After another boring drive filled with terrible scenery, Trixie hops out of Minty’s mini-train and follows her down a parking lot as they approach a two story building that is painted white with plenty of windows and a radio tower propped on the top. Above the entrance is a large sign that says: FANCY ENTERTAINMENT.

“This is where you'll be working,” says Minty.

“Looks boring,” says Trixie.

“I think you will find yourself right at home, soon enough.”

Minty opens the front door for Trixie and guides her inside, and once Trixie enters the building she sees yet more blandness. The walls are white, the radio is playing classical music, and the only color in the lobby is from the brown chairs, a potted tree, and a stack of newspapers and pamphlets. Minty excuses herself and approaches the receptionist, and Trixie trudges over to the stack of pamphlets and grabs one with her magic. What she sees on the front page snaps her pupils to tiny dots and her eye twitches as her brain grinds to a halt, leaving a smoky haze of burning wrath wanting to be released through a righteous scream and possibly a chair through the window.

Never before has she seen such a stuck up pony before. Those half lidded eyes of his and the accompanying grin he has plastered on his face reminds Trixie of a gigolo wanting to score some tail, and with his lavender cape and top hat, and red gem studded collar it is apparent he goes only for the high class. With the colors of the picture, his powder blue coat and dark blue stripes appear to be shining from the fireworks in the background. And to make matters worse, he has decided to call himself the “Magnificent Monte Fountain”.

Trixie's jaw drops and her tongue cannot work properly as the shock of the obvious theft of her stage name and attire is staring right at her with the mocking grin. She barely hears Minty finishing a conversation with the receptionist, and when she turns around, she sees Minty leaning against the counter, eyes to the floor, studying her hoof as if she is inspecting it for damage. But she does not care. Minty needs to see the crime that Trixie has spotted.

“Minty, look at this!” says Trixie as she stomps towards Minty with the pamphlet in her grip.

She holds the document up to Minty's face and the officer's expression shifts from complacent to confusion as she studies the offensive picture.

“What am I looking at?” asks Minty.

Trixie jabs her hoof at the purely evil smirk of the pictured stallion. “This jerk is ripping me off! See? Hat, flashy cape, bedroom eyes, fireworks, magnificent! Which is another word for great and powerful! How can he say he's magnificent when he has to rip me off to gain attention!?”

Minty shrugs. “Maybe he doesn't realize he's ripping you off. Capes and hats and stage names seem to be popular with magicians.”

“Only stupid magicians use hats and stage names.”

Minty smirks, and Trixie instantly clamps her mouth and flushes with embarrassment.

“But not me,” says Trixie quickly. “I wasn't stupid. I was awesome and cool and-and... great and powerful... and...” Trixie looks down, huffing and turning away. “Never mind.”

Minty pats Trixie on the shoulder. “Nice save.”

Trixie groans and sulks away with the pamphlet floating next to her. “I'm going to sit down.”

Minty nods and resumes looking at her hoof. “You go do that.”

After Trixie sits down, her parole officer suddenly perks and approaches a familiar stallion well into his fifties, but still looks like he is a gift from the heavens. It takes a moment for Trixie's brain to remember where she had seen the stallion, but when she does, her eyes get little sparkles and a wide smile grows as she takes in the thin crows feet around his eyes small streaks of gray running through his wavy, powder blue mane and tail. Then there is his excellent physique hidden underneath his sharp tuxedo, and even his monocle and relaxed smile adds to his character in every way positive. In fact, he looks a whole lot better than the last time she saw him over a decade ago.

“Fancy!” squeals Trixie.

Minty and the stallion, Fancy Pants, stop talking and Trixie scrambles out of her seat and gallops to him, her heart racing and her wide grin about to rip her face in half. Before Fancy Pants can react, he is in a hug that squeezes the air right out of him. He grunts and stumbles back before he is able to awkwardly return the hug with one hoof while Trixie giggles and nuzzles her cheek against his neck. The older stallion chuckles and rubs the back of Trixie's neck from top to shoulders, and when he sees Minty's confused look, he shrugs with a smile.

“Okay, what'd I miss?” asks Minty.

