//------------------------------// // We, by the Grace of Zaccarias // Story: Rise of the Fluffy Ponies // by Monsieur Bleu //------------------------------// ~*~ Rise of the Fluffy Ponies Monsieur Bleu Chapter 4 We, by the Grace of Zaccarias ~*~ Nizzle had already been put to bed—an old, well scratched record gently played classic Crystalian music, a delicate composition by Sartori. A joint hung limply out of Nuzzle’s mouth. Had it been a year or so earlier she would have used a bong, but her tongue, throat, and lungs had grown accustomed to the acrid nature of hash. Technically it was still illegal in the Principality, but no one had been arrested for its possession or sale in more than fifty years. She stared at the blank canvas for a time—letting the cosmos deposit what they may in her mind’s eye. Blue, dark blue. She dipped the brush fastened to her hoof into the dab of midnight blue. She started near the centre, outlining a whitespace for later. ~*~ Forty minutes prior, the press had all received a copy of the speech. As operatives for the opposition were hastily drawing up their responses, the carriage was being prepared at Buckingham Palace. Gilded and bearing the Princely Coat-of-Arms, pulled by a team of steady soldiers in full dress, it was a sight to behold. Today was the annual ritual of the State Opening of Parliament, the Throne Speech, an affair of unrivaled pomp and circumstance. What was technically a mundane statement of the government’s agenda was dressed up with ceremony worthy of a coronation. Every movement, each gesture was rich in symbolism. Their Highnesses were the last to board their carriage—to much fanfare. Her Grace Sparkle and Their Excellences Crystaliano had already boarded theirs’—a slightly more modest affair, slightly. The route to Westminster was lined with the flags and cheering crowds. Drummers and pipes played the national anthem en-loop as the massive procession made their way down the Grande-Boulevard. Ostensibly oblivious to all of this, Their Highnesses sat in their golden carriage, silently reading the speech they were soon to give before both Houses of Parliament. “So?” Luna chimed. “He’s ambitious,” Celestia responded, emotionless. “Indeed—think it will work?” “No, but it should be fun to watch.” “O come sister, maybe he will succeed—t’was only eighty years that—“ “I have a suspicion that such a threshold can only be reached once. Isn’t that the nature of these revolutions?” “The world is more fun than you know.” “Until we are overthrown.” “Indeed, it should be fun to watch.” They shared a smile. ~*~ Alerix’s riding was among the densest in the Principality—comprising of only a few poor and working class neighborhoods in lower Manehattan. This, along with the mechanical nature of urban politics, made it so that Alerix was, by necessity and nature, very in tune with his district. He made it a habit of holding somewhat impromptu town-halls in one of the district’s numerous pubs. “The bill we are advancing will help to address the persistent economic inequality that Manehattan and the rest of Equestria has endured for far too long. I cannot promise immediate results, but I can say that the long term for our neighborhood, city, and principality will be improved by these measures. Next question.” A portly earth pony mare raised her hoof. “What kind of progress have you Changelings been makin’ towards fully integratin’?” Alerix flashed an awkward smile. What a parody—as if on cue. “Ma’am, I think that Changelings have already been fully integrated into Equestrian society… I would suggest, though not towards anyone here, that unfortunately many Equestrians of my heritage continue to face untoward discrimination and that any continuing difficulties result from that. Next question.” Nuzzle raised her hoof. “What is the progress of the supplemental child credit? Not just the milk and cookies stuff, the actual credit.” “Very good question, young lass, Currently, we have a separate bill specifically concerning the child credit working its way through committee in addition to the broader bill I mentioned earlier. Now, I for one would love it if the Prime Minister got her head out of her arse…” the crowd chuckled a bit, “but until then we have to work through slower channels. Next question.” ~*~ In the Princely Dressing Chamber, adjacent to the Lord’s Chamber, in a gilded frame, hangs a piece of parchment: “We, by the Grace of Zaccarias*, the Duly Elected Members of the House of Commons of the Co-Principality of Equestria, hereunto declare the primacy of the People in all affairs of the State. And it is our obligation, before Her Most Divine, to enforce this Mandate.” The statement was agreed to by the whole of the lower house—the last time that Celestia had dared enter the chamber without their consent. She had a long fight with an unruly Commons a few centuries back, and in her haste barged in the chamber escorted by armed guards. She was quickly expelled from the House and her government immediately deposed. From then on neither she nor her sister had any real control over who served her as Prime Minister. The parchment served as a reminder of this incident—and of the power of the House of Commons. A servant helped her and Luna don their vestments. ~*~ He needed reassurances. Sure, Her Grace may have well been as upfront as possible regarding the Liberals, but he needed to be sure . It may have been late, long past the hour that a decent pony would be in bed—but neither he nor his contact could be called decent ponies. After twenty minutes or so of shuffling along in the snow he reached his destination. He rapped hardily on the door, only to be ignored. With a gruff, he lifted his hoof to proceed to knock again, when an earth pony servant cautiously opened the door. “His Grace Blueblood is not available now.” Without a word Cuddles shoved his way past the butler. “Sir…” He let his way into the parlor, where he spotted Blueblood lounging on a sofa with his tongue entangled with a Pegasus Mare… a grey one with a blonde mane… who was the Social Democratic MP from Ponyville. Eyes went wide all around. ~*~ Excerpt from The Fluffleloid By ƥetrarch Translation and comments by Sliding Ink, PhD This—Elysium—how much thine weep, the cracks in space give thee little account. What then, from Tartarus, to the fields vexed— I can only hope beyond itself that the third eye exists. O’er hailing the defeats of the once triumphant, no hero failing in the texts. No! Thine prejudices falter. What hope now lost?