Redemption is Hard (Trixie) WIP

"THE GREAT AND POW-"
>he slams the door and leaves you on his doorstep
>he was... the last one
>he used to let you borrow some money and you would repaid him, with some time
"damn you twilight sparkle..."
>everything was perfect before her
>the stroll on your wagon is filled with sorrow and gloomy thoughts
"...how did my life turns up like this..."
>for two times you encountered her and for two times you have been humiliated
>a familiar ring welcomes you as you enter inside your mobile house
>an unfinished meal on the small table and, just next to it, posters of an event that will not happen in manehattan
>with a sigh you take a small pouch from under your bed
>...43...
>all your wealth lies in this small bag, and all you have are 43 bits and your wagon
>and your wagon needs repairs
>as you sit to eat your mind drifts between memories of joy and fulfillment and your meal gets as unpleasant salty flavour
>...
>"listen trixie, I can't and won't help you. but..."
>the carpenter that used to repair your wagon turns off your already faint hopes
>"but..."
"anything, please! any work! I'm still a unicorn! there must be something I can do"
>the old stallion, brushes his beard and looks at you with bity and... understanding
>"I might know somepony that might lends bits on ponies in need like you"
"is... "that" type of loaning, isn't it"
>"yes... but you don't seem to have the luxury of choice. is either that... or a job in a farm if you're lucky... a rock farm otherwise"
>flashes of painfully memories come before you
>hours spent moving rocks as big as you from one side of the farm to the other
>hearing your hooves crack under hours of lifting, after your magic left you doing that straining task
>the disappointment of opening a rock, and watching just few turquoise coming out from it
>while a girl half your manners and beauty manage to came with sapphires and emeralds
"no, rock farms are hell, anything but rock farms!"
>"then... you should visit anonymous..."

"anonymous incognito... tiramisu street... 34... now i'm hungry"
>the note is heavy, hardly lifted by your telecinesis power, carrying promises of hope, redemption and success... or doom
>sadly, despite your great efforts to not to lose the last bits on your possession, a familiar grumble on your lower abdomen manages to convince you that 8 bits for a tiramisu at manehattan is a good price
>if your memories are correct, the cakes price is half this one
>with both your spirit and wallet a bit lighter, your hooves dodge uncaring and hurried ponies within the sidewalk of the main street of manahattan
>"mommy mommy! she's the magician!"
>your thoughts are directed on your upcoming visit and you fail to recognize the imminent danger
>"are you sure dear? what was her name... tr...."
>you wonder how many bits this anonymous would lend you
>"trixie! she's trixie!"
>your ego doesn't fail to notice your name being spoken out aloud and your focus is now all for the young cold that is running toward you
>"you're trixie right?! the great and powerful trixie!"
>once, this wouldn't be an unusual sight. your cape and your hat would inspire your talent and soon they began to be a symbol recognizable in half equestria
>but without them. it was rare to be recognize from strangers
>this time, not only you have been recognize with only your coat and cutie mark, but you have been called as your old stage name... "the great and powerfil trixie"
>charlatan, failure, impostor were way more common this days
>your hesitation worries the little colt
>"...am I wrong? aren't you trixie the magician?"
>you're about to use one of the many prepackage statements you have been collecting for this occasions
>but the sudden change of the colt's mother make you realize that she have recognized you too
>and she's not happy
"ehm... no young one, I'm not. you must have made a mistake" fighting back a sobbing voice you pat him on the head and resume your stroll

>once you would have being delighted to meet fans, give hoofsies to everyone and riceve so much money for your performances you didn't know how to spend them
>now it's different
>you're lucky if a sweet shop let you enter and pay for their goods
>you're lucky if the tales of your humiliation didn't reach a city and you would manage to make some bits, but without your usual shows or you'd be recognize
>you're lucky that the wheels of your wagon are still functional, letting you run away from creditors and occasional bullies
>a sign on a pole announces that you reached your destination
>entering a narrow street you're welcomed by a series of anonymous buildings, that looks all the same
>the echo of your hooves int he empty hallway accompanies the fear of this "anonymous"
>you heard of what those type of loaning involve
>their interests are completely insane and they always get their money back, one way or another
>but you are already crippling in debts and they might be the only ones that would be eager to lend you bits for your shows
>you don't need many... just to repair the roof of your wagon, return money to some friends in... more cities that you are comfortable with
>and a bit more to travel enough to make a few shows
>you can do it... it's not the first time you faced hard times
>can't be worse than a frock farm
>...
"...30...32...34! it's... here?"
>you were expecting a house, or a shop to hide the real activity
>technically it do is a shot but..."
>at the number 34 of tiramisu street there is a shop with glasses covered by posters of washing machines and advertisement
>trying to look inside is fruitless, the posters are so many that they won't let any unwanted gaze inside the building
"a laundry? seriously?!"
>"you would be surprised about how little time city ponies have to give to their clothings"

"YEEEP!"
>a scream leave your muzzle as you jump and face your new interlocutor
>if you could be more surprised, you would
>a strange bipedal being stand, almost 2 ponies high, ahead of you
>clothed from its lower strange hooves to its pale face adorned with a big pair of black sunglasses
>"are you lost little pony? we're far from the center of manehattan. this street can be a dangerous place for fine mares like you"
"I-I-I..."
>a fear more deep envelops your body, making difficult to move or respond
>its deep voice, its gaze and its figure dominate your view
>and its white fangs warn you that you're not talking to an herbivore specie
>"sure, take your time. it's not like I need to enter my shop or anything"
>he smiles, satisfied by his sarcasm, and points to the entrance of the laundry right behind you
>you can't move anything but lower yourself a bit in a submissive way, in a pose that you learned through months of begging
"s-s-sorry sir! a-are you anonymous?"
>once, the great and powerful trixie would have never apologized for anything...
>but on your first days of decline, even before the rock farm, you learned quickly that a submissive nature is far more adeguate and fruitful for who is in your condition
>he smiles even more, his revealing even more fangs and making you shiver from fear
>"yes, I'm anonymous. how may I help you?"
>as he finish his statement, his strange claw open the door of the laundry and he goes inside not waiting for a proper respond
>you hesitate entering the shop
>if you fail this once... you cannot imagine what job you'll end up to
>you're a magician, a performer, the bringer of joy
>...not anymore
>you were all that, and a lot more. but not anymore... and this is the only place you could have another chance
>before the door closes, you enter inside the laundry shop
>your spirit il filled with hopes
>your mind... with worries
>this time you'll do better

>the inside of the laundry is exactly as you thought
>there are few rows of washing machines, attached to both west and east wall, and some vending machine with soaps and other cleaning supplies
>at the end, a really high counter with stairs before it
>there are few ponies inside, waiting for their clothing to be clean or dry
"anonymous? sir? I..."
>"sir uh? there aren't really much ponies that call me that"
>the presence of other ponies is bugging you
"I'd... like to talk abo-"
>"wait, are you friend with AngryChisel?"
>your carpenter
"yes, I'm am"
>"ohhh I was waiting for you, come here"
>with a pat on your hea- oh celestia, he's scratching your ears with those things... he's good...
>wait, he's still tacking
>"wait me there, I'll be to you in a minute"
>he points to a door behind the counter
>with a blush on you cheeks you heads toward the white door
>looking back you see anonymous checking some machines while taking with a middle aged mare
>he seems nice... is he really an usurer?
>you where expecting a big pony with a gang ready to beat you up if you would not repay them back
>maybe is not that bad
>opening the door you end up in a small room, a spartan office with a just a black sofa and a table
>5... 10... 15... 20... minutes...
"what is he doing?"
>you move in front of the door and try to watch through the lock
>at the same time the door opens and your nose fights with the handle for supremacy
>of course the door is way more strong and you fall on the floor caring for your hurt fighter
>"oh, sorry. little one"
>repressing the anger for hurting your muzzle you apologize and sit on the couch
"no no it's nothing. I'm sorry"
>"he just smiles, and sit behind the table"
>"so... chisel told me that you would have come. I'm anonymous incognito"
"I'm... trixie lulamoon. a magician performer"
>"so trixie... what do you need? sure you don't need my laundry services"
>just a bit of courage
"I run up debts and... I can't see a way out... I need help"

>he spins on his wheel chair
>"give me a minute"
>nodding you welcome the silence in the room, disturbed only by anonymous humming
>"trixie lullamon..."
>oh no...
>"trixie... lulamoon..."
>did he recognize you?
>"trixie... trixie... tell me miss. why does you name sound familiar?"
>should you tell him? you should be honest but...
"I performed all over equestria... is possible you heard about my shows"
>and hopefully that he didn't heard about your humiliations
>with a sudden stop he leans on the table and take out a notebook
>"trixie lulamoon... performer... magician... so... you need money. for what if I can ask?"
>the questions worries you
>what is he doesn't think you could repay him because of the nature of your job?
>or he could even demand you to perform under his watch and laws
>it could still be better than rock farms but...
"I need to repair my wagon, buy supplies for my shows and advertisements, and goods for traveling for a couple of weeks for reach another city"
>he gets closer with his chair
>"interesting... so you have an itinerant show. and... what stops you from taking my money and ran away?"
>is... what is asking you?
>doesn't him already has this answer?
>what should you respond?
>"hahaha don't look at me like that, lulamoon. I do have my... methods... to deal with ponies that aren't trustworthy"
>he licks his teeth and looks at you like a predator on his pray
>he doesn't seem to need a gang to deal with clients
>he's big, strong and... omnivore... if not carnivore...
>if you could have thought that you could ran away with his money... now you don't
>"but, of course" he continues "I need some proofs of your good faith so..."
>the feeble light of hope that you carried inside this laundry, for the first time in months is getting stronger instead of the opposite
>he's going to give you a chance
>that's all you needed, a chance
>you already have one but... you didn't use it the tight way
>this time is different
"I'm eager to prove myself!"

>his expressions soften and with a caring smile respond to your enthusiasm
>"that's good. do you drink? would you like some whisky?"
>you and alcohol have a troublesome relationship since you discovered that wine and beer will always stay with you and provide the emotional support that you desperately need right now
>your hang out with them often ended up with less money that you planned and more headache that you wished for yourself
>but right now you're not in position to refuse a courtesy of your savior
"yes, I'd like some"
>"so lulamoon..." he opens a drawer under the table and hoof out a couple of glasses "what kind of show do you do? from where I'm from magic isn't really common so I fail to get the appeal of a magic show where a third of the population have access to it"
>he must considering the potential of your shows to make money
"it's true that almost all unicorns have access to magic"
>he takes a bottle of unnamed -probably- whisky and pours it to both glasses
"but most of them are limited to what their talent is. it's extremely difficult to learn magic unrelated to your talent and even if they try is time consuming"
>le listen to you, his eyes constantly aiming for your, some times switching to your horn or muzzle
>it's good to have someone that is listening to you again
>it feels so nice
"but for unicorns like me that their special talent is magic is..."
>you want to say easy, but the failure at the canterlot school for gifted unicorns has something to say about it
>but right now you have to sell yourself, and do it right
"way easier. my talent is stage magic"
>he takes a sip of his amber nectar and brushes his with his claws
>"so... it does not lose the appeal on the ponies... listen trixie. I'd like to help you. but... I want to see that show before support it"
>he... want to see your show?
>he... want to see you...
>"are you ok miss?"
>you are going to have another chance!