The movement for Fluffy pony rights cumulates with the election of the first Fluffy pony Prime Minister of Equestria: the charismatic Cuddle Puftoulfs.
For generations, Fluffy ponies have endured poverty, marginalization, and discrimination—but, finally, the movement for equality and economic justice is gaining momentum. At its helm is the charismatic Cuddle Puftoulfs, destined to become the first Fluffy pony Prime Minister of Equestria.
This is his story—and the story of the movement he led.
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.
Excerpts from An Introduction to Equestrian Politics, 4th Edition
Authors
Lilly Bloomingshoots, PhD University of Canterlot
Bolt Airtips, PhD Cloudsdale Institute of Technology
Big Horn Stampede, JD, PhD The University of the Southwest, Appleloosa
The Co-Principality of Equestria is a parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy…
The House of Commons is the paramount repository of political power in Equestria. The Commons has the full legislative powers and T.H. Government* requires its confidence. … The House is made up of 600 MPs, of whom 300 are elected to represent single member constituencies and are elected in a first-past-the-post system; the other 300 are elected by party list. …
… Because of the hybrid electoral system, there are many political parties represented in Parliament, at the time of publishing for this edition there were sixteen political parties that had seats in the House of Commons, however, the four largest parties control 90% of the seats. These four parties, by large, enjoy institutionalized status—every prime minister in the last 150 years has been a member of one of them. …
Current Make up of House of Commons: (Government Coalition in bold)
(party name – left-right scale/ideology seats)
Big four
Equestrian Conservative Party – centre-right/conservative 215 Social Democratic Party – centre-left/socialist 188 Liberal Union – centre-right/liberal* 92 Equestrian Democratic Movement – centre/liberal 52
Other parties
Green Party – centre-left/environmentalist 15 Communist Party of Equestria – left/socialist* 10 Conservative Union Party – right/conservative 6 Magicalist Party – centre/magicalist 5 Sky and Pirate Party – centre-right/liberal 4 Peace and Friendship Party – centre/internationalist 4 Farmers’ Party – Left/agrarian 3 Lunar Restoration Front – left/nocturnalist 2 Buffalo Land Rights Concern – left/buffalo advocacy 1 Pegasus Cause – centre-right/separatist 1 Earth Pony Liberation Front – left/separatist 1 Mad Raving Loony Party – na/? 1
Current tribal/ethnic breakdown of the House of Commons (600 MPs)
… The House of Lords, often mocked as merely the purview of the Unicorn aristocracy, is much weaker than the Commons—its powers are limited to amending or delaying bills and, in some instances, acting as the Court of Session. T.H. Government is not answerable to the Lords. …
… The House of Lords is a mostly hereditary body with the majority of its peers holding their seats on account of hailing from noble families; the remaining members are life peers appointed as an honorific and prominent religious leaders. There is no set number of peers, and there is no formal party affiliation in the House.
Current tribal/ethnic breakdown of the House of Lords (852 Peers)
*All non-sovereign Alicorns are entitled to membership in the House of Lords, but, by custom, Alicorns abstain during votes—save constitutional crises.
~*~
The Lords’ Tea Room was technically not for members of the lower house to enjoy, as the Commons’ tea room was off limits to the lords and ladies of the realm, but for this an exception was allowed. Cuddle was, as per fluffy tradition, slurping tea—it seemed as if he was willing to make this plenty uncomfortable for his host.
Her Grace acted as if it did not bother her, indeed, maybe it, in fact, didn’t, but that's irrelevant now, as a show of will necessary to—
“So um… Sir Ppplsfls… um…” “Quite alight Your Grace—simply address by my fist name. I know how hard certain foreign words can be to pronounce.” “I wouldn’t say foreign, um… just not my native tongue.” “I stand corrected,” he smiled at her, slurping his tea.
She paused; in her aura she picked up the elegant tea glass and sipped it. The pink of the room, mimicking the Lords’ chamber, melded as expected with a dainty tea set.
