There were many things about ‘professionalism’ that ponies didn’t realize. Professionalism wasn’t just a mindset that stiffed the neck and straightened the shoulders, nor just a weapon that tamed the unruly with a cutting glare or a curt lecture.
No. Professionalism was the fuel of the Equestrian workforce.
Manual labor, management, engineering; all of it required ponies that remained calm during the storm, ponies that acknowledged problems but found only solutions, that snapped their partners to attention and cemented their teamwork through tasks great and small.
Nagatha Harshwhinny proudly stood among those ponies.
Harshwhinny revered professionalism. Not just for what it was, but for what it represented: order. As an earth pony who’d grown up all over Equestria, Harshwhinny was no stranger to chaos. But growing and learning from a respected physician for a mother, and a retired tactician of the Equestrian Military for a father, Harshwhinny learned to brush the dastardly, infectious, impressionable machinations of the outside world off her back like dried mud long before she left the nest to pursue her own path.
Like any self-respecting, well-educated mare who got perfect grades, listened to her elders and strove to make her mark in the world, Harshwhinny knew exactly what she wanted out of life; leadership. It was only appropriate, given her near-frightening coordination skills and having barely discovered what ‘stage-fright’ was in her late twenties.
And, like any self-respecting, well-educated mare who respected authority, wielded honesty like a badge of honor and toiled for excellence, Harshwhinny was promoted to a management position only three months into her first job at age 17. It was only appropriate, given the unquestionable respect from her peers and a charisma that silenced crowds and opened all ears when she spoke.
Harshwhinny was a leader, in body and spirit. She set, or—more often than she cared to remember—improved workplace standards in every new job, each one more important than the last. From catering host and office manager, to coordinator and business instructor, Nagatha Harshwhinny was, by all aspects and definition, a professional.
But this had its downside.
The life of a blistering success was a lonely one. Granted, her jobs, and the role she took within them, surrounded her with ponies of all shapes, sizes and dispositions. But rarely, bordering on ‘never’, had those ponies stopped to ask how she was doing. Nopony really pulled her aside and assured her she had nothing to worry about while they were on the case. Nopony ever asked her about the age-lines beneath her eyes that shouldn’t have been there in her younger years.
And perhaps the greatest downside of all—the one that deepened those age-lines—nopony had ever asked her out on a date.
This was subject to adaptation, however, and Harshwhinny was a very adaptive pony. She knew herself; her strengths, her weaknesses, and her instincts, like a snake that had survived longer than the rest of its brood. As such, she knew that ponies wouldn’t chase her around for her infinitely intimidating stature, unlike the sprouting young harlots that stole every possible suitor with cheap perfume and a swish of the tail.
So Harshwhinny went to them. And like any other strive for success, Harshwhinny stood on the end of the road with her chin head high and her lips curled with a smile. Not long into her late twenties, Harshwhinny learned that many a stallion, and the occasional mare, looked her way, including some of her more reclusive co-workers. Some of which, whom the earth pony discovered through under-toned teasing and thickly veiled implications, wanted to flat out jump her bones.
More than once, Harshwhinny obliged. It was only appropriate, given her monstrous thirst from being been deprived of satisfaction when her hormones raged in her teen years.
Soon, Harshwhinny came to discover that everything could be gained with a little assertiveness. And with her head held even higher, gazing at a plethora of romantic excursions on the horizon, just when she believed excitement was out of reach, she continued to grow and learn.
And grow she did, as her talents and leadership became recognized and put to use for the Equestria Games: the greatest honor she’d ever achieved. As it had, even on her first job many years before, Harshwhinny’s tact and no-nonsense attitude made her quite recognizable among her ilk, and fortified the standards on which the Equestria Games’ host were founded. Harshwhinny had observed, critiqued, and outright rejected many contenders for ‘Host of the Equestria Games’.
Even through the sobs of crushed fillies and colts, the collective groans of disappointed adults, and even the booing, hissing, and stomping of more questionable crowds, Harshwhinny’s professionalism remained undeterred. As an inspector, a decider for one of her culture’s oldest living traditions, her word was law. And that, as it had with her very first promotion and the day a shiny golden trophy appeared on her flank, made her a winner.
But at the hooves of Rainbow ‘Professionalism’ Dash, Harshwhinny tasted only defeat.
And no matter how many times she’d asked herself why, no matter how many ways she tried to justify her unforgivable outburst at her last inspection, no matter how long she stood before The Crystal Empire’s saloon, already smelling the alcohol spilled over crystal mugs with laughter rumbling behind closed doors, Harshwhinny could taste only defeat.
Perhaps it was her humiliation, having jumped, twisted, and shouted how much she adored Ponyville’s performance. Perhaps it was Rainbow Dash, that impossible, uncontrollable, over-enthusiastic creature that jumped, twisted, and shouted how much she anticipated her role as coach and fellow judge.
Or maybe, perhaps the worst possible thing; Rainbow Dash rubbed off on her, then lectured her about professionalism. Her! Lectured about something she’d defend until she was old and useless! Yes, Dash’s infectious jumping and cheering was the only logical explanation for her own jumping and cheering, as opposed to her usual smile and curt congratulations.
Several times at that moment in front of the saloon, her smile came and went as the memory of her failed composure swallowed her thoughts again and again. It was a crushing defeat, and it tasted like gravel doused in sulfur. But as she pushed through the crystal doors of that saloon, her looked forward to killing that taste with liquid amnesia.
It was no different than any other saloon, really. Rowdy, loud, bellowing with laughter, conversation, and music. Uncouth. Unprofessional. Writhing and screaming against everything Harshwhinny stood for. It was perfect.
Harshwhinny needed this. The chaos, the rowdiness, the noise that drove a deafening pit into her ear. It reminded her of something she forgets as she toils every waking moment maintaining her image. To live a little. She’d sooner cough up a lung before she’d let anypony know it, of course.
Harshwhinny was a mare of wisdom and experience, nd thus, would never put herself in a compromising position if she could help it. Surely she wouldn’t get so wholly, absolutely, indistinguishably trashed that she’d mingle with her drunken brethren. She had an image to uphold after all, and she’d done more than enough damage to that already.
A double standard? Of course it was. Did Harshwhinny care? Not even remotely.
She spoke to nopony as she walked with her head held high, her eyes closed as if seeing the rum and vomit stains would burn her eyes.
Even as several ponies greeted her with cheers and whistles for allowing their stake in hosting the Equestria Games, Harshwhinny ignored them, stopped at the farthest edge of the front counter, and sat quietly among the noise. When she saw the bartender, she dared to say she was impressed, if only by his clean-cut appearance and the way his hoof swiveled a white cloth inside a mug with practiced precision.
She’d even dared to smile at the groomed stallion, relieved at finally meeting a pony with the slightest lick of sense and refinement for the first time in a week. Then the idiot spoke to her, and the lines beneath her eyes deepened with her frown. A deep, heavy Manehattenite accent drove into her head like grinding boulders, even past all the noise. The instant he acknowledged Harshwhinny, his posture went crooked, and the most obscene grime on his teeth put a very… homegrown air to his smile.
With the same aging frown that became known to so many, Harshwhinny scrutinized the bartender and listed everything she needed to know, which most certainly stopped at ‘totally lost cause’. Clearly she didn’t do enough of this in her day job.
“Yoo-hoo!” a scratchy and terribly, terribly familiar voice called out. “Equestria to Ms. Harshwhinny!”
With an unladylike sputter, Harshwhinny turned to see none other than Little Miss Rainbow “Professionalism” Dash.With her frown returned in full, she noticed the red tint in Dash’s cheeks and slur in her speech.
“He asked you what you wanna drink,” Rainbow said.
Harshwhinny swung her gaze to the still-smiling stallion, and thought, not for the first time, what a horrible idea it was to go to that bar. She opened her mouth to order, and a completely different voice spoke for her.
“She’ll have the Apple Martini, on the rocks with lemon and lime.” Rainbow paused and glanced at Harshwhinny with a hoof to her chin. “Make it a double.”
Harshwhinny opened her mouth to protest, but the gruff butch-y voice of the bartender threw her off with a ‘comin’ right up!’ Harshwhinny grit her teeth, not only remembering her hatred for lemons, but how badly she wished the cackle-fiend hyena beside her to just leave. Instead, Rainbow threw an arm around Harshwhinny’s neck and leaned in a little too close.
So unruly. So god-awfully unprofessional.
“Ah, lighten up, Ms. Harshwhinny!” Rainbow said between inebriated laughs. “You’ll thank me later.”
Harshwhinny, in fact, didn’t thank Rainbow Dash that evening. Certainly, for all of Rainbow’s contagious flaws, the savvy business pony had made it a point—no, made it her very mission—to ignore her like she’d never ignored anything before. Even that was a challenge, having endured a near endless barrage of questions and comments. Some of which were a little too personal.
When her drink came, Harshwhinny snatched it, gulped it dry and swallowed the sliced lemon on her glass, gaining a slacked jaw from the bartender and a keening whistle from Rainbow Dash. Even before she could stop herself, Harshwhinny ordered another, completely forgetting how much she hated lemons.
Rainbow’s questions flowed like water from a creek, or booze from a barrel, as the stench of her breath suggested, each more personal than the last; from how long she’d been head of the Equestria Games, to why she was always so serious.
One among those questions actually lifted one of Harshwhinny’s brows. Rainbow asked her why a blistering success like her was even in that saloon to begin with. And at some point, Harshwhinny nearly answered her, although she blamed the alcohol for even considering that option. In fact, Harshwhinny silently cursed the alcohol when she found herself wondering why Dash was there.
It was obvious, of course. Harshwhinny acutely remembered a loudmouth, blindingly colorful pegasus taking the heat for Princess Cadence months before, for Harshwhinny's completely non-existent greeting to the Crystal Empire. In that same memory, Harshwhinny could see how much The Equestria Games meant to that pegasus, and more still, how much it meant to share that joy with ponies around her. And after the flag-carrying auditions, with the little scamps taking first prize? Clearly, Rainbow Dash was celebrating that accomplishment.
Rainbow asked her again, and Harshwhinny shook out of her muses with another sputter. The business mare cast a flat glare at Dash's sincere half-lidded eyes, stayed silent.
Rainbow didn’t need to know that Harshwhinny needed this, that the pungent smell of rum and vomit took her away from the tussle and turmoil of her life, that every once in a blue moon, Harshwhinny needed to tear off her solid posture, stern look, and groomed appearance like a torn dress and live. But more pointedly, Rainbow didn’t need to know that Harshwhinny was there because of her.
Surely, telling a loudmouth such as Dash that she pulled something out of Harshwhinny—where even her most eligible suitor had failed—would've had dire complications, in that, Dash most certainly wouldn’t' have shut up about it.
But it was true.
She’s the one who—with every flap of her wings, every raspy cheer, and every flagrant disregard for dignity and grace—challenged Harshwhinny’s patience and leadership. A thrill that the business mare couldn’t admit to anypony but herself.
The final question, however, made her nearly spray her fourth drink all over the counter. Harshwhinny gulped hard, wiped her lips and coughed a little.
“I beg your pardon?!” she demanded.
“Are you still a virgin?” Rainbow reiterated like it was the most appropriate thing to ask.
Every bell and alarm in the earth pony’s head rung, howled, and screamed for her to remain silent and finish her drink. And if she were a lesser mare, a younger and more foolish mare, she’d have ignored those alarms. So with a whispered huff and a wrinkled nose, Harshwhinny turned back to her drink. And ground her jaw together at Rainbow’s hacking laughter.
“Oh my gosh!” Rainbow shouted with a hoof pounding the counter top. “You totally are!”
Harshwhinny shot a withering glare to her glass. “Miss Dash!” She closed her eyes with a sharp breath through her nose. “Miss Dash. My personal affairs are none of your conc—“
“Well, it does make a lot o’ sense,” Rainbow continued as if Harshwhinny never even spoke. “I mean, you frown all the time, and you take everything too seriously. Heck, I haven’t seen you make any sleepy eyes at anypony!”
By now, Harshwhinny was vaguely aware that she was shaking—and that she’d never smashed a glass object over a pony’s head.
“Miss Dash, I’m warning you. I—“
“But it’s cool, ya know!” Rainbow shouted, zipping up and sprawling over a sputtering Harshwhinny’s lap. “After tonight, who knows? You might take a lucky pony home, ‘cause, I mean, who wouldn’t wanna jump your bones, right?”
Suddenly, Harshwhinny became maddeningly aware of her tongue as it curled, twisted, and rolled in her own mouth. Rainbow hopped off of the older mare, keeping herself afloat with beating wings.
“Seriously, you’re, like, a total MILF. And ponies would be crazy not to take a second look when you walk down the street! Huh. Too bad you haven’t noticed. What, with you being a virgin, and all—“
Harshwhinny snapped her blue eyes to her fellow mare and shouted, “I am NOT!”
When the roar of the saloon dulled, and a few pairs of eyes shifted her way, Harshwhinny’s hoof was already over her lips, her muzzle stained red.
“Now that’s how ya make a scene!” Rainbow cheered, sparking a chain of unceremonious laughter. “Way to shake off the chains, Ms. Harshwhinny!”
With cheeks still warm and her jaw aching from how hard she clenched it, Harshwhinny was now certain how bad it was to come here. Worse, how hard it was becoming to leave. Something in Harshwinny’s chest loosened when she yelled at Dash, like a shackle that rusted and collected dust over her heart shook, rattled, and rolled.
Much like how it did during Ponyville’s flag-carrying performance.
And how it did when she first worked with Dash.
Her dignity had suffered enough at the hooves of this rapscallion. Dammit all if she suffered a moment longer. The earth pony cleared her throat, and prepared a lecture with a tone patented by decades of leadership and professionalism. Professionalism that, come Hell or high water, Harshwhinny would make Dash acknowledge.
Then the music in the saloon changed and Rainbow’s wings flapped twice as hard.
“Oh man! I love this song!” she exclaimed, zipping up face-to-face with a flustered Harshwhinny. “You should totally dance with me!”
To her relief, Harshwhinny recovered quickly. “I most certainly will not,” she said.
“Aww, c’mon!” Dash whined, taking Harshwhinny’s hooves into her own. “The night’s still young, and I just started my tab here! If you need more drinks, have at it!”
Harshwhinny’s eyes widened as they darted down to the squad of empty glassed in front of her, then back up at Dash.
“You’ve paid for these drinks?”
“With bits to spare!” Dash answered, her limbs starting to fidget and jerk. “Oh my gosh, I love this song so much! Let’s go, let’s go!”
For an instant—a moment in time that spanned centuries in the blink of an eye—Harshwhinny nearly smiled. Moreover, she nearly allowed the hooves yanking at hers to guide her, to move her.
She snatched her hooves from Rainbow’s and shot her the most disarming glare she could muster.
“No.”
And that was that.
Rainbow huffed with crossed arms. “Fine. But you gotta give in some time!” She dipped to the ground and trotted to dance floor. “You’ll never get any tail if you don’t shake yours first!”
Harshwhinny couldn’t even breathe a retort in the time Rainbow vanished into the dancing crowd. Her jaw hung loose, but she shook herself straight again. That, however, made the amount of alcohol she consumed all the more apparent.
With another whispering huff, Harshwhinny returned to the apple martini she never even wanted, and downed the last of it. She brushed the glass aside and groaned with her face pressed against her hoof. She did it again. She allowed herself to fall victim to her emotions, to allow that… child to bend and manipulate her. Her hoof fell listlessly on the counter, and the bartender acknowledged her.
“Another round.”
Through the thickening haze, Harshwhinny glanced left, and couldn’t look away. There, on the dance floor, was Rainbow Dash, flailing her legs and swinging her hips. At first, the surrounding ponies seemed a put off by Dash’s performance. But soon, cheers squeaked through the music and proliferated into full on celebrating.
Ponies jumped, ponies shouted, ponies danced. And those ponies split Harshwhinny’s skull in two. But none more so than Rainbow Dash. Not because of her array of clashing colors, her devastating insult to dancing, or even her laughter ringing in the air like bells in a summer wind. No. Rainbow Dash had become the single most insufferable thing in the universe because Harshwhinny couldn’t tear her eyes away from her.
She was a fool. An uncontrollable, inconsiderate, unrefined mess of a mare that seemed to exist in spite of Harshwhinny. Uncouth. Unprofessional. Writhing and screaming against everything Harshwhinny stood for.
…
…
She was perfect.
Rainbow Dash may have been the antithesis of what Harshwhinny wanted, but in that moment, after her efforts to maintain an unquestionable air of authority and finesse, after trying and failing to control the emotions of a hot-blooded pegasus, after realizing how good it felt to unshackle herself and cry out for joy and appreciation, Rainbow Dash was exactly what Harshwhinny needed.
The pegasus, in every way, was her opposite: sloppy, loud, and overly-energetic. A mare who knew little of restraint. A pony who wasn’t afraid to flaunt her best, both physically and spiritually. A pony who reminded her to live a little. And she, within a single week, drove a proverbial nail straight through a shell that took 35 years of leadership to build.
Right then and there, Harshwhinny was presented two choices; she could’ve risen from the stool, paid the bartender and left, or…
Or Harshwhinny could’ve ordered one last round, gulped it down with seasoned technique, hopped off that stool, and showed Little Miss Rainbow Dash how a 43 year-old ‘virgin’ destroys the dance floor.
At the time, Harshwhinny blamed the alcohol, but that last idea seemed almost as appealing as the firm young flank swinging to and fro. With a smile and a swift removal of her purple suit-jacket, she hopped off the stool with a little stumble and laugh, set her jacket on said stool, and made her drunken merry way to the bush of flailing limbs and tails.
And when her hoof clapped onto the dance floor, when she snuck behind Dash with perfected stealth and the eyes of a wise predator, Harshwhinny was given a third choice. She could break Rainbow Dash. She could let Dash’s behavior slide for a few more precious hours as they danced and drank, she could wobble her way back to the counter with an equally dizzied pegasus on tow and spill some more drinks.
But when they left?
When they left that saloon, Harshwhinny would shatter Rainbow into a thousand pieces. She’d reprimand Rainbow for her behavior and invading questions with a firmness she could maintain no matter how intoxicated she was. She’d criticize Rainbow’s behavior and informal conversation. And by the sun and moon, that scratchy voice would utter, ‘Yes, Miss Harshwhinny,’ whether Rainbow liked it or not.
And if she refused? Well, Harshwhinny would have to retire to her studio suite and insist Rainbow follow… so she could make the young mare say those words very, very loudly.
But for now, Harshwhinny had to teach Rainbow a few thing about dancing. And with a slap on that sleek blue flank and a swing of her hoof, Harshwhinny spun a startled Rainbow Dash around, piercing violet eyes caged by hungry cerulean.
“Very well, Miss Dash,” Harshwhinny said with a smile that could carve diamond from stone. “Let us dance.”