“I used to give Fancy sandwiches when he was a hobo,” says Trixie, still nuzzling him and flicking her tail a little. She pulls away just enough to look into his eyes. “Can I live with you?”

Before Fancy Pants has a chance to get beyond the surprised stammering, Minty tugs Trixie away.

“No you cannot,” says Minty, getting a disapproving whine from Trixie that she ignores while smiling sweetly at Fancy Pants. “So, a hobo, eh?”

“It was a sad chapter in my life I would rather not want to talk about,” says Fancy Pants. He looks at Trixie, and even though she is grinning ear to ear at him and shaking in her spot, not even her enthusiasm can hide her body's current state. “But, Trixie, what happened to you?”

Trixie's smile fades. “What?”

Fancy Pants pushes Minty aside and hurries to Trixie's side, where he then grabs her tight and forces her to turn so he gets a profile view of her. “You're covered in bruises and scabs.”

Trixie instantly tenses from the rough touch, and her heart beats become heavy and her throat is blocked with a wet orb as she tries to pull away from him.

“I'm fine,” says Trixie nervously, her eyes now shimmering and ears sagging.

“Fine? No, you aren't fine! You're a mess!” Fancy Pants glares at Minty. “What happened to her?”

Minty cringes. “A rough streak...?”

“A rough streak?” Fancy Pants grabs Trixie again and pulls her close to him, getting a surprised yelp, and he points at a fading scar around Trixie's eye. “That is not a rough streak! That is a brawl injury, and she is covered in them!”

“Hey, give me a break, will you. I'm helping her get back on track,” says Minty defensively.

“She is,” says Trixie, then adding nervously: “Can you let go of me, please?”

Fancy Pants keeps Trixie in his grip for a moment, but when he does reluctantly release her, she sulks behind Minty while he stares at the two mares with a frown of his own. “Please tell me you're going to get those injuries taken care of.”

“Of course we will,” says Minty. “I promised to take care of Trixie, so that is exactly what I'm going to do. Now, how's about we do the whole rehab-job thing that we talked about?”

“Right. Follow me, ladies.”

Fancy Pants takes the lead and escorts the mares down the hall to his office. It is a quick walk, and the office itself is brightly lit, but barren, and after they take a seat in the guest chairs Fancy Pants closes the door.

“Can we leave the door open?” blurts Trixie.

Minty and Fancy Pants look at her quizzically, and Trixie shrinks in her seat and looks at Fancy Pants pleadingly.

“Please?” she adds with a slight tremble in her voice.

Fancy Pants nods and opens the door, and after that he sits in a larger chair behind his plain desk and smiles at Trixie.

“It's been a while hasn't it, Trixie?” says Fancy Pants.

“Yes it has,” says Trixie, returning the smile, albeit smaller than his.

“I want to apologize for when I grabbed you out there. I felt you tense up, but you have to understand that I meant no harm. I was only worried about you.”

“I know,” says Trixie quietly after swallowing and looking down.

“Well, you got nothing to fear, Mister Pants. Trixie is in good hooves so she won’t be getting any worse,” says Minty confidently.

“Just Fancy Pants, Miss Sprinkles. But I haven’t seen Trixie in a very long time and it pains me to see her, or any pony, in such a state. I am grateful that you are helping her, though.”

Minty blushes and waves her hoof dismissively. “Nah, its nothing. But I am glad that you're allowing Trixie to work for you. I'm sure it'll help improve her self-esteem issues.”

Trixie glares at Minty, and the officer merely shrugs in response. All the while, Fancy Pants smiles and nods.

“Nothing like a good job to boost morale, eh?” says the stallion.

“Yeah. It's too bad that I can't be there with her when she works, though,” says Minty.

“Rest assured, I’ll have my managers take good care of her when she’s on the clock. Now, Miss Sprinkles, I am going to have to ask you to step outside for a moment so me and Trixie can get the last of the paperwork sorted out.”

Minty stares at Fancy Pants cautiously and Trixie’s eyes dart between the both of them as they continue their staring contest.

