Author's Notes:

Added on 18 May 2016

Formerly Come One. Come Some.

Trixie is jolted when a foghorn of the boat blares and shakes her room. She fumbles under her covers and falls out of her bed in a tangled mess, groaning in annoyance, and when she is finally able to untangle herself she realizes something. She is wet. Soaked, in fact. Her body is dripping and her mane is matted down to her face, and the blanket is heavy from whatever soaked it.

She sniffs herself and thankfully finds nothing out of the ordinary, but she is still perplexed about her current condition. However, all thoughts are replaced with colorful swear words and she presses her hoofs against her ears when the foghorn sounds again.

Trixie hears someone talking, but she can’t understand what they are saying over the noise. When the horn’s deafening signal dies down, Trixie lifts her head up from over the bed and sees Monte standing by his bed, eyes baggy and half lidded with a bemused expression while a bucket of water floats next to his head. Trixie uses her magic to untangle herself as her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she throws in a few swear words and grunts, too, when the blanket proves to be difficult.

After wrestling herself free from the blanket she throws it against the wall and shakes the water off of her body.

“Magician. Masked crime fighter. Heavy sleeper. You never fail to surprise me,” says Monte dryly, and then he cracks a smile. “Although, I have to say, you look good with a wet mane.”

Trixie’s eyes narrow and growls while her horn sparks a little, and while she does wince slightly she still holds her glare.

“I take it you don’t like the wet mane look,” says Monte.

“I hate it,” says Trixie.

“Okay, note to self then. ‘Trixie likes dry mane look’. Anything else I should know before we leave the boat?”

“I’ll think of something later.”

Trixie walks to the bathroom, and once inside their tiny bathroom she grabs a towel and rubs her mane dry, that is until she sees Monte staring at her from the room. She frowns and slams the door shut, and then she resumes her drying.

“Oh come on, there’s nothing wrong with watching a mare dry off,” says Monte, trying not to laugh.

Trixie throws down her towel and grabs another on, this time to dry her tail off. “There is when you throw a bucket of water on the mare!”

“Two buckets, actually. Waking you up is a chore in itself and the only reason why I didn’t think you were dead is because you snore.”

Trixie’s stops and her eyes widen and her towel falls to the floor in a damp mess as she stares the door, horrified by what she had heard. Sure, she knew that she was a heavy sleeper because Pinkie Pie mentioned it a couple of times, but snoring? She never even realized she snored. Pinkie Pie had never mentioned it, nor anyone else for that matter.

“I thought my mom snored loudly, but you? Oh man, we’re going to have to put a muffler on you or something when we get to the hotel room,” says Monte.

Trixie grabs one of the hoof towels and wipes her face and horn, being sure to be gentle with her horn. The rubbing does feel good against her coat and horn, and she really wants to take a warm shower just so she can get the knots out of her muscles. But she knows that it would be pointless since she already got a cheap shower from Monte’s stunt and she already dampened the towels, and she has no time for a relaxing shower.

Trixie groans in frustration and stomps outside when the horn sounds again, and the very first thing she sees is Monte’s amused smile. At first she is tempted to wipe that stupid smile off with a good punch to the mouth, then she wonders if her punch will injure him beyond use when she remembers how her attacks have a tendency to leave her targets with broken bones.

“You okay, Trixie?” asks Monte.

Trixie shakes her head. “I’m fine. Just thinking about how-” The horn sounds off again and Trixie swears and stomps the ground while glaring at the ceiling. “Seriously? What is up with that stupid horn?”

Monte chuckles and levitates Trixie’s bag to her. “That is the wake up alarm. They want to make sure the tourists are awake since nopony is allowed on the ship once it docks.”

Trixie rubs her ear. “Why? Are they hiding something?”

Monte raises an eyebrow. “Um, no. It’s this thing called rules, which is something we should follow, especially in Bernese.”

Trixie snickers and walks past Monte as she puts on her pack. “This is coming from a crime lord’s lieutenant?”

Monte holds up his hoof in protest, but ends up sighing and trotting after Trixie in silence.

