“Cookie! Wake up! This election ain’t gonna win itself!” a voice boomed loudly in the ears of the orange mare asleep at her desk, a pile of papers forming a crude pillow.
Smart Cookie sat up and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. She could tell that it was early evening, with the sun making its’ descent and the moon on the rise. She turned towards the voice and saw the blurry outline of Ballot Box bearing down on her.
“Uh, boss, have ya seen them polls? It ain’t gonna win if we work or not. We’re getting’ clobbered,” She said blearily.
“Maybe it’s because Chancellor Mare’s personal assistant doesn’t sleep when she should be making itineraries!” Ballot Box shouted, clearing Cookie’s vision. She could tell he was angry, but his feature quickly softened and he rubbed his head with his hoof. “Look, Cookie, I’m sorry about that. You’re doing a great job, but I don’t think our candidate even has a shot. The chancellor is just too darn popular!”
“Shoot Ballot, you know it’s always hard runnin’ against an incumbent. Specially when yer candidate is the oldest fogey of ‘em all! He’s more borin’ than a sack a hammers, and if he weren’t an ambassador than he wouldn’t be even runnin’.” Cookie said reassuringly. Ballot Box smiled, and grabbed a piece of paper nearby, and stared intently at it with a furrowed brow.
“We’re polling very well on the borders of Unicorn territory, but that’s all. We can’t even touch the capital, and a lot of farmers are too busy battling frost to answer questions from door-to-door poll ponies. Our best bet is to appeal to them and hope that in the process we can appeal to the townsponies in the process,” He stated worriedly. His young assistant walked over and placed a hoof around his neck, pointing to the paper he was referencing with the other.
“See! T’ain’t that bad, we got ourselves a strategy and we got a fightin’ spirit! We’re still in this thang!” Cookie said, with a forced optimism she herself didn’t believe. Even someone as new to politics as her knew that polls that bad often led to landslide victories for the winning candidate.
“But we can’t do anything without a candidate for Vice-Chancellor. The ambassador hasn’t even been NEAR the Reinstag, let alone know any of the delegates.”
“Whah is that important?”
“Because, Cookie, the constitution states that the Vice-Chancellorship must be held by a pony from the Reinstag! I’m going to have to send a staffer to talk to the various delegates and see if any are interested in running.” He shook his head and sighed. “By the moon, I can’t afford to lose anyone at this point.”
“Ballot Box, sir, Ah could do it,” Cookie said confidently. The older pony turned toward her and smiled affectionately.
“Look, I respect your enthusiasm but you don’t know what we need for our campaign, you don’t have the experience some of our older ponies do.”
“Ahm young though, and that’s exactly what the ambassador ain’t. If anypony knows what this here campaign needs, it’d be me. Plus Ah hate that strategy stuff, Ah’d rather be out meetin’ people and puttin’ mah hooves to cobblestone,” Cookie said defiantly. Ballot Box nodded.
“Alright, I’ll send word that you are in charge of finding a running mate. Do you know where the Reinstag is?”
“Uh, it’s near the square right? Down on Market Street?”
“Yes, that’s the one. I want you there first thing tomorrow, with a smile and a desire to help the ambassador win!”
“You can count on me Bally!” Cookie said, with a mock salute.
“Don’t call me that,” Ballot Box said with false seriousness, and quickly turned around to check the mail. As he walked away he turned back and said, “Take the rest of the day off. You’ll need all the rest you can get to deal with the pompous flanks down at the Reinstag.”
With a smile, Smart Cookie put on her mountain cap and slipped out the door, into the streets.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cookie awoke bright and early, as always and rolled out of her bed and looked out onto the city. She had a small room, with few furnishings outside of her bed, a chest of drawers, and a wash basin with a small mirror. She was not a very prissy pony, and outside of her usual cloth shirts she had little in the way of wardrobe. Her hat sat atop the wardrobe, and after putting her mane in a ponytail (seemed a redundant name, considering she had a tail, but it suited her) she placed it on her head. After loading her saddlebags with parchment, quills, and books she set off for Market Street.
It was a cold day, as cold as it always was these days. Cookie couldn’t remember the last time she was able to go outside without some sort of cover. The sky was overcast as she trotted down the street, and as she approached Market Street she entered the eponymous market. She found an apple stand and trotted up to it to catch some breakfast.
“One apple please!” she said cheerily
“That’ll be 3 bits,” the fruit vendor responded. Cookie’s smile immediately left her face.
“3 bits? How in tarnation are you not in jail for robbery? The price last week for apples was that much for a bushel!” she shouted. The apple seller looked at her with tired eyes.
“Maam, for the first time in years the frost came early. We saved as much as we can, but unfortunately we’re only at a quarter of our usual production, “she said apologetically, the fatigue evident in her voice. Her patron immediately was filled with guilt.
“Ah understand, and Ah’m sorry for your loss of business. But Ah just cain’t afford 3 bits,” Cookie replied sadly. The fruit monger considered for a bit before nodding and rummaging in a barrel next to her and placing a small golden apple on the counter of the stall.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you this Golden Delicious for the 3 bits. It’s the best I can do,” she said with a small, hopeful smile.
“Ah can work with that. Here ya are maam” Cookie said a bit more happily, giving the mare the 3 bits and thanking her heartily. As she stowed the apple into her saddlebags, her political mind had kicked into high gear. She knew the climate was changing, but losing half of an apple crop was not good. Maybe the Ambassador could spare some time visiting the apple orchards, connecting with people who have lost part of their livelihoods. She made a note to tell Ballot Box her idea. She continued on through the hustle and bustle of the streets until she reached Constitution Square.
The grey edifice of the Reinstag loomed over her, a monument to the hardiness of the earth pony race. The huge oaken doors were placed under a magnificent colonnade, topped by a frieze depicting significant historical events. The wings stretched far to the left and right, covered in two floors of windows. These wings were capped on the ends by battlements, ornate enough to be beautiful yet still fully functional. The most impressive feature, however, was the dome, which perched atop the center of the building like a griffon roosting. It was composed of interlocking metal beams, forming a look akin to a beehive that provided shelter yet allowed in large amounts of light into the chamber below.
The political day was in full swing, and stressed looking ponies ran to and fro holding papers and stamps, some very nearly running into each other as they did. Cookie was used to this chaos, as it reminded her of the campaign office in full swing. She expertly dodged the runners and patiently headed up to the front desk. A young pony with light blue hide and a grey mane sat staring at the day’s news.
“Hi,” Cookie started, with a smile. She was ignored. ”Ah was wonderin’ if you could point me to Delegate High Tower’s office?” She continues pluckily. The desk pony sighed and gestured towards a hallway to Cookie’s left.
“5th door to the left, past the fountain,” she said flatly, and returned to her paper. Cookie turned and walked the direction that had been indicated. This was her first shot, and she wouldn’t screw it up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She screwed it up. Not only had he rejected her offer, he actually laughed in her face!
“Why would I want to waste my reelection trying to help that doddering old ambassador lose? He hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in Tartarus of beating Chancellor Mare!” he said, trying to compose himself as he did so. Cookie was almost in tears. After some deep breaths he continued.
“You want some advice? Get out. Wait till the next election when the Chancellor’s term is up. Then you’ll have a chance at actually doing something with your work. Young mare like you working for the ambassador, why, that’s downright wasteful!”
“Thank you for your time sir,” Cookie replied meekly. “And the advice.” High Tower nodded slightly and waved his hoof dismissively.
“Yes, yes, and uh…….good luck, I suppose.”
