Confound those ponies! They drive Mayor Mare to drink! Spike too. The two of them drown their sorrows together.
A year after Ponyville's first and only (botched) election resulted in Mayor Mare staying in a job she often dislikes, she has become quite the lush. One day, Spike – tired of his thankless existence under Twilight Sparkle – walks in on the mayor while she is inebriated. After throwing caution to the wind by allowing an underage dragon to imbibe, the two begin to rant about their issues. Mostly Twilight.
Updates intermittently, whenever I can come up with a decent story. Note: All chapters can stand on their own, because I hate cliffhangers just as much as you.
“Mayor Mare? Are you okay? And, uh, alive?” Spike asked out of concern for Ponyville’s premier politician, who was currently slumped over at her desk, face planted firmly into the polished wood. A large crystal bottle of some rank brown liquid sat to her right, next to an empty glass and just behind a signing stamp. A shaft of sunlight further defined by countless floating dust particles shone through the window, cracked open slightly to allow air to circulate but with the downside of making the cacophony of Stirrup Street below all the more apparent.
“Guh…?” Mayor Meyer Mare responded as she slowly lifted her head, a trail of drool trickling out the right corner of her mouth to connect with the puddle that had formed in the spot where her snout had been a minute previous. Her eyes, bloodshot and glazed over, blinked out of unison.
Spike continued. “I’ll, uh, give you some time to… wake up.”
“Bluh,” the Mayor said to no one in particular, her head lolling to the side. Evidently the weight of her own head was too much for her, as she collapsed to the floor, smacking her right cheek on her desk on the way down.
Spike, slightly panicked, ran to Ponyville’s official leader and propped her back up. She was much heavier than he expected from a pony her size. Well, she is old, he reasoned to himself.
Eventually, Mayor Mare’s brain finished its tortuously slow booting-up sequence. Spike moved back to the other side of the desk before she realized he had, out of necessity, manhandled her. Her deep blue eyes slowly focused on the world around her. The amorphous purple blob opposite her eventually congealed itself into the figure of Spike.
“Oh. Spike,” the Mayor said flatly. She nearly followed up with ‘Why the buck are you here?’ but remembered her decorum at the last second and instead asked, “How can I help you?” albeit without enthusiasm.
“Honestly, you can’t,” said Spike. “I just needed some time away from Twilight. She’s on the main floor of Golden Oaks, walking in a circle, ranting about ponies wanting to check out books again.”
Mayor Mare groaned. “She DOES understand Golden Oaks is a PUBLIC lending library, right?”
“I honestly don’t think she does,” Spike admitted meekly.
“That’s Nobility for you. Plus she has the favour of the Princess. So I suppose she doesn’t realize her actions have consequences.”
“This is Twilight we’re talking about,” Spike tried in vain to salvage the reputation of his whatever-their-relationship-is, “I really doubt she’s malicious about it.”
Mayor Mare scoffed. “Maybe. It’d be nice if she thought about other ponies besides herself and those other five for a change. It’d make my life a lot easier.”
She reached over to the crystal bottle and, after a couple of misses, grabbed it and poured some of the rank brown liquid into the adjacent glass. Spike winced momentarily at the powerful bitter smell as the mayor gazed longingly into the glass.
“What is that?” asked Spike, utterly innocent.
“Hair of the dog,” replied Mayor Mare simply.
Spike cocked his head in confusion. “That doesn’t look like fur. I didn’t even know you could drink fur.”
The mayor rolled her eyes, then realized the youth of her conversation partner and chuckled. “It’s an expression, Spike. ‘Hair of the Dog’ means a stiff drink. In my line of work you often need one.”
“How come?” Spike wondered aloud.
The mayor let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping.
“It’s been a year since Twilight’s insane ‘election’ experiment. Even after I lost, fate still intervened to make sure I kept this job. So every week, just like before, I have to deal with rabble rousers and idiots who want things done NOW, that cannot get it through their tiny horse brains that change is slow and things cost money, and they’re not the only ones who have to live in this town,” she said, her head turned upward, eyes fixated on a random piece of ceiling.
“Wow, Twilight was right,” Spike said, a slight cold edge entering into his voice, “You really don’t want to be mayor.”
“Not exactly,” the mayor replied. “This job isn’t so bad most of the time. I like being able to help other ponies. I like figuring out solutions to problems. I like promoting Ponyville on a regional level. I like giving speeches – that’s the easy part, by the way. I just hate it when ponies don’t listen to the experts and stay ignorant. Sometimes emphatically so. But even worse is the ponies who think they’re experts but are really just know-nothing know-it-alls who don’t realize that governing is hard sometimes.”