“Is there a problem, Miss Sprinkles?” asks Fancy Pants

“Trixie is my responsibility,” begins Minty, “and she has had a very bad rough streak that has put her on a hair trigger. But -like I said- I can't be with her when she is working, so I'm kinda trusting you to help me out, here. I mean I'm sure you already got some crazy employees because of your role in the whole Rehabilitation Program shindig thingamabob, but just to be safe, I think that Trixie needs to be watched carefully more than others. She's kinda emotional and prone to outbursts.”

“What!? No I'm not!” says Trixie with a high pitched whine.

Fancy Pants and Minty stare at Trixie quietly, and she looks at both of them, just as quiet, before sitting down with a grouchy huff and her hooves folded across her chest.

“Trixie's fine,” mutters said emotional unicorn.

“See what I mean?” says Minty, smiling thinly and getting a condemning glare from the parolee.

“I do,” says Fancy Pants, now getting a glare of his own, but he ignores it completely. “But I promise you will have nothing to worry about with Trixie. I take good care of all of my employees.”

“If you say so. But keep in mind I’ll be watching.”

“I thought you couldn’t be around when Trixie works.”

“There’s more than one way to watch somepony.”

To Trixie's surprise, Fancy Pants eyes Minty in such a harsh way that almost seems like a dare for her to say something else to dig her grave. But, naturally, Minty seems oblivious to this look, and she slides out of her chair and pushes Trixie closer to the desk, much to the unicorn's surprise, and she flinches when the earth pony pats her shoulder.

“Well, I'm sure you got some boring paperwork to do, so I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” says Minty with a wicked smile.

The insides of Trixie's cheeks bursts into flames and she groans in embarrassment as she hides her face in her hoof while Fancypants says something about being married. Minty then giggles and exits the room, and even after she is gone, Trixie still keeps her face covered, not wanting to look at Fancy Pants while her face is still red hot.

In the hallway, Pinkie Pie sits next to the doorway, out of sight, and eagerly listens in to the conversation between Trixie and Fancy Pants.

“So, it’s been a while,” says Fancy Pants.

“Yes it has,” mumbles Trixie.

“You can stop hiding your face.”

“I’ll wait until I’m back to my normal colors.”

An awkward silence passes, and when Pinkie Pie hears an uneasy shift, she guesses that it was Trixie that did it.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” asks Fancy Pants suddenly.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” says Trixie shamefully.

Fancy Pants nods and relaxes in his seat. “Fair enough. We barely knew each other from the beginning, anyway, so sharing tragedies may seem strange.”

Trixie looks up at Fancy Pants and smiles sheepishly, her cheeks losing their blush. “Well, I did give you the bits every week to buy yourself a sandwich. So we’re at least acquaintances.”

“Indeed.”

“Well...” Trixie says while looking around the room nervously. “You’re famous now, huh?”

“That I am, and so were you for a little bit.”

“Yeah, but I kinda got carried away and... well...” Trixie points at her face and forces herself to chuckle. “This is what happened.”

Fancy Pants sighs sadly. “I’m sorry what happened to you, Trixie. I wish I could’ve done something as a way to repay you for your kindness, but, if it makes you feel any better, I admit that I got a little bit carried away with my celebrity status, too.”

“You let fame get into your head?”

“Going from nothing to everything in a few short weeks can have quite the effect on somepony, but after meeting a beautiful mare I snapped back, I guess one would say. Seeing the way that mare and her friends partied and had a grand old time made me realize how suffocating I’ve been after my rise to fame.”

He adjusts his position in his seat before continuing with his monologue.

“Sure I had what I always wanted. Money. Fame. A beautiful wife to call my own. But I spent so long trying to fit into Canterlot society that I became a stick in the mud. A bore. I think it was that day when those mares from Ponyville arrived that I started to realize that money only rents happiness.”

Trixie frowns at the mention of “Ponyville”, but when Fancy Pants pulls out a simple folder that has a few sheets of paper in it, she is quick to replace the frown with a smile.

“Now then, enough about me and on to your employment,” says Fancy Pants as he flips the folder open and turns it to Trixie. “With the Special Talent Act your choices are severely limited. However, even without the said law your choices would still be limited since all you’ve ever done were magic shows.”

“Hey, I've done odd jobs here and there for a while,” says Trixie defensively.