After letting herself out, she walked dejectedly down the hallway. High Tower was the most ambitious and powerful pony in the Reinstag, she was SURE he would have jumped at the Vice-Chancellorship. Now her number one lead was fighting off laughter, and she had hit a major setback.‘No, Cookie, don’t you get yerself all worked up over nothin’. He’s just one pony, the Reinstag is fulla ponies who’d do anything fer the shot at the number 2 spot,’ She said to herself, attempting a self -pep talk. It worked, it seemed, as she felt much better and set off to the next delegate’s office, certain of success.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Smart Cookie was right, there WERE a lot of ponies in the Reinstag, and all of them knew who the Ambassador was, and knew about his reputation, and all of them laughed their flanks off at the proposition of being his running mate. If she heard one more use of the word boring or fogey she was going buck them through a wall. As Cookie sat on a bench outside staring at the apple that was her lunch, she couldn’t help but feel hopeless. She had nothing to work with. She had a dull candidate running against a popular incumbent, a scenario no sane politician would get involved in. She wished Ballot Box were here, he’d have some sort of solution for her.
“At least you caint laugh at me,” she told the apple wistfully, taking a bite out of it.
“Well of course not, apples don’t talk,” Said a cheery voice from somewhere to her left.
“Who said that? Ah’ve got an apple, and Ah ain’t afraid to use it! Ah’m dangerous, and Ah’m in politics. Y’all better watch out!” the orange pony said, her eyes wide in fear and the apple in prime throwing position.
“If you’re in politics, how come I haven’t met you?” the voice replied, but behind her this time.
Smart Cookie turned rapidly, and found herself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.
“Howdy!” the owner of the eyes said cheerfully. Cookie jumped in fright, dropping her lunch in the process. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” the voice said, its’ eyes showing concern.
“No, no it’s fine. Ah just was sorta lost in mah own thoughts, ya know?” Cookie replied with an understanding smile. She was able to take a look at her new acquaintance. She was pink, the pinkest thing the young mare had ever laid eyes on. Her tail and mane were also pink, and bushier than anything Cookie had ever seen. She had a yellow and brown dress on, with a red bow on her rump. She had the traditional ruffle of a politician, but her other accessories were a bit more baffling. She looked like she’d fallen out of Cookie’s parent’s bakery. She had what looked like an éclair on her backside, and her hat was a bowl of pudding with a brim! “That’s a …uh…very interesting choice of headwear.”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed. What’s your name?” the pink pony politician politely put forward.
“Smart Cookie, at yer service maam,” Cookie said with a sweep of her hat. “May ah ask yer name maam?”
“My name is Puddinghead, and I am the Delegate representing the 3rd smallest province of our land…. the beautiful bureau of Belmont!” The delegate named Puddinghead said proudly, putting a hoof to her heart and looking into the distance dramatically.
“Uh Madame Delegate, what’re you looking at?” Cookie asked, looking into the same distance and seeing nothing.
“That tree is really pretty, don’t you think?”
“Ah suppose.”
“Anyway, like I said. I’ve never seen you before and I try to know everypony in the Reinstag. Granted, some don’t want to know me, but I know them nonetheless!”
“Ahm not in the Reinstag and Ah don’t work here. Ah am Ambassador Gray Rock’s personal assistant,” Cookie said with unabashed pride.
“Him? Isn’t he the boring old fogy trying to beat Chancellor Mare?” Puddinghead asked with a smirk.
“Yes, and he is NOT borin’! He’s just…uh…distinguished is all. And if you’ll excuse me Ah have to find somepony crazy…er…intelligent enough to run as his Vice-Chancellor.” Cookie began to walk away in a huff.
“I could do that!” she heard the delegate exclaim from behind her..
Cookie stopped cold, and nearly fell over. A delegate, a sane one (eccentric yes, but still sane), wanted to listen to her plan? This could be the turning point in her whole day!
“Ya would? Why, that’d be mighty fine of ya!” Cookie replied with a smile, a huge genuine smile of relief returned by Puddinghead. “Just stop by the campaign office on Elm tomorrow and we’ll talk with mah supervisor!”
“Okey Dokey Smokey!” Puddinghead replied, and walked off with a happy bounce in her step that bordered on a jump.
As Cookie watched her go, she suddenly had a sense of worry. Did she just pick the strangest delegate in the whole Reinstag to help win an election? Yes, yes she did. But maybe Puddinghead is just the thing that her campaign needed to get it rolling. Explaining that to Ballot Box would be a different story entirely.