“I guess I get that,” Spike said.
“I suppose you do,” said the mayor. “The only reason you’re even here is because you needed someone to vent to about Twilight, and you thought I might be a sympathetic ear. You’re right, of course. But you need to be more honest about it.”
Spike nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sometimes she drives me up the wall. Not only when she treats me like a kid – I mean, I know I’m really young by dragon standards – but she acts like I don’t know anything, even though I’m the one who cleans her house, sorts her books, cooks her food, keeps her schedule, runs her errands, writes half her things… and I almost never get any thanks for it! In fact, most of the time I get yelled at for not doing my jobs perfectly. Then I get grounded like some bratty filly. Why? It’s not like I have any hobbies besides my comic books. Why does she have to take away the one piece of fun I have in my life?”
Mayor Mare pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows in thought. After a moment, she stood up and – slowly, unsteadily – made her way over to a wet bar and grabbed another glass. Returning to her desk, she poured some of the liquid into the glass and slid it over to Spike.
“What’s this?” he asked, reasonably confident of the answer.
“Drink it. You need it more than I do,” said the mayor simply, a wan smile on her haggard face.
Spike took the glass in his left hand, but something about the situation bugged him. “Um, is this legal?”
The mayor closed her eyes and laughed softly. “Spike, part of my job reque– requires me to know as many of our local laws as I can. Two weeks ago, I had to look up what the town code says about spirituous liquors thanks to Apple Bloom getting it in her head she could keep a still behind the school.”
“Oh yeah. That happened,” Spike remembered and agreed. Twilight and the others were absolutely apoplectic over that incident, but he thought it was funny.
“You bet it did. Where do ya think I got this stuff?” Mayor Mare smirked as she gestured to the now-open bottle. The smell wafting out of it was strong enough to seem nearly visible. “Shame I had to requisition it; that filly’s got a real talent for distilling. Anyway, law says she couldn’t do it ‘cause she’s underage and didn’t have a license. But it doesn’t say anything about dragons one way or the other. So drink up.”
“I don’t know, Mayor,” Spike said as he nervously scratched an invisible itch on his arm.
“Spike!! Where are you??” called a shrill voice from outside the window, overpowering the other noise. A quick glance down to the street confirmed it was Twilight, wandering around while sporting a look of extreme irritation. “Come back home! You only scrubbed my floors once! You need to do the post-scrub scrub! Also, I need you to re-sort my books again and triple-check my checklists and schedule for the next two weeks!”
Spike turned back to the mayor, a look of determination in his eyes. “Gimme that,” he said as he took the glass off the desk and downed the rank brown liquid in a single gulp. He winced at the burning bitterness as it slid down his gullet. Then it hit him.
“G’wah!” he said. “How can you drink this stuff? It’s like getting hit by a horsecart!”
“Not really,” the Mayor corrected him. “Wait ‘til you wake up tomorrow; then you’ll feel like you’ve been hit by a horsecart.”
“Still, I’ve never tasted anything like… Oh!” Spike trailed off as he felt a warm sensation permeate through his body, the weight of Equestria removing itself from his shoulders. Suddenly there was no such thing as Twilight Sparkle or Golden Oaks Library. Spike’s eyes glazed over and his shoulders slumped.
“Heh. Thiz stuff’z really not so bad after— *hic!*” Spike’s thoughts were interrupted by his diaphragm’s decision to start spasming, releasing a tiny burst of fire in the process.
“Uh, what was that?” Mayor Mare asked, almost concerned.
“Oh, well, I guess this drink you gave me gives me— *hic-GWAA!*” Spike let out a much more substantial firestream right at the mayor, who ducked just in time to avoid being barbecued. “Sorry,” he said, blushing.
“You say Apple Bloom’s moonshine caused this?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s something else? No pony really knows how dragons’ insides work, least not Twilight. I don’t know either. Just to be safe, I’d better stop and put this glass down over here next to the b—” Spike said as he turned to the opened liquor bottle. Suddenly his look changed to one of bug-cross-eyed concern as his cheeks puffed up.
The mayor had seen this face before; it was similar to the face he made whenever he became a magical inbox for Princess Celestia’s notes to Twilight, always accompanied by quite a lot of green fire. She realized what was coming next. All she could say beforehand was a defeated, “Oh no.”
Outside City Hall, a very peeved Twilight Sparkle looked toward the sky just in time to see a corner room on the top floor erupt in a massive fireball. Luckily for the civic structure, the fire brigade, whose office was in the building next door, arrived within two minutes to ensure the rest of City Hall did not burn to the ground. As smouldering debris rained down around her head, she headed into the building, using her nonexistent authority to force her way past every pony.
