//------------------------------// // Streamline vs. Minié Ball - Winner: Minié Ball (by Vote) // Story: OC Slamjam - Round One // by OC Slamjam //------------------------------// How Unladylike - by Streamline's Author "Sweet Celestia, this sucks." Streamline’s alice blue muzzle flicked back and forth as he frantically scanned the sides of the foyer for escape routes. "Where's the exit?" "Oh no you don't." Scatterbrain’s hooves grabbed Streamline’s tie as he prepared to wander off. It tightened like a noose around his supervisor’s neck, forcing him to let out a gag. "Fantastic, now it’s wrinkled. Please hold still." "Hurry up, they’re gonna think we’re together or something, and I wouldn’t be with anyone in a white suit." Streamline chuckled as he scanned the glamorous interior of Whinny World’s Stable 33. "The happiest place in Equestria. That's what we call ourselves." Colt whinny’s Stable 33 was truly the embodiment of Equestrian Capitalism. The monochrome photos taken during the park’s construction hung behind ornate wooden frames. It seemed sometimes as if Colt Whinny himself were presiding over the events held inside, judging whether the occupants were worthy of carrying on his legacy. “Here we go.” Scatterbrain looked to the ceiling letting out a sigh. “You want to sue for false advertising?” “If the skin weren't coming off my muzzle, I'd do it in a heartbeat.” Streamline stamped at the floor, like a foal waiting in line for the big colt rides. “I’m here on work, so I will have as much fun here as I would at work.” Streamline tore away from Scatterbrain’s hooves as his last button was fastened. "Geeze boss,” Scatterbrain grumbled. “Just pretend to have fun, and who knows? You just might just have some for real.” The wooden foyer doors opened to a sea of immaculately dressed ponies, glistening in their jewelry like the chandeliers hanging above their heads. They gravitated to each other like schools of fish, all hardwired to take the same cues and laugh at the same jokes. Streamline meandered between groups, making it his business to research and catalogue the nuances of socializing in each of the cliques that had walled themselves off from each other. In truth, it was fun. Not because of the ponies he was talking to, but the challenge of bypassing the groups’ exclusivity. During the day it seemed as if solutions found themselves. Sure it ensured Streamline remained at the upper end of the corporate food chain, but there was never any resistance - no battle. He looked at his surroundings like an arcade, full of games prepared to be mastered, though he would never admit it to anypony but himself. As the night drug on, it seemed as though every group had lost it’s novelty. After an hour and a half had crawled by, Streamline had reached a first name basis with two thirds of the occupants with phone numbers from the remainders. The numbers and business cards would find their way to the bottom of his upper-right office drawer soon enough, or until the princesses were overthrown. He glanced over to Scatterbrain. More often than not the pony he was talking to would flee inconspicuously in the opposite direction, leaving Scatterbrain to rub the back of his head with a hoof wondering what he’d done wrong. “Do you always take such pleasure in watching your friends flounder?” Streamline choked on the last few drops of his drink. He quickly turned to the table behind him, swiping up a napkin as he cleared the Champagne from his throat. He turned back to face a tan mare draped in a lace dress reclining in the chair to his right. “Excuse me?” “You’re letting your friend drown out there.” Said the mare, chuckling. “The way you’ve been playing the field, I’d dare say you have have enough experience for the both of you.” “You might not be wrong,” Streamline said, “but me knowing how to swim won’t do him any good when he’s already in the water. He’ll learn, it just - takes him a while.” “I saw you talking with a zebras,” the mare said twirling a dangling lock of her bunned, black mane in her hoof. “I don’t see too many of them in here often.” “Yes, well they’re the creative team behind whinny’s newest animation film,” Streamline reminded her. “The Zebra and the Crag, it has the potential to appeal to a new aud - ” “I have seen their pitch, Mr. Streamline,” the mare said, looking down to her rose colored drink as it swirled. “Frankly I wasn’t too impressed. I mean a Zebra princess?” “We aren’t giving her wings and a horn if it makes you feel better.” Streamline reached to his back, swapping his emptied glass with an unclaimed one, full to the brim. His own