Mayor Mare has decided she hates her job, so she tries to get Ponyville's citizens to fire her.
After yet another unproductive meeting with several citizens, Mayor Mare comes to the realization that she and Ponyville would both be much better off were she not mayor. Unfortunately for her, the powers that be seem to want to keep her. No matter; she'll make Ponyville get rid of her! To that end, she tries every trick she can think of to make ponies angry. Luckily, Twilight Sparkle has offered to help, bringing this crazy idea she read about in some book somewhere called "democracy". How could it go wrong?
“We asked you to do this months ago!” yelled a random Earth-pony stallion.
“Why isn’t the bridge fixed yet??” a Unicorn snapped.
“What do you mean you don’t know what that smell is?” some Pegasus grumbled.
“I wan’ my bar!!” cried Berry Punch for the third time in a month.
All of these angry ponies directed their ire at a handsome oak desk covered in papers, or more specifically at the harried mocha coloured Earth pony behind it.
Mayor Meyer Mare sat, peering – some might say glaring – at these ponies over her half rimmed glasses, appearing utterly uninterested. She had heard it all before, and would doubtless hear it all again next week, and the week after that, for months and years to come, until the day she died… and probably even after that too.
Well, to say she was completely uninterested in the sufferings of her citizens would be doing her a slight disservice. The Mayor cared very much about the well being of her town; that is why she felt obligated to open her office up once a week for any pony to come in and air their grievances. Unfortunately for them, she had to care about the entire town, and more importantly its budget, so the individual travails of ponies served only to irritate her and make her wonder why in Equestria she bothered.
On the docket for today were any number of minor inconveniences that together made for one giant headache for her and her staff, especially her poor, put-upon secretary Raven Inkwell, who was the one to actually put in the effort to get the bureaucracy to do its job at any pace greater than a dead snail’s. Before that could happen, the Mayor needed to understand what exactly ponies were angry about, and then delegate… or ignore.
“Please. One at a time!” the Mayor said exasperatedly. She unconsciously ran a hoof through her mane. Several grey hairs loosed themselves from her scalp and fluttered unceremoniously to the desk or floor, though she was the only one to notice.
The stallion, an imposing blue fellow, spoke first. “Like I said, you told us you were going to put up better street signs and new lights! I’m tired of getting lost!”
“Maybe you should try getting familiar with your town when it’s not the dead of night,” Berry Punch, the wine coloured Earth pony, said in a half slur. “I’m blitzed most evenings an’ I still get home fine. Well except for that one time… two times… I took a wrong turn and ended up crashing with Rarity. Least I think it was Rarity.”
“No pony asked you!” the stallion snapped as Berry finished off the contents of her flask.
“Besides,” Amethyst Star, the Unicorn, piped in, “You, Mayor, said you would see to it that the bridge over the creek would be fixed. It’s been five months, and I’m worried that if I try to cross it in my wagon, it’s going to collapse and send me and all my things into the water. I can’t swim. Do you really want that on your conscience?”
“Look, I—” the Mayor tried to speak, but Berry Punch cut her off.
“That creek’s, like, a buckin’ inch deep *hic!*,” the very probably drunk Berry drawled as she started to lose consciousness.
“Even so,” Amethyst complained to nopony in particular, “If my wagon and its precious cargo were to get wet, I would expect the City to compensate me for my losses.”
Mayor Mare suppressed a snicker. After all, the idea of financial reimbursement in that kind of situation was, frankly, ludicrous. Celestia was benevolent and generous as far as leaders go, but not that generous.
“I demand to be heard!” the Pegasus, named Raindrops, reiterated. “It’s been over a week and that horrible smell downtown still hasn’t gone away! Are you going to stand here and tell me your people have done nothing to stop it?!”
“Sh’prolly cotton candy or someshizh,” Berry Punch slurred, even less coherently than before. “Yer th’ only pony ta, ta raish a fussh.”
“Of course I would! It gives me a headache!” Raindrops countered.
“Zen take a buckin’… pill, ashh-purr-inn or whatever,” concluded the inebriated Berry.
The Mayor suppressed a smile, because the thoroughly sloshed Earth-pony was not far from the truth. A few blocks away, at the Sugarcube Corner bakery, one of Pinkie Pie’s confectionery experiments had gone awry, coating the entire interior of the building in a patina of exploded essence of cotton candy, a smell that was at once sweet but acrid. A small bit of it found its way to a fireplace, where the vapours wafted up the chimney and onto the unsuspecting town. Suffice to say, Cup Cake had banned Pinkie from attempting any more of her ideas for at least the next year. Although Pinkie had made quite a lot of progress on cleaning up the mess over the previous week, the bakery was still uninhabitable, the Cakes were still stuck staying at a friend’s house, and any pony passing near the place would certainly be overwhelmed by the stench. Especially if that pony stubbornly insisted on flying over the chimney every day, ignoring the ‘Hazard’ signs Rainbow Dash (on orders from the Mayor) had helpfully placed on clouds along the major flyways.
Surprisingly, at least to the Mayor, Berry continued. “You don’t, you don’t know what’s, if yer gonna complain about a smell, don’t fly near it. This offish isn’t your, isn’t your personal ‘do stuff fer me’ outfit, so just shut yer yap. Now, Mayor, here’s what stuff I want ya ta do fer me.”
And now it all makes sense, Mayor Mare thought as she rolled her eyes, preparing to hear the exact same spiel she’d heard so many times before. Berry did not disappoint.
“Sho I wanna get a license for a bar sho I can shell drinks ta thirsty ponies, like me and, uh, me.”
“Berry Punch, I keep telling you I can’t grant you a license to open a bar. It’s outside my authority. Drink laws are very strict here, and you’ll have to get special permission from the Celestial Senate. Besides, I’m not aware of any pony in this town aside from you (and me) who even wants any spirituous liquors other than the Apple Family’s leftover cider.”
“Twilight’s all on board with it,” Berry countered.
The Mayor’s right eye twitched involuntarily at the mention of that name. When it came right down to it, she hated Twilight Sparkle, the purple Unicorn who arrived in town on the back of a Royal chariot nearly a year ago and immediately started ordering around the public employees; the girl who was well known to enjoy the favour of Princess Celestia herself and (intentionally or not) milked it for all it was worth, including setting up her home in what was once Ponyville’s public library and was now off-limits to all but about a dozen of the town’s thousand-plus residents; the girl whose actions had destroyed the town on no less than three occasions but always escaped punishment; the girl who, in the span of six hours, proved Mayor Mare utterly useless at managing Winter Wrap-Up – and worse, proving that the infamous holiday cleanup could be handled competently with enough OCD.
The girl who made Mayor Mare realize how much she hated her job.