“Like what?” asks Fancy Pants.

“Well... stuff. Grocery store stocking, fast food, garbage collector, bartereress. You know... stuff.”

Fancy Pants arches a brow. “Bartereress?”

Trixie flashes a nervous smile and shifts in her seat. “You know, a female barterer. Sell or trade stuff to other ponies for cash or other stuff.”

“Uh... huh.” Fancy Pants slides the folder to Trixie and levitates a pen her way. “Anyway, I got you a position with my Canterlot branch as an Entry Level Employee, and the good news is is that they just started their newest contract, so you will go in fresh and learn the ropes from the beginning, and it'll be with a big time magician so you'll be in familiar waters.”

“What will I be doing, exactly?” asks Trixie as she studies the paperwork, filling out the basic portions of name, birth date and gender, but going completely blank when she sees slots regarding tax information. Specifically when she sees a whole lot of numbers and stuff that might as well have been written in Greek.

“You’ll be delivering production equipment and help the crew set up the show,” explains Fancy Pants. “I try to keep the work days at eight hours, but sometimes things happen where ponies work as long as twelve hour shifts. I compensate them accordingly.”

“How much?”

“Seven bits an hour, plus another three for every hour worked overtime. I also have free lunches for my employees.”

“Sounds cool,” says Trixie, her eyes becoming more bugged out and her brain more strained by the confusing wording and numbers on her paperwork. Soon enough, the gibberish on the document morphs into a blob of archaic gibberish, and she furrows her brows and bites her tongue as she starts moving her pen in brisk strokes that go well over the designated lines. Seeing this, Fancy Pants' relaxed demeanor fades to confusion and he leans over his desk to see what she is doing. When she is done, she looks up and droops her ears as the older stallion stares at the paperwork with massive eyes.

“Trixie, what did you do?” asks Fancy Pants.

Trixie shrinks in her seat, shamefaced. “I didn't know how to fill out the paperwork, so I drew an elephant.”

Fancy Pants smack his lips, levitates the paper away from Trixie, crumples it, and tosses it in a trash bin labeled “Burn”, and he sets identical paperwork in front of her.

“Well, you are definitely going to need some help,” says Fancy Pants.

Pinkie Pie hears Trixie approaching the doorway so she quickly slides down the hall and when Trixie walks out, she pretends to be admiring something splendid. When Trixie finds her, she looks at her quizzically, and then stares at what she’s staring at. Then back at Pinkie Pie. Then back at the object again.

“Um, what are you looking at?” asks Trixie.

“This magnificent paint job,” says Pinkie Pie casually.

“Yeah, because they did such a great job painting the wall white.”

“They sure did.” Pinkie Pie looks at Trixie. “So, what took you so long?”

“Oh, um, I had to redo some paperwork, but I start working at ten in the morning tomorrow. I have to show up here so he can introduce me to the team.”

“I see... Hang on a sec.” Pinkie Pie sticks her head inside the office and shouts: “Hey, Fancy, when does Trixie work!?”

Fancy Pants jumps in his seat, then he answers Pinkie Pie with a dirty stare. “Trixie works tomorrow morning at ten.”

“Here?”

“Yes, and then she’ll be leaving with a team to do some work at the Card Casino.”

“Okie dokie lokie. Remember what I said.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Fancy Pants then uses his magic to slam his door shut and Pinkie Pie jumps away just in time, but right as she jumps away, a painfully uncomfortable crick in her back appears. Pinkie Pie immediately curses painfully under her breath, and then she stretches out her back and sighs with relief with her eyes drooping and tongue lolling out when the pain fades to relief after some obnoxious, but satisfying pops. She then looks over her shoulder and sees Trixie looking at her, grossed out again.

“Sorry about that, Trixie, but it would make for an uncomfortable ride if I didn’t do that,” says Pinkie Pie.

“What happened to your back, Minty?” asks Trixie

The two mares start walking down the hallway and Pinkie Pie’s mind races for a good idea, but most are ridiculous and unbelievable, all except for one.

“I fell when I was trying to fix something that I broke,” says Pinkie Pie.

“Like a gutter?” asks Trixie.