chuckles were nervous and awkward. Who was this mare, and how did she know him? “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, what did you say your name was?” “I didn’t,” said the mare, flashing a tight grin before relaxing her cheeks. She dangled a hoof in his direction. It sparkled and rattled as the pearls by her wrist clacked against one another. “Minié Ball.” “Lovely name,” Streamline said, giving the lace swathed hoof a shake. “I must admit, it makes mine seem rather dull in comparison.” “It does seem a tad bit conventional,” Minié admitted. “Why not just change it?” “It fits what I do,” said the chair pony, arching a brow. “And I don’t think my parents would ever forgive me” - he shrugged his shoulders, averting his gaze to his off-gold beverage - “Farmponies.” “Hardly an excuse,” Minié scoffed. “You aren’t the only one here who was raised on a farm.” Streamline furrowed his brows. “You don’t seem the type.” “Tuché.” Both ponies jerked towards the crowd as a silk clad unicorn mare stomped away towards the exit. They traced her path back to a soaked Scatterbrain, his eyes still clenched to keep the wine in his hair from dripping into his eyes. He pursed his lips, jerking the tie from under his suit to wipe his face clean. “Excuse me for a minute, please.” Streamline folded a mass of napkins under his wings before trotting over to a wine stained Scatterbrain. “I told you not to wear a white suit.” “Ha ha, give me those.” Scatterbrain’s false laughter died as he pulled away the monogramed napkins. He patted at his until all the crimson streams had been soaked up. Streaks of red still covered his clothes and face, ensuring he would receive no respect for the rest of the party. “So who are you talking to? Friend of yours?” “Minié Ball,” Streamline said. “The resident racist.” “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun?” Scatterbrain said, tossing the ruined rags onto the nearest table. “Racism accusations are pretty serious business. You have any proof?” “First, she says she was raised on a farm,” Streamline began, “but look at her, her skin’s too fair, and she has no moles to speak of. Judging by her accent she came from near the Dodge Junction area meaning she had and has plenty of chances to get sun. She didn’t work on the farm, her family supervised a plantation. The only sun she got was when she wasn’t under her umbrella or with her tutors.” “That still doesn’t mean she’s a racist,” Scatterbrain said running a hoof through his hair. He let out a gust of wind through pouted lips. By the orders on his breath and his current state it was obvious he had been mixing his drinks. “That just means she’s spoiled. You’re gonna have to do better than that.” “She certainly didn’t waste any time voicing her disapproval of a zebra centric picture.” Scatterbrain bowed his head, only looking up to his boss with vehement disapproval. “When I come back I’m sure you’ll change your tune.” Streamline labored to his hooves and trotted back over to Minié’s table with a smirk. He shook his head, as he flashed his teeth, eliciting the same reaction from the Dixie mare. The wooden chair creaked as his flank fell to rest. “You’re friend really is clueless.” “I’ve tried to teach him but he just won’t learn.” “I think he’s got a bit of stripe in him.” Streamline and Minié broke into a muffled fit of laughter. They both took a sip from their drinks in an attempt to stifle their giggles. “Do-Don’t worry,” Minié said between gasps. “Your secret's sa-safe with me!” “Now, as customary for Colt Whinny upper management,” Streamline said adopting a serious look. It was an insult to the one he would use during interviews, his eyes cheery instead of cold. “I feel almost obligated to ask you what your favorite Winnie movie is.” “Wow,” Minié touched a hoof to her chin. “I’m not sure. They’re all so wonderful.” “We are in Stable 33,” Streamline said. “I expected that would be an answer. But you can’t tell me there isn’t one that’s a bit closer to your heart than all the others?” Minié’s eyes were half lidded. With the alcohol obviously taking it’s toll, Streamline knew she would be far less choosy with her words. “I guess not.” “Let me try guessing,” “I got hired to guess, let’s see how good I am at it. Toy Tail?” “Nope.” “The Reindeer King?” “Eww, no.” Minié furrowed her brows, pulling her head back in surprise. “Hrmmm.” Streamline arched his brows, wrinkling his forehead as he bowed in hesitation. “The Hunchbuck of Trotterdame?” Minié made a buzzer noise with her mouth. “Nope, try again. Last chance.” “I gotta say,” Streamline said, cocking his head