Trixie follows a sea of passengers that are being herded through the hallways with the aid of ibex shipmates giving instructions in a mix of broken and fluent Equestrian. Trixie loses Monte through the crowd, although she knows she isn’t too far from him since she can still hear him calling her over the chatter. Trixie stops by a small pocket of peace where a couple of ibex shipmates are talking. They look at her and she guesses they are trying to order her to leave by the way they are waving her towards the crowd and urgently speaking to her. She tries to explain that she’s waiting for Monte, but the language barrier becomes too annoying and difficult for her. Luckily Monte shows up, breathing a big sigh of relief and speaking in the ibex native tongue to excuse the two. The ibex wave them off and Monte stays close to Trixie as they shuffle towards the stairs.

“You are a horrible bodyguard,” says Monte.

“I was scouting ahead to make sure none of Brisk Wind’s agents were around,” says Trixie.

“Well, if Brisk Wind’s agents were on this ship they would’ve killed you in your sleep.”

Trixie glares at Monte and is about to counter his claim with the most insulting thing she could think of at the moment, but she draws a blank. Luckily, her blank mind is shielded by a cheerful ding that is loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Damen und sanftfohlen, willkommen bei Berner!” says the intercom with great enthusiasm.

“Ladies and gentlecolts, welcome to Bernese!” translates another voice over the intercom, also enthusiastic and heavy on the accent.

Trixie pushes open the door to the deck and is immediately blinded by a flash of overwhelming sunshine and cheers, but when she opens her eyes, her jaw drops at the beauty of the site. The port is enormous to say the least, and the towering monuments and buildings along the edge make it all the more surreal. When Trixie looks over the railing she sees little tugboats pulling the ferry closer to the docks with other similar boats and ibexes wearing the appropriate attire tying up the ship and pushing a ramp towards them.

“Willkommen bei Buchtseite, Madam Trixie,” says Monte with a dramatic wave of his hoof.

Once the ramp is secured against the boat, the tourists walk off with eager smiles and converse excitedly among themselves, and Trixie and Monte go down the ramp and she orders him to stay put by a souvenir stand while she walks ahead. She scans the area for any threats, but does not spot any. However, that does not stop her brain from cooking up all of the possibilities of an ambush that could lay waste to them. Ambushes such as a Gatling gun hiding inside an ice cream cart, a bomb in a garbage can, or maybe an assassin posing as a souvenir merchant ready to kill their target with a poison dart!

Trixie observes Monte by the souvenir shack she left him at. So far he looks okay, seeing as how he is chatting with a female ibex clerk with the flirty look in his eyes, but Trixie will not be taking any chances! She marches towards Monte and focuses her eyes on the clerk as she butts her way next to him. The clerk’s cheerful smile is replaced with a nervous one and Monte gives Trixie an annoyed look.

“Having fun, Monte?” asks Trixie while intently scanning the shack for anything that can be used as a weapon.

“I was until you crashed the party,” replies Monte.

Trixie inspects the items on display and sees lots of little nit picky things. Things such as little Bernese flags -which consist of a white winged full moon with a navy blue background, dolls of famous figureheads and Luna, sunglasses, straw hats, and an assortment of cheap toys. There is nothing that can be considered a weapon to a normal passerby. But Trixie is no normal passerby, she sees potentially cleverly disguised weapons everywhere.

Trixie uses her magic to grab a small tube from the display rack and inspect it. It looks like a simple toy to an untrained eye, but Trixie knows that it is obviously one of those cleverly disguised weapons she was searching for.

“How clever of you to disguise this weapon as a toy,” she says maliciously, ignoring Monte’s facehoof. “Let me guess, a dart gun? No. This must be a radio trigger for a bomb hidden somewhere close by. Like that garbage can!”

Trixie slams her hoofs on the counter and leans close to the clerk, making her shift her eyes frantically and lean back. Trixie then grabs the ibex and bring her close so that they are practically touching noses.

“How much are you being paid?” says Trixie threateningly.

“Five bronze an hour,” says the ibex, now shaking and sweating profusely.

Trixie’s eyes narrow. “And why don’t I believe you?”

The ibex gulps.

“Okay, Trixie, that’s enough,” says Monte as he gently pushes Trixie away and puts the toy back where she found it.

He then turns to apologize to the ibex, but she already slammed her window shut and locked it and now has a closed sign hanging down. Monte frowns and looks at Trixie with great annoyance as she scans the area intently. Her eyes dart between every suspicious passerby, which is basically everyone, and her ears swivel towards ever suspicious noise, which is basically everything.