Pinkie Pie hesitates. “Yeah, it was a gutter.”

“You broke a gutter?”

“Yeah, I broke a gutter.”

“How'd you break your gutter?”

“It was just one of those things where you do something stupid and you hurt yourself trying to fix it.”

Trixie looks down, brows scrunched and eyes flicking left and right as her brain clearly tries in vain to figure out the problem. “So, what stupid thing led to you breaking your gutter?”

Pinkie Pie sighs. “Can we drop the gutter, please?”

“But I wanna know about the gutter!” whines Trixie.

“We can talk about the gutter at another time, okay? But right now, we gotta make one more stop and then I gotta get you home so you can crash for the night.”

Trixie puckers her lips in a pout and looks down, snorting. “Fine. I didn't want to know about your stupid gutter, anyway.”

Pinkie Pie cannot help it. Trixie's reaction creates an amused smirk that cracks across her muzzle, and she shakes her head and chuckles quietly to herself.

“No, y'all so caught up in this new-age junk that yer gladly tradin' everything for security!” says an angry mare with a thick country accent over a dial radio. “It ain't ever gonna end 'cuz if the government becomes yer goddess, yer gonna do everything ya can to please her. Even giving her more power that she don't need and gilded chains to trap us to her so ya can continue to feel good 'bout yourselves.”

“Ma’am, I have to say your paranoia is amusing,” says a stallion. “This is an age where traditions must be replaced for the greater good. Certain rights must be restricted or rewritten for the sake of security, and some positions must be monitored and handled accordingly so this new age of enlightenment and tolerance can prosper. I know it is hard for the uneducated to understand, but you'll thank us in the end.”

“Uneducated? How 'bout I shove my business degree and my Epsilon Pi Kappa hat in your face, ya cretin!”

“Let's try to keep this civil, Miss Apple,” says another mare.

Octavia sighs and clicks off her radio and then runs her hoof through her messy mane. Normally she would keep her mane well kept, but she is at home, away from paparazzi and fans, so she can let her hair down and relax. Well, she still needs to do the relaxing part. She has been attempting to write a new symphony for the annual Gala at the request of the Royal Orchestra Committee, and all she has to show for it is a blank sheet of high quality paper and an unopened box of pens and ink.

Octavia sighs, closes her eyes, and lets her head fall on her aged work table, covered in stains of spilled ink, dried tears and indents where her hoof or head has made frequent contact. Her brain is like a genius locked in a steel box, buried six feet below with a house built on top with absolutely no chance of getting the fresh air of inspiration, and it is bugging her to near mental meltdown.

Without taking her head off of her table, Octavia drags one of her expensive sheets towards her and stares at the blank lines from her awkward position. Her frown grows as her brain clicks worthlessly like a broken clock. Moments of blank thoughts and depressing silence later, and Octavia lifts her head up and blows some of her dark mane out of her eyes, but it doesn’t do much except for shift slightly out of her vision.

“I need a drink.”

Octavia sluggishly slides out of her seat and trudges into her kitchen, purposefully dragging her hooves across the thick, wavy carpet along the way to get that soft feel under her hooves. She loves the feeling of the thick hairs of the carpet rubbing against the bottom of her hooves, and she also finds it oddly fascinating how her hooves leave dark streaks where they go. When she enters her kitchen, she grabs a cool bottle of wine from her win cooler, hoping it will encourage her brain to work so she will not be humiliated on the most important day of her life. She takes the bottle, grabs a cup, then pauses and stares at the fancy glass before her. It does not take her long to put the cup back and bite off the cork and chug the alcohol straight from the bottle.

After taking a couple of big gulps, she smacks her lips and scans her living room, taking in the lavish furniture, expensive artwork, the radio and heater. The view of the city and her patio is a plus, too. Then her eyes fall on her prized possession. A phonograph with its red case decorated in dark flowers and vines, and its bronze speaker polished and aimed towards the door. Below it is her collection of vinyl disks containing only the best of classical music. Not a single piece of that horrendous rock n' roll, rap, metal, jazz, country or any other poor excuse for music can be found in her collection.

