//------------------------------// // Chapter I – It's Coming Home! // Story: On and off the Pitch // by Acologic //------------------------------// ⚽ On and off the Pitch by Acologic 1. It’s Coming Home! *** ‘There’s no denying the stats, Your Highness,’ said Joachim gravely, shuffling through pages upon pages of surveys, polls, petitions and statements. ‘Your approval ratings are at an all-time low.’ Celestia closed her eyes and sighed. ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘No, no, it can’t be true.’ Joachim grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it is.’ ‘No!’ Celestia worked her mouth, then looked at Luna, whose mouth was full as usual. ‘Can you believe this?’ she said. ‘The insolence! I give them homes! I give them sunshine! I give them lives! And this is how they repay me?’ Luna, who was on her fourth cup of hot chocolate that afternoon, merely shrugged. She bit into a biscuit. ‘Mm. I fink...’ She chewed noisily. ‘... Ish fair they say wa they wan oo.’ ‘Don’t speak with your mouth full!’ snapped Celestia. ‘Fair?’ she repeated. ‘To pot with fair! Where’s the respect?’ Luna shrugged again and took another biscuit. Joachim cleared his throat. ‘“Princesses Luna and Celestia”,’ he read aloud, ‘“albeit amusing on occasion, have proved themselves incapable of governing the nation either efficiently or reliably and are carried by more competent subordinates whose contributions to Equestrian prosperity go unnoticed and uncredited...”’ Celestia nearly gagged on her outrage. The sheer, unadulterated cheek! she thought. That such hypocritical malcontents had control of their newspapers – why, it made her figuratively sick. ‘Who wrote those words?’ she demanded, and Joachim frowned down at the offending paper to determine their origin. ‘“Gimme”, Your Highness, in the Canterlot Journal, I believe,’ he said. ‘The Canterlot –? Right! Cancel my subscription at once!’ ‘Of course, Your Highness.’ ‘I shall not be subjected to such libellous remarks as those printed in that sorry rag of a newspaper!’ Celestia scowled at Luna, who was smirking into her mug. ‘Something funny?’ she growled. Luna snorted, spilling hot chocolate. ‘Insolent girl!’ said Celestia. ‘Get a hold of yourself! Joachim! Clean up this – no! In fact, if she so readily abandons her regal bearing, Luna shall do it!’ ‘If it pleases you,’ said Luna, and her horn glowed. The liquid evaporated, leaving behind a strong smell of praline. ‘Right! Now, where was I?’ ‘That sorry rag of a newspaper,’ said Luna. ‘Ah yes.’ Celestia bit her tongue and thought hard. It was beyond a joke. Though they had approved themselves (beyond any doubt, and over what Celestia would describe as no less than an exemplary tenure) fully equipped to steer Equestria safely through any turbulence, she and Luna had nonetheless lost its confidence of late. There had been much trouble with respect to politics in the south, whose plight, according to the insufferable Journal and its ilk, she neither understood nor appreciated. Then there had been that stunt with the hats, where Luna had annoyed her so much that, marginally overreacting, she’d announced a grand hat-throwing contest at the palace. All in all, the royal image was compromised, and it was her duty, one way or another, not only to restore dignity to the position but to popularise it; for far worse than these ignominies was that the ponies of Equestria were no longer interested in her, and the prospect of dusty irrelevance was, frankly, intolerable. She had to do something. She had to do something. She thought hard. The timely answer to this most infuriating issue came to her within seconds, as most of her more brilliant ideas did. ‘Luna!’ she exclaimed. ‘The time has come again for us to put on the ultimate spectacle! We shall improve public relations!’ ‘How?’ asked Luna, chewing, her brow raised. ‘We shall compete alongside these ungrateful plebeians in a test of courage and strength! The ultimate test! And in so doing we shall show them once and for all that we are ponies of the people! We shall enter a team into a hoofball league!’ Luna choked on her biscuit. After two minutes of Joachim’s finest abdominal thrusting, she spat out the soggy remnants that had clogged her windpipe. ‘Are you mad?’ she croaked, her eyes watering. ‘Did you forget the hat tricks? Reaffirm that we are a pair of clueless clowns? We’ll be a laughing stock – again!’ ‘This isn’t hat toss, Luna,’ said Celestia. ‘This is hoofball. Think!’ she added, quelling her sister’s retort. ‘Luna, ponies devote their lives to this sport! Imagine what we could do, what we could gain if we gave them a reason to cheer! What a chance to reengage the disillusioned! Why, our team will be composed of the finest, the greatest, the best ponies Equestria has to offer! We shall accept no less than the cream of the crop! And we’ll be there, on the ground, with them. Ponies of action, willing to have a go. Imagine, Luna – crowds upon crowds of our subjects heaping praise on us for a job well done!’ Joachim frowned. ‘It would have to be its own event, would it not, Your Highness? We cannot force entry into a sanctioned tournament. The FA won’t permit it.’ Celestia opened her mouth, then closed it. She frowned as well. Then she waved a hoof dismissively through the air. ‘It matters not. Once ponies hear that the monarchy will be contending in a hoofball tournament...’ She chuckled. ‘Suffice it to say there won’t be room enough for all of them. It’s assertive. It’s devil-may-care. It’s perfect! Yes, that’s it. I’ve made up my mind. Joachim!’ she snapped. ‘Send them a letter, tell them I am interested in one of their hoofball events.’ ‘The... the FA?’ ‘Yes, and if we cannot enter the top flight, then let’s see what they can do for us. All-time low indeed...’ Joachim bowed. ‘At once, Your Highness.’ Celestia turned her attention to Luna. ‘Ready to pick a team?’ ‘Right, you lot! Up against the wall!’ The forty or so guards on duty obeyed, their armour rattling. Celestia surveyed each of them in turn, her eyes narrowed. She knew them well, of course. There was Pot Luck, who’d earned his place only a year ago – a practical joker of sorts and in good fun. Flash Sentry, ever dependable, whose poker-like posture put even hers to shame. Dancer and Whirlwind, two of Luna’s guards who’d remained at the Castle since Nightmare Moon’s defeat. She knew them well, which was exactly why she’d asked for them. Her team was to be the archetype of everything she wished to stand for in the eyes of her subjects. What better pool from which to extract such characters than that whose contents had already conquered the highest bar of expectation? ‘Hoofball,’ she said quietly. ‘Passing, dribbling, shooting – tactics, motivation, celebration – joy, heartbreak, victory, defeat – that which the beautiful game entails, as they say. To succeed at such a sport, we must have –’ ‘Passion!’ said Luna loudly. ‘They’ve got passion,’ said Celestia. ‘They wouldn’t be guards if they didn’t. What I was going to say was organisation, commitment and vigour. Look at the best hoofball teams, teams such as – anyway, the best hoofball teams are organised. They are committed. They are strong on the ball and off it. They never hesitate. They never give up. You must be equally organised, equally committed, equally hungry for glory.’ She paused, admiring how they accepted this information, and inferred what was expected of them, with carefully maintained indifference. ‘Luna and I will go to my office. You will enter one at a time, and then we shall test you. The best of the best – that’s who we’re looking for. Any questions? No? Excellent.’ ‘Are you sure you’re going about this the right way?’ Luna asked later once Flash had left the office, his shin bruised. ‘Do you doubt me, Luna? Our guards are Equestria’s crème de la crème! We wouldn’t have them if they weren’t!’ ‘But none of them actually know how to play hoofball!’ ‘Believe it or not, Luna, I had thought of that.’ ‘And?’ prompted Luna. ‘We’ll train,’ said Celestia simply. ‘Train!’ Luna repeated angrily. ‘Sister, this is ridiculous!’ ‘Is it?’ replied Celestia, entirely serious. ‘Do celebrities not dabble in such horseplay all the time? Actors and singers flying in the Derby? Wonderbolts acting, singing, dancing? Painters in fishing competitions! Fashion designers on farms, Luna!’ It was true, and Celestia chided herself for not realising this before. Modern life had become a great tapestry of interests, so varied and bulging that ponies would look upon only that which turned their gaze. She was about to. ‘Sister!’ exclaimed Luna, her voice peaking as it did when about to make a fundamental point. ‘We are not celebrities!’ ‘We are as good as!’ Celestia fired back. ‘Or as bad, I should say! Face it, Luna, we’ve become glorified figureheads ponies won’t even look at! Something needs to be done.’ ‘But this...’ Celestia ignored her. ‘Nevertheless, you are right. Training, alone, may not be enough to have a proper bash. Hmm. We could use a specialist. An expert. A star signing.’ ‘Well, it’s hoofball; they’d likely be working class, remember,’ said Luna. ‘You know, normal. I’m sure they’ll be a little overwhelmed by... all this.’ ‘All what, Luna?’ asked Celestia, gazing absent-mindedly at her gold-plated curtain fastenings. ‘I’m sure an arrangement can be made,’ she continued. ‘Why, it’s amazing what a pouchful of bits’ll get you these... these... ’ Her eyes widened. ‘Luna,’ she spluttered. ‘Luna, did you say “working class”?’ ‘Uh... yeah.’ ‘Out of the question!’ snarled Celestia, and she slammed a hoof onto her desk to underline the point. ‘Have you forgotten the very reason for which we are doing this? It is because of them! Those ponies! The naysayers who are voting “no” in the polls! I won’t hear of it! On no account shall we employ a working-class pony as a member of our team! On no account!’ ‘But you said –’ ‘We shall make do with what we have!’ And that settled the matter; an hour later Celestia chose the team. She selected them not on their hoofballing abilities, which she wasn’t yet capable of judging, but on their willingness to engage with the project. It was vital, she figured, to representing her successfully that they displayed heart if nothing else. As such, several were nursing minor injuries, for she’d attempted to simulate a range of in-game scenarios inside her office and had done so perhaps a little over-enthusiastically. She grinned at them. Her guards, no strangers to her whims, acknowledged this most recent departure from the job description with straight backs and faces. ‘Gentlecolts,’ she said, ‘congratulations. Today, we begin! Tomorrow?’ She let the question ring. ‘I’ll tell you what happens tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow we set out with much to gain and even more to lose. Tomorrow we walk onto the pitch, determined to leave with nothing less than victory! Tomorrow, we fight! And if we fight hard, which we will...’ She paused, chest heaving. ‘By the sun, if our names aren’t already carved into that trophy, I don’t know what is!’ ‘Not... not actually tomorrow, though, right?’ asked Pot Luck, grinning sheepishly. Celestia sighed.