How long had she been Ponyville’s mayor anyway? Even she could not remember the exact Celestial Year that the Princess appointed her to fill the post left vacant by the retiring Penstroke, a serious white Earth pony under whom Meyer Mare had served as secretary for well over a decade. As a result of her experience (and her cutie mark), she was seen by most residents as his natural successor. At the time, she agreed. A young, vivacious mare with a bright pink mane, she approached her new position with gusto. It was not long before the stress turned her hair mostly grey – thinking it made her look more distinguished, she dyed the dwindling pink bits to match the rapidly spreading silver – and then made it fall out.
She realized, in a moment of sober clarity, that no matter how much Ponyville’s ponies complained, got angry at her, and insulted her or her staff, the truth was that they had had no say whatsoever in placing her in the Mayor’s office. Certainly, residents could send a letter to the Senate (or Celestia herself) asking she be dismissed, but this had long been a town whose citizens were unable to even choose between two candy shops; getting a large enough number to sign a petition to have her removed was laughable.
Maybe she could try, though.
But first she needed to deal with the small matter of the quartet of irritated ponies gathered at her desk.
“Look,” Mayor Mare began, “Berry, Raindrops, Amethyst, and… whoever you are,” she said to the stallion, who glared, “You’ve given me a lot to think about today. I believe I will be able to address all your concerns at a speech at Town Hall tomorrow afternoon. So make sure every pony in town comes, okay?” she smirked as she said that last sentence.
The four rabble-rousers grumbled as they slowly made their way out of Mayor Mare’s office and into the less than perfect Spring day. Berry Punch saw the open door and, assuming it was closed, closed it and walked headlong into the wall. After a moment, where the Mayor could have sworn she saw actual stars around Berry’s head, she helped the likely concussed Berry to her feet and led her out the door, down the stairs, and into the street. Oddly, Berry seemed slightly more coherent after smacking her head.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Berry said as she walked away in her usual daze.
Minor crises postponed, the Mayor returned to her office – making sure to tell Raven not to allow any more visitors – and commenced her plan to engineer a major one.
The next day, at high noon, municipal employees finished setting up the makeshift stage in front of Town Hall’s handsome wooden façade, a task they had performed so many times over the years that senior officials had long since lost count. Raven, clearly straining, lugged a podium onstage, setting it directly square with the double doors of the old meeting house. Then, she draped a piece of tricolour bunting over the front to make it seem more ‘official’; others affixed a chain of larger but otherwise identical bunting over the front of the stage to hide its superstructure.
A few minutes later, ponies of all races and colours began to gather in front of the stage. Just as expected. Ponyville’s rabble could always be counted on to flock to a spectacle.
Mayor Mare sat just inside the Town Hall’s front doors, making sure her speech notes were organized. She remembered the time that Twilight Sparkle had brought a stack of some two hundred note cards to give a five minute speech and considered ditching what few things she did write down, but decided against it. After all, she figured, this would probably be the most satisfying speech of her life.
At exactly half an hour after high noon, she opened the doors and proceeded to the dais. As expected, nearly all of Ponyville stood before her. She placed the small stack of note cards on the podium and commenced the one aspect of executive authority in which she retained any self confidence.
“Fillies and Gentlecolts,” she began as per usual, “As Mayor of Ponyville, it is my duty to inform you whenever a big event is to occur. Over the past year, many of you have visited my office to keep me abreast of problems afflicting our wonderful village. Today, I plan to address as many of your issues as I can!”
The masses applauded, as was their wont.
“I regret to inform you all that Ponyville is massively over budget. This means we spend a lot more bits than we earn. Our town cannot survive like this, so sacrifices must be made!”
The crowd did not applaud this time, instead murmuring to each other.
“First off, the situation at Ponyville school. The original plan was to expand the building to more than one room, as well as to buy more desks – after all, we have over thirty students forced to share nine desks – so we do not have to keep sending our foals to school in shifts. Unfortunately, we can no longer afford to do either of those things. In addition, we had planned to hire a second teacher, because Cheerilee is overworked enough as it is. This also will not happen. In fact, we may not have it in the budget to keep Cheerilee herself and may be forced to let her go if our situation does not improve.”
“What?!” shouted several fillies in shock.
Cheerilee rolled her big green eyes; the mayor had given the embattled teacher a heads-up about the speech. Next to her, Big Macintosh glared at the Mayor, his expression blank and his breathing disturbingly even. He tapped one of his massive forehooves against an adjacent tree, which promptly gained a new hoof shaped indentation.
“Regardless, necessity dictates the closure of the Foal Free Press, effective immediately. We have already received several offers from other villages for the mimeograph machines.”
“No!” cried Featherweight, the paper’s editor, from the back of the crowd.
“Ya cain’t do this!” Apple Bloom, FFP’s chief writer, protested pathetically.
“Now that education is taken care of, time to move on to the subject of infrastructure,” Mayor Mare continued in a nonchalant tone. “For the past several months, my office has received dozens of complaints about the old stone bridge on the west side of town. Allegedly, it is in terrible disrepair and needs to be fixed yesterday. City inspectors have now completed their report on the bridge,” she lied; Ponyville’s chief engineer, Colton McStable, had taken one look at the underside of it and told her a report would be pointless because even a blind horse could see it was on the verge of collapse. “And their assessment is that the bridge is in passable condition. Therefore, it will not be repaired this fiscal year!”
“OH COME THE BUCK ON!!” Amethyst Star screamed.
“Also,” the Mayor reminded the crowd, almost as an afterthought, “We do not have the budget this year for repairing the firefly streetlights or erecting new street signs. I suggest any ponies with poor sense of direction invest in their own lanterns, and possibly a map.”
As she expected, the stallion whose name she did not bother to remember growled at her.
The Mayor sighed serenely; she was on a roll. “Next order of business, city services. Due to cutbacks, we will, as of the end of the month, be closing Ponyville General Hospital…”
“Horse apples,” said Rainbow Dash, her head wrapped in a bandage as a result of her latest crash.
“…Ponyville Pediatric Clinic…”
Sweetie Belle said nothing but sported an extremely worried look, as did Rarity, both all too aware of the last time Sweetie had attempted to cook supper for her friends.
“…and the Ponyville Orphanage and Homeless Shelter.”
Scootaloo shifted uncomfortably in place as her malformed wings twitched and the assembled townsponies grumbled.
“Hey!” some pony called out. Mayor Mare scanned the crowd to see who deigned to interrupt her wonderful speech. It was a green Unicorn with a green and white striped mane, gold eyes, and a lyre cutie mark. The mayor knew her well.
“Yes, Lyra?”