Octavia goes over to her phonograph set and pulls out a record of one of her idols, the late Braille Lulamoon. She carefully sets the record on the turntable, and with even more caution she adjusts the arm of the device. There is a brief crackling, but soon heavenly music fills Octavia’s apartment and she feels all of her troubles melt away.

Octavia's stressed expression melts away to a smile and her muscles relax as she plops on her couch. However, when she notices a box wrapped in duct tape on every side with the Sugar Cube Corner and her address scribbled on it in crayon, that smile fades and relaxation dissolves into grief.

She remembers getting the box from a lazy-eyed pegasus who said she was a friend of Pinkie Pie's. At first she did not believe her because no one in their right mind would hire a pegasus that can't see right and crashes into balcony doors like a dumb bird to be a mail carrier. But she had the uniform, the credentials, and Pinkie Pie's mouth writing was all over the insanely sealed box, so now here it is. Sitting in her living room, collecting dust, and reminding her every day that her sister was murdered.

The only reason Octavia has not opened the box to inspect its contents is because there was a note instructing her to leave it alone and let a pony named Minty Sprinkles take it when the time is right. Fortunately, Pinkie Pie left a very detailed description of Minty Sprinkles, but so far there has been no sign of the said pony.

Octavia stares at the only thing left of Pinkie Pie as she nurses her wine until there is nothing in her cup. When she finishes her wine she has a brief mental argument on whether or not she should have another glass. She chooses to leave her glass empty and get back to work. Octavia is about to head back to her workplace, but is stopped short by a sporadic knocking on the door that reminds her of a hooligan doing a knock-knock-ditch game. She carefully approaches the door and peeks through the peephole and sees a very colorful pony standing in front of the door with someone else behind her. The colorful pony is freakishly similar to who Pinkie Pie described as the one who would take the box.

The visitor knocks on the door again. “Octavia, I know you’re home. This is Minty Sprinkles, Royal Government Agent.”

She holds up her badge to the peephole, giving Octavia an up close look at her visitors credentials.

“You see that? Of course you do, you’re right in front of the door. Looking right at me. Open up please.”

Octavia reluctantly opens the door a smidgen, and the colorful pony by the name of Minty smiles at her while the pony she is with appears antsy. It does not take Octavia long to realize who the other pony is, though.

“Is that Trixie?” asks Octavia.

“Sure is,” says Minty proudly. “Hey, Trixie, you got a fan.”

Trixie's expression perks. “I do?”

“I’m not a fan. I just recognize you,” says Octavia.

Trixie’s ears droop. “Oh.”

“Octavia, I understand you got a package from the late Pinkie Pie shortly before her passing,” says Minty.

“Murder,” growls Octavia.

Trixie instantly shrinks behind Minty and visibly becomes more nervous, and Octavia eyes her suspiciously while Minty bites her lip and nods apologetically. Octavia also notices that the government agent has also become unsettled.

“Can we come in?” asks Minty.

Octavia is hesitant, but she steps back to Minty and Trixie entrance into her apartment. As the two enter, Octavia studies their demeanor, noting how both have a burden on them, even though they try to play it off as they study her lavish furniture sets. In Trixie's case, she has a fascination with the phonograph and its music while Minty looks around at the walls, looking at the fancy oil paintings of various natures on the walls and the framed awards that neighbor them.

“You don't seem to be very close to your family,” says Minty.

“What makes you say that?” says Octavia as she closes and locks the door.

“You don't have any personal pictures.” Minty stops and stares at a pictures made of acrylic squares and rectangles of various natural colors that are meshed together. “What's this supposed to be?”

“Its abstract art, so its whatever you want it to be. Why are you here, exactly?”

Minty tilts her head to the side and squints her eyes in what Octavia can only describe as obnoxious. “Me and Pinkie Pie talked for quite some time before her death. She had a lot of good things to say about you and she also said that she gave you a package.” Minty turns and does a quick scan of the room before locking her eyes on the taped up box and pointing at it. “Is that the package?”

“She was murdered. I don't understand why that is so hard for you to say. And don’t touch that!” yells Octavia as she stomps towards Trixie.

