Cutie Mark Crusaders and the Arena of Politics

by Punished Bean

Politics

Celestia’s sun smiled upon the forest rendered in shades of red and gold. The rays weaved into bubbling streams and painted rainbows across the foliage. A soft breeze played with the last few leaves still clinging to their branches.

One would sigh with peaceful delight; had the scene not been broken by huffs, puffs, and heavy thuds of wood against wood, grunts, and warlike screams—

—all produced by a trio of fillies.

A tan earth pony, an orange pegasus, and a pale unicorn; dressed in thick armor fashioned out of cardboard and carpet, hooves occupied by wooden sticks wrapped in pillows.

And they were going at it.

“Gah! Applebloom!” Scootaloo screamed. “You almost hit my eye!”

“Sorry!” the earth pony yelled, adding a bone-curdling screech as she dashed towards her other opponent.

Sweetie Belle squealed as she retreated under the sudden flurry of blows. A second later, Scootaloo used her friend’s exposed flank and gave it a quick prod with her “sword”.

“Ouch!” Applebloom jumped up and spun around. “No poking! It’s in the rules—”

Her complaint was cut short by a pillow-wrapped branch crashing against her skull. As cushioned as it was, it proved a branch nevertheless.

Some time later, the two friends stood looking upon the third, wondering if they would get their cutie marks in “digging holes” and “pretending there never was a third Crusader”.

Luckily, Applebloom groaned and opened one eye. She moaned and tried to sit up.

“Do I–” she slipped and was caught by an orange hoof. “Do I have a cutie mark?”

“I think you have a concussion,” Scootaloo replied.

Applebloom winced, and sat up again, staring at her flank.

“Concussions can make you see funny, right?”

“Rainbow Dash said they can.”

“So… I do have a cutie mark?” Applebloom asked hopefully.

“Uh… Nah.”

Applebloom nodded slowly, testing just how much her head spun. But if the past year of Crusading prepared her for something, it was bodily harm.

“So, what’s next?” she asked, sitting up slowly.

Scootaloo frowned one last time and thought for a moment.

“We tried rock-climbing,” she offered, “zip-lining…”

“Ooh! And scuba-diving!” Sweetie Belle barged in. “And kite-flying!”

“Gardening, farseeing, dressmaking,” Scootaloo continued, “baking, dancing, singing...”

She took a breath, but Applebloom waved her hoof.

“What did we not try, Scootaloo?” she asked. “Sweetie Belle?”

A pair of frowns was their only reply. She realized she was adding a frown of her own, groaned, and got up.

“Let’s find something else than...” she looked at the discarded weapons and armor. “...martial arts and craft?”

“I’m out of ideas,” Scootaloo admitted.

“We should ask around!” Sweetie Belle chirped. “See what other ponies are doing and if they need some help.”

“We tried everypony!” Scootaloo groaned. “We even helped Twilight sort books!”

Applebloom shuddered.

“There are ponies we didn’t ask yet!” Sweetie protested.

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Like—” the little unicorn focused. In a few seconds, she slowed down and the look on her face slowly became that of panic. Her friends stopped, waiting for the moment to pass.

“Mayor Mare!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed finally. “We never asked her!”

“Mayor…”

“...Mare?”

Applebloom and Scootaloo looked at each other.

“That might just work...” Scootaloo said slowly, but Applebloom was already gone.

"But she did tell us—" Sweetie Belle began, only to realize the pegasus has left as well.

With an eye roll, she followed her two friends. Soon enough, they were in full gallop, whooping, their cart jumping over potholes.

“Why didn’t we think of that before!?” Applebloom yelled. “Mayor Mare knows every place in the town! She’s bound to know something we didn’t try yet!”

“I’m sorry, girls,” the gray mare shook her head. “It seems you really drained the well as far as the town goes.”

Grasping at something, she offered:

“How about showing some visitors around, since you know Ponyville so well?”

“We tried that,” Applebloom moaned, and blinked. “Wait a minute, didn't you tell us... What was it?”

“She told us we were," Sweetie cleared her throat and quoted: "Single-hoofedly destroying the town’s tourism industry,”

The twitch in Mayor Mare’s eye let the Crusaders know they would not find a cutie mark opportunity here today. They quickly thanked the mayor and made their way out of her office.

“Perhaps,” the Mayor told them as they passed her threshold, “you should try your hoof in the arena of politics someday.”

“What?” Applebloom asked and turned around.

The closed door didn’t say anything. And for some reason, the Mayor seemed to have a sudden meeting with a ‘Jack Trotter’ on her schedule, according to the secretary.

“She said ‘arena of politics’,” Sweetie Belle clarified.

“Thanks, Sweetie.”

“No problem!”

“Scootaloo?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s ‘arena of politics’?”

“What am I, a dict—”

“An arena,” Sweetie explained, “is an enclosed space where contests are held.”

“Like the rodeo?” Applebloom asked.

Sweetie Belle shrugged and smiled. The three gave a good long gaze to their weapon-laden cart.