“So, uh, what about the upcoming Equinox Festival?” Lyra asked, “My musician friends and I are still scheduled to play.”
“I’m getting to that. Obviously, since we have to close essential city services, the idea that we have the funds to host any festival at all, much less pay you and your friends for entertaining us, is out of the question. So, yeah. No festival,” she said with a slight grin.
Ponyville’s local DJ, Vinyl Scratch, frowned and gave Lyra a few taps on the shoulder coupled with a furtive nod, at which point Lyra called out, “Laaaaaaame!”
Lyra’s comment was just the catalyst the mayor had hoped for; the confused talking from the townsponies turned increasingly agitated. Now it was time to move in for the kill. The mayor cleared her throat and dropped her biggest bombshell.
“Before I end this speech, I need to remind everypony that, starting next month, our local taxes will rise by ten percent. After all, we have to pay for cleaning up all of Ponyville’s disasters, as well as our city services!”
“WHAT city services?!?” several ponies roared in anger.
“You just cut everything! And now you’re taking even more money from us?!” others yelled.
“You stink!” several ponies groused.
“This whole town stinks!!” Raindrops corrected pedantically.
The Mayor had anticipated this reaction, and was satisfied. “Thank you for your time, everyone, and good night!” she stepped away from the podium just as three hundred pounds worth of rotten fruits and vegetables flew at her head, along with at least one glass bottle that shattered against the Town Hall as Mayor Mare pretended to barricade herself inside, but in reality slipped out one of its fire exits and made a beeline for her office before ponies found her.
Chapter 3 - There's A Wildlife Caretaker On The Payroll?
As the sun hung low in the sky, Mayor Mare sat at her desk. Her papers were even more disorganized than usual, as she had cleared them out of the way to make room for a large cubic glass bottle of some rank brown liquid she had ‘requisitioned’ from Gilda the Gryphon after the latter’s public meltdown the previous year. She was not entirely sure what the liquid was called; she only cared that it made her world spin and dulled her pain.
Raven, ever the dutiful mare who really did deserve a raise (shame Ponyville could not afford it), had shut, locked, and barred the doors to the Municipal Building, the ground floor windows to which were now caked with the smashed remnants of rotten fruit. Her job at this point was to keep any pony from disturbing the Mayor for the rest of the day.
As the mayor pounded another shot of whatever was in that bottle, she thought she heard a banging on her door. Once the room stopped spinning, she discovered that it was simply a fly landing on her desk. Then she heard a distinct *creck!* sound outside her office, followed by Raven speaking in a panicked tone, begging some pony to leave. Mayor Mare poured herself yet another shot in anticipation as the door to her office glowed magenta and swung open, guided by Unicorn magic.
In walked Twilight Sparkle. Mayor Mare took one look at her and downed her drink. She was extremely tempted to finish off the (three quarters full) bottle before Twilight spoke.
“Good afternoon, Mayor,” said Twilight in a friendly conversational tone.
“Miss Twilight Sparkle,” the mayor began, in a not-too-friendly manner, “Didn’t Raven tell you that I’m not seeing anyone this afternoon?”
“Well, yes she did,” Twilight admitted, “But I think this is important enough that it can be overlooked this time.”
“Really,” responded the mayor flatly, “Is Ponyville in imminent danger of being attacked by some mythical creature? Did one of your spells go haywire… again?”
“No,” Twilight said innocently, “I’m actually here on behalf of one of my friends. Fluttershy. You remember her, right?”
Mayor Mare thought for a moment. She barely recalled the socially inept yellow Pegasus whom she had placed in charge of the ‘Animal’ Team during the last Winter Wrap Up, probably the only pony on any team to not totally fail during the ordeal. She also vaguely remembered that Raven had encouraged her to appoint the girl as Ponyville’s official wild animal caretaker as part of some creative accounting last year. Twilight was satisfied at the mayor’s furtive nod.
“Well, due to last week’s flood, Fluttershy had to take in a nest of raccoons and nurse them back to health. Since she mostly cares for birds, and raccoons are extreme omnivores, she’s quickly running out of provisions for all her animals. So she sent me to ask if you could possibly increase her stipend?”
The mayor’s eye twitched. Before she decided whether or not she should unload on Princess Celestia’s Prized Pupil™, she needed one extra bit of information. “Isn’t Fluttershy extremely wealthy thanks to winning that lawsuit several years ago?” she asked
Twilight thought for a moment. It had never occurred to her to ask Fluttershy exactly how she could afford weekly spa treatments or all of the various knickknacks in her home despite not holding down a job – her cottage itself could be explained away by its location next to the Everfree Forest – no one else would want to live there, meaning its value was through the floor. After all, Twilight was from Canterlot and lived with the Princess for years; excess was completely normal to her.
“I don’t know,” admitted Twilight, “Fluttershy told me she depends on the stipend from your office because, and I quote, ‘almost all her money is tied up elsewhere’. She tried to come to you yesterday, and today, but couldn't face the crowds, so she sent me. I think you should give her a little extra funding, just for this month.”
Mayor Mare’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Twilight,” she started, “Did you not listen to my speech a few hours ago?”
Twilight cocked her head. “Speech? No. I was inside my library reading the latest book from Bay Gaskin, ‘A Whinny of Ice and Fire’, when Fluttershy came calling.”
The mayor’s left eye twitched at Twilight’s calling it ‘her’ library. Nevertheless, she decided to be magnanimous, to give Twilight the benefit of the doubt and not start a scene. Not today, at any rate. She had caused enough of a scene earlier.
“Well, if you had,” she began, “you would know that Ponyville has absolutely no budget with which to do much of anything. I announced the cessation and abandonment of every project the town had been considering. Fluttershy is not only not going to get a raise, but I’m probably going to take away her stipend completely. Also, your taxes are going up.”
The look on Twilight’s face was not dissimilar to that of a puppy that had been smacked for peeing on the dining room rug. It was probably for the best, both she and the mayor realized simultaneously albeit for different reasons, that Fluttershy was not there.
“That’s very disappointing,” concluded Twilight. Mayor Mare kept her guard up, expecting her adversary to pull out the Celestia card. Instead, Twilight did something far more infuriating. “But if the town is in such dire financial straits, I guess it can’t be helped. Do you need an accountant? I’m pretty good with numbers.”
“Doesn’t this news make you angry?” the mayor asked incredulously.
“Well, yes,” admitted Twilight.
“Doesn’t it make you want to take up rotten fruit and attack my office? Doesn’t it make you want to petition Canterlot to get rid of me?”
At this point, the math finally clicked in Twilight’s brain. “Is that what this is all about? You want to leave your job, so you’re trying to make ponies mad enough that they demand your replacement?”
“Bingo.”
“Why not just resign or retire?” Twilight asked as if that was a magic bullet answer.
“I tried,” groused the mayor, “But either Celestia herself or the Senate (not sure which) refused to accept my resignation. So I’m stuck here until the citizenry gets it through their thick skulls that they’d be better off without me. It’s a shame there’s no way for them to officially register their disapproval in a way the central government could understand.”
Twilight thought for a moment. “Maybe there is.”
“What?”
Immediately switching to lecturer mode, Twilight proceeded to lay out her knowledge, “In some of the Outer Territories, cities occasionally hold what they call a ‘referendum’, in order to pass or reject laws the local government is unsure about.”
Now the mayor perked up. “Well, I’m familiar with the concept of referendums, of course, but we’ve never held one in Ponyville, and I’ve never thought about using it to accept or reject an appointed official.”
“I’ve heard that the citizens of Stalliongrad use it to choose all their leaders. Apparently, the Celestial Senate kept sending the city unpopular outsiders who couldn't properly oversee the war effort there.”
“Well, that settles it,” the Mayor decreed. “Ponyville will hold a referendum on my leadership! And when they reject me, Celestia will have to accept my resignation! But… how can we organize this?”
Twilight smirked. “Organize? Mayor, just leave everything to me.”
“So, what is this?” Lyra Heartstrings asked Twilight Sparkle of the sheet of parchment spread out before her as they stood in front of the Municipal Building, a few days later.
“Ponyville is holding a referendum on the mayor. So I want to make sure everypony who wants their voice to be heard gets the opportunity to register,” Twilight explained.
“Okay, so what does a referendum do?”
“It means that, in about two or three weeks, you will go to the Town Hall, step into a booth where nopony can see you, and check a box saying whether you like the mayor or not. Then, we’ll send those results to Princess Celestia. If more ponies dislike our mayor than like her, Celestia will appoint another mayor. At least, that’s how I understand it works.”
“So, will Bon-bon know which box I choose?” Lyra asked, concerned.
“Only if you tell her. The ballot itself has no identifying information.”
“Okay, I think I get it,” said Lyra as she signed the register.
“Excellent! See you in a couple weeks. Don’t worry; we’ll be sure to remind you when it’s coming,” Twilight chirped as Lyra walked away.
Less than ten seconds later, Mayor Mare approached Twilight sporting a satisfied look on her face. “This seems to be going better than I expected.”
“Mm-hmm,” confirmed Twilight, “The response has been pretty positive, especially after I explain the process to them. We’ve had over a hundred ponies sign the register and we still have over two weeks until referendum day.”
“I suppose I should start packing up my things,” said the mayor breezily
However, before she could do that, a cold wind suddenly blew through them. Fitting, since it was accompanied by a dapper brown Earth pony stallion with a black mane sporting a red power tie and a bag of money for a cutie mark.
“Filthy Rich,” stated Mayor Mare flatly as Twilight tilted her head in confusion.
The eponymous stallion, the wealthiest pony in town, at least as far as he knew, spoke with the air of a man who considered everyone and everything else below him, possibly even Celestia, although that particular relationship had not yet been tested.
“It’s about time you realized what every pony in this town with half a brain has known for years: You are terrible at your job and the day can’t come soon enough that Ponyville is rid of you for good,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“That’s great and all,” the mayor replied with as much nonchalance as she could muster, determined to rattle him, “So are you going to sign the register or what?”
“Register?” Filthy looked confusedly at the two lesser mares before him. “I wasn’t going to sign any register. I came to look at your office, or, as Ponyville will be calling it in less than a month, my office.”
Twilight stepped between Filthy Rich and the mayor, incorrectly anticipating fireworks. “That’s not how the referendum is going to work,” she explained.
“Well, it should!” countered Filthy Rich. “After all, if the citizens of this city decide this mayor is not fit to hold her job, then shouldn’t a replacement be ready to start immediately? Of course! So in the interests of the ponies of Ponyville—” the mayor scoffed, although he did not hear it, “I demand you put my name on the referendum ballots as the mayor’s replacement!”
Twilight looked up into the sky, her brain working overtime to try and figure out how to keep the situation under control. Luckily for her, the mayor jumped into the conversation, inadvertently demonstrating exactly why Celestia had appointed her.
“I may be fairly new to this referendum thing, Mister Filthy Rich, but I have studied it enough to know that it takes more than just your demand to be included on the ballot. You have to submit a block of signatures to my clerk and pay a fee to prove your seriousness. Obviously money is no issue for you, but can you prove at least five dozen ponies want to see you as our next mayor? Oh, and your name cannot be included at all unless you register, so you’ll have to sign the parchment anyway. You have until a week before the election. That way we have enough time to print out ballots and hold a forum where you can tell ponies why you would be a better mayor. Understand all that?”
Filthy Rich glared at them as he signed, then he left, cursing them. Twilight, for her part, briefly considered according the mayor a tiny bit of respect before deciding against it. After all, by holding a referendum at all, the mayor was questioning Princess Celestia’s judgement, and Celestia, as far as she was concerned, never made mistakes.
The day of the deadline for Filthy Rich to submit his signatures, Twilight and Raven sat in the Mayor’s reception area counting registration forms. So far, they had only rejected two forms: one from a random stallion from Fillydelphia who happened to be passing through (thus did not meet the residency requirement) and had no idea what he was signing, and the other from Apple Bloom, whose form Twilight decided to reject due to the filly’s young age. She was the only school aged pony that had tried to register – she had had Cheerilee discourage the classes – but Twilight worried about the precedent of allowing her to vote. What if other schoolfoals decided they wanted to have their say too? The possible chaos was too much for her to bear.
As she slid checked forms over to Raven to add to the official register, their rhythm was interrupted by Applejack, who plonked down a large stack of papers and a small sack of money onto Raven’s desk.
“What’s all this, A.J.?” Twilight asked.
“Well,” Applejack began in the thick country twang that was her trademark, “I’d heard that y’all allowed Filthy Rich to get signatures and money to get his name on the referendum ballot, so we figured we’d do the same thing. Deadline’s today, right?”
Twilight blinked a few times. “Uh, yes. Are you thinking about running for mayor?”
Applejack scoffed. “Me? ‘Course not. I got too much work to do on the farm. All these ponies that signed these here papers,” she indicated the stack of parchment, “did it ‘cause they think Granny Smith would make a fine mayor!”
Raven dropped the quill she had been holding (no small feat for an Earth pony) and nearly fell off her cushion. Twilight, for her part, tried and failed to keep from laughing.
“Are you serious, Applejack? I mean, Granny Smith is a great mare and all, but you can’t seriously think that she has what it takes to run a city!”