Trixie instantly retracts her hoof from the phonograph and backpedals quickly as Octavia checks the device to make sure nothing is broken or that none of the records have been misplaced. After finding out that nothing is wrong, she sighs with relief and then glares at Trixie murderously, making the unicorn sulk next to Minty with drooped ears. Minty, on the other hand, inspects the box and smiles when she sees no signs of tampering, save for the part where the note was pulled off. As this happens, Octavia closes her eyes, breathes through her nose and tries to settle her heavy heart and a lust for blood.

“Forgive me for being a poor hostess. Things have been stressful for me, lately,” says Octavia in a less than hospitable tone. “Would you two like a drink?”

“I think we better go,” says Trixie uneasily.

“Oh, I would love one! Do you have fruit punch?” says Minty a little too enthusiastically.

Trixie sighs heavily and Octavia frowns.

“No, I only have wine and cider,” says the musician.

“Cider it is!” says Minty excitedly. “Come on, Trixie, have a seat.”

Minty ushers Trixie to one of Octavia’s couches, much to the ex-convict's annoyance, and Octavia goes into her kitchen to grab extra glasses and a bottle of her cheapest cider.

“This is some nice music you’re playing. Who’s the composer?” asks Minty.

“That would be Braille Lulamoon,” says Octavia.

“My mother,” adds Trixie with sad a mumble.

Minty smiles and positions herself on her part of the couch so that her back gets the most comforting experience possible while Trixie looks down solemnly at the floor. Meanwhile, Octavia carefully sets the cups of cider on a bland tray and carefully enters the living room. After setting the trays on the coffee table in between the couch her guests are on and her chair, she speaks.

“Your mother was very talented. It was tragic how she passed so soon. She had so much potential,” says Octavia.

“It was tragic,” says Trixie, her eyes narrowing slightly as she uses her magic to grab her cup.

“Well at least Braille left a nice legacy,” says Minty before snatching her cup with her hooves and gulping the whole beverage down in one sitting. “Wow, this is some good stuff. What is it?”

“Sweet Apple Acres Cider,” answers Octavia, letting her repulsiveness of Minty's behavior be known through her tone after taking a ginger sip of her drink.

“Oh very cool, I’ll have to be sure to buy myself some.”

“Indeed, you should.”

“Making a mental note, right now.” Minty chuckles awkwardly while Trixie rolls her eyes, and then she sets her empty cup down on the tray and clears her throat, her tone becoming more serious. “Anyway, I know this is going to seem out of the blue, but what did you think of your sister?”

Octavia immediately stops herself from taking another sip of her drink, and a painful lump rises in her throat as she lowers her eyes and gently sets her cup down on the tray. She tries to swallow it down, but all it does is leave her choking and her eyes wet and burning. When she lifts her eyes to her guests, she has to blink tears away, and as much as she wants to tell them some stories about her murdered sister, those fading memories are all she has left, and she will be damned if she shares them with the ones responsible for her death.

“We drifted apart after I left home. Everything I heard about her was from the newspapers or word of mouth,” says Octavia coldly. “I know only what the media tells me and that is where my judgment of her character ends.”

Octavia's cold stare silently combats with Minty's shocked expression while Trixie's confused eyes snap between the two earth ponies. The only sound in the room at this point is the faint traffic noise outside and the music being played from the phonograph, which just happens to have a tragic tone to it for Octavia's ears. Octavia then notices that Minty sipping at the nothingness in her cup, and the cup itself is shaking from her trembling hooves, and the officer's eyes are becoming increasingly red with a trail of tears snaking down her cheeks.

“Would you like more cider?” asks Octavia, uncaring of Minty's state.

“No, no I’m fine,” replies Minty. “It’s just that, like you, I didn’t know Miss Pie very well, and...” Minty smacks her lips together looks at the ceiling for a moment before bringing her gaze back to Octavia. “Well, when I talked to her, she spoke very highly of you. She thought you were very accomplished and she also wondered if you got those letters she sent you?”