“Yeah, but what’s ‘politics’?” Scootaloo asked.

The three ponies looked at each other for a few moments.

“We should ask around.”

The little ponies trotted away from the town hall, quickly reaching Carousel Boutique. Sweetie didn’t bother to knock and spearheaded their charge up the stairs.

“Rarity!” she piped excitedly. “Rarity Rarity Rarity!”

When the seamstress was sure her heart was going to stay in her chest, she gritted her teeth until her face could form an inviting smile. Only then she turned and looked at the filly over her half-moon spectacles.

“Sweetie Belle,” she said in a measured tone. “Applebloom. Scootaloo. I didn't expect you to be done with...”

Rarity’s eyes ticked desperately to the sketches she was making only a minute ago, in a hope of keeping her muse alive. Her efforts being in vain, the unicorn sighed, stretched, and finished:

“–with whatever you girls were doing today.”

She couldn’t help but glance at the ponies’ sides. Not a celebration, she noted sadly.

“What can I help you with?” she asked.

“Rarity,” Sweetie Belle asked innocently, “what are politics?”

“What is politics, darling,” Rarity corrected her automatically. “Wait. Why do you want to know?”

“We want to fight in the arena of politics!” Scootaloo proclaimed, hovering up excitedly before her face sank. “Only we don’t know what politics is.”

“Oh, I think you’re quite too young for this sort of thing...” Rarity waved her hoof. Under the trio’s unrelenting stare, she sighed and hovered her glasses out of the way to rub the bridge of her muzzle.

They were still there when she looked up again.

“It is a broad topic,” she began carefully, “and I simply must get back to work…”

She pouted.

“Politics is like...” her eyes wandered across the room, half-filled with her latest dresses. If I don’t finish these by the gala… She smiled.

“A dinner party,” she said. “Everypony wants something, so they all mingle and try to reach some kind of common ground.”

“So no swords?” Sweetie Belle asked sadly.

“No swords, just words!” Rarity stifled a giggle and continued: “Why, being a good politician is like being a good party-goer – knowledgeable, entertaining, but most of all, courteous.”

She glanced out of the window and added:

“Of course, there aren’t many of those…”

“Like who?” Scootaloo asked.

“Princess Celestia, of course,” Rarity said immediately. “And Mayor Mare is fairly decent, I suppose. On the other hoof, you have ponies like Filthy Rich.”

The fillies exchanged confused stares.

“But it would take hours to get into the intricacies...” Rarity’s voice trailed off, her eyes still on the window. The sunlight has crept across the floor and to a small pile of colorful cut-offs. Without a word, the unicorn stood up and walked to it, hovering her sketchbook close.

“It can be quite the spectacle...” she muttered as she sent her pencil flying across the paper.

“I think she’s in a spire,” Sweetie Belle whispered to her friends. “We shouldn’t bother her right now!”

The other crusaders nodded, and the trio vacated the area. They walked down the street, each trapped in her own thoughts.

“What’s a spire?” Scootaloo asked finally.

“It’s what you call the tip of a tower,” Sweetie Belle explained.

“So… a roof?”

“I think it’s a metaphor.”

“What’s a metaphor?” Scootaloo pried. “Is that a kind of roof, too?”

Sweetie shrugged and hid her ignorance by saying: “I never thought Filthy Rich would fight in an arena...”

“Oh, he’s a fighter all right!” Applebloom spat. “A dirty one! Did I tell you girls about the apple prices?”

“Yes, Applebloom,” the other two sighed in unison.

“Princess Celestia is definitely good at fighting!” Scootaloo quickly changed the topic. “But Mayor Mare? She doesn’t look so tough...”

“Must be why she’s always so tired,” Applebloom shrugged. “But Rarity said it was more like a party...”

“Oh!” Scootaloo grinned. “We should ask Pinkie Pie!”

“A dinner party, dar—!” Sweetie Belle coughed. “I, uh, I don’t think Pinkie is good at those.”

“So it’s fighting,” Scootaloo summarized slowly, staring ahead, “but with words, and you have to be nice and entertaining.”

“And it’s a spectacle,” Sweetie Belle added. “With dresses and stuff!”

They walked in silence for a few moments.

“We should ask Applejack,” Applebloom said. “If Filthy Rich fights in the arena, Applejack has to know something about it!”

They found Applejack in the middle of apple bucking. To butter her up, Applebloom brought a pitcher of water and a slice of fresh apple pie.

“Thanks, lil’ sis!” the mare beamed and downed half of the pitcher in one magnificent gulp. She sighed. “Gosh! That sure hit the spot.”

“Applejack, can I ask you a question?” Applebloom started.

“Shoot,” her sister said, and drank again.

“What is politics?”

To her credit, Applejack managed not to spit any of the water out. Instead, as she processed her sister’s question, her face went through a gamut of emotion; shock, disbelief, anger, curiosity, and finally settled on caution.

