A Blueberry and Her Greenery

[Gentian]

A Blueberry and Her Greenery

7 – Vade Mecum

Through the streets of Hollow Shades walks a man, and he is being followed. It's his first time in a pony town, and as incredulous as he has been at the sight of a town full of sapient ponies, those same sapient ponies have been just as incredulous at the sight of him. They watch him from their windows, they watch him from the streets, and they even watch from the sky; worryingly, he'd thought the clouds themselves were following him, too, until he'd made out the colorful heads of pegai peeking furtively around their edges. Ever since Trixie's show, they just haven't left him alone.

You will never have the amazing, show-stopping ability of The Great and Powerful Trixie!

So her tag line went. Self-chosen, it suits her well, and she says it often. She shouted it during her mock shows and practice sessions by the spring, she'd spoken it aloud as they'd walked along the roads, saying it again and again, varying her tone and inflection each time: chasing perfection. She'd said it so often that now he echoed it back to her, letting her begin, then cheering out her title as the same words left her lips. It had been a tentative gesture at first, said with a cautious smile, and soft voice, but something wistful had shown in her eyes, and kept him doing it.

Now they, rather than she, say it often, and with great enthusiasm, but in his particular case, it isn't exactly true. He is no show pony of any kind, nor even the least of magicians, but as they'd soon discovered, he has a show-stopping ability all his own.

Trixie's show was, of course, fantastic. Her pyrotechnics dazzling against the town's preternatural gloom, itself blending seamlessly with their smoke, to make her illusions all the more convincing, and her boasts, therefore all the more believable. The wild concatenations of sound, light, and magic made what little Anon had seen at the Diamond Dog's cave seem like simple parlor tricks. “It's for the ponies,” she'd said in private. “They can use magic, too, so I have to give it my all.” But even so, he'd been a distraction.

“What if it's dangerous?” He'd heard one of them whisper.

“...dressed head to toe in clothes!” remarked another.

“Do you think it can talk?” They just couldn't focus on an ordinary unicorn like Trixie, with such an alien creature in their midst.

Trixie had noticed too, and while she finished the show with a winning smile and gracious bow, afterward she seemed a little put-out. Then an idea must have struck because she immediately seized a bag of bits and bid Anon to follow. Thus, he found himself being led through the streets - oddly dim since the sun clearly blazed above - by a gorgeous blue unicorn, with a half-dozen other ponies trotting along behind.

Over the course of their journey together, Trixie had become much more relaxed. She smiled real smiles, felt herself at ease under his massages, and, secretly, relished his attention. No longer did she put up a facade when they were in private; she'd even stopped referring to herself in the third person.

Until they came to town.

The difference was like night and day, and not all together welcome from his point of view. But they were in public now, surrounded by equines of all colors and descriptions. She had an image to maintain, so while disappointing, her demeanor came as no great surprise when she said, “We're here, Anon. Open the door for The Great and Powerful Trixie!” then shouldered her way past with an annoyed little squeak, and her snout in the air. “Anon, you will turn the lock and take a seat,” she continued, “The Great and Powerful Trixie will return momentarily,” and with that, she vanished down a hall.

Anon for his part, quietly does as he's told, taking stock of his surroundings from atop the most enormous couch he's ever seen: wide, long, and fat with padding thick enough to swallow him. It's one of a pair, situated across from an equally large, and ornate counter, the hall down which Trixie had gone beyond it, obscured by a shiny, diaphanous curtain. The door through which they'd entered is to his right, with many nosy ponies peering at him through its large panes. Short, but very wide windows adorned with a diamond latticework of what looks to be lead run around the top portion of 3 of the 4 walls. The bottoms are lined alternately with full-length mirrors, and equine dress-forms festooned in clothing that looks as impractical as it does beautiful. It's a tailor's shop, and a high-end one by the looks of it.

Why would she bring me here?

“Anon!”

Speak of the Blueberry.

“Stand up!” she commands, trotting back into the room with another pony in tow. This one's wearing fancy clothes, with her mane in elaborate coifs and curls.