Once she reached the mayor’s office, she found the door burned and fallen off its hinges. Inside, she saw the remnants of a desk, a dazed and thoroughly charred Mayor Mare, and Spike – without a scratch and looking unbelievably guilty even before he turned and saw Twilight, at which point his expression flipped to utter panic.
As Twilight angrily dragged Spike out of the building, cursing under her breath, the Mayor regained her coherence and managed to lock eyes with the soon-to-be-grounded-forever dragon.
“Well, Spike, even with the whole burning-my-office thing, this might be the least stressful afternoon I’ve had in years,” she said. “Same time next week?”
The top floor of Ponyville City Hall was bustling, as it typically is on a weekday afternoon. Career bureaucrats power-walked down the hall, shuffling reports between offices. A clerk from the ground floor brought a stack of tax receipts to the filing room where she ran into Silver-Tongue, Ponyville’s general counsel, who was looking for information so he could rebuff yet another of Filthy Rich’s frivolous lawsuits – Mister Rich (as he insisted on being called) complained he was being charged a higher tax rate than other ponies, to which the town’s assessor replied that of course that was the case since he used more resources and owned more valuable properties.
Suddenly, the door at the end of the hall burst open, a mocha-and-grey blur zipping through, nearly knocking everyone down as it made a beeline for the mares’ toilet.
A few yards away, Spike had reached the writing desk situated on the large landing at the top of the stairs. Using what little strength he had (due to his being a baby dragon), he pulled himself up above the desk’s surface-level so he could be seen by the serious-faced grey-toned secretary, Raven Inkwell.
“Hi, Raven,” Spike said to the as cheerily as he could through his straining. “Is the Mayor in today?”
Raven peered at Spike over her black half-rim glasses, which she had bought for the sole purpose of being able to peer over them at visitors disapprovingly, and adjusted the bun holding her dark brown mane. “I think she’s…” she briefly turned to glance at the toilet, “…indisposed. Do you have an appointment?”
Spike tilted his head. “Do I need one?”
“Typically yes,” Raven replied. “The Mayor is very busy ensuring this town runs as efficiently as possible.”
“That’s a lie,” Spike shot back before his brain got a chance to stop him. “This is the day after the Mayor’s weekly freeform question session, right? She always needs at least 36 hours to recover from that.”
Raven nodded, impressed. “How did you…?”
“I do Twilight Sparkle’s schedule. Compared to her, learning how the Mayor operates was a piece of cake,” he answered bluntly.
“Fine. Go wait in her office. If you’re lucky, she’ll be coherent enough to notice you when she returns,” Raven said with a tone that suggested defeat as she waved him through.
Spike entered Mayor Meyer Mare’s office, giving a surprised whistle upon seeing how quickly and thoroughly it had been repaired following the alcohol fire incident. As before, the decor was rather sparse. The same wooden desk and chairs – now with scorch marks – sat towards the back of the room, situated such that a mayor could easily peer out either of the corner windows onto the bustling streets below. Aside from a repaired ceiling and walls, the only difference Spike could notice was that one section of an interior wall not covered by a scroll-shelf – filled with two hundred years worth of decrees both local and Imperial, shielded by a protection spell whose amber aura occasionally glistened – was now adorned with dartboards. One had its bullseye spot covered with a photo of Filthy Rich; another had a photo of Twilight Sparkle; a third had a photo of the Apple Family, though youngest member Apple Bloom had been carefully cut out; a fourth had a photo of Rarity – Spike convinced himself he hadn’t seen that one. All the boards had at least one dart in them, though Filthy Rich’s had at least three.
As Spike sat in the chair opposite Mayor Mare’s unoccupied desk, he wondered how an Earth-pony like her would be able to pick up a dart, much less throw it. Fortunately for the collective sanity of the entire universe, the mayor returned from her intestinal sojourn, instantly causing Spike’s mind to jump elsewhere. Mayor Mare sat down and stared at the large disorganized pile of nothing before her, blinking slowly as she attempted to process it.
Eventually, she allowed her glazed-over bloodshot eyes to wander, finally resting them upon the form of the small dragon sitting opposite her. “Purple,” she thought aloud. She gradually cocked her head, squinting her eyes before speaking again. “Green,” she said flatly.
Spike wanted to say something, but remembered what happened the last time he disturbed Twilight when she had been barely coherent – he would have burned to a crisp were it not for his thick dragon scales. So he waited patiently for the mayor to regain a grasp on her surroundings.
“Spike,” she said with little affect. Then her deep blue eyes lit up in recognition as her brain finally registered what her eyes and mouth told her. “Oh! Spike. What brings you to my office?”