She had always felt awkward in politics—having this thrust upon her was not in the cards—her brother was to inherit their father’s seat—but that was interrupted by her apotheosis. She had been placed in the awkward—
“As I said before,” he resumed, “I think that the current state of affairs is only getting more and more abysmal—with the stagnation of worker income it is unlikely that we can maintain our economic station—the lack of strong consumer base—“ “All fine and well… Cuddle… but what do you seek to accomplish policy wise—to redress these grievances there is not much in the state—“ “Your Grace I understand that—I am not asking that you corral the peers or Their Highnesses—rather I would like you to prevent their corralling.” “And that would…?” “Lords still have a degree of influence on our politics and I do not need them putting a hold—“ “So you have managed to get the—“ “No… working on it but not yet. Opposition or not… I think that being cooperative with the prime minister on these matters would be… productive.” “And you are worried that the Lords might intervene in this proactive crossbench legislating?” “Yes.”
She allowed herself to relax some; sipped her tea again.
She sighed, “My Honourable Friend—you know how much the gentry hates me, you may wish to consider—“ “I think that you have more friends than you know.” “And this is purview to you how?” “Because, I have more friends than you know.”
She nodded, extended her hoof.
“No,” he said softly, “fluffy traditions dictate.”
He embraced her in a full hug.
She nuzzled into his fur—no words could describe…
~*~
Excerpt from The Fluffleloid
By ƥetrarch
Translation and comments by Sliding Ink, PhD
—O ghast here on the whims of wind; say to thee o’er lord by thine past love. Willing go into the dark, carried by— strains of aroma, wisps of sound, o—my beloved. I stand by thine womb and comfort thee. What perils doth this land bestow— Death for better want and these: guide her, guide our child.
The Fluffleloid is considered to be the tribal epic of the fluffy ponies. It is an epic poem that tells the story of a stallion who goes into the afterlife and searches for the souls of his wife and daughter who both died during childbirth. ƥetrarch was the first fluffy court poet who wrote in the vernacular of the Fluffy language, as opposed to Equestrian which was considered the scholarly language at that time. His writings served as the model for the modern fluffy language.
It was difficult enough, let alone to dream in pieces—Manehattan is generally not an easy place for a single mother, hardly a mare herself when she had her little one, to lead a life. Light hoof falls still make waves in concrete. Places alright, where wealthy hipsters hadn’t priced them out—each one a heroine, marching headstrong against a raging wind; their existence serves as a quiet yet fierce protest against society.
Nuzzle Fluƥ shuffled quietly along the narrow streets, Nizzle dozing lazily on her back. It was pay day, a biweekly ritual in which for a few days one could allot some degree of splurging.
It is not the brushstrokes; they are but a tool.
Small and bohemian, this little nook of town rested happily ignored by the wider world. As per requisite, there were little buildings with an odd flair, the smell of hash quaffing about, and the embrace of sexual and other minorities abounded.
The greatest always use problems to their advantage.
A little art store/coffee shop/bookstore/place where you can buy a particular kind of plant acted as a hub of this little neighborhood. The rattling of a thestral anklet announced Nuzzle’s entrance. She shuffled over to the counter, where a very relaxed looking pegasus thumbed through an old copy of The Manifesto. After a moment she did look up.
“Oh… hey Nuzz, do you want some espresso?” Nuzzle nodded—“Oh and a chocolate milkshake.”
The barista nodded.
“C’mon Nizzle,” she said turning some to look back at her daughter, “time to wake up; I got you a milkshake.”
The fluffy blue filly wanted to protest, but the promise of sweets motivated her enough to hop of her mother’s back and shuffled over to the section of foals’ books.
Nuzzle took a moment to peruse the art supplies, she didn’t know what she wanted to paint yet, but she knew the colors she was running low on.
~*~
The Canterlot Royal Opera House’s high soprano Prima Donna was bellowing away in Crystalian. Sir Cuddle, in black tie, was enjoying the show through his opera glasses, sitting next to his wife Dame Frufru in a small reserved balcony.
He felt a tapping on his fluff—“Sir.” “Not now,” he whispered. “Monsieur Blueblood has agreed to speak with you.”
Wordlessly Cuddle stood up; he kissed his wife.
She nodded. He turned to follow the guard to the lobby.
Cuddle did have a liking for mahogany, burgundy, and gold—unlike the obnoxious pink that decorated the Lord’s camber or the harsh bluish-green that made up his own. Pubs and opera houses were the better realm for politics.
