//------------------------------// // Mare // Story: Junior Gala: The golden girls // by the frank //------------------------------// September. Alsesta Grandeur lived in the part of Canterlot known as “Major’s Folly”.  It was a dull two½-roomer on the fifth floor of a very old building. As she entered, Anton, her trusty Doberman raised his head and shook his tail. But he know mother, nothing more affectionate than that, and there would be a promenade later and perhaps one or two biscuits. Alsesta took of her coat, gave Anton a tap on his head, and walked out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Black. Very black. Ponies with pets often treated them as good friends and told them about their days, and Alsesta was no exception. Anytime something special or out of the ordinary happens, she told him. It was, however, very rare that such things happened. That restaurant down at Palace & Mane being a disaster? Just what you could expect. No hooves. That her boss was an ass, literally? Same as last week. That her favourite Bistro made an excellent Croque Madame? As if they dared  to do anything else. So, nothing special, nothing to mention to him. She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. And not only from the coffee. There had been one thing… The boss wanted to release a collection of her best (worst) reviews and insisted on there being a cover picture. And it was not like they could just take a camera there and just take a picture, no no. They had to hire “the best”. Alsesta snorted. The best… yeah, and you could eat hay fries. Photo Finish… She knew of her, of course. It was impossible not to. Alsesta made a great affair not caring about celebrities, and this was no exception. She put down her cup and thought back on her day. “I, Photo Finish, will make this bland pony into a superstar!” “Get your hands off me. Five pictures. Nothing more. And GET THE HAY OFF with that make-up!” ... “Pose! Pose! Pose! Ah, in ze name of ze mutterland, POSE!” “I am Alsesta Grandeur. I do not pose. And you only have one picture left.” … She looked down into her cup. Then at anton. Then she shook her head. No. Nothing. Nothing worth mentioning what so ever. She took the leash and whistled. “Anton! Promenade!” November It had been weeks since a review by Alsesta Grandeur had reached the papers. And why? Because she was incapable of pursuing her craft, that was why! At every restaurant, every café, every Bistro that she deemed to be worthy of her grading eye… there she was. That damn mare! And always with company. Usually a small herd of young, loud and eye-picking ponies. They always burst in while she was sitting there, evaluating. Always order the most expensive and drinking the most. And always toasting to her. It was impossible to get anything done under those circumstances. Once or twice she toyed with the idea that that mare had come for her. As if she was specifically there for her sake. To make sure that she thoroughly destroyed her ability to work. But she shot that idea away. She was too much of a shallow noble bastard to even consider such an elaborate plan. It was probably only by mistake that she ruined her life. She had to admit, at times it had been not completely unpleasant. It was interesting to se how well the staff worked under press. Hey, what was this? An invitation? From… Hoity Toity? To a party? ‘By the recommendation of Photo Finish.’ Very strange. Better not think about it. December Canterlot during winter was awful. But at least Photo had stopped stalking her. Now she could work again without the nuicance of her showing up. Yep. Exactly like she wanted it. But Canterlot was still awful. It had been slightly better when Photo Finish and her posse had been there as a diversion. But only slightly. January This was the third invitation in a month. December had been three, and she expected two more. And February looked like it would be the same. She had gone once, on the 17th of December. It had been disturbing, to say the least. The drinks were to loaded, no taste, only alcohol. The ponies invited had been uninteresting and boring. And that Photo Finish...To loud. She could even be heard over the band. The band. Yeah, no. They had no style. Two hooves, barely. Well, they weren't beyond all hope. That singer... Now there was some potential… She did sing them old Dino evergreens not that bad. It seemed like she and her band were playing tonight as well. What was her name... Oh, yes. Vixen Grin. She even bought the album. "Vixen sings the Frat Pack." She rose, walked over to her stereo and put it on. Soon, the smooth alto could be heard, with exaclty right sauciness singing "Five minutes more." For some time, she just stood there and listened. Photo apparently wanted her there, since almost every invitiation ended with ‘By the recommendation of Photo Finish.’ But then there was the other ponies. The stuck up bastards her brother just LOOOVED to spend time with. They all hated her, and she hated them. She decided to go just to spite them. Photo... She was going to be there. That was bearable. Perhaps she would agree to a dance? One dance, at least. Just to see if she still knew the steps. Yes. February The Neigh Yorker. They had called her. The Neigh Yorker, perhaps one of the largest paper in Equestria had called her. And asked her to come and write for them. She could write her own paycheck, ask for a penthouse, have her own large office, anything. And today then contract had arrived. It was a dream contract, her lawyer had informed her. She could ask for exactly anything (Within the normal limitations of magic and economics of course.). And she sat there on her bed, ready to tear it in part. Alsesta Grandeur was not bought by anypony, and no bits could ever be enough. THEY shouldn't call for her, SHE was the one to inform them that she would come and work for them. And why would she go to Manehattan anyway? The city that was a mish-mash of  absolutely everything and swallowed down with to much soda! Canterlot had it’s fine mix of Phrench cuisine and classic Equestrian cooking. Manehattan… even had Saddle-Arabian… She was no speciest, but Saddle-arabian cuisine was… like a dry day in the desert with oil to drink. And there were other foul things, like… Pizza. Why would she go there? Somewhere inside her, she heard a voice. You’re being childish. You hate Canterlot. You hate those snobby nobles. You want new. You want places that hasn’t learned to fear your pen. Here is your chance! She didn’t let go of the paper. She was in control. Never let the feelings decide. She had a good life here. She knew what she had, and what to expect. She didn’t want ‘New’. She had been to Manehattan once. Her brothers wedding. That was enough. And yet, she didn’t tore the paper apart. SHE lives there. Photo, the mare who has made you go to parties for the last three weeks, lives there. The one you always dance the last dance with. And sometimes the last but one. And one time even the last but three... She frowned. Another great reason for her NOT to go. And besides, where would she find an apartment? That she LIKED. ...On the other hand, Brother had moved to Manehattan some years ago…It could be nice to see him more often. And Dandy would know what kind of apartment she wanted. Heck, he even married a builder. She could trust him. And that husband of his… He was bearable. Where did they live? Lower east side or something like that. Not to close to Dandy, say within a 20-minutes walk. Yes. He could probably get her something… And then there was Le Petit Grandeur, her own little oasis in the terrible Manehattan food district. The bistro could use some hands-on direction from their owner. It should probably expand. It DESERVED to expand. Yes, them Manhattanites would learn what GOOD food was. She lowered the contract and produced her pen. Besides, she needed to know how the staff in Manehatten reacted to Photo Finish. Yes. March Anton lay in his usual place. Mistress had been sleeping in today again. It was a hard life, going to parties two times a week, then have a few drinks, dance for a while and then walk home. Wherever she was, always walk home. That took it's tall. And the drinks didn't help. Or the dancing. Or that mare who persisted in accompaning her home. Once the mistress had spent one hour trying to lead her astray. It failed, and that day, she slept til noon. Anton knew all this, becuase mistress told him everything. Anton loved his mistress. Sure, she didn't walk with him as often as before, she was tired. But she looked tired in a good way. Like Anton did, when he had been chasing a particularly tasty rabbit. Apparently, the mistress had found a rabbit to hunt. Or at least, some rabbit that wanted the mistress to hunt her. Those were the best rabbits. Anton yawned, and fell asleep again. It would not be a promenade today either. He remember mistress being grumpy about 'having to go to another bloody party and not have anything to wear except for some glove and a bow-tie.'