Applejack puffed up her chest, somewhat offended. “She ran Sweet Apple Acres for decades before me an’ Big Mac were born. She’s been active in a lot of local civic clubs and events for longer than anyone can remember. And, I’ll have you know, she’s the last living founder of Ponyville! She’s seen more than we ever will, an’ I think that experience means somethin’ to ponies here! Even if you don’t think so, enough ponies agreed with me that I think ya oughtta give her a chance.”
Twilight magicked the stack of papers before her to spread them out so that she could verify as many of them at once as she could. To her and Raven’s utter shock, Granny Smith had collected nearly twice the number of signatures required; the only one that had to be rejected was Apple Bloom’s.
“Well,” said the thoroughly flabbergasted Twilight, “I guess this means the Mayor has an opponent in the referendum next week.”
“Make that two opponents!” Filthy Rich called out as he stomped triumphantly into the room and delivered his own stack of signature papers and a bag of money.
Dutifully, Raven and Twilight immediately began to verify the signatures he gave them. Twilight narrowed her eyes at him.
“Filthy Rich, a lot of these are from your own family,” she said flatly.
“They’re legal residents. What’s the issue?” he countered.
“Your daughter signed. I can’t accept her signature.”
“Diamond has her cutie mark. Does that not make her mature enough to take part?”
“No it doesn’t,” argued Twilight, “She’s still a filly in school. Just so you know it’s nothing personal, I also had to reject Applejack’s little sister. Twice in fact. Spike can’t vote either because he’s too young, and he’s older than your daughter… and a dragon.”
“But…” Filthy tried to protest but Twilight cut him off
“I have to set the floor somewhere. Surely you agree there have to be rules, yes?”
“Well, I suppose.”
“Now, we need to get to work verifying the rest of your signatures. Raven? Do you have anything to add?”
The beleaguered secretary had been poring through the stacks of paper while Twilight was arguing and pulled out a large metal object with which she stamped the topmost paper, which contained Filthy Rich’s official letter of intent, with a big green check-mark. She then grabbed a quill and scribbled a quick note on a piece of scrap paper. Once through, she held it up to Filthy. It stated simply, “One signature above minimum needed.”
“Huh,” Twilight said, clearly surprised. “Fair enough. In six days there will be a forum at Town Hall where all three candidates for mayor will answer questions from ponies.”
Filthy Rich sneered. “I look forward to it,” he said as he trotted out of the office.
Applejack glared at him as he left, then turned to Twilight. “Are you sure about this?” she asked with more than a bit of worry in her voice.
“It all checked out legally, so it’s not my place to be sure or not,” Twilight said. “If you really believe Granny Smith would make a good mayor, then you might want to have her prepare to deal with Filthy Rich at the forum, because we all know he’ll be ready to answer any and every question I can throw at him.”
“And the mayor?” asked Applejack.
“Well, since it’s a referendum on her, she’s on the ballot by default, and even if her heart isn’t in it, she hates Filthy Rich almost as much as you do. I don’t doubt she’ll try her best to hold her own against him.”
The day of the Town Hall forum, all of Ponyville gathered in front of the old wooden landmark, where once again Raven had dutifully set up the collapsible stage and covered it in bunting. This time there were three podiums facing the crowd, arranged in a semicircle around a desk at which Twilight sat with a large stack of notecards.
By the time Berry Punch arrived after her latest blackout, the forum had already been in progress for nearly an hour.
“How goes it?” she asked Applejack
“It’s a mess,” Applejack admitted. “Filthy’s jus’ been goin’ at the mayor, accusin’ her of all sorts of things even I know she didn’t do. The Mayor’s tryin’ not to lose her cool. An’ Granny Smith… well, she’s just bein’ herself.”
From the stage, Twilight asked the latest question. “Okay, so, how do each of you propose to deal with Ponyville’s budget shortfall? Mayor Mare, you’re up first.”
“Well,” the Mayor began, “Since our requests for additional funds from Canterlot have thus far been ignored, I’m afraid we have no choice but to simultaneously raise taxes and cut back services. Once we get our town on a sound financial footing, we can restart projects. Until then, we must be frugal.”
“That’s a load of horse apples!” Filthy Rich interjected.
“Really?” both Twilight and the Mayor asked, flatly.
“Of course! The Mayor is presenting every pony here with a false choice! There’s nothing in Ponyville’s charter that keeps us from simply taking out a loan to pay for everything we need to do!”
“But loans come with interest rates,” Twilight reminded him, “How would you as mayor deal with that?”
“Simple! We cut taxes. That will put more ponies to work, which will raise our revenues, which will make us able to pay back our loans that much quicker. Besides, I know I can get a better rate than the Mayor could because, unlike her, I know how to talk to my friends in the banking industry.”
“I would rather not place this town in any more debt than it already has,” the Mayor said with minimal conviction. “Besides, if we sell off this town to the highest bidder, what do you think that would do to our quality of life?”
“It would improve it!” Filthy insisted. “Think about it: Ponies need to understand the value of a bit. Why not teach it to them from the moment they’re foaled? Everything has a cost, so I think we should force that cost out into the open. School should be pay to play. Same with our hospital. Ponies who can’t afford it should be turned away at the door.”
“Granny Smith, you’ve been awfully quiet for the past few minutes. Is there anything you would like to say?”
The ancient green Earth-pony cleared her throat and began her answer.
“Y’know, I’ve been around a long time. I remember back when they built the Municipal Building. They did it because they realized Town Hall here doesn’t have any space for offices or none o’ that. The mayor at the time was Hedley Spur, appointed by the Princess herself to try an’ bring this town into the modern age. Now, I ain’t gonna lie; I did fancy that boy somethin’ fierce – y’know I was quite a looker back in them days; couldn’t no pony turn me down if I asked – anyway, Spur (that’s what we all called him) told us that it was important he had his own office because he was tired of ponies comin’ to bug him at his house. Ya see, back then nearly every pony worked from home, because every pony worked a trade. We didn’t have none of these ‘useless’ cutie marks that don’t mean nothing like we got nowadays – no offense ta yer daughter, Filthy.
“Offense taken,” Filthy Rich seethed. Undaunted, Granny Smith continued.
“So we all chipped in to build a new city building. Y’know, that’s what we called it back then was the New Town Hall. But ponies were movin’ in from other places – even started getting Unicorns and Pegasuses (Pegases? Pegasi?) after awhile – and they didn’t know what we meant when we said ‘New’ Town Hall or ‘Old’ Town Hall. So we had to come up with a new name. Spur decided to call the new building ‘The Municipal Building’. Of course that’s a right big mouthful to say, so most of us just kept on callin’ it New Town Hall or City Hall. Well, that was the way it was for awhile. Still is, I guess.”