“His grace is surprisingly expedient,” said Cuddle waving away his escort. “The Right Honourable gentlestallion is surprisingly accommodating—for me to pull you away from one of your favorite plays—you must really need me.” “I do.” “Not a poker player are you Sir Puftoulfs.” “I prefer Blackjack.” “Well then,” he paused gesturing towards a niche near the lobby bar,” shall we.” Cuddle nodded—“Do they have bottle service here?” “I believe so,” said Blueblood as they started walking.
Sitting down in the rather cozy niche with a small table in between them, Blueblood was the first to talk.
“Her Grace had said that you wanted to talk to me.” “Not you in particular, just someone from your faction; you are adequate.” “How much of a hold do you feel you have on your bloc—” “—I have an absolute hold on it, or else this conversation would be meaningless… and if that were the case, I would not have stepped away from the show.” “How much rabble rousing have you been abating the Liberals with?” “Enough.” “Enough?” “You’re talking to me.” “Not on your account.”
Cuddle paused, leaning back in his chair.
“You are not much of a poker player, either, are you?” “Why would you say that?” “You just laid your cards on the fucking table.” “You knew what they were ahead of time.” “But now I know for sure—you confirmed my suspicions.”
A waitress approached, clasping a pad and paper in her aura.
“Is there anything I can get for you gentlestallions?” “I will have a bottle of Dom, chilled please,” said Blueblood trying to match Cuddle’s intense gaze. “If you happen to have a bottle of Chateau de Rémy XO, then that would be excellent.”
~*~
Evening cool, the streets of Manehattan—late spring air wisped pasted. In an ode to political decadence there assembled those who need be. Suits and drapeaus rouge, calling out a monde nouveau.
Little slights make it harder to fade away.
If it wasn’t for the response, no one would have known; leave it to the guards and police to make a scene. Batons and fire-hoses make far more noise than any shouting.
To be bold, to stand up, far away from home...
In hindsight maybe they were better off because of the fluff, for once at least.
~*~
Excerpt from The Fluffleloid
By ƥetrarch
Translation and comments by Sliding Ink, PhD
Cast to chase by timber-wolves o’er land, to the erethral gates of lore. Make haste twixt the damn everfree, so the winds may cast adrift the world. —All showing fool! I declare, I appeal to the heavens, give me the speed, the strength, the will! To enter this place—so drear, as t’is for love.
An appertain forms before me, she—Nightmare—O! What is for mine? Nothing be eased, said she, aura flowing, in clarity, I doth proclaim— thine quest just! T’is for this world lost in fear, make amends, by thee to the woods, dark. Lost not are fortune and serendipity, Hope—hope—child.
ƥetrarch was arguably one of the most cultured and educated stallions of his day. He incorporated works form many nations and cultures in his writings. He traveled frequently to Equestrian, the Crystal Empire, and other nations, often as an ambassador for the Fluffy Court. Educated in the Crystal Empire, he earned the contemporary equivalent of a PhD when most fluffy ponies were illiterate.
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?
A large banner hung above the stage: two hooves clasping a blood red rose. It was the middle of summer, with sun pounding down; at the lectern, a changeling wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. He hastily stuffed it back in his suit jacket pocket, cleared his throat, and began.
“The conditions facing the working people of this nation are still appalling. So what if the work houses have been boarded, when a decent day’s wages does not lift one above poverty! What platitudes of virtue could possibly account for such inequality? What do nobles do that the commoner cannot?”
Ironically, he would soon have an answer.
~*~
In the hearth the fire crackled gently, casting warm, deep shadows against the walls. The air was ripe with wine, radiance, and smoke. Three whiskeys sat upon a coffee table, untouched.
“So,” Cuddles huffed, rubbing the bridge of his snout, “you have been seeing each other how long?”
“Nearly two decades,” Blueblood said quickly, gently codling Derpy.
“And how did you meet?”
“My Uncle—”
“—Your uncle? Ambeu.”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess,” Cuddles sighed, “he needed you to rendezvous with her for… what—which of his schemes?”
