//------------------------------// // Alicornication // Story: Mayor's Break Time // by Soufriere //------------------------------// The mahogany desk was piled high with papers and proposals in need of reading and signatures. A single sheet in the middle discussed the idea that the local schoolhouse needed new textbooks, since the old ones were quite nonexistent. Also some other stuff, but the pony to whom it was directed could not have cared less. Mayor Meyer Mare sat in her high-backed chair staring through the paper. An onlooker who didn’t know better would assume she was reading it intently, but that pony or other sapient entity certainly missed that, behind those half-rimmed glasses, her eyes were utterly glazed over. If she saw anything, it would have been the thirty-seven miniature mariachi men dancing a jig across her desk. She smiled, amused at their antics and secure in the belief that she alone knew of their joy. They returned her smile and upped the ante by beginning an impromptu conga line. She hummed along to the jaunty Latin rhythm only she could hear. A hiccup escaped her mouth, courtesy of that rank brown liquid she had commissioned Apple Bloom to brew in secret, her so-called Happy Juice. That filly deserved a medal for her service, she thought briefly. The door to the office – scorched and remounted twice in as many months – suddenly swung open, revealing a thoroughly distraught Spike. Though he was with-it enough to close the door behind him, in so doing keeping Mayor Mare blissfully separate from the din of government work happening outside. “Mayor! I— uh?” Spike began before trailing off as he noticed the mayor staring at a jar of writing utensils, grinning contentedly. “Heh-heh. Funny accents are funny,” the mayor observed. “Mayor Mare. A-are you okay?” “Huh?” She looked up from the party staged solely for her benefit and noticed the tiny purple dragon. “You’re not a flamin– Flamenco.” “No, I’m a dragon. A dragon with a problem,” Spike said. Ponyville’s mayor blinked a few times, in hopes that the glaze over her eyes might dissipate and she could sober up long enough to be coherent. The effort failed, but she tried. For a split-second, she found enough of her marbles to thank her lucky stars that Equestria does not have elections. “So, uh, what’s the story today, Spike? Twilight Sparkle beat you to death with a reference book again?” “No,” Spike replied. “Worse.” That made the mayor sit up and take notice. Or rather she attempted to sit up, but lost her balance and fell to the floor. Spike ran over to help her up, but she waved off his assistance. “Ergh,” the Mayor grunted as she slumped back into her chair. “There’s something worse than Twilight Sparkle beating you to death with a reference book?” “Yes,” Spike began, “It was awful, terrible.” “Okay, so what is it?” asked the mayor, more insistent this time, as the effects of her beloved drink of questionable legality began to wane. “So, half a hour ago, I was minding my own business, walking into the library’s reading room, and Twilight… had wings!” Mayor Mare cocked her head. “You mean she turned herself into a Pegasus? Granted, I wouldn’t put a spell like that past her.” “No,” Spike shut her down. “She’d turned into…” he gulped, “an Alicorn. An actual Princess with actual authority!” A chill ran up the mayor’s spine, instantly sobering her up. She shuddered at both the reality of her sudden lack of inebriation and the implication of Spike’s words. “You sure this wasn’t a dream? Or a delusion? Like, maybe Apple Bloom made her latest batch of my Happy Juice too powerful?” Spike considered this for a moment. “Well, it is true that the last thing I remember before that is talking with you yesterday about how half of Ponyville’s business owners got together and tried to bribe you into not enforcing Princess Celestia’s latest decree requiring businesses be closed on Foal’s Day (a dumb law, I agreed). Then on the way home, Pinkie Pie found me and started talking – her voice was weirdly masculine with a foreign accent… and she said ‘Yes’ at the end of every sentence – rambling about how both the bourgeoisie and the government would tremble and fall to the ideals of the Proletariats’ Revolution or something. Yes.” Mayor Mare stared at Spike askance. “Huh,” she said, utterly unconvinced. “You killed my buzz for that? I thought we were friends.” Realizing he was losing his only