“So, uh,” Twilight was just as confused as the rest of the crowd, “Granny Smith, you run a business, or at least you did back in the day, yes? How do you think that experience makes you fit to be mayor of Ponyville?”
“It doesn’t!” snipped Filthy Rich.
“Shut yer pie-hole you dag-blamed whippersnapper!” Granny chastised him as a few ponies applauded. “Didn’t I tell you that makin’ Zap Apple Jam ain’t somethin’ ya can just jump into? It takes years of experience! Ah had to come up with all them rituals through trial and error. Even today, I been makin’ jam fer longer than most ever’pony here’s been alive, but I still care ‘bout the quality! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be fit to call myself the best maker of Zap Apple Jam this side of the Brandywine. Well, I guess I’m the only one who makes Zap Apple Jam. Li’l Apple Bloom tried, but she just ain’t got it yet. No worries; she’ll figger it out eventually. In fact, she’s been doin’ some of that fancy book-learnin’ with that Zebra mare. What’s her name? Aw, I cain’t remember. Don’t matter. Apple Bloom likes her. May pick up some new tricks. Y’know, I didn’t used to like zebras none – with them weird accents and cutie marks that don’t stand fer nothin’. Worse than Unicorns from way back when. But I like to think I’ve mellowed out a little over the years. I even let Unicorns onto the farm nowadays.”
“Uh, Granny?” Twilight tried to interrupt, but she had neglected to inform any of the participants that she intended for there to be a time limit.
“Y’know, I remember when Spur retired. He’d been mayor for a long time by then. We didn’t want him to leave, but he told us how tired he was, an’ that bein’ the best hoof forward fer the city you love maybe oughta be a younger pony’s job. I dunno ‘bout that. With age comes experience, and I sure got both! I always thought Spur – we never stopped callin’ him that – just needed a change of scenery. Fortunately, the Princess picked a good replacement for him. Then, when that mayor retired, she picked another fine replacement, and so on and so on, fer I don’t know how long now. Mayor Mare ain’t no different. Well, except that she’s a lady. Tell y’all what, we’d never seen anything like it before: a lady mayor. She’s tryin’ her best in the face of a tough situation. I know from what all those stallions over the years told me, it ain’t easy runnin’ a city or a town or a village or whatever we call Ponyville these days, an’ I think our Mayor’s done a fine job. But if she wants to retire, then we should let her.”
“That’s all well and good,” Twilight finally got a word in edgewise, “But how would you propose to deal with the budget problem, Granny Smith?”
“Well, I’d just go up to any creditors or the Senate an’ try talkin’ to ‘em all nice-like. It’s amazin’ how persuasive you can be if’n ya extend a hoof of friendship.”
“That’s a load of horse apples!!” Filthy Rich roared.
“No it ain’t,” Granny countered before Twilight could, “You of all ponies should know that business is built on relationships an’ trust! So’s government. If two sides ain’t willing to talk to each other, then you cain’t build up trust and nothin’ gets done. I think the Nobles of the Celestial Senate might be more willing to listen to an old lady with a cart full of apple pies than some wet behind the ears business stallion who only knows how to make other ponies unemployed! You’ve never really talked with any ponies outside of yer fancy shmancy conferences. I have. An’ I can tell you they think about more than just numbers. I don’t like ‘em any further ‘n I can throw ‘em, but I’m willin’ to put aside my hangups ta try an’ get this town I helped build back on track.”
“Well, I…” Filthy Rich attempted to say, but Granny continued.
“It reminds of the time I went into town on Market Day to get me a new pot to make a batch of Zap Apple Jam. There was this new stallion runnin’ a booth, and he had all sorts of neat cookery he brought from Manehattan. But he kept barkin’ at us like a seller from the big city. Turned off all the other ponies. Well, he had what I wanted, so I said to him, I said, ‘Hun, this ain’t Manehattan. Ya gotta take a softer tone. Let ponies finagle with your pots. You’ll be more likely to make a sale that way.’ So he did, and he made probably twice as many bits as he would’ve. I bought one of his pots too. An’ lemme tell ya it’s the best dang thing in my kitchen. Of course that was a long time ago, so necessity meant I had ta start wearin’ it on my head, or else the Zap Apples won’t do up right. An’ that’s really what it’s all about. If stuff don’t work right, ya gotta keep experimentin’ for years ta find that perfect method. Then you’ll have perfect jam, and ponies’ll flock from all over the region to taste it. It’s the purest satisfaction, knowin’ somethin’ you’ve made makes ponies happy. Did I already say that? Oh, I don’t know. Does it really matter?”
Twilight looked up to the sky and noticed the sun hanging lower on the horizon than she expected. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for this forum,” she announced to the crowd. “Tomorrow, every pony in Ponyville who registered to take part in the referendum is encouraged to come vote here at Town Hall. We’ll start letting ponies in at sunrise and shut it down at sunset. To our three candidates, I wish you all the best of luck!”
Chapter 6 - It's Called Democracy. No Refunds Or Returns
The next day, Twilight was standing guard at Town Hall as Apple Bloom approached.
“I’m sorry, Apple Bloom. I can’t let you in,” she said simply and without empathy.
“But why not?” the filly asked, “It’s my town too! Why cain’t Ah have mah say?”
“You’re too young.”
“That ain’t fair! Miss Cheerilee may lose her job dependin’ on how this turns out, an’ Ah’m pretty sure that directly affects all of us! You’re not in school. None of y’all are!” she yelled, gesturing to the queue of grown mares and stallions behind her. “So why do y’all get the right to decide how our school gets run when the actual students don’t?!”
“That’s just how it works, Apple Bloom,” Twilight attempted to explain. “Think about all the other fillies and colts in the school, not just your friends. Think about Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. How would you feel if they got to vote?”
Apple Bloom considered this. “Well, they shouldn’t be allowed to,” she replied.
“Why?”
“Cause they don’t know from nothin’!” Apple Bloom blurted out. “They don’t care ‘bout no one but themselves!”
Twilight considered this, but opted to stick to her guns. “You may be right. But how would ponies at City Hall know that? Ponyville is a small town, but it’s not that small. We don’t have a way to tell which ponies know ‘from nothing’ as you say, and I don’t think Princess Celestia would want us to make those kinds of decisions, because every pony knows different things. In other words, to make this as fair as possible, we have to set guidelines. Unfortunately, that means setting a minimum age, and I’m afraid you’re too young.”
“Well… Ah won’t be too young forever! And then you’ll see! Ah’ll make sure ever’pony hears mah voice and cares what Ah think! I’ll make such a difference you won’t believe it! Even the Princesses themselves’ll have to take notice!” Apple Bloom pouted.