“I was an activist in the Mail Carriers Union,” she spoke up delicately. “Ambeu set up a meeting with us so we could talk about how we could break away some liberals into supporting the new public employee contracts. One thing led to another… I got pregnant—”
“—With his heir?”
“Well… not legitimate yet, but she will be soon enough,” he injected.
“And this delay is because?”
“It would be improper of me to sit in the Commons and be wed to a member of the Lords,” she quickly responded.
“I see.”
“So how, Sir Cuddles, is this any of your concern?” Blueblood asked sharply.
“She may be your lover, but she is my responsibility. I am the party leader in the Commons, so I must look out for my members, lest something happen to them.”
There was a long pause.
“And you have just one child?”
“Two. The older is at university and the younger is still in primary school.”
“Two? How on equis did you keep this all a secret?”
“There is a reason my uncle entrusts so much in me.”
Cuddles leaned back and nodded.
~*~
Bohne Gnash was a prominent faculty member of the University of Canterlot’s Mathematics and Economics departments. His work on Play Theory spawned a whole new branch of behavioral science; he had received the Triple Crown* award in Economics for this work. He was also a paranoid schizophrenic—battling the illness his whole life. It was a consequence of his beautiful mind that such brilliance was coupled with such madness.
Thankfully, with treatment, medication, and the love of his pack, he was able to overcome this and continue his life’s work.
A week from now he was to be ennobled, becoming the first Diamond Dog member of the House of Lords. It was a reward and recognition for all of his invaluable academic contributions.
Duke (or Prince) Blueblood, prior to the death of his father, was a geography professor at the same university. The two actually knew each other, as several of Dr. Gnash’s quantitative methods were applicable to some of the increasing complex ways one could analyze geography. They also both were able to sympathize and lament about mental health issues.
Pone Hall was an elegant building, carved granite; it housed the University’s Mathematics Department. Blueblood pushed his way through the oak double doors and made his way to the third floor.
In a small lecture hall, he found Dr. Gnash briskly writing on a blackboard.
“Bohne.”
The old mutt turned and smiled at him.
“If it isn’t old Dr. Blood… what brings you stomping around these parts?”
“Politics as usual… some scheme my uncle is drawing up. How’s the bitch?”
“She’s doing well… when she’s not ploughing me with my meds.”
“Liquor and self-doubt?”
The old mad dog burst out in a chuckle.
“You should know; how’s Derpy holding up?”
“Also well, like back in the old Union days.”
“That’s good… but your visit… what chicanery is your uncle up to?”
“Hard to say really… but politics does come a-knocking.”
“How so?”
“Once you are ennobled, I may need to ask you a favor…”
“Just cause us dogs are good diggers, does not mean we are any decent at hiding a body… you should…”
“Oh… ra ra… no, in a few weeks we may need to pull some… parliamentary shenanigans… can I trust you?”
“Oh… always,” he said, grinning, showing his teeth.
~*~
“Announcing, the High Commissioner of the Fƥleƥn Court, His Excellency, ƥetrarch.”
Once the obnoxious trumpets had ceased blaring, a small, greying fluffy pony, with gold entwined locks of braded fur, shuffled to the high throne. It was early in the Night Court, and Luna sat, feigning staidness on her haunches, resting upon her onyx and mahogany throne.
“Your highness,” he said, curtly bowing, “I bring tidings and salutations form Fƥleƥn Court, and tribute and well wishes from Her Majesty, Queen Puffles.”
“Rise good nuncio, we welcome thee, prefaced, to our domain and our home. What faire tidings doth the Queen of fluff-and-bother and her courtiers so beseech us?”
Getting up on his feet, the scholar continued, “A lengthy probe as to the fashions of thine hegemony pertaining to the frontiers of our provinces—terms and queries that best accommodate themselves in private. “
“So be it. Guards.”
The dozen or so thestrals quietly exited the throne room.
Luna then quietly descended, draped in the fineries of that time.
“It is good to see you again.”
“You as well, Luna.”
She felt a gentle thrill run through her at such an informal pleasantry.
“So, fair nuncio, what demands thine queen?”
“Nothing more important than good wine and gentle bards,” he winked.
“Thy sly fox,” her lips barely containing her smile, “it would be shameful not to indulge.”