. Yep. She had found her rabbit alright. April THAT was some experience. She had ponies hitting on her a couple of times, sure. But that was in her youth when colts who only thought with their dicks could be found everywhere. But a full grown mare, acting like a high-school filly? Sure, that dress… She had to admit it was… It had some qualities. And that place could produce edible food. And that band...They had some flaws, but that singer knew her crooning. Alsesta herself had been wearing gloves. Just for etiquette, nothing else. And then, at her apartment… Alsesta shook it off. She was nothing like that mare. Nothing. And she wanted nothing to do with her. Likely story. So why did you agree to come? Why did you dance with her? Why did you follow her home? She stopped in the street. Raised her hands to the sky and screamed in frustration. “YES YES YES I KNOW! I AM WEAK! I AM She… I… I want… but…” She lowered her hands, and sank down on her knees. Her armour was once again broken. And she had promised herself that nopony would ever break it again. She was a failure. But she slowly raised her head again, with a new fire in her eyes. “No.” She said to nopony in particular. Because this time...was different. The armour had been broken with something else than strokes and insults. And the mare doing it… She was...peculiar. Perhaps she could... “Yes.” She lifted her head. “Yes, I can. But not like that.” She rose to her hooves. “I am a warrior. No daddy’s girl. I am in control. Decorum. Style. The proper way. Not like that. Alsesta Grandeur doesn’t do things that way. If she want’s me, she will have to know that.” She turned her head around, up to that apartment she had left minutes earlier. Then she turned around. “I will come back tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow. Not tonight. I don’t want her to believe anything. But tomorrow… I wonder if she drinks coffee. Perhaps she has no coffee at all? I’d better buy some in case of…” She began to walk home with brisk steps. She had reached a conclusion. She was satisfied. “We start with coffee. And we will do this MY way. Alsesta Grandeur is not somepony’s toy.” July “Lunch with Photo.” “Dinner with Photo” “Coffee with Photo” “Trying to hide from Photo”, crossed out and replaced with “Wine with Photo”. She could even add “Copulated with Photo” if she wanted, but she was not the kind of mare who wrote that down. She bought a new bottle of Whiskey for every time instead. And with today she had five bottles. Alsesta's Calendar was getting filled with those dates more and more… At least four times a week. She even had brought her along on one of her official visits once. She of course praised food that was worth barely 2.4 hooves. Like...Asparagus? REALLY? She shivered. “I am not in love or anything like that…” She paused, and looked at Anton, lying sleepily in his casket. “Anton, what are you looking at? Don’t judge me!” The doberman raised his brows lazily. “Oh, stop it. I saw you leering at that poodle yesterday. You swede. And no, I do not know ‘what poodles are like’! That’s not even a thing. Chauvinist.” Anton only raised his head and looked at her. She sighed. “But this isn’t really about the poodle, is it?” Anton still looked at her. “Alright… I can’t lie to you I guess.” She paused, and pointed a finger at him. “But don’t expect me to pour my heart out to you like a spineless scallop! I’m confused, not dying!” She looked at the clock on her table. “And I’m supposed to meet her in twenty minutes. Look what you made me do! Bad dog! No biscuits for you!” And she was out. Anton yawned. He knew he would get his biscuits later. August Alsesta Grandeur lived in the part of Manehattan known as “Sandwedge Village”. It was a dull two-roomer on the third floor of a rather old building. As she entered, Anton, her trusty Doberman raised his head and shook his tail. But he know mother, nothing more affectionate than that, and there would be a promenade later and perhaps one or two biscuits. Alsesta took of her coat, gave Anton a tap on his head, and walked out to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Black. Very black. Ponies with pets often treated them as good friends and told them about their days, and Alsesta was no exception. Anytime something special or out of the ordinary happens, she told him. It was, however, very rare that such things happened. That restaurant down at 37th & 8th being a disaster? Just what you could expect. No hooves. That her new boss was an ass, literally? Same as last week. That her favourite Bistro made an excellent Croque Monsieur? As if they dared to do anything else. So, nothing special, nothing to mention to him. She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. And not only from the coffee. There was Photo, though… Today was almost one year since she first met her. Over that year, things had changed most dramatically. And no matter how much she wanted to deny it, it was time to take a new step in her life. She had responsibilities, and it was better to start early, so he could get used to it. She looked at Anton and opened her mouth. “Anton… I’ve met somepony…”