to one side. “You’ve got me stumped. I guess I’ll just have to go with one of my personal favorites... Hymn of the Hills. They don’t even make it anymore, that can’t possibly be it.” “That’s-” Minié said, her jaw dropping. “That’s your favorite too?” “Sweet Celestia!” Streamline said, dropping his muzzle into his hooves. “It was right in front of me the whole time!” “This has been great,” Minié said. “We’ll have to get in touch when we can fly strait. I better go find my valet. I’m sure he’s just bored to tears.” “That’s what you pay him for.” Streamline said. “Keep in touch,” Minié cooed. “I will.” Even as tipsy as the mare was she seemed to glide across the tile to the exit with unparalleled grace, like a swan on a lake. She would have no problem finding a stallion to suit her needs - and eccentricities. Streamline had his own faults, one of them being too lazy to make it work. Streamline wandered back to a table occupied solely by a stallion in a nightmarish white suit. He was muzzle was plastered to the table, inches away from an abandoned crowd of glasses and dishes that were piling up as the emerging janitorial staff started consolidating their workloads. “I was right,” Streamline began, “again.” “Pwove ert.” Streamline was forced to bow towards his drunken friend to make sense of his half-sensible words. They were garbled as his lips flapped against the hard surface of the table.” Scatterbrain heard the chair elicit a signature squeak. There was only one stallion who made a chair groan that way. Scatterbrain tilted his head back, setting crossed and unfocused eyes on the bleary visage of his supervisor. “Only if you don’t. She hate’s The Reindeer King, loves Hymn of the Hills, and thinks you’re part Zebra.” “I can’t believe it.” Scatterbrain’s muzzle fell back against the table with an audible thump. “I lost all my faith in Equinity in a single night.” “See?” Streamline shot the hobling stallion a grin. “You are learning.” Minié Ball vs Streamline - by Minié Ball's Author If there was any one thing Streamline hated, it was inefficiency. He had taken the Colt Whinney Corporation and pulled it out of mediocrity from the bottom listings of the Cow Pones stock exchange to the very top of the industry. He had money; he had mares on the arm; he had a legion of lawyers, accountants and office drones slaving away every day of the year to keep him on top. So why, exactly, had he taken a twelve hour train ride from his Manehattan penthouse suite out into the boonies, to find himself standing in the boiling southern Equestrian sun, knocking on the door of a massive cloud mansion with colonial pretensions in the middle of the most fertile farmlands this side of the Applelachian Mountains? Oh, he knew. He knew. Because, apparently, he had hired the worst negotiators of all time to broker a deal with the Mason-Dixie Agricultural Corporation and his in house food processing industries. Because, apparently, they had been so piss poor at their jobs that the heiress had been offended to the point of requiring assurances of the Executive Director that the deal was going to be beneficial to them both. Face to face. It was inefficient. And there wasn’t anything Streamline hated more than inefficiency. He was snapped out of his reverie by a rather attractive young Zebra in a Prench maid uniform. “Oh you must be Mistah Streamline! Please sah, let me fetch the lady of the house. If you’d like to sit a spell on the veranda, a servant will be along shortly with refreshments.” She turned with a very pleasing sashay and sauntered back into the house. Streamline cleared his throat uncomfortably before casting about for a seat. He was not left alone in the heat for long. A veritable train of Zebras and Donkeys came out, setting out pitchers of ice cold sweet tea and rather small, delicate looking sandwiches. They disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, the result of long training, no doubt. He shook his head as he reached forward to help himself to a drink and a few nibblies, but sat up as the Prench Zebra opened the front door and waved through a striking young pegasus mare. She took a seat, taking the time to elegantly situating her dress just so. “Oh, sirrah, you must be the Mister Streamline from Manehattan?” She drew a paper fan across her face and tittered coquettishly. “I had not been informed that the CEO would be such a handsome gentlecolt.” “I, uh. Yes. Quite.” Streamline cleared his throat and shifted nervously in his seat. It was so hot all of a sudden. “And you must be Miss Ball?” She giggled again from behind her fan. “Why yes I am. I