ally, Spike tried mightily to salvage the situation. “B-but it doesn’t matter what happened yesterday! The point is I saw Twilight with wings today! I haven’t slept since then! How could I?! Twilight might ban sleep, saying we should all devote more time to studying or some dumb thing like that! Would you put that past her? I wouldn’t!” The little dragon slumped down to the floor. In a quieter voice, he lamented, “I should have seen this coming.” “What do you mean?” asked the mayor. Spike was ready for this question. “Because Princess Celestia’s latest letter was really cryptic. Something about wanting to send over a present soon and that none of us can ever really escape destiny and could I please send her one of those fancy cakes from Sugarcube Corner and… I think that last part wasn’t meant for Twilight.” The mayor sighed. “Spike, Spike, Spike. Princess Celestia has ruled this land for longer than any pony can remember. You don’t stay in power at that level for that long if you’re an idiot.” “Yeah, speaking of which, how is she still around? You know that old legend is about her and Princess Luna, right? And that was like a thousand years ago. I mean, I’ll live that long, ‘cauz I’m a dragon, but most ponies only live for a hundred years, and that’s if they’re lucky. Maybe Alicorns are just special… Oh no! Does that mean I’ll have to be Twilight’s ‘assistant’ for the rest of time?? I don’t know if I can take it!” Spike had flipped from introspective back to panicked in the span of less than five seconds. The mayor stared at a spot about a foot behind Spike’s head, a look of utter blankness plastered across her face. Her torpor was interrupted by a knock on the door. Opening it revealed Granny Smith, the ancient matriarch of the Apple Family. Perhaps it was because she had won Ponyville’s only mayoral election… before resigning after less than a month on the job for reasons known only to herself and Celestia, or maybe it was her age, but City Hall employees gave great deference to the old mare – she was allowed to go anywhere in the building she pleased. Spike greeted the matriarch, who looked ever more like a shrivelled up facsimile of the fruit after which she was named. Indeed, the hoof-made tie quilt draped over her back and the oddly large hat further drove the point home. “Good morning, Granny Smith,” the mayor said flatly. “Well, howdy there, Meyer!” replied Granny in a tone far too pleasant and enthusiastic for a pony her (assumed) age. “I was just wonderin’ if I could talk with ya about a little problem we’re havin’ down on the farm?” “You’re wanting to defer your property tax payment again, aren’t you?” asked Mayor Mare as she glared. Granny Smith smiled a toothy grin (as she was wearing her dentures today). “Heh. Always one to git right to the point, ain’t ya? Y’know that’s why I had Celestia give ya back yer job; I told ‘er, I said, ‘Ponyville’s in good hooves with this’n’. Now I gotta tell ya, it ain’t easy runnin’ a binness that’s, at its core – heh, apple pun – seasonal. Y’all make yearly taxes due right before the big harvest, when the farm ain’t got no money.” “Yeah, this sounds boring,” Spike said as he stood up. “I’m outta here. Take care, mayor. I’ll probably see you tomorrow… if we’re not all zapped to bits or forced to be servants by then.” As Spike passed Granny Smith, a claw on his right foot became entangled in her quilt. By the time he realized it – by its causing him to trip and fall flat on his face – he had pulled the colourful collage of repurposed ties completely off her. Before he could turn to apologize to the aged mare, he heard the mayor fall to the floor. “I thought you said you were sober now,” Spike admonished his friend. “I thought I was too,” replied the mayor, whose deep blue eyes reflected confusion and terror as she stared at a point behind Spike. He turned around and beheld Granny Smith, her withered body now sporting absolutely nothing save for a pair of large folded wings. Spike tried to speak as best he could with his mouth agape, “G… G… G…” but failed utterly. Granny Smith glanced at the quilt on the floor, then at her back, and sighed. “I guess the secret’s out, then,” she said in a voice much younger sounding and far less cornpone than anyone in town was used to. She shook her head roughly, causing her hat to fall to the ground, revealing a long Unicorn’s horn. It glowed orange as she levitated the