“Who told you about politics?” she asked suspiciously, before barking: “Was it Twilight?!”

The trio shook their heads.

“Good!” Applejack nodded. “Don’t listen to her. She has no clue how things go out here!”

“Mayor Mare told us,” Applebloom explained.

“Of course,” Applejack sighed. “I’ll have a word with her...”

Scootaloo interrupted: “Rarity told us Filthy Rich was politic… politicking?”

“He sure is,” Applejack growled darkly. “Did I tell you girls about the apple prices?”

“I told them!” Applebloom nodded vigorously. “So was that politics?”

Applejack nodded darkly.

“The rotten kind.”

“But Rarity said it was like a dinner party!” Sweetie Belle protested. “Where you’re courteous and fun and stuff!”

Applejack snorted.

“Sure!” she scoffed. “To the ponies you want to convince!”

She stared down at them, her hat casting a dark shadow over her face.

“But to your opponent…” she said quietly, “...it’s no mercy.”

They gulped, and Applejack blinked.

“Look, I know some ponies have to do this thing from time to time,” she closed her eyes. “I mean, I have to do it sometimes too.”

She looked away.

“It’s all just a giant circus…” she muttered and glanced back at the fillies. “And I ain’t no circus pony, ya hear?”

They nodded as she finished the water.

“Now! Time’s a-wastin’!” Applejack declared, and added under her breath: “Maybe imagining Filthy's face on these there trees will help me some...”

“Say what?” Applebloom asked curiously.

“Nothing!” Applejack spoke up. “Thanks for the water! And don’t let me find you were doing no politics, ya hear?”

“You won’t!” the Crusaders said in unison, and Applejack nodded with satisfaction as they disappeared over the hill.

“Soo…” Applebloom started, “...it’s a circus.”

“Sounds fun!” Sweetie beamed.

“...and a dinner party,” Scootaloo added.

“Double fun!”

“And you try to convince ponies about… something,” Applebloom went on uncertainly, “like the apple prices...”

“...while fighting your enemy...” Scootaloo continued “...in an arena.”

“Triple fun!”

They stopped and looked at Sweetie.

“And there are good guys,” Applebloom finished. “And bad guys? But ponies still go with the bad guys sometimes?”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m confused,” Scootaloo admitted. “Maybe we should ask Rainbow Dash.”

“Why her?” Applebloom asked.

“Rainbow Dash knows everything!” Scootaloo explained.

Applebloom gave her a look.

“Well...” Scootaloo rubbed her chin. “Pinkie doesn’t know about dinner parties...”

“Yeah.”

“...and Applejack told us Twilight doesn’t know how politics work around here.”

“What do you think she meant?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“City folk have all kinds of comforts,” Applebloom explained. “They probably have cushions in their arenas!”

“Ooh! I like that idea!”

“We’re not getting cushions for our arena,” Applebloom stated simply.

“Aw...”

“Anyway,” Scootaloo spoke up again, “I don’t think Fluttershy knows much about fighting.”

“And she’s probably still angry about the chicken thing,” Sweetie reminded them.

“Oh yeah.”

“So…”

“Rainbow Dash it is.”

“Politics?!” the pegasus groaned. “Don’t ask me about politics! Politics is for clowns!”

“See?” Sweetie Belle prodded Applebloom as Scootaloo pried further.

“But Rainbow Da–ash!” she dragged. “I thought you’d know all about politics!”

“Oh, I know all about it!” Rainbow replied sternly. “And what I know is that everypony says something different, and nopony wants to even hear about it!”

She thumped her chest.

“Like me!” she clarified. “You want to ask somepony about politics? Try Mayor Mare. But please! Don’t just go around asking normal ponies!”

They tried some more, but Rainbow quickly steered the conversation to her favorite topic – herself. When they could, the Crusaders excused themselves and headed back to base.

The Crusader clubhouse, usually a nexus of wild activity, had become a place of quiet contemplation. Finally, Applebloom, staring into the ceiling, broke the silence.

“So it’s about convincing ponies,” she started slowly, “and fighting your opponent in an arena. It’s a big show and a ton of fun. But it has to be kept secret because most ponies don’t want to hear about it?”

She sat up. Her compatriots were watching her closely.

“We’ll need an audience.”

“And an arena,” Scootaloo added.

“And dresses!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed.

The other two stared at her.

“How are you going to fight in a dress?” Scootaloo scoffed.

“They have to be form-fitting. Duh!” the unicorn replied. “Like the ones we made for our show last year~!”

“We still have those.”

“Ooh! Ooh! Could we have cool nicknames?”

“...sure, Sweetie.”

“Yay!”

“We can ask ponies in our class to be the spectators,” Applebloom offered.

“Not Diamond Tiara though,” Sweetie said resolutely.

“I don’t know,” Applebloom smiled, “I’d kinda like to fight her.”

“But she probably knows secret moves!” Scootaloo warned. “Her dad is a dirty fighter!”

“So… where do we do this?” Applebloom asked.

“I think I have an idea...”