Spike barely managed to suppress a chuckle. “You sent me a certified letter this morning, rambling about how much you hated this week’s weekly town hall meeting. I figured you needed someone to talk to who wasn’t upset about something. Also, I needed to get out of the library for a while. Twilight’s kind of been on the warpath. She’s still mad at me and you for the fire thing and said I wasn’t allowed near here for the next ever. Then she got upset that your letter wasn’t for her. The mailmare refused to let her sign for it, and I wouldn’t let her read it. She tried to magic it away from me but I burned it before she could. Then she said I was grounded for the next month. *heh* Like that matters. I’m a growing dragon; I can’t stay cooped up in a library all day!”
Mayor Mare furrowed her brow. “I thought your dragon’s-breath functioned as a direct line to Princess Celestia.”
“Well, yeah it does. I just—” then Spike realized. “Oh, horse apples.”
The door burst open, revealing an utterly terrified, out-of-breath Raven. “Mayor… it’s…”
“Send her in,” the Mayor said calmly, her head downcast. “No point delaying the inevitable.”
Five seconds later, Princess Celestia strutted into the room. Her regal bearing standing out in stark contrast to the simple office. She towered over the Mayor and the baby dragon. From their vantage point, it appeared that the princess was glaring at them. Mayor Mare gulped and pushed a crystal glass and carafe full of rank clear liquid towards her ruler. “W-would you care for a drink, Your Highness?”
Celestia slowly blinked, then cracked a slight smile.
As City Hall began to shut down for the evening, Raven returned to the Mayor’s office to gauge how long it might take to clean up what was left of her former boss. Much to her surprise, she found Mayor Mare alive and not in shackles, as the Princess sat next to Spike, chuckling about something.
“Yes, she can be overly serious. Twilight is at once the best student I have ever had and the worst,” mused Princess Celestia.
“So… yeah,” Spike said. “I never meant to send you that letter. I blame Twilight! She says I don’t get the right to open my own mail? I’da left her already if you hadn’t made me stay.” He burped, releasing a massive burst of green fire. A propeller-beanie swirled into existence in front of the three, causing them to burst out laughing.
“It would seem Princess Luna is awake and has figured out how to utilize flame-transport,” Celestia concluded. “Perhaps we should send her some of these libations?”
“NO!” Mayor Mare and Spike both screamed, causing the eavesdropping Raven to flinch.
Spike continued, “Sorry, Princess, but the last time I used my breath on this stuff, well, it kinda blew up this room.”
“It took weeks and several thousand Bits to fix the damage,” the Mayor chimed in. “Do you really want to get another emergency budget request from Ponyville?”
“I suppose not. But, this… what-did-you-call-it?” Celestia tried and failed to name the liquid that had clearly had some effect on her cognition.
“Crusaders’ Brew, courtesy of Apple Bloom,” the Mayor said, “I managed to save some after the last time it caught on fire. Too precious to waste.”
Princess Celestia smiled. “Well, you must tell Apple Bloom that it is wonderful. I have not had such fine spirituous liquid in many centuries. Indeed, I had assumed such knowledge was lost. I fear sometimes that I have overly infantilized my subjects in some areas.”
“That’s not for us to say. The peon— uh, I mean the rabble—” the Mayor said, attempting to find the right word yet not irritate. “Some ponies just don’t get how difficult it can be to run things, and I have it super easy compared to you, Princess.”
“Yes,” Celestia replied, “but I have a Senate and Court to deal with most of that work, plus Luna – she wishes so badly to be helpful. You have your staff, including that charming secretary. Rarely these days do I grant audience to petitioners. When one has been around for as long as I have, one hears the same complaints over and over again. Meyer, there is no shame in becoming frustrated with such things, so long as nothing keeps you from performing your job to the best of your abilities, in the best interests of those who you serve.”
At that point, everyone was startled by a shrill voice from outside: “SPIKE! Where are you? How dare you ignore me when I said you were grounded! Did you go to City Hall like I ordered you not to?? I swear if you don’t come out right now, Princess Celestia will hear about this!!”
Princess Celestia stared at Spike, mock-concerned. “I think we might be in trouble.”
Ponyville was trapped within the biggest not-crisis it had faced in years: a pleasant, sunny day. Radiant warmth enveloped everything around in a non-tangible blanket of pure happiness. A soft breeze wafted through the unpaved streets, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers blooming in the large stretch of undeveloped prairie just outside town. Along Stirrup Street, generic ponies went about their business, walking to and from the various shops along the way. School had just ended for the day, so the normal din of the street became punctuated with the high-pitched squeals of the foals as they played games only they could understand.
