//------------------------------// // I am your Prime Minister // Story: Rise of the Fluffy Ponies // by Monsieur Bleu //------------------------------// ~*~ Rise of the Fluffy Ponies Monsieur Bleu Chapter 1 I am your Prime Minister ~*~ The golden doors swung open. A small form seemed to float between them, shuffle really. Glee and bemusement— The great forms sitting on the thrones were now at the mercy of a ball of fluff. The golden doors slammed shut. “Your Highnesses,” he said, head held high, “I have come to form a government; I have the support of the House of Commons, and the people.” There was a long pause. Much had to be overcome for this to bear— “You are confident that you command a majority of the Commons?” “Yes, your Highness, I do.” Luna glanced at Celestia, wordless; he glanced up at her. “Then you have our blessings, we wait word on your selection of ministers,” she said, growing tense. He ascended the steps up to their platform—a fluffy pony. Reaching the top, he looked Celestia intensely in the eyes. Contained there all the stars and galaxies of the cosmos—there contained heaven— She felt her lips purse. “Who do you think you are?” He leaned into her, inches from her muzzle. “I am your Prime Minister,” he said, never flinching. A longer pause—Celestia said nothing, but eventually she nodded. “Well, your Highnesses,” he said bowing to each—Luna nodded, “I have much to tend to.” He descended the stairs, with the air still tense. ~*~ Fluffy ponies hail, originally, from the most northern part of the Principality, west of the Viceroyalty of the Cristal Empire. However, unlike the Viceroy, they did not enjoy the protection of the Duomo Nord—hence the fur. They still mostly reside there, with a few migrating to the capital or to Manehattan. They often are seen as lowbrow or, more brutally, as stupid by other Equestrians. Similar to how some Zebran tribes use a “click” in their spoken language, Fluffy ponies use a “pluft” (written out as ƥ when using Fluffy characters or Equestrian Unicode) in theirs; a pluft is made by sticking out the tongue and blowing air around it, resulting in some vibrating of the tongue. This vocalization can sound somewhat silly in Equestrian, and as a result is often associated with childlike behavior. This results in the wrong assumption that Fluffy ponies are childlike, or stupid. This is only exacerbated by their naming conventions. Kudl ƥoulß (sometimes spelled Cuddle Puftoulfs) was one of only five Fluffy ponies in the House of Commons; a member of the Social Democrats, he represented Fƥleƥ (usually spelled Fpluftlepuft), the capital of the Fluffy Provence. It is said that Fƥleƥ, like most of the Fluffy Providence, has seen better days, but no one can remember them. Economically underdeveloped and largely ignored by the rest of Equestria, Fluffy Providence languished. High unemployment and relegation to mostly low wage jobs only further compounded the idea that Fluffy ponies were ignorant, dumb, and generally inferior. Cuddle Puftoulfs, of course, would make it his lifelong goal to rectify this. Eloquent and charismatic, ƥoulß was to not only become the leader of the Fluffy ponies—but all of Equestria. ~*~ It was the place not to be seen, not to be noticed. It was said to be the one place in the Capital free of the flashes of cameras, the nagging of reporters, and the constant political drama. No photos allowed, they searched everyone before they could enter, but—considering the actual security concerns of having that many politicians gathered in one place—this seemed reasonable. And oh, did they gather. Politicians big and small, those with national prominence and those only known to their constituents and politicos, lobbyists, diplomats, bureaucrats—all intermingled. They drank to wash away stress and to seal deals. Burgundy wallpaper, a dark wood bar and booths, little gold accents, low lighting, and a general disregard for Canterlot’s indoor smoking ban, made the atmosphere quite pleasant. Simply put, The Capitol Public House (or just Capitol Pub), was a place that Cuddle liked. He had been a city alderpony in Fpluftlepuft, but with national ambitions (and a lucky retirement) he was elected to serve as one of the city’s tree MPs. His part of the city was somewhat better off than the rest, but not by much, so they were not quite as far to the left as the other parts. He was a Social Democrat, his two fellow Fƥleƥan MPs were both Communists (but more on that later). He sat at the bar for a time, staring at nothing in particular, slurping his beer the traditional way. “You know that looks stupid right,” a voice came from behind him. “You know… I forget how the joke goes… but your mother is a whore,” he said to the changeling as he sat in the stool next to him. “Long day?” “Long day. Same?” “Same. Ricky, get me the usual.” The earth pony stallion nodded; he took out a nicer bottle vodka from the freezer poured it into a cocktail glass, and, using a glass stirrer, mixed in a drop of dry vermouth, no olives—a proper Martini. “Thanks,” he said taking clasp of the drink in his electric blue aura. Alerix was the only changeling in Parliament, a Social Democrat from Manehattan. “So,” Alerix turned to Cuddle, “how’d the committee go?” “Usual.” “That bad?” Cuddle nodded, “It’s grotesque, bunch of ideological bullshit—it’s the prioritizing that gets, the Conservatives have some grand vision of a society that’s so fucking detached from reality. They spend so much time fantasizing—everything they do is made to bring society back to some time and place that never even existed.” His counterpart nodded. “Are you getting sick of it all?” “Oh no, I’m just getting into it,” he said turning towards the changeling. Alerix lauged some, “Isn’t everyone prone to ideological bullshit?” “Prone to, yes—but the the two sides of this coin are not the same—the left in the country seeks to solve problems.” Cuddle finished his beer; the two sat silently for a moment. “Rickey,” Alerix broke the quiet “two whiskeys.”