quilt back to herself, neatly folding it in the process. “How… How… How…?” the mayor attempted to ask. The secret Alicorn sighed as the quilt continued to hover next to her. “It’s a long story involving Equestrian history, a magical demon, and Celestia’s poor judgement. Maybe one of these days, someone will finish it,” she said, narrowing her eyes at a spot somewhere far beyond the realm of ponies or dragons. Spike did not hear the end of that, as he was already out the door and on his way out of City Hall. Within less than a minute, the mayor had caught up with him. “It’s a workday. Shouldn’t you stay in your office?” Spike asked the mayor. “Spike,” the mayor explained, “You didn’t want to be in a room where Princess Granny Smith…” she shuddered, “is a thing either.” He nodded. “That’s true.” As the two reached the front door, they came across Raven Inkwell, the mayor’s loyal but put-upon secretary, having just entered the building with a stack of papers strapped to her back. She halted to peer at them accusingly over her thick-rimmed glasses, whose black stood in stark contrast to her light grey coat. “I just need some fresh air,” the mayor explained tersely. “There’s too much crazy in her office right now,” Spike said. Raven stayed silent, rolling her eyes at what she (correctly) assumed to be another one of her boss’s bizarre antics, thankful that she had saved up enough money from her job to quit if she was ever pushed over the edge. She reached into a nearby ficus for aspirin – years of working for Mayor Mare taught Raven to always be prepared to self-medicate – when *pomf!* her right wing suddenly and involuntarily unfurled. Spike and the mayor took a step back in shock and fear, as they were reasonably certain Raven was meant to be an Earth-pony. Raven groaned, a scowl on her face as she tried to manually fold her wing back into place. In doing so, her painstakingly styled dark brown mane shifted to reveal a Unicorn’s horn much smaller than Granny Smith’s. It emitted a dark blue aura that matched neither her brown eyes nor her parchment-coloured cutie mark as she summoned her inkwell and quill to write part of yet another resignation letter she knew she would never hand in. The Mayor and Spike spied the double door main threshold for City Hall, and passed through it as quickly as they physically could. Once out on Stirrup Street, as the sun bathed them in its comforting warmth, the two let out a collective sigh as they regarded each other and confirmed their mutual safety. Their relief immediately drooped as they surveyed their surroundings. Dozens of Ponyville citizens were going about their daily lives; all of them sported either wings or horns or both that they had not had before. Shadows danced across the road as far too many ponies took to the skies. Without saying a word, Spike and the mayor walked into a nearby alleyway normally used only by cats, rodents, and criminals. “You saw all that, right?” Spike asked. Given the mayor’s history, it made sense to ask. Mayor Mare nodded. “I think… the better question is, did we see what we think we saw?” She began to sweat. “Is this a dream? If so, whose? Am I in your dream? Are you in mine? A-am I real? Where’s Apple Bloom??” “I’m right here, Mayor!” the eponymous filly chirped as she suddenly popped up in front of her. “How can I help ya?” The mayor and Spike turned to face Apple Bloom. She sported a pair of tiny yellow wings; a similarly-coloured horn had at some point appeared in the middle of her forehead, interrupting the flow of her red coif. Just then, a voice no one in Ponyville ever wanted to hear boomed out, its volume and resonance magically enhanced beyond the point of acceptability. “SPIKE!! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!!! YOU’RE IN A LOT OF TROUBLE! HOW DARE YOU WRITE A LETTER TO PRINCESS CELESTIA ABOUT THE ‘ALICORN SCOURGE’ AND DEMAND SHE SEND IN THE VALKYRIES!!” Once Mayor Mare’s ears had stopped ringing, she turned to Spike, who had fainted, foam forming out of the corners of his mouth. Her main ally gone, she looked to Apple Bloom and explained herself. “Next ‘juice’ order, cut down a lot on the poke-berries.” Apple Bloom considered this and nodded. “You got it. Anything else?” “Yes,” the mayor replied. She pointed her right hoof at a spot in the middle of her hornless forehead. “Shoot me. Right here. I’d like to wake up from this nightmare, please.”