No one, pony or otherwise, wants to be stuck inside on a day like this. Alas, such was the fate of the public servants working at City Hall, Ponyville’s mayor included.
Mayor Meyer Mare gazed out her office’s corner window onto the scene below, sighing. She turned back to her desk, a large stack of papers covering its surface. These were simply forms and documents she needed to look over and sign, nothing truly important, just her job as an administrator to ensure her underlings had not done anything stupid – they hadn’t. But it was just so tedious, and she was not in the mood for tedium.
Instinctively, she reached over to her right, where sat the large crystal carafe normally filled with the rank spirituous liquid. Today, however, it was empty. Mayor Mare stared at the vessel for a moment, realization dawning on her (as it had already done at least three times this day alone). Carefully removing her half-rimmed glasses and placing them aside, she slammed her face into the pile of papers and sobbed.
A few minutes later, the door to her office opened. In walked Spike, beads of sweat visible on his forehead.
“Afternoon, Mayor,” Spike said, his voice a bit laboured. “Sorry I’m late, but it took a lot of work to get her away from the other two – first the coaxing, then the running. Those fillies are fast.”
Behind Spike stood Apple Bloom. The yellow filly was looking around the environs of the Mayor’s office, curious but sporting a look of utter confusion as Spike shut the door behind them.
Mayor Mare, her left eye twitching involuntarily, peered over her glasses at Apple Bloom. At that point, the filly noticed the pair of bloodshot blue eyes levelled directly at her; her mood immediately flipped to apprehension.
“W-what’s goin’ on? What did we– I mean, uh, what’d I do?” Apple Bloom asked, shuffling her hooves, her unusually expressive pink hair bow drooping.
The mayor leaned further forward. “Do you know why I called you here today, Apple Bloom?”
“N-no,” replied Apple Bloom, her voice quivering, close to crying.
Spike took note of the filly’s body language. “Mayor, you’re scaring her,” he chastised. “Actually, you’re kinda scaring me too. Could you back off?”
At this, Mayor Mare realized she had leaned so far over her desk that she was nearly astride it. Slumping back in to her fancy leather chair – brought in to replace the wooden one that had burned – she continued to stare at Apple Bloom, but now with what she hoped was a more welcoming, less threatening (crazed) expression.
“Apologies, Apple Bloom,” the Mayor said with an air of unnecessary formality. Spike glared at her.
“Why is it always so hard for politicians to use the ‘s’-word?” he asked aloud, before turning to Apple Bloom. “Look, the Mayor had me come get you because she has a problem that only you can solve.”
Apple Bloom cocked her head in confusion. “Seriously?” she asked flatly, only to find the Mayor and Spike both nodding. Surprised, she sought additional confirmation. “Seriously??”
“Seriously,” said Mayor Mare. “Apple Bloom, do you remember that… special water you made some weeks ago?”
Apple Bloom shrank back slightly, dipping her head. “Ya mean, that stuff we cooked up behind the school that Miss Cheerilee took away, then called mah big sis and you about?”
“Yes. That,” replied the Mayor.
“Why, uh, do ya wanna know?” Apple Bloom asked tentatively.
“Do you have any more?”
“No!” the filly near-shouted. “Miss Cheerilee took all of it, I swear! Pretty sure she took it all here, come ta think of it. Big sis reamed me out that night so hard I couldn’t sit for three days. Even Granny an’ Big Mac thought she was bein’ too harsh. So, no I ain’t got any more.”
Ponyville’s dutiful mayor slumped in her chair. “Damn,” she whispered to herself. Turning back to Apple Bloom, she cut straight to the point. “Could you make more?”
The look on Apple Bloom’s face vacillated between befuddlement and panic. “Why’re ya askin’? Ya think I knew what I was doin’?! I swear we were just playin’! I never meant to make no demon-water!”
Spike and the mayor looked at each other in confusion.
“Is that what Applejack called it?” Spike asked, placing his hand on Apple Bloom’s shoulder. She nodded.
“Well, it’s not,” the Mayor interjected gently. “Apple Bloom, you have a gift, a talent of sorts, in creating this so-called ‘demon-water’.”
The filly’s eyes lit up. “Really?? Does that mean I can get mah cutie mark in it?”
“Uh, probably not,” the mayor and Spike replied in unison. Apple Bloom looked crestfallen.
“Look,” the Mayor began, gently, as she attempted to save face, “Your cutie mark, whenever it comes, will be a reflection of you as a whole pony. Making ‘demon-water’ is… just a hobby. Every pony can, and should, