In Which Trixie talks to Rarity

Once upon a time, Rarity the unicorn decided she really needed to finish the dress she’d been working on. She’d been putting it off for days now, mostly because the client had asked for neon-green and neon-brown as primary colors, and there was only so much pain she could take on a daily basis. 

Come now, darling, she thought while trotting down the stairs. The sooner you’re rid of it, the sooner you can go bleach your eyes. 

Jumping over the last few steps with a little air of showmareship, she politely acknowledged Trixie sipping tea by the kitchen table, made her way into her study, paused for a second, then quickly trotted back towards the kitchen. 

“Rarity!” Trixie exclaimed, waving the mare in. “Thank you for inviting me for tea.”

Rarity had done no such thing. To be perfectly clear. 

“Sit, sit,” Trixie insisted, which the baffled Rarity had no other choice but to comply with. With a flick of magic, a cup of tea apparated before the seamstress. “Have some of your tea.”

“Trixie, how nice to see you,” Rarity said, polite as ever, always a lady, careful to be a gracious host. Twilight had ordered her to steer clear of the magician without explaining why, and Rarity didn’t intend to take such a warning lightly. Tact was in order until she knew what she was dealing with. 

“Pray tell,” she continued, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Trixie hummed, placing her hooves around her cup. “I need to talk with you.” She paused, mulling over her words for a moment. “I know this will be uncomfortable for you, but it needs to be done.” 

Rarity blinked. “I see.” 

Trixie smiled politely. “You’re a good pony, Rarity. I don’t say this about anypony, and—” She paused. “Well, actually, maybe you’re a bit too vain, and you put too much product in your mane, but that’s okay. I’m always happy to let you learn from me.” 

Rarity stared at her. She debated opening her mouth and saying a few choice words, but truthfully, as immediately indignant as she felt, the curiosity at knowing what was happening right then compelled her to stay quiet. 

Thus, she smiled politely.

“How generous of you.” 

Trixie nodded, clearly pleased. Then, continued: “As you know, I love Twilight very much.” 

Hours later, Rarity would praise herself for not spitting out her tea laughing. 

“I am aware,” she said instead, intelligently refraining from drinking tea in the meantime. 

“I love Twilight like my own flesh and blood,” Trixie said.  

“Yes, I read your holiday card.” She paused. “Has Twilight done something?” 

Trixie frowned deeply. “Yes. She made a personal decision, and, well.” She leaned back, outlining the edge of her cup with her hoof. “She’s a big pony, and I can’t make her change her opinion, but as her step-mother, I—” 

“Wait,” Rarity interrupted immediately, truly grateful she’d elected not to keep drinking. Unless it had been wine, which she now wished it were because wow. “Pardon me, her stepmother?” 

Trixie seemed confused. “Yes.”

“You’re married to Celestia?” 

Trixie’s confusion morphed into such genuine contemptuous irritation to such a degree Rarity wondered if she’d somehow slipped into a parallel universe. 

“…Her teache—” 

“Are you done interrupting Trixie?” she interrupted.  

Rarity smiled. “Why, yes. Truly sorry.” She stood up. “By the way, may I offer you some wine? I’m feeling like a glass myself, I’ll admit.” 

“No, thank you.” She smiled wryly. “Now, sit.” 

“But—”

“Sit.” 

Rarity sat down. She was going to be gracious about this. She was. This would be a great story to tell the girls when they met up for dinner the next day. She could see it. She’d walk into Sugarcube Corner, slam down her saddlebags, and dramatically declare: “You will not BELIEVE the absolute gibberish Trixie made me sit through yesterday!” 

Yes. That would work splendidly. 

In any case.

“As Twilight’s stepmother,” Trixie continued to a now riveted audience, “I care nothing more than to make sure Twilight’s choices are the right ones—especially when it comes to things that affect our great family.” 

“Ah, yes. The Celestia-Sparkle family.” 

Trixie nodded, stirring her tea. “We all know that Twilight… doesn’t always make the best decisions. Like, for example,” she said, the last part loudly so as to silence Rarity’s immediate protest. “When she stopped the pyrotechnics at my show last week.” 

“Well, you did set a house on fire,” Rarity noted.

“Rarity,” Trixie said with the patience of a saint, clearly, “we are talking about Twilight right now.” 

Rarity smiled and nothing else until Trixie reached her hoof out towards her for no discernible, evident reason whatsoever. She looked at Trixie’s hoof. Then at Trixie. Then at the hoof.

“AHEM,” said Trixie.

Rarity gave Trixie her hoof, which seemed to greatly please the mage as she gently patted Rarity’s hoof with her other free hoof. 

“Rarity, I like you. Really. And though I would have made other choices, I am happy for both you and Twilight that you’ve chosen each other.” Her grip tightened around Rarity’s. “But I care more for Twilight than I do you, and even a mother’s love has its limits.” 

Rarity could practically hear Rainbow Dash falling off her chair laughing.

“Which is why if you—” 

Not for the first time, poor Trixie was interrupted, now by the sound of the front door opening, followed in short order by Twilight Sparkle herself, leisurely strolling into the kitchen.

“Rarity, did I forge—” 

Her sentence died in her throat. Strangled, much like she herself looked, her face turning fifty shades paler. 

“Darling! Hello,” Rarity greeted with her most dazzling smile. 

Twilight didn’t answer. She simply stared at Trixie. Then at Rarity. Back to Trixie. “What are you doing here?” Back to Rarity. “What is she doing here?” To their hooves. “Why are you hoofholding?” 

Rarity fluttered her eyelashes. “Well, dearest, after a thoroughly confusing ten minutes, I believe I’ve figured out she’s giving me The Talk as it were.” She glanced at Trixie. “Correct?” 

Trixie nodded.

“The talk?” Twilight asked, aghast. “What talk?” 

Rarity waved her free hoof nonchalantly. “Oh, you know. The Fear of Celestia talk. ‘If you hurt Twilight, I’ll hurt you’ and all that.” 

Twilight stared at Rarity. Then at Trixie. Back to Rarity. “You’re my WIFE.” Back Trixie. “She’s my wife! My wife who I married?! You were at the wedding, Trixie!”

“Twilight,” Trixie said, gravely, “divorce is never off the table.” 

Rarity would have gasped if she wasn’t too busy imprinting in her mind Twilight’s expression. Truly, a story for the ages, this would be.

Trixie didn’t seem to register anything was wrong with what she said, thus plowed on: “Who knows how long it’ll last. I know how things are with the younger generation.” 

“The young—You’re the same age as us!” Twilight exclaimed, rocked to her core. For eons, Rarity would tell this story. She’d have to send a letter to Twilight Velvet that same day. “You—! You can’t just—” Twilight couldn’t even speak. “FOR THE LAST TIME, WE ARE NOT RELATED BECAUSE YOU MARRIED CELESTIA!” 

She then proceeded to let out the most unholy sound Rarity had ever heard her make and stormed off. 

“Darling!” Rarity called out. “Don’t do that! It’s awful for your vocal cords!” 

One, two, three seconds passed afterward before Trixie sighed. Deeply.

“Perhaps we should do this another time,” she said, disappointed in Twilight, certainly. 

“No, no!” Rarity exclaimed, suddenly. Her story couldn’t just end there! “Please! This is fascinating. Do go on. Besides.” She took a moment, accepting her inevitable fate of being delegated to the couch for a few nights, and then said with her voice raised just enough, “I do love getting to know my inlaws.” 

“RARITY,” came the unholy bellow. “DON’T ENCOURAGE HER, DAMN IT.”