"Are you sure you can do this? This isn't something you can just pick up. It's a skill."
"Don't underestimate your mother like that, drone. Why, I spent several years working as a hoofmaid to the aristocracies of Prance."
"You? A hoofmaid, and not a noble?"
"The nobles of the time were venal and stupid, easily manipulated to my own ends. And best of all, they didn't care if some of their peasants turned up drained of their love." She sighed. "Better days."
"Don't listen to him, mother. We're sure you'll do fine."
"...yes. That's why you're going to lurk in this alley and watch me, is it?"
"We're just... concerned."
"Well, stop it. I am...!" She hesitated, knowing a loud declaration would end poorly. "...well. You know who I am. I shall do spendidly."
With that, a mauve unicorn with oversized sunglasses and an astounding manestyle crossed the street and entered a shop whose sign read 'A Perm For The Better'. The lobby was full of mares leafing through magazines and newspapers; as one, they lifted their heads and stared at the unicorn blankly, then went back to their reading. Further in, the proprietress was halfway through helping another client. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said distractedly, "but as you can see, we're fully booked, and I'm a little short-hoofed at the moment. You should probably come back another-"
"Oh, honey, I know! That's why I'm heah!" The unicorn's accent was quintessentially, even stereotypically, Manehattanish. She held out a hoof. "Bulbous Bouffant, atcher service. Just call me Bulbie. I saw you were hirin' and just knew you could use someone with my manestylin' expertise!"
"Oh!" Relief coursed from the earth pony's very being, slicing through any caution or uncertainty she might have felt at this fortuitous arrival. She cleaned a hoof with a towel and touched it to that of the unicorn. "Pastel Highlights. And if you're able to start immediately - and I do mean immediately..."
"Of course!"
"...then by all means take a station and call up..." She checked a nearby list. "...Miss Copper Braid." An earth pony near the door perked up and looked hopeful.
"Rightcha are, sweetie!" Bulbie selected a swivelling chair more or less at random, then glanced around, located the mane washing sinks, and moved to inspect them. "Running water," she murmured. "How convenient." She lifted her head and nodded to the designated customer, who stood up and trotted over eagerly. "Take a seat, honey. We'll getcha taken care of."
"Thanks so much." She leaned back in the specially made chair and sighed happily as the hot water rushed through her mane.
Bulbie expertly applied the right amount of shampoo and gently rubbed it into the mare's scalp. "So, what brings ya inta this fine establishment today, hmm? I get the feelin' this ain't your usual salon."
"Oh, my go-to stallion, Sparklehoof, is off on one of his escapades. Again." She sighed, this time out of faint frustration. "It's that huge lump of a boyfriend of his, I'm sure. Always getting him into trouble..."
As she massaged Copper's head and made appropriate sympathetic noises, Bulbie could literally feel the connection open between them. Surprisingly fast, in fact, and the adulation started flowing almost immediately. Just a trickle, as yet, but it was still far better than the mere dribble she had felt in the buckball stadium from that loathsome coach. This method wouldn't be as efficient as entertaining multiple ponies at once, she knew, but it would be a start.
Finally the wash and rinse was finished, and Copper Braid was moved to the manestyling station, the chair spun around to face the mirror. "Now!" Bulbie chirped. "What can I do ya for today?"
It was then that Copper Braid ruined everything. "Oh, I trust you, Bulbie! I'll leave it up to you! I just need a bit of a confidence booster these days. Give me something regal. Something powerful. Give me the manestyle of a pony who wants to take the world in her hooves!"
And Bulbie, who knew of only one manestyle that fit that description (and which had never, as far as she was concerned, gone out of fashion) smiled. "Say no more, sweetie! I know just whatcha need!"
Twenty minutes later, Bulbie was chased out of the store by screams and threats of legal repercussions, which was a bit unfair because the manestyling had undeniably been the work of an expert. It didn't even seem physically possible.
They never did figure out how she'd managed to make circular holes in mane hair.
Pizza! Everypony loved getting pizza, didn't they?
Mandible expressed a certain amount of doubt as to how much actual enjoyment could be generated from the brief interaction of delivering a pizza to a pony who was going to have to pay for it, but he'd had to admit he didn't have any better ideas just yet. Quantity over quality would have to do.
The teenaged pegasus knocked on the door and removed the cardboard box from the insulated side-loading saddlebag tied to her barrel. As the door opened, she laid it on the floor. "One medium deep-dish with carrots and celery." She produced a paper bag. "And an order of bendy bread. That'll be seventeen bits, please." For the first time, she focused on the pony on the other side of the door... and her jaw dropped.
The pegasus stallion was leaning in the doorway, muscles gently flexing. He wasn't wearing anything, and while this wasn't particularly unusual for ponies, somehow he was extremely not wearing anything. And he held a rose in his teeth.
"Ah, duuh." He paused and spat out the rose. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid I don't have that much on me. Is there some... other way I could pay you?" His eyebrows waggled.
And the pegasus... smiled, as if she had just been given free pizza. "We might be able to come to an arrangement," she agreed with a purr. "Why don't we discuss it... inside?"
The stallion, secretly amazed that this had actually worked, grinned broadly and backed into the apartment. The mare followed him, and the door closed after her. The pizza and bread lay unclaimed at the doorstep.
At the end of the hallway, two nondescript ponies looked at each other. "...aren't we going to stop her?" the stallion asked.
"We don't know she's doing anything wrong," the mare said, looking extremely conflicted. "Maybe they're just talking."
"Spin..."
"Okay, she's definitely draining him, but look at what he was doing! Can you really tell me that creep doesn't deserve it?"
"Spin!"
"Oh, fine! But we're keeping the pizza!"
"...deal."
The three nondescript ponies watched as the ice cream parlor burned to the ground.
Two of them managed to turn and look at the tallest of the three, their expressions... no, their entire body language asking the question that their voices had given up on: why?
The tallest raised her head and sniffed derisively. "...they were insolent."
And that seemed to be it.
Mandible knocked briefly before entering Spinnerette's apartment. "In here," she called, and he found her in her Harmony disguise, leaning back on a couch with a damp towel over her eyes, a package of breakfast cabbage rolls at her side, and one of her own albums playing in the background.
"You look comfortable," he noted.
"I am," she said happily. "I needed this after running after mother so much."
"Sorry I had to leave early yesterday. I'm having to have to jump through so many hoops to get this Before the Horse shoot lined up." He glanced around. Apart from the song, the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. "Where's Mom?"
"She's at the new job we found for her."
Mandible looked at her askance. "And you're here?"
"Relax. I watched over her all afternoon yesterday, and she did fine." She lifted the towel and smiled at him. "I think I've solved the problem."
"...I'm almost afraid to ask how."
"Foals!" she said proudly.
"Foals?" he asked uncertainly.
"We've just been thinking in terms of adult ponies," she explained, "but even though the ice cream place... didn't work out, it made me realize that foals would have appreciated being given ice cream way more than any adult customers. And foals are easier to entertain, make connections a whole lot faster, and every experience is new to them! Boom! Ready-made high-efficiency adulation transmission!"
"...I'm... not sure I like where this is going, but continue."
"So I got her a job where she can entertain a ton of foals: Moona Park in Poney Island!"
His brow furrowed. "I thought it was called Luna Park."
"They had to change it when the Princess came back. Moona Park is the legally-distinct version."
"Ah. So what kind of job did you find for her? Ride manager? Ring toss fraudster?"
Her smile broadened. "Park mascot!"
Mandible froze in place. "What."
"I know, it's perfect! She doesn't even have to do anything! The foals will be entertained just by having her around! She'll be feasting on adulation in no time."
"And you watched over her.... yesterday afternoon."
"...yeah?"
"How many foals did you see there?"
She frowned. "None, I think. It was a school day, after all. Dib, what are you getting at? She's not going to be set off by a bunch of foals."
Mandible took a long breath. "Normally, I would agree. But, Spin... Poney Island is full of little stands selling greasy, unhealthy food. Funnel cakes, cinnamon churros, cotton candy, hooflong deep-fried cattails. And amusement parks are full of rides that go up and down and all around. And then when foals get off the ride, they see our mother, and run toward her..."
Spinnerette waved a hoof at this. "That's no big deal. She won't like it, sure, but she'll just have to clean it off her mascot costume."
He fixed her with a stare. "Costume."
She nodded. "Costume!"
The stare intensified, and he enunciated both syllables clearly. "Costume."
She stared back, trying to determine his meaning... and then it hit her, and her eyes slowly widened. "...oh, no. She... she wouldn't. She couldn't!"
"You know how she feels about wearing garments! I once saw her kill a hat just to watch it die! There's no chance she wouldn't just turn her actual body into a mascot costume! And today is the weekend! Tons of foals will be there!"
Spinnerette was already throwing open a window, cabbage rolls and towel tossed aside. "If we hurry, we should be able to find her before things get too bad!" Two flashes of purple and blue later, a pair of falcons were cutting through the sky in the direction of the amusement park.
"'Giant Monster Resembling Moona the Dreammare Savages Poney Island," Mandible read in the next morning's paper. "'The joy and frivolity of Moona Park was disrupted yesterday morning by the sudden appearance of a huge, misshapen monster with an uncanny resemblance to the park's mascot, which tore into the Wonderbolt roller coaster ride and several other buildings around the Park and Poney Island. This reign of brutality only ended when a pair of strangely nondescript bugbears appeared and hustled the enraged beast into the sea. Damages have been estimated at over six hundred thousand bits...'"
"I think that's enough, Dib." Spinnerette looked at their mother, who was slumped on a loveseat after taking several baths. "Don't worry. We'll figure something out, mother."
"Oh, what's the point?" She threw a foreleg over her eyes dramatically. "This city clearly does not want me to entertain it! The only time I was the slightest bit successful was when I fed my way, and I know enough that I can't rely on that particular scenario happening again!"
"That was good pizza, though," Mandible offered.
"And I never even got paid for all that work I did! I'm sure I could have afforded at least one or two gold-plated trebuchets by now!" The siblings remained silent; neither of them had the heart to tell her.
Then Chrysalis insinuated across the floor and pressed up against her daughter. "This adulation business is a waste of time. If we worked together, we could set up a proper hive and rule this city ourselves!"
Spinnerette rolled her eyes. "We've been over this, mother. I don't want a hive. And adulation's working just fine."
"Come now," Chrysalis purred. "Don't deny your instincts. Queens are supposed to consume only the purest, strongest forms of love. When was last time you fed? Truly fed."
Her daughter opened her mouth to rebuke Chrysalis again... but unexpectedly, she hesitated. "It... has been a long time," she admitted.
"Do you remember how it tasted?" he mother crooned in her ear. "The rich, velvety texture of it. You won't get that from adulation."
Spinnerette shook her head roughly and backed away. "No! I'm not like you, mother. I've proven I can be a queen without hurting anypony! Anyway, I thought you were worried about Starlight Glimmer and the Friendship Map."
Chrysalis shrugged. "They didn't show up for that fool. Perhaps I overestimated them. And at any rate, they won't be expecting two of us."
"No, mother. That's final."
"...of course," said Chrysalis, in the tones of one who knew when to bide their time. There would be more opportunities later.
Forgotten in the background, Mandible had watched this exchange without comment. He glanced up at a clock and decided it was as good a time as any. "Well, I've got another meeting with the Before the Horse crew."
"Again, Dib?"
"'Fraid so. You two have fun."
As he closed the door, they started to bicker again. That was good; bickering meant that he still had some time.
He took the elevator down, but it was a different pony that exited it. He'd made sure that Chrysalis had never known about the identity he wore to rent his own apartment, but he still looked around himself carefully before leaving the building. He crossed the street and slipped into an alleyway that was full of cats and, deeper in the shadows, rats. He'd ensured this was the case by placing inobtrusive piles of cheese here and there several days ago.
One burst of blue fire later, and the beasts were fleeing the alley in a panic, feline and rodentine alike. The pedestrian ponies near the alley screamed and scattered, causing even more confusion. One of the rats ceased its apparent mad dash a few blocks away, then scurried into a drainpipe; a moment later, a pigeon wriggled out of the top of the pipe and flew toward the entrance to a nearby Maneway station. It bypassed the ticket turnstiles, dipped into a shadowy corner, then a beleaguered earth pony emerged and slumped toward the railway tracks. A Maneway train soon arrived, and he climbed onto a mostly-empty car. When the train arrived at its next stop, one of the stallions on the car had been mysteriously duplicated, though since they left by different doors one of them never noticed. The other exited up the stairs, then looked around once again. Deciding that this was probably enough, he emerged into the sunlight and made his way down Saddle Row.
The door to Rarity For You had a CLOSED sign hanging from it, which made him start to panic. Had she left town already? But there was a second sign, he noticed: 'Back in 1 hour!' He knew his target's habits, and a bit of searching brought him to an outdoor cafe where a certain white unicorn was sipping tea and perusing a newspaper. He moved to stand near her and cleared his throat. "It's me," he said when she looked up.
She stared at him for a moment. "Indeed. But who, might I ask, might 'me' be?"
"Oh, right. Um... 'the alicorn flies at midnight'."
"And 'the countersign is difficult to guess.'" Rarity chuckled, then waved at the adjacent chair. "And now that we have provided our bona fides... by all means, sit, darling, sit." He did so gratefully. "So, how is it going?"
"Miserably," he admitted. He glanced around, but the only other pony nearby was an elderly earth pony wearing a city maintenance jumpsuit, in the process of pasting posters to walls. It was as safe as it was going to get.
"Mmmm, I rather suspected as much." Her field held up the newspaper. "This was her, I assume?"
"I'm afraid so."
She tch'ed. "I mean no offense, darling, but what did you expect? She was bound to snap sooner or later."
"It's not like that." He explained what had happened, then had to wait until she stopped giggling. "She's trying, Rarity. In her own way."
"That's as may be, darling, but this cannot go on. How is she handling this most recent failure?"
He winced. "She's... trying to get Spin to help her take over the city."
Rarity spread her hooves in a gesture that said Well, there you go. "And we can't have that, now can we? Mandible, darling, I like Spinnerette, truly I do. I admire her for resisting her natural instincts for so long and trying to be a better creature. But if Chrysalis cannot find a path for herself that doesn't involve... what was it again? Gold-plated catapults?"
"Trebuchets."
"Ugh. How gaudy. Then I'm afraid I'll simply have no choice but to inform Twilight. And if this leads to Spinnerette becoming found out as well... then that's just what will have to happen. We cannot have one rogue changeling queen threatening Equestria, let alone two."
He groaned and laid his head on the table. "Even if she stayed secret, Spin would never forgive me. She still doesn't realize you know about her; she'll think I'm the one who turned Chrysalis in. Especially since I was suggesting that from the beginning. And then Twilight will tell Thorax and it'll be a huge mess."
Rarity sipped her tea sympathetically. Neither of them paid any attention to the maintenance pony as his work brought him slowly closer. "If I may offer an outsider's perspective?"
"Please."
"Throwing your mother at random professions was never going to work. She may not be able to have a cutie mark - or, at least," she sniffed, perhaps remembering a collection of stars, "not a real one - but she still needs to find her true calling. Preferably one that doesn't involve world domination. Whatever job you find for her, it has to be something she enjoys, or she'll never stick with it."
"Yeah, well, that's the problem, isn't it?" he replied, frustrated. "The only thing she really enjoys is being horrible! And talking about how great she is. And planning revenge. So you tell me, Rarity: what kind of job would let regular ponies enjoy being around somecreature who's constantly at maximum drama, who has an ego the size of the Moon, who thinks betrayal is just part of a game until it happens to them, and who wants everypony to hate them?"
SPLAP! The noise made them turn and look at the maintenance pony as he smoothed the air bubbles out from under the newly-applied poster, then continued on his way. Their attention turned to the poster itself. It was, in fact, hard to look away, the poster having been designed to not only catch the eye but also stuff it and mount it on the wall.
And although both Rarity and Mandible saw the perfect answer to the changeling's question in the fortuitous poster, they reacted quite differently.
"No..." Rarity breathed, aghast.
"Yes!" Mandible replied, his grin growing ever broader.
"No, darling, please no! You can't ask this of me! My skills are destined for far greater things than-"
"Don't worry," he said calmingly. "I know some other ponies that can help with this."
"...oh. You do? Well, that's. That's fine. I suppose."
He stood up and stepped closer to the poster, his smile never wavering. "This is going to be amazing."
The Ponera Hippodrome wasn't the largest venue in the city - it was, in fact, the seventeenth largest - but in a town with as many stadiums, theaters, concert halls and convention centers as Manehattan had, that was still saying quite a lot. It wasn't as famous as Carneighgie Hall or as popular as Maredison Square Gardens, but it contained all of the modern amenities and had a core following of attendees who preferred its 'big, but not too big' atmosphere. If you could get booked there, you weren't necessarily among the elite entertainers, but you were definitely a pony to be watched. Literally.
Six thousand ponies stared down to the center of the stadium, where the usual stage had been replaced by a square ring, its sides bounded by thick springy cords. Excitement was running high, and the durability of the wooden stomping plates in front of each pony had been thoroughly tested.
There was a table near the ring at which two ponies were currently seated. Despite having devices such as record players and speakers, Equestria lacked the technology for any kind of long-distance media, yet somehow endeavors of this nature didn't feel complete without somepony delivering color commentary. "This is what we've been waiting for, folks," the unicorn stallion wearing a well-tailored suit said into his microphone. "Tonight's main event: Three-time world champion Yurta the Yeti will defend her belt against up-and-coming newcomer, the Countess. I am of course Booth Relay, and joining me at ringside is the challenger's manager, Skeezy Dealz."
"Pleasure to be here," said the large earth pony in a smooth baritone. He wore a red flared jacket, sunglasses, and an air of complete indifference.
"Mr. Dealz, do you think your client has the skills and endurance to take the belt from the Yeti?"
"Ah, my stallion," Skeezy rumbled, "The Countess has skills this sport has never even seen! She not only can take that belt, she will take that belt!"
"The Countess has been rising through the ranks in the Equestria Wrestling Federation at a remarkable speed over the last few weeks, standing undefeated at this time, but she has been accused of dishonorable conduct in the ring and of assaulting her opponents before the match has even started. What do you say to that?"
"Clearly these are simply the unjustified words of ponies jealous of her success. Every last one of the Countess' wins have been entirely legal and within the rules of the sport!"
"Well, we're going to have to see about that," Booth said, "because our announcer has entered the ring!"
Clean Jeans, sparse of mane but sharp of tuxedo, long-time veteran of the squared circle and all of its permutations, paused briefly before speaking into the microphone he held in one hoof. "Lllllet's get ready to RUMBLE!"
For a brief moment, the noise in the stadium became more than mere sound, transforming into an almost tangible force as ponies stomped and cheered.
"This match is scheduled for one fall," he continued once he could hear again. "In this corner, three-time EWF World Champion, standing five-and-a-half hooves tall and weighing in at three hundred and twenty two pounds... Yurta... the YETIIIIIIII!"
Music began to play, a traditional Yakyakistan folk song updated with guitars and at twice the tempo. Spotlights focused on an area at the top of the ramp leading down to the ring, and a female yak, huge even by the standards of the species emerged from the wings and trotted downwards. Her fur was a blinding white, and around her barrel sat a belt of black and gold. Mostly gold. She occasionally paused to playfully headbutt the fans pressed against the rails to either side of the ramp, some of whom collapsed into giddy senselessness.
When she reached the bottom of the ramp, she lay the belt on the commentator's table. "Keep eye on this," she said. "Yurta will be back for it."
"Yes, ma'am," Booth said. Skeezy just sneered faintly.
As she climbed into the ring, Jeans spoke once more. "And in this corner, from the highest mountains of Transylmaneia, standing four hooves tall and weighing in at one hundred and forty three pounds... the Counteeeessss!"
The folk song had faded out, and was replaced by a deeply menacing tune played on pipe organ and yet more guitars. The cheers quickly turned to boos as a tall and lithe midnight blue pegasus stepped into the spotlight, holding a microphone in one hoof. "Well, well, well," she said, the music abruptly cutting off. "It seems that you have something that belongs to me, Yurta."
In the ring the yak hooked her forelegs over the top rope and seemed to shout something up at the pegasus, though it was drowned out by the jeers of the crowd.
"That belt doesn't belong around the barrel of a filthy animal like you!" the Countess continued. "It deserves to be worn by a creature of brilliance and elegance! Too long have you disgraced it by wrapping it around that mangy pelt! Tonight! Is the night! That the title shall be won by the creatures of darkness!" With that, she spread her wings wide, and casual observation would notice a definite bat-like quality to them.
The jeers redoubled. Oddly, so did the stomping.
She stood posed for a long moment, basking in the defiant shouts, then raised the microphone to her lips once more. "And on that note... Punch! Judy! Sic 'er!"
Yurta stared at her in confusion, and so didn't notice when a pair of lanky figures climbed out from under the ring, then into it. The Diamond Dogs grabbed the champion by both shoulders, one on each side, and with some difficulty lifted her up and propelled her backwards to drop heavily to the mat, spine first.
"What is this?!" Booth shouted, as Clean Jeans quickly dove out of the ring. "The Deep Down Duo just came out of nowhere and performed a double half-Neighson slam on Yurta! And now they're laying into her mercilessly! It seems the rumors of the Countess seeking an alliance with the Duo were true after all!"
"You can't prove that!" Skeezy protested. "You can't prove that! My client and I absolutely deny this unsubstantiated claim, and we abhor this obvious act of unsportsponylike conduct!"
"The ref better stop them before... And now they're attacking the ref! What is going on?!"
The Countess watched the chaos down below for a moment, then tossed her microphone to the side, flapped her wings once (and anyone who knew anything about bat wings would recognize that bat wings didn't move like that), and glided down to the ring. By the time her hooves touched the top rope, Yurta had barely managed to stand up again and security staffers had rushed in to remove the Duo. The pegasus let her weight settle on the rope briefly, then launched forward, spinning in the air to deliver a double-hoofed kick to the champion's chin.
"And the Countess begins hammering at the Yeti!" Booth announced. "A left! A right! Another left! A back left! She is not letting the champ get her bearings, but... wait just a minute!" The most recent hoof strike had sent Yurta's head snapping to one side, but after pausing for a moment she simply turned it back toward the Countess, whose eyes began to grow wide. Another strike, but the yak's head didn't even move this time. She just stared at the pegasus... and then grinned. The Countess took a step backward in disbelief.
"You can't underestimate a yak!" Booth continued. "A few cheap shots aren't going to be enough to take down an athlete of Yurta's caliber!"
"Someone needs to test that cow!" Skeezy protested. "She's clearly taking performance-enhancing zebra potions!"
Another few shots were equally no-sold, then Yurta reared back and brought her forehead down heavily on that of the Countess. The pegasus staggered back, bounced off the ropes, then fell over in the middle of the ring.
"A solid headbutt from the champ! The Countess is out of it! And-" There was a sudden surge of cheering; Yurta was holding one hoof in the air and looking around at the frantic crowd. "-she's setting up for an Avalanche! This could be a career-ender, folks!"
The yak slowly climbed a turnbuckle, then paused at the top to dramatically hold a hoof up to one ear and take in more cheers.
"No creature has ever gotten up after being hit by an Avalanche! It looks like the Countess' bid for the belt is going to be... wait, where are you going?!"
Skeezy had raced to the edge of the ring and was shouting at the Countess, who raised her head to look at him blearily. He reached a foreleg under the skirt surrounding the ring, where the Duo had climbed out of, and then slid something wide, flat and metal out from the darkness. Picking it up in his teeth, he whipped his head around and tossed the folding chair across the canvas floor of the ring; the Countess managed to roll aside, leaving the chair where she had been a moment before.
"What are you doing?!" Booth demanded as Skeezy returned to the table.
"I dunno what you're talkin' about."
"That was an illegal weapon!"
Skeezy peered at the ring in an exaggerated fashion. "Oh, really? You'd better get the ref on that, then."
Booth looked at the referee, who was still recovering from the Duo's assault. No help to be found there.
The yak, oblivious to this chain of events, bounced in place a few times before somersaulting backwards, her huge body twisting to land hip-first. The noise the chair made when crushed between canvas and yak pelt was not a loud one, but Yurta's body language told a story of excruciating pain, and she fell over on to her back once more.
"Disgraceful!" Booth shook his head angrily. "Mares and gentlestallions, I've never seen such an underhanded display in all my years!" In the ring, the Countess had gotten back to her hooves, and was deliberately prodding the champion to move her to the exact center. "Oh, no! She wouldn't dare...!"
Skeezy cackled. "It's over, stallion. It's over!"
Then the Countess began to gallop from one side of the ring to the other, bouncing off the ropes and leaping over her fallen foe as she went. The jeers and stompings from the crowd continued to intensify as this went on, until finally she jumped up, bounced off the top rope, performed one huge wing flap that carried her high above the ring, hung in the air for one long moment directly above Yurta, bat-like wings spread wide...
...and then dropped.
"Darkness Falls! Darkness Falls! Darkness Falls!" Booth screamed in both amazement and panic as the pegasus landed hoof-first in the fallen yak's stomach. Yurta's limbs spasmed briefly, then she fell still, tongue lolling out and lungs desperately seeking air. The Countess quickly hooked a fetlock around Yurta's hind leg and pressed her shoulders to the mat; the referee chose that moment to come to his senses, and quickly slid in next to them and started pounding the canvas. Three hoofdrops, and it was over.
Clean Jeans returned to the ring as Skeezy brought the belt to his client. "The winner and new World Champion... the Counteeeessss!"
The stadium was filled with angry shouts and boos, and the Countess, title belt draped across her back, drank it all in like it was finest wine.
A few minutes later found the Countess alone in her dressing room, a towel draped around her neck as she leaned back in a chair with her eyes closed and the belt laid on the table beside her. She smiled, and while winning the championship was a factor in that, it was not the main cause.
She couldn't remember when she'd last felt this full! The matches leading up to this one had been nice, but there had been significantly more ponies here tonight, and many of them had carried with them established connections from the previous fights; a fan listening to a favorite song, indeed. It was true that a queen was always hungry, but it seemed like this could definitely take the edge off for a little while.
The door opened and closed behind her, and a pair of hooves fell on her shoulders. Her visitor slowly inhaled, just behind her head... then began to choke. "...ugh! So bitter!"
"Really? I find it quite... robust." She opened her eyes and turned her head to see a young mare just behind her, pale of hide and crimson of mane, wearing a black linen jacket with far more zippers than necessary. Skeezy Dealz stood quietly near the door. "If you'd like me to repay the love you gave me, though...?"
The mare's mouth twisted, trying to remove a taste that was only ephemeral in nature. "Keep it. I insist. You really found a way to feed on hate?!"
"Of course not. It's all adulation. They hate me - or, rather, the Countess - but they love the experience of hating the Countess. The hate is just flavoring."
The mare scowled. "That makes no sense. You'd have to be a pretty sick pony to enjoy hating, and even then that wouldn't count as you providing the enjoyment. It can't be adulation!" Then she prodded at one of the Countess' wings. "And what do you think you're doing with bat wings?! Somepony's going to-" She stopped, and pulled at some kind of fabric mesh that surrounded the wing. "What's this?"
"Ingenious, is it not?" The Countess stretched the wing out, and it really did give the appearance of a bat's wing... unless you looked closely enough to see how the fabric shaped and directed the feathers beneath. "It doesn't allow for full flight, of course, but the rules of the sport prevent that in any case."
"But... I mean... it's a garment..."
The Countess made a face. "Let's just say that I've revised my thinking about proper costuming. And you were right about one thing: it does look better than attire I dream up myself."
There was a sound of heavy hoofsteps in the hallway, and then the door was thrown open, mildly concussing Skeezy in the process. "COUNTESS!" Yurta the Yeti bellowed cheerfully. "Yurta is-" She stopped as she surveyed the room, particularly the presence of the young mare, and immediately assumed an angry scowl. "...going to SMASH for cheating Yurta out of-"
The Countess waved a hoof. "It's all right, Yurta."
Skeezy emerged from behind the door, nursing a lump on his head. "This is my niece, Jazzy Jacket. Jazzy, meet Yurta."
The teenaged pony shifted awkwardly, looking up at the giant yak then away. "...hey."
"Ah." The anger vanished as if it had never been. "Is good to meet you, Jazzy! You are... smark?"
"Uh... maybe?"
"Not even a mark, I'm afraid," Skeezy said, and his voice lacked the sneering, superior quality that it had had at ringside. "But it's not in her field of interest, so it's fine."
"Ah, that is good, then. Yurta like to crush enemies, not dreams."
"...I'm very confused," Jazzy admitted. "Weren't you going to, like, murder her for stealing the title?"
Yurta looked as puzzled as Jazzy felt. "Why would Yurta do that here? Backstage, with no paying audience?"
"To... get your belt back?"
The yak scoffed. "Countess can have it! Yurta carried belt for half year now! Ready to take time for Yurta! Being champion is fun, but rough on body."
"And besides," the Countess continued, "the audience really wouldn't welcome her back at this point. The belt needs to change hoofs every so often to keep things from getting stale, especially when the champion is a complete face like Yurta. And since she could never convincingly pull off a frog turn, the writers are simply giddy at the opportunity to come up with storylines for my..." She spread her cloth-covered wings dramatically. "...new age of darkness!"
Yurta giggled and nudged Jazzy, who fell over. "Yurta likes Countess. She good at being frog! Just so natural for her!"
Jazzy felt no more enlightened. "Frog?"
"'Bad guy'," Skeezy provided helpfully. "And a 'face' is a good guy."
"So, when the Countess cheated and stole the belt..."
The Countess nodded. "All part of the script."
"Huh. Wrestling really is fake, I guess." A sudden silence fell over the room, and Jazzy realized that what she said might not have seemed very complimentary. "I mean..."
Then Yurta threw a foreleg around the teen and lifted her up to her hooves didn't touch the floor. The yak chuckled. "Is common misconception. Wrestling is not fake, little one."
"It's not?" Jazzy managed, feeling the air being crushed out of her.
"No! Wrestling is..." Yurta waved her other forehoof in front of her theatrically. "...acting!"
"Acting?"
"Precisely," the Countess confirmed. "It's all part of... what was that word again, Skeezy?"
"Kayfabe," he said, as Jazzy wriggled out of the yak's grip. "See, for the most part nopony in the audience really thinks the wrestlers are trying to actually hurt one another. But if every wrestler always played by the rules and it was just match after match after match... well, you could do that, but it wouldn't be pro wrestling. Wrestling is all about the spectacle of it. So the audience understands that there is a story behind it all, and that stories require antagonists. The villain knocks down the hero, so that the hero has something to strive for again. They might hate the villain..."
Jazzy looked at the Countess, understanding dawning. "...but they enjoy the experience of hating the villain. Because it's all part of the story."
"Just so," the Countess said. "Although it is also a display of skill and physical fitness, at which I of course excel. That plays no small part as well."
"I... think I get it now."
"Anyway, we'd better get going," Skeezy said. "Jazzy and I are heading off on that cross country trip tomorrow." He turned to the Countess, well-guarded concern behind his eyes. "You'll be all right while I'm gone?"
"Please. I'll be spectacular," she assured him.
"Yurta need to go too. Need to get fur dye washed out." She peered down her alabaster hide. "...Yurta sometimes regrets this gimmick. Takes two hours to apply before every show."
Once goodbyes were said and her visitors had filed out, the Countess sank back into her chair and, after a moment, pulled the belt into her lap and smiled down at it.
It felt... good, to taste victory like this. Scripted though it may have been, she wouldn't have climbed so high, so quickly, if she didn't possess the abilities and charisma to catch the attention of the 'marks'. She'd undeniably earned this win.
And there would be more victories later, and they would be glorious. And there would be bitter losses, but - and this was vital - because of the nature of the game the losses would not be her fault. And she would be making money, good money, certainly enough to buy as many gold-plated trebuchets as she pleased, although she was starting to forget how they fit in to her plan. And some day, there was still the option of getting revenge upon Starlight Glimmer, but that seemed like hardly a priority at this point. There was no rush.
Chrysalis, Queen of the Changelings and (in her own mind) destined ruler of Equestria, looked upon the new future spreading out before her, and was happy.