“I look forward to it,” Twilight replied, smiling. She did not intend to be condescending, but that was how Apple Bloom took it.
“I mean it! I’ma change the world! You’ll see!” Apple Bloom said as she stormed off in a huff.
Not long after, the sun finally sank below the horizon as the last ponies cast their votes. Twilight and Raven locked the doors to Town Hall and, along with several city officials, began the thankless task of counting the ballots. Suddenly, Twilight remembered something.
“I forgot to vote!”
Thanks to her obsessive need to check and double-check everything, it took Twilight and her crew nearly three hours to sort and count all the ballots. She worried that with three candidates, there was a possibility no pony would emerge with a majority, an outcome none of her books prepared her for. As she fretted about how she would explain this to Celestia, how she would explain anything to Celestia, Raven approached Twilight and informed her that the ballots had all been counted and she was ready to announce the results.
Twilight immediately started fretting. On the one hand, she knew that she was doing the right thing for the mayor and for Ponyville, but she could not shake the feeling that by helping organize the referendum, she was directly defying Celestia, which was of course the worst thing any pony could possibly do. And how might Celestia respond? Imprisonment? Banishment? Imprisonment while banished? Sure, Fluttershy had escaped such a fate, but Twilight had no excuse. Oh, Celestia had laughed when Twilight had told her of her concerns, but maybe that was just a ruse to throw Twilight off, to lure her into a false sense of security. Maybe Celestia was watching them right now and was just waiting to blast them all to bits with her golden aura of justice!
Then Twilight’s world briefly went black except for the twenty-three whitish-grey stars dancing before her eyes. Her head throbbed in pain. Raven stared at her with a combination of concern and irritation, then nodded once, furtively, before placing her foreleg back on the ground and making her way out the doors, into the crowd. After a moment, Twilight followed her, nursing a nasty bump that appeared out of nowhere.
In front of Town Hall, Mayor Mare, Filthy Rich, and Granny Smith all stood waiting to hear what the citizens of Ponyville had said. The mayor, for her part, glared daggers at Filthy, who responded in kind. Granny Smith was too busy talking to the elderly Mister Waddle, standing just a few feet away, about his latest medical mishap. Indeed, other nearby ponies wore looks of increasing disgust as the aged stallion abandoned all semblance of decorum, explaining his situation to Granny in exacting detail. For her part, Granny listened carefully and intently before doling out her advice to him: Eat more apples.
Raven stepped up to the podium, which had been set in front of the main door again but without the stage this time, and began her recitation.
First she informed the assembled masses of the total for Filthy Rich. He had received a grand total of six votes. The assumed wealthiest stallion in town immediately protested, to which Raven responded with a glare that could melt steel and asked him if he would like to count the ballots himself. To that, Filthy Rich stormed off the Town Hall’s wraparound porch, rattling off a string of curse words many citizens of Ponyville had never heard (Cheerilee would have her hooves full for the next month attempting to stop her students from repeating them) on the way back to his mansion.
Next, Raven read out the total for Mayor Mare, who for her part seemed engrossed in a nearby firefly lamp – so pretty. Maybe she should not have been so quick to cut funding for them. Due to her distraction, she never heard exactly how many ponies supported her, but really at this point she did not care. Regardless, the number sounded quite a lot higher than “six”, so she at least had that going for her.
Finally, Raven announced the total number of votes for Granny Smith. It was an outright majority. Thus, by the power vested in her as Ponyville’s Clerk, Raven declared Granny Smith the new mayor of Ponyville and would send the results to Canterlot for certification posthaste.
Now-Ex-Mayor Mare sighed. Her long nightmare was finally over. At least she didn’t lose to Filthy Rich. She walked away from Town Hall and back to her house in a daze.
Four weeks had passed since Granny Smith moved into the mayor’s office. She decided that, due to her advanced age, she would not handle much decision making herself, instead choosing to delegate most of her authority to the newly created post of Deputy Mayor. When Raven Inkwell turned the post down stating she preferred to be a secretary, Granny Smith immediately sought to appoint the pony she trusted most to handle it: Meyer Mare, who also refused it. Granny Smith, however, would not accept No for an answer again and visited Meyer’s home every day after work to try to persuade her to accept the job.
In the meantime, Raven asked Twilight to assist her following the transition. Twilight felt it was the least she could do, since the referendum had been her idea to begin with, and thus it was her fault that their town was now under the pruny-hoofed rule of Ponyville’s oldest citizen.
And yet, Ponyville seemed to be slowly pulling itself out of the doldrums. Granny Smith had immediately reversed most of Meyer Mare’s cuts and reinstated nearly every program that had gone moribund over the previous few months. For one, the old bridge was repaired. Also, Ponyville School started shopping around for new desks, and Granny authorized older foals to be taught three days a week in Town Hall, since the building was rarely used. She asked Twilight to volunteer to teach them once a week, a request she made of several other ponies she knew to be educated in vital information. When Raven protested about cost, Granny said simply that it would all work out by the end of the year.
Twilight sat in the front office of City Hall, lent to her by Raven, making up her lesson plan when she heard a knock at the door. Meyer Mare entered.
“So, uh,” Twilight started, “How is civilian life treating you?”
Ponyville’s former mayor glared at Twilight over her glasses. “Honestly…” then she smiled, “I could not be happier. You have no idea how nice it is to not have to worry about everything that goes wrong in this town. New disaster? That’s someone else’s problem. Granny Smith’s probably going to completely screw the budget, but I don’t care because it’s not my job to care!”
“That’s… rather harsh,” concluded Twilight.
“If you had held my job for as long as I did, you would have burned out too,” intoned Meyer Mare.
“But weren’t your predecessors here a lot longer than you? Can you really look yourself in the mirror and admit that you failed to live up to their standards?”
“The other former mayors of Ponyville never had to deal with disaster after disaster and zero assistance from the pinhead Senators up in Canterlot,” Meyer said. “If they had, I’m willing to bet they would have reacted the same way I did. The job was poison and I’m glad to be out of it.”
“I see,” said Twilight sadly.
“Besides, look!” the ex-mayor ran a hoof through her mane. No hairs fell out. She beamed, though Twilight failed to fully comprehend its significance.
Just then, the front door of city hall blasted open as a cold wind accompanied the silhouetted figure of a massive pony sporting a massive horn and even more massive wings. Neither Twilight nor Meyer Mare needed to look for more than a split second to know the figure’s identity.
“Princess Celestia!” Twilight said happily at the sight of her mentor.
“Horse Apples,” Meyer Mare muttered under her breath.
The ruler of all Equestria regarded the figures beneath her and spoke, in her usual calm, soothing manner. “Good afternoon, Twilight.”