“I can’t believe you!” says Monte, snapping Trixie out of her recon state. “You probably scarred that poor lady for the rest of her life!”

“I was doing my job, Monte, which is protecting you from any harm,” says Trixie.

“I appreciate the notion, I really do, but-” Monte puts his hoofs on Trixie’s shoulders and looks into her eyes, and she also looks back into his, although hers are hardened while his are still surprisingly soft, “-you are way too paranoid for your own good and need to relax. Brisk Wind can’t touch us in Bernese.”

Trixie shrugs Monte off. “You don’t know her. I’ve seen what she is capable of.”

“I was there at the raid, too, you know.”

Trixie shakes her head and walks through the crowd, being sure to stay near the buildings and constantly looking over her shoulder to make sure Monte is okay.

“But you were never her victim,” says Trixie grimly, eyes narrowing to slits and jaw tightening as her horn sparks a little. “You were never tortured. You were never betrayed and forced to hide by the ones who were supposed to protect you.”

“You’re talking about more than Brisk Wind, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just get those files,” grumbles Trixie. “You said you had a hotel room rented out. Where is it?”

Monte smiles and takes the lead with a burst of enthusiasm. “Follow me, madam, for I shall lead you to one of the most beautiful buildings in all of Equus!”

Trixie huffs and follows Monte down the road.

After nearly two hours of walking and trying to keep Monte out of the souvenir shops and Trixie from doing street side interrogations for anyone that looked at them, the two finally make it to their destination. When they arrived, Trixie is thankful that they got there since Monte’s need to explain everything about the building and Bernese culture in general has been driving her up the wall. But upon arrival, she finds herself stopping in her tracks to drink in the beautiful architecture of the hotel, and Monte steps aside and waves his hoof towards the building with a huge grin.

“Trixie, I present to you the Großartiges Hotel der Buchtseite,” says Monte proudly.

The Hotel is a marvel of architecture. Its block base stands five stories high, and each of the towers on its four corners stand another fifteen stories. Its medieval style is enhanced by the cobblestone road and decorative shrubbery surrounding it, and there is marble statue of an ibex wearing a General’s fancy armor and looking gallant as he poses on a rock with four other ibex in simple armor behind him. There are ibexes that occasionally stop with their kids or mate to read the bronze plaque at the base, which is surrounded by a carved in picture of an epic battle.

Trixie walks up to it and tries to decipher what it says, but all she gets is a headache. So she scoffs and paces around the statue, deciding to ignore the plaque to marvel at the elaborate carvings around the base instead.

“This beauty was carved by the late Herr Chisel,” says Monte with a proud smile, then he points at the General. “And that guy is General Scroll. Originally he was a scribe, but after his town was conquered by the griffins he led a resistance network that rallied the ibex tribes and pushed them out. The mural thing you see at the base is the depiction of the Battle of Buchtseite, and it was here that General Grizelda surrendered to General Scroll.”

To emphasize his point, Monte taps the base of the statue, and Trixie cocks her head and looks closer at the statue. While Trixie looks at the statue, Monte coolly leans against it as he inspects his hoof.

“It’s some cool stuff. You should really read up on Bernesenese history,” he says, retaining his proud tone.

“History is boring,” remarks Trixie carelessly, now walking away from the statue.

“Boring?” Monte gasps and shakes his head in disbelief as he gallops after Trixie. “How can you possibly say that history is boring? History, my dear wife, is amazing.”

Trixie holds out her hoof and when Monte bonks into it he stops moving and talking and she slowly turns her head to glare at him.

“Enough with the ‘wife’, Monte, we are not married,” says Trixie.

“I know that, but it is part of our cover, remember?” says Monte. “You seriously need to relax. The amount of stress you’re in is not good for your health or your complexion.”

Trixie forces herself to laugh. “You want me to relax? Okay, fine I’ll relax!”

Trixie sticks her nose in the air and trots away from Monte with a huff and a flick of her tail that unfortunately missed Monte’s face. She increases her speed to a brisk walk when she hears Monte calling and going after her. He says something about them needing to stick together and a bunch of other stuff that she could care less about at the moment. She is relaxing, after all. Or at least trying to relax. But all the noise and possibilities of sniper position and other vantage points of attack spin around like a carousel in her mind. And just to be sure that Monte isn’t lying dead or being kidnapped by EIB agents she looks over her shoulder. Monte is fine, and is actually not too far from her, so if something does happen she will know about it. That little bit of closure actually does make her relax a little bit.

“Trixie, hold on a second,” says Monte.

“I’m relaxing, Monte, remember?” says Trixie.

When she approaches the entrance of the hotel she goes through a revolving door and ignores the ibex in a bellhop uniform greeting her. She approaches a glass door with a fancy trim and window decorations and tries to push it open. No luck.

Trixie frowns and pushes harder against it, grunting and working up a sweat as her hooves screech against the decorative tile. Her cheeks flush red with embarrassment and anger as a small crowd of tourists gather to watch the show. After nearly twenty seconds of grunting and pushing, she stops and slumps to the ground, panting and glaring the daggers of Tartarus at it.

“What is wrong with this door?” pouts Trixie.

Then the door opens up towards her and Monte steps out with a teasing grin stretched across his face. Trixie’s eyes narrow and she points at him threateningly.

“Don’t say it,” says Trixie through gritted teeth.

“Having trouble with the exit, my dear?” says Monte.

Trixie’s eyes narrow to slits and she grits her teeth as her body trembles. Her situation is only made worse when she sees a couple flaunting how easy it is to go through the proper door with snickering children trotting next to them. Then she looks at Monte and finds herself having a difficult time trying to hold back the urge to smack that increasingly ridiculous smile off his face. She sighs explosively, climbs to her feet and swallows her anger to the best of her abilities.

“I want a divorce,” says Trixie as she walks past Monte with her head down and tail sulking.

“You know you love me,” says Monte.

Trixie rolls her eyes and follows Monte towards the receptionist desk. While Monte talks to the female ibex working the desk Trixie decides to look around, but her plans are shot to dust when Monte’s magic keeps her locked in place. She glares at him, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head. Then he proceeds to talking to the receptionist with a healthy dose of charm and most likely a bit of flirting, given how the female ibex giggles as her cheeks flush red. Seeing this, Trixie mule kicks Mont on his hind leg. He is in the middle of a sentence when she does this, and he lets out an embarrassingly feminine yelp and glares at Trixie with tears in his eyes.

“What was that for?” says Monte.

“I thought we were married, honey,” says Trixie.

“I thought you wanted a divorce, sweetie,” retorts Monte.

Trixie rolls her eyes, and since she does not want to hear any more of Monte’s nonsense she tunes him out and scans the area.

The hotel is lobby is huge and well furnished, with full sets of furniture resting in their own areas marked by lavish rugs. There is also a huge fireplace that has a massive oil painting above it, as well as crystal chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling. And to finish it off, there are flags of the different regions of Bernese and many smaller pictures of famous ibexes. Though, further inspections are cut off from a pair of keys dangling in front of her.

“Oh sweetie bell, lookie what I got~” sings Monte.

Trixie looks at Monte. “Did you just seriously call me Sweetie Belle?”

“No, I called you sweetie bell, not the overrated singer. Anyway, lookie what I got. The keys to our room.” He grins and raises his eyebrows playfully. “Deluxe suite.”

Trixie takes her key and groans angrily when she sees her least favorite number on it.

“What’s wrong?” asks Monte.

“That!” snaps Trixie as she points to the 505 imprinted on her key. “That number is what’s wrong!”

Monte arches an eyebrow. “You don’t like our room number?”

“No! I mean, yes! I hate this number! I see it everywhere and I don’t know why!”

“Maybe it likes you.”

Trixie scowls and Monte trots towards the master staircase.

“Come on, we have a room to claim,” says Monte.

When they reach their room Trixie stares at the gold plated numbers etched into their stylish door. She can feel her vein throbbing and her teeth ready to break from how hard she’s grinding them together. After Monte opens up the door he lets out a little girly squeal and runs inside, saying how beautiful the room is while Trixie remains outside, staring down the mysterious number.

When she walks inside she closes the door with her magic and as soon as she sees the room she can see why Monte is acting like a giddy filly. The room is spacious, and has an amazing view of the city and ocean. The walls are decorated with warm colors and flowery wallpaper and pictures, the floor has a simple natural color to it, and there is a fancy furniture set that looks to be hoof-carved with great care. And to top it off, there is a dial radio resting on a nightstand beside the lamp. Overall, the room looks like a place anyone can stay in, but there is just one little problem that does not sit well with Trixie.

“Monte,” sighs Trixie.

“Yes?” says Monte.

Trixie points to the queen sized bed in the hotel room, the only bed in the room, eyes half lidded and lips curled to a frown.

“Why is there only one bed?” asks Trixie.

“I made arrangements to check up on the files before Brisk Wind went psycho on Gilda,” says Monte coolly. Trixie stares at him skeptically and he sighs heavily. “I’ll take the couch, you can have the comfy bed.”

Trixie yanks her bag from Monte. “Oh no, I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to guilt trip me into sleeping on the couch.”

Monte turns around and stares at Trixie with an unimpressed look.

“Can you explain how that makes sense?” he asks.

Trixie sticks her nose in the air and puts her hoof to her chest while closing her eyes.

“Simple,” she says, “a pony of your ego and stature would never sleep on a couch, therefore he would guilt trip his rival into sleeping on the couch while he gets the comfortable bed.” She opens her eyes to glare at Monte. “Not that I care anyway, since I’m your guardian and guardians don’t sleep on comfortable beds. We get couches; it helps us stay awake and alert.”

“So now you’re an expert on what it means to be a guardian?”

Trixie nods. “That is correct.”

Monte sighs and rubs his brow. “Just one problem with that, Trixie.”

“And what is that?”

“It is not proper for a mare to sleep on the couch.”

Trixie scoffs and marches after Monte as he puts his bag at the foot of the couch and pulls out a lavender jacket and with a matching vest. When Monte puts on his outfit, Trixie jabs him in the chest.

“How dare you talk about etiquette when you are one of the slimiest ponies I have ever met!” says Trixie angrily, having more fuel thrown on her annoyance when Monte rolls his eyes. “And don’t do that! That’s rude!”

“Oh please,” scoffs Monte. “You’re the last pony to be complaining about my manners.”

Trixie gasps at the insult, and struggles to find a proper response to it as Monte checks the softness of the couch by pressing his hoof down on it. When he is done testing it he lies on the couch and stretches himself out. Trixie watches him in his blissful state and when he closes his eyes and lets out a dreamy sigh while stroking his hooves against the fabric, she stomps her hoof. Monte jumps a little and gives her a quick, annoyed glance before resuming his snuggling with the cushions.

“What is wrong with my mannerism?” demands Trixie.

Monte looks at the clock hanging on their wall. “Well that only took you thirty seconds.”

“Monte.”

Monte reluctantly rolls off of the couch and sits in front of Trixie, and she remains standing and giving him the annoyed death glare.

“Okay,” begins Monte with a sigh, “for starters, you swear a lot, secondly, overreacting is like breathing to you, and thirdly, you never excuse yourself after you burp.”

“And that is so much worse than somepony who would mount any mare that bats her lashes at him?” says Trixie.

Monte points at Trixie defensively. “Hey, I always make sure they agree before I do any mounting.”

Trixie scowls. “Doesn’t make you any less of a pig.”

“Actually, it does make me less of a pig since I’ve never forced myself on any pony for any reason. I ask if they are okay with it, and if they say ‘Yes’ then we have fun, if not then I move on and play a board game or something with them. Although, I have to say with my looks and charm I get them ninety percent of the time.”

Trixie feels her blood boiling with agitation while Monte inspects his hoof while a cheesy, victorious grin stretches across his face.

“You don’t get it, Monte! What you do is disgusting, no matter if they say yes or no, and you probably have a disease from all your little sexcapades!”

Monte holds up his hoof, his grin replaced with a frown. “Okay, that’s enough. We need to move on to more important things. Like a certain safety deposit box.”

Realizing that Monte is right, Trixie carelessly tosses her bag on the queen sized bed with a huff and opens up the door to the hallway. Once the door is open she pokes her head out cautiously and scans the halls for any trouble. She does not see anything except for the nice furnishing and a couple of maids taking a service elevator.

Trixie looks back at Monte and waves him forward.

“Lets go, Monte. The coast is clear,” says Trixie.

“Roger that, Agent Moon Pie,” says Monte.

Trixie shoots Monte a dirty look and he smiles innocently as does some last minute adjustments to his jacket and hat. When that is said and done he follows Trixie out the door.