Octavia looks down at her carpet, caught off guard by the question and feeling like she got sucker punched in the liver. She remembers getting those cards, but she always hid them under her bed and never opened them because they were not up to par with the standards she had developed. She also did not want her new friends to see them since she has seen first hand how they treat those who are not in their tax bracket. But, in spite of those things, she has grown so fond of the Canterlot lifestyle that she has tried to forget her roots. She enjoys having a home with electricity, hot and cool air, a door that is not warped, floors not creaking and something more than just rocks to look at. She enjoys not having to get up at the crack of dawn just to go to church. She enjoys being able to buy clothes and dine out, go on dates, have a fling or two, and she loves having a bed that actually keeps her warm and comfortable.

Her old life offered none of that, and only gave her denied wishes. The wealth of her new life answered her prayers and gave her everything she wanted. But thinking about it now, she knows no amount of money in the world can reverse death or return the time lost between her, her father and her sisters.

“I know Pinkie was a strange pony, but before she died she did not stop talking about you,” says Minty quietly, bringing Octavia out of her thoughts.

With those words spoken, Octavia glares at Trixie, knowing full well she had something to do with her sister's murder, and her drooping her ears and shifting in her spot only solidifies that fact. The fact that Minty Sprinkles is chauffeuring that murderer around is enough to get her trembling from pure rage, regardless of Pinkie saying that Minty is trustworthy. From what Octavia is seeing, Minty betrayed her sister and is now letting Trixie off easy.

“But one of the things she wondered was why you or your other sisters never answered your letters,” continues Minty. “I don’t know if you couldn’t or wouldn’t get in contact with her, but she loved you, she couldn’t stress that enough before she died.”

“Did you try to save her at least?” asks Octavia, trying to keep her tone from betraying her desire to enact some Miners Country justice on the murderers before of her.

Minty hesitates. “I did what I had to do.”

Octavia stares at Minty, her jaw setting and wet eyes narrowing as red snakes slither in to poison her purple eyes. Her heart beats faster and her breathing becomes shallow as her muscles tense when Minty and Trixie stand up, with Minty asking Trixie to carry the box for her.

“I think we better go,” says Minty. “Have a good day, Miss Pie.”

Octavia stands up and approaches Minty. “Wait, what did you mean by you did what you had to do?”

“I meant exactly what I said,” replies Minty while walking towards the door. Then she turns her head slightly and smiles sadly. “The hospitality was great, the cider was good and that couch was awesome, but now we have to get going. I got a lot of work to do and only a New Yoke minute to do it.”

“Did my sister at least give you a message to say to me before she died?” asks Octavia.

At this point, Trixie is in the hallway and Minty is in the doorway, but with Octavia's question the parole officer freezes and looks down. Octavia notices the colorful mare's body trembling, and when she turns to look at her, the officer's eyes are glistening and burdened with guilt, and she has to swallow a lump in her throat before she walks to Octavia, sniffling.

“She did. Two things actually,” says Minty.

Minty then pulls Octavia in a tight embrace and the musician tenses and stares ahead with bulging eyes as she is squeezed. The officer's hooves start rubbing her back in a comforting manner, but Octavia still remains tense and unable to move, not even to return the hug.

“She also said not to worry. It’ll all be sunshine and rainbows in the end,” says Minty gently.

Minty reluctantly releases Octavia seconds later and hurries out of the apartment while Octavia stares at the ground, stunned beyond words of hearing her dead sister's pick-me-up phrase. Hearing those words, Octavia’s eyes start to swell with tears, her lips quiver, and she gasps for air as a suffocating lump pushes into her throat. When the door closes, she curls up in the middle of the floor and cries into her hooves, realizing what she sacrificed for the sake of her new life.

Pinkie Pie looks over her shoulder at Octavia’s door, listening to the quiet cries of her sister, and wipes her nose while blinking tears out of her eyes. She does not know what is worse. Having to keep her identity a secret, or the fact that she was hugging and talking to her sister, but she did not recognize her voice.

“You okay, Minty?” asks Trixie.

Pinkie Pie nods and looks at Trixie, forcing herself to smile. “I’m fine. Let’s get you home.”

As much as it hurt for her, she knows it is best that Octavia does not recognize her. For everyone's sake, it is best that they think she is dead until the League of Justice is completely destroyed.

Author's Notes:

Edited on 07 Sep 2015