trust you were not kept waiting long? Refreshments to your liking? I swear that the Princess, bless her heart, brings the sun closer to the plantations every summer.” “Oh, yes, everything was great. Wonderful staff you have here.” “I must say that’s awfully kind of you. We’ve always been a more open-minded and personable sort here at the Mason-Dixie estate. Our neighbors said it couldn’t be done, but we showed them that you could bring a Zebra to the most rarified of civil functions.” She leaned back in her sun chair, fanning herself lugubriously. “I tell you they can be trained.” “Well yes, that’s—” His brain finally caught up to his ears and his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?” She made an odd, dismissive motion with her fan. “Well, bless their hearts, they do try, but they can be so shiftless.” She sniffed derisively. “Why, my poor late father Mason Jar—bless his poor, departed soul—he just had to always stay on top of the field Zebras, just to keep them working through their daily rounds. Drove him to an early grave.” “Zebras? In your fields?” Streamline stared. “Um, as an aside, about the Zebras…” “Oh, the Zebras? I’m afraid you won’t find them in the fields anymore. After all, Celestia was very clear after the laws were passed up in Canterlot how things were going to go with the Zebras.” Streamline sighed, visibly relieved. “That’s a weight off my chest, Ms. Ball—” She reached forward and tapped him playfully with her folded fan. “Please, Mr. Streamline! Call me Minié. ‘Ms. Ball’ makes me feel like a cow put out to pasture!” He smiled weakly. “Minié then—” “And I wouldn’t be worried about any sort of violation of the labor laws here. All our Zebra workers are well paid, well respected veterans of their fields.” “I—” “The bulk of our Donkeys from south of the border, of course.” She nodded judiciously. “We had to find some way of keeping costs low, after all.” Streamline nodded slowly, his face locked up in a rictus of intense concentration. “I’m sorry.” He nodded again, rubbed at his chin with a hoof as he muttered quiet little nothings to himself. He finally looked back up at Minié. “What’s this about the Donkeys?” She began to fan herself again as she looked out over the fields, replete with bountiful harvest of fruits and vegetables and—as Streamline had just noticed to his dismay—teams of raggedy Donkey workers being watched over by burly Zebras in reflective sunglasses with rather unfriendly expression on their faces. “Well, I know that as a big city businessman you must find our work down here rather quaint, but we still find our own little ways to cut a corner or two.” She dropped him an outrageous wink with that. “Donkeys come from the south, right out of the Burros, and we bring them to our bosom and give them a place to stay, food to eat, and work at ten percent the going rate of an Earth pony.” Streamline stared into space. “Ten percent,” he whispered. “Mmhmm, ten percent.” She brought the fan to her chin tapping as her brow furrowed. “I admit that Donkeys are a slovenly lot who need a lot of guidance to make them Celestia fearing, hard workers like ponies are, but with some time, some love and firm but fair policy that involves barely any whipping at all, we’ve managed to increase our productivity by two hundred percent. Two. Hundred.” She punctuated each word with a smack of her fan on the table. “Two hundred percent.” Streamline continued his slow nodding as she rolled over his muttered remark. “Admittedly some of them do try to run before their very generous contracts run out and we can’t call the guard to pick them up or they might ask just the rudest questions to a genteel lady like myself, but that’s nothing an Orthrus can’t handle.” “Orthrus.” He nodded again, but then his eyes unglazed and he gawked at Minié. ”Orthrus?” “They’re quite efficient, I assure you.” “Now wait a minute here.” Streamline heaved himself to his hooves, and gave Minié a hard stare. “Now, I might be able to be swayed by talk of cutting costs and increased productivity, but I will not stand for any talk of, of, of hunting Donkeys with a two headed monster dog!” He began to walk away turning his head back to the seated belle. “Good day to you, Ms. Ball.” He said icily. She looked at him calmly. “Our accountants have worked out that this deal has a projected value of 885 million bits per quarter, twice your previous projections.” Her head cocked as Streamline’s mouth pursed and sweat beaded on his brow. “Now why don’t you have a seat over yonder and I’ll ask one of the house Zebras to make us a new batch of tea?” Streamline sat.