She's even wearing makeup, he silently notes.

“Come here, Anon. The Great and Powerful Trixie has need of you.” At once he rises to his feet, stopping a step away from her. “Do you think you can do it?” she asks the other pony.

“Maybe, Great and Powerful One. I need to get a better look.”

“Very well. Anon, strip.” He looks back at the door, hesitantly. Anxious faces are still pressed against the glass. The mares follow his gaze. Trixie's horn glows, and the shade drops. “He's easily embarrassed, the silly thing,” she replies to the tailor's quizzical expression. “Now, don't make Trixie repeat herself!”

Well, they are ponies...

He disrobes in front of them, folding his clothes neatly on the sofa, and stands tall.

“Nicely done, Anon,” she says with a mischievous grin. “That wasn't so bad, now was it?”

“Better than the alternative, Great and Powerful One.”

“For you.” Their eyes meet, and her mirth is unmistakable.

Cheeky little Blueberry, he thinks.

The other pony doesn't seem to care. She sets right to work, trotting around him, tape measure alternating between her mouth and hooves. To the couch to check his garments, laying them out, and making notes on a piece of paper. She measures him again, and scribbles, until finally announcing, “I can accommodate your request, Lady Trixie.”

___________________________________


Anon lays on his stomach, listening to the rain. To his mind it falls in the same soft way late spring showers often do back on Earth, but instead of asphalt and garbage, it raises the smells of wet hay, and damp stone. The sun had gone down, and it's far too dark to see, but he doesn't mind. Under the wagon he is safe from the rain, and his blankets keep him warm.

After leaving the clothier's, Trixie had lead him around the city. Pointing out the good, and bad, talking about how it had looked before, or where such-and-such a thing had happened. More than once, the realization of how incredible her memory must be occurred to him. How keenly she must relive the past in order to retain so much.

She had obviously been in a good mood, and even treated him to dinner in a restaurant. She'd said it was a favorite of Pegai, and she'd chosen it for one reason: it served fish! And vegetables. Who knew how delicious they could be after so long on oatmeal? She also paid him, minus expenses, of course, but that still left him with some bits in his pockets.

Near the end of the day, they'd returned to the store and found an outfit waiting for them, and what an outfit! The tailor had obviously based it on his Earth-clothes, but embellished it beyond belief; its gaudy fabric glittered with rhinestones, even in the soft light of her lamps, and enormous liberties had been taken with both cut, and color. It looked ridiculous, but fit surprisingly well, so Trixie had him carry it out wrapped in brown paper.

It seems Trixie had not only noticed how much attention he'd garnered, but being the keen business pony she is, decided to capitalize on it. Anon was going to join her show, whether he liked it, or not.

All in all, it had been a very nice day, so even when the clouds rolled in and a drizzle started up, his spirits were high.

____________________________________


Trixie, the Great and Powerful, sits in her darkened vardo, lost in thought. What a wonderful day it had been. Anon was so happy to eat that fish. “Anything but oatmeal,” he'd joked, but the joy on his face when he'd seen his meal told her she'd guessed right.

“Well, of course I did,” she says accusingly, raising a hollow smile to her own acumen. It didn't reach her eyes, and she felt it drop away the moment she stopped trying to hold it in place. It felt so empty. Again, she sits enclosed in her own silence, the drumming of the rain on her caravan hardly registering at all.

“But he was so happy,” she suddenly whispers, and with a start realizes her face has begun to smile all on its own. His face, his voice, his scent, they all emblazon themselves across her memory, clamoring for her attention. For one little moment, the Great and Powerful Trixie finds herself utterly lost in his impressions, and when she comes to, gasps at the pleasure they make her feel. Good. So good. Her chest is warm, and a funny little flutter dances in her stomach.

How silly, she thinks.

“Like some school-filly crush.”

But it is nice. When was the last time I've felt so good? Slept so well? And, suddenly, the memories come rushing back, sweeping her up like debris in a flash flood.

Poor Trixie has rarely had a good night's sleep, even as a filly. Nopony liked her, not the other children, not the adult ponies, not even her teachers. Eventually, even her herd-parents had rejected her, too, so she rejected them right back. It didn't make them like her, of course, but it did make her feel stronger, no longer at their mercy. She didn't need anypony!

But, as her skill grew, and with it, her fame, she discovered that they needed her. Her talent, her showponyship, her acknowledgment, they craved it all. They craved her, and she was happy to throw them the scraps of her attention, as long as they paid her her considerable dues.

Until Ponyville. Until those fools lured the Ursa Minor to town. What were they thinking! How could they have even found one? Only an Alicorn could defeat an Ursa alone! Or so she'd thought. But somehow that mare had done it anyway. And worse, everypony saw her do it, just like they all saw Trixie herself try, and fail. The “Great and Powerful,” magician, upstaged by the town librarian! Helpless, even to save her own home.

In that one fell moment, she'd lost everything: her possessions, her reputation, and her livelihood. But not her pride. Not her pride. Pride which, as it so often does, especially when wounded, blinded her, enraged her, so when she'd at last gotten the “Alicorn” amulet in hoof, she'd cared about nothing else. She'd known the danger, been warned that it only sold it's power at the cost of it's wearer's mind, but she didn't care. Vengeance would be hers! Revenge for what everypony, everywhere had done to her! She hadn't meant to hurt anypony, only humiliate them, and regain her fame. She thought she could control it, or at least resist it's influence, but it, too had bested her.

Then she'd been defeated, again, even with the amulet. Humiliated, again, by that same purple mare. Worse, as the amulets influence waned, and her own mind returned, she found she now had so many new personal horrors to face. So many new regrets to haunt her waking moments, and keep her up at night.

Deep within her mind, in the darkest pit of her memory palace, the door of the oubliette is closed, but pounds, and shudders in its frame. She presses against it with all her will, struggling against the onslaught which threatens to erupt. In the dark of her wagon, amid the white noise of raindrops, she sits perfectly still. She is as placid as a statue, and very, very close to shattering like so much brittle rock.

Then behind her blankly staring eyes, she sees Anon.

Anon, whom she'd saved from the Dogs. Anon who'd massaged her hooves every night. Anon who cooks for her, and cleans up after her. Anon who...does his job. That is his job. She pays him fair wages. More than fair wages, actually. More than fair.

But why? Why more than fair?

Anon who talks to her. Anon who listens to her. Anon who likes her. Anon who cares about her. Anon who is...out there! Her brow furrows in consternation. Can I really...what if he says no?

No.

I am no school-filly. I am The Great and Powerful Trixie, and I will not be cowed by fear! With a deep breath, she opens her door. A touch of magic, and a canopy forms over her head.

“Anon?” Why is my voice so soft? “Anon!” He looks up from under the wagon.

“Yes, Great and Powerful One?”

How to put this without giving the wrong idea? What is the right idea, anyway?

“You...you shouldn't be out in the rain, Anon. Dry off” - a glowing towel rises in the air - “and come inside. I don't want those new clothes being ruined.” He knows the new clothes are already in the wagon; he watched her put them there.

That look on her face. What's wrong?

Quietly, he climbs out from under the wagon and towels himself on it's ledge. Without warning, the towel gains a life of its own, ruffling his hair, and stroking his face and neck.

“Hold still, Anon, I don't want any of that in here.” He notices she's using her fore hooves, instead of her magic. “That's fine, Anon, you may enter.” Her snout is up, but she doesn't meet his eyes. He crawls past her, entering the wagon for the first time. It's cozy, with small, modestly carved cabinetry stained a shade darker than the wooden walls. The scents of cedar, gardenias, and horse hang in the air.

She reaches up and pulls another blanket and pillow from a net affixed to the ceiling. Passing them to Anon, she at last meets his eyes. “I hope there's enough room.” There is. She snuffs out the candle, and they lay back, a blanket bunched firmly between them.

The steady patter of rain, and Trixie's gardenia-scented mane carry him softly to sleep.