Unlike the former mayor, who continued to prostrate herself, Twilight trotted right up to the Princess, her face sporting a look of confusion. “Excuse me, but what brings you to Ponyville today? It can’t have been to see me, otherwise Spike would have said something. Unless he did and I’ve been too busy to realize. Have I? I’m sorry.”
“It is not,” the Princess replied bluntly, which made Twilight’s countenance droop a bit. “Four weeks ago, I received an official communiqué from Miss Raven Inkwell informing me that the citizens of Ponyville decided to hold a referendum to reject my choice for mayor and install their own?”
“That’s right…” said Twilight tentatively.
“Whose idea was it?” Celestia asked with absolutely no affect.
“Well, it was my idea,” the Princess’s Prize Student admitted. “I wanted to do whatever I could to make Ponyville better. After all, this is my home now.”
“Meyer Mare,” Celestia glared at the former executive before her, “Was this stunt really Twilight’s idea?”
“Uh, i-it was,” Meyer gulped, “B-but she only did to get me out of a bad situation. If I need to take responsibility for her actions, I will.”
“That will not be necessary,” replied Celestia. “I know Twilight always has the best interests of ponies at heart. One more question, where is the pony who claims a mandate to run this village without my consent or assent?”
The door to the mayor’s office opened right then and Ponyville’s new mayor stuck her neck out, literally and figuratively. “Well, howdy there, Celestia! Ah wasn’t expectin’ ya fer at least another few hours!”
“Granny… Smith?” Celestia asked no one in particular, looking more confused than Twilight had ever seen her.
“Yep! Ponyville decided they wanted me to be mayor fer awhile! In fact, Ah’d kinda like ta talk to ya ‘bout that, since, well, you an’ me seem to ‘ve gotten cross-wires ‘bout our li’l thang. Ya mind comin’ on into the office? Ah know you’re busy, so Ah won’t keep ya long,” said Granny in a tone so informal and conversational, Twilight became offended.
“Mayor Granny Smith! How dare you speak to Princess Celestia like that!” she snipped.
“Now, Twilight,” Granny said sweetly but with clear authority, “The Princess an’ me go back a long ways. If she had a problem with how Ah talk to ‘er, she’d tell me. Ya hear?”
“I… can’t argue with that,” Twilight said, defeated, as her mentor walked regally into the office and shut the door behind her.
Twilight and Meyer Mare both tried to listen to the conversation, but Celestia had cast some sort of dampening spell that kept any sounds from escaping the room. In addition, the large glass pane taking up a third of the door, helpfully labelled ‘Mayor’s Office’, was frosted, so all Twilight could see were two blurry silhouettes. Strangely, she found it impossible to tell who was who, despite Granny Smith being a tiny Earth-pony over whom the princess should have towered; perhaps Celestia’s dampening field also affected anyone trying to see in? And what was that blood-orange aura occasionally flaring up?
After an interminable fifteen minutes, the magic enveloping the room began to dissipate. Underneath the door, Celestia’s familiar golden aura slowly faded until soon it was gone. Twilight backed away, running to her desk to appear to be working nonchalantly when the door opened and Equestria’s Solar Demigoddess exited. Meyer Mare noticed Celestia had a few beads of sweat on her face, very uncharacteristic of the famously unflappable ruler.
“Princess Celestia?” Twilight said hopefully, but the Princess ignored her
Granny Smith stuck her head back out of her office. “Ah’m real sorry fer talkin’ yer ear off, Celestia. But will ya at least think about what Ah said?”
“I… okay. We will need the use of Town Hall.”
“Way ahead of ya, dearie!” Granny said happily. “Raven! Y’all know what ta do.”
Raven popped up out of nowhere and, rolling her eyes at the situation, left to inform the town of yet another assembly, this time inside Town Hall. Meanwhile, Celestia calmly walked out of the building and towards the carrefour.
Two hours later, ponies gathered in and around Town Hall. Word of Celestia’s arrival had spread quickly, since she did not exactly mask her presence. Some ponies who recalled the Princess’s previous visit noted her lack of bodyguards this time; only one joined her onstage with Mayor Granny Smith. Twilight was stuck in the crowd, much to her own consternation, as Celestia began to speak to the assembled masses.
“Citizens of Ponyville! I have been made aware of the referendum you held here a few weeks ago regarding your mayor. While I wish to congratulate you on a successful exercise in democracy, I also wish that somepony could have informed us of it beforehand.”
The masses murmured as Princess Celestia continued.
“Had I known the circumstances behind it, I would have done everything in my power to avoid any need for the referendum in the first place. I was unaware of the dire straits this town has had to suffer since the last Summer Sun Celebration, and for that, I hope you all will accept my apology. No town of any size must be made to choose between cleaning up disasters outside of their control and hiring a new teacher. I will personally ensure you need not worry about your budget for at least the next year. As to the new mayor, although I did not give it my blessing, I do not feel it is my place to overturn the will of the ponies. Thus do I give official recognition to your new mayor, Granny Smith!” she said the last part with a barely perceptible strain as Ponyville applauded.
“Thanks fer the kind words, Princess,” Granny Smith said as she stepped up to the dais. “We held a vote in Ponyville ‘cause we didn’t feel like Canterlot was listenin’ to us. Now it looks like they did. Ah ran fer mayor because Ah wanted to fix Ponyville’s biggest problems. Wel’p, thanks to you, Princess, Ah did just that. Now my work’s done. And so Ah’d like to announce Ah’m quittin’ as Mayor of Ponyville, effective right now! Raven,” she said to her secretary, “You’ve been so good to me. You’re worth more than half a’ Canterlot put together, and I’m gonna make sure it was worth your while to put up with me fer the last month. Now… bye, y’all.” And Granny Smith very slowly ambled out of Town Hall and toward her home at Sweet Apple Acres.
Celestia, still sporting her look of utter bafflement, decided to take charge of the situation. “Well, uh, it appears we have a vacancy in the mayor’s office again. And thus it is… my duty as ruler of Equestria to appoint a new local executive. To that end, I choose the only pony I feel is worthy for the job…”
Raven, the former mayor assumed would be the answer, so much so that it took her about two minutes to register that Celestia’s actual answer was…
“Meyer Mare! Hopefully, not needing to constantly fight with my Senate for funding will allow her to once again be the great executive I always knew she could be.”
After a brief moment of stunned silence, Ponyville applauded their monarch.
“Wait, what?!” now-once-again-Mayor Mare asked Twilight after realizing what happened.
“I… think you’re mayor again,” Twilight replied, just as stunned.
Mayor Meyer Mare considered this for a moment before arriving at the only answer she could in this situation:
