A Fleeting Chance

by Nygell The Glutius

Winter's Judgement

Being a forepony was a difficult lifestyle to adopt. My responsibilities became more fragile and delicate than before, but the pain in my hooves went away-- only to be replaced by head splitting migraines. I received respect from my former equals despite our new separation in job class, but the newcomers constantly gave me trouble and viewed me with contempt. Curiously, the new workers were more receptive to Gravel than they were to the rest of the foreponies and I. Every new batch of employees was more emboldened than the last, thus as I gained trust with the previous group, the new one would give me little time to rest.

This difficulty was amplified when the weather teams released far too many rains during the spring, leaving almost no moisture for the summer months. The workers became more irritable and agitated from the scorching heat of the Sun. Complaints were made to the Regent Hall, particularly by the farmers, in Princessyn Square, but the Regent would always dismiss them with empty promises and harmonic rhetoric. Every day, the price of food would rise as acres of crops dried out, further angering the overburdened workers.

Summer overflowed into autumn, this time bringing ire of the higher classes. They bribed and pressured the weather teams to end the heat quickly, rather than to let it fade gradually. With that, Mistress Winter arrived early and with overwhelming fury. Farmers lined the streets of the cities as much as the snow did, begging for mercy and amnesty from their fellow pony. Unfortunately for them, the workers had little to share, and their masters only had scorn to give.

In these cold days (now spilling into late spring), I cherished my breaks with Gravel and the rest of the foreponies in her office. I often brought in trays of candies and sweets for us to enjoy while Gravel brought bottles of hard cider to drink. According to her, “If them pampered Canterlot elites can drink their wines in public, then why can’t us weary workers have some swigs of cider in private?”

The break today, in particular, was more of an impromptu meeting, but also a brush with divine providence. The Chief Executive opened the door before I even had a chance to enter Gravel’s office. This wasn’t the first time I “saw” the Chief, but in those times when he came to inspect the factory I always managed to keep my distance. I cowered from his crushing presence almost to the point of bowing down to my supreme god-king. My eyes dared not to spare a glance at the Chief lest they burn from his impeccable image. I felt his piercing stare bore into the core of my soul, judging me as either capable or useless for his enterprise. The Chief made a noise, as if to say something, but decided against it and simply walked away. Hurriedly, I entered the office and shut the door behind me. Gravel raised an eyebrow upon seeing my disheveled state.

“Hey Toffee! Looks like you saw a ghost or somthin’.” I nodded my head weakly to which she smirked and shook her head. “Well, ya can save yer stories fer later. Right now, we got some stuff to take care of. Have a seat.”

I slumped into the chair, only then noticing that Gravel’s desk has some strange posters resting atop it. They reeked of corporate language and hollow encouragement. Gravel gestured to the many posters.

“The Chief gave me these to ‘encourage the laborers and dissuade dissenters’ or some other such nonsense. He’s gonna check in later to see if they’re up. A’hm givin’ ya the first pick for yer workers.” I began looking them over and chose the less endearing posters while Gravel continued. “He also talked about a contract he made with Gray Design to help ‘em produce guns to ship to Griffonia, so ya’d better add St. Petershoof to the shipments catalog.”

I looked up and furrowed my brow. “Why are we sending weapons to Griffonia? Princess Celestia would have never approved of this.”

Gravel shrugged. “Them griffons like killing each other, so the Chief wants to profit off that. As fer Celestia, she don’t know a thing. Unless ya want to go trottin’ to Canterlot and somehow convince Guards to tell her what’s goin’ on here, yer gonna have to get the Regent to relay a message.” She rolled her eyes. “Too bad the Chief’s sellin’ weapons to the Regent fer her garrison.”

The cold, biting air from outside seemed to crawl into the room. I shuddered. “Why would the Guards need such weapons? They are already capable of keeping the peace as is. This is absolutely ridiculous of her.”

“Toffee, honey, these big wigs are on top not ‘cuz they’re stupid. They know how everypony is gettin’ with this crazy weather.” She pointed to the oval window behind her, its glass frosted white. “My times on the farm have taught me how delicate the Severyana harvestin’ season is. We can’t produce any bountiful crops, but we at least have a whole buncha mediocre ones, and that was just enough to feed everypony here. You’ve seen all them poor farmers out there. If they’re out beggin’, then they’re not farmin’.

My eyes widened, shivering from the cold and the revelation my mind did not want to see. With a quivering voice, I concluded, “And that means no food is being produced.” I recalled the retribution delivered unto the pudgy mare. “They’re preparing for something violent, aren’t they?”

Gravel solemnly nodded at my response. “That and more. If the Guards can show how effective these guns are, then we’re gonna have customers from all over Equestria coming to buy our stuff. We, not including them stuckups, are the lab rats of this whole test of theirs whether we like it or not.” She reclined back and scowled.

Quietness grew in the office and almost drowned out the cold. “There’s a great variety of ponies here too, Gravel. Maybe one of them could use their talent to ease the coming storm?” I suggested. Gravel only scoffed.

“I’ve a better chance of seein’ a Sonic Rainboom.” Her face softened and she sat back up. “But yeah. I guess maybe that could happen. Maybe.”