay in that wagon with Jot… forever. Trapped in that moment. She bit her lip, then turned to face him, fixing him with an intense stare.

“You’re not… going to go anywhere, are you?”

Jot laughed. “Trix, I just lost my job, and have no idea how I’m going to pay rent. I was going to beg you for a place to stay.”

“I’m serious.” She didn’t want a joking answer. That wasn’t what she needed, not now.

She watched as his laugh paused and his features became thoughtful. ‘He must know what I’m asking.’

“Trixie, I’m not going anywhere.” The sincerity in the words was only matched by the expression on his face. “Ever. We’re stuck together now.”

‘I… I didn’t expect him to say it like that.’ Trixie felt her face flush and her heart pound. Images flashed through her head - marriage, foals, living together, long walks, going on tour, meeting his family, introducing her friends… she wanted it so badly! She blushed and looked at the ground.

“G-g-good… b-because the Great and Powerful Trixie will need a publicist…and since you’re now probably looking for work…”

“Hmm…” Jot smiled, pretending to consider. “Is it a lifetime appointment?”

“Eeep!” A delighted squeak slipped from her lips before she could compose herself. “O-of… of course… you would make T-tri… me so happy Jot.”

“Me too.”

She didn’t remember leaning in, or him moving. But in a flash they were kissing. Embracing - and she knew she had him… and he had her. Now and forever.

“Ahem…” One of the cops tapped her watch.

She coughed, and turned away from the embrace, blinking away tears of happiness. “I guess I should get going.”

“I’ll be watching…” Jot grinned, following her down her wagon stairs. “Hey,” he chirped, bringing out a moist tea-towel and hoofing it to her, “You should wipe yourself down before you go on stage… somepony really made a mess of you last night.”

“Pfft… showoff.”

“Takes one to know one.” He grinned back at her with a raised eyebrow.

She chuckled, then shot him a wink. “Enjoy the show… we’ll have a private one later.”

“Go on you naughty magical mare, the whole city is waiting.”

Trixie snagged her hat and propped it on her head then turned with confidence. More confidence than she’d ever felt before, no doubtful voice in her mind now.

Showtime.

Epilogue

Cadence

“Buck.” Cadance reach up and massaged her temples as she stared at the screen.

“Buck? Woah mom, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.” Flurry Heart giggled from the doorway.

“Sorry, sweetie… I just… I clicked the wrong button here.” She grumbled, seeing the APPROVE decision locked into the program next to the alert that had popped up for Trixie Lulamoon. And there was no undo button for the power of love. “I just made a little mistake is all.”

“Well hurry up and fix it, ok? I’ll be downstairs hanging out with dad.” The teen clicked her tongue with annoyance then left with as much flourish as she’d arrived, oblivious to the huge impact that she’d just had on another pony’s life.

Cadence shook her head grumpily as she reviewed the outcome of the fated love-encounter she’d just accidentally approved. She bit her tongue, blindly hoping it was one that would end in a one-night stand, or a short-term fling, something casual.

...Lifelong Soulmates and Happy Marriage…

the words blinked out from the LCD screen.

‘Well… that bucking sucks.’ She grimaced. That was pretty much the best outcome possible from the system, and the lucky show-mare had gotten it off of a misclick. There was nothing Cadance could do at this point.

Except…

Cadance’s face turned into a horse-apple eating grin as she opened up the details page of the program and began to edit the scenario. There wasn’t much that she could change, but what she could...

“Well Trixie, enjoy your twins… no…” Cadance cackled evilly, entering a new command into the laptop, “...your triplets from your first evening with Mr. Jot… I may not be able to prevent you any more from getting a happy married life… but at least you’ll have one heck of an eleven-month back-ache!” She slammed the execute command on her edit, blessing (dooming?) the blue-unicorn to her fated motherhood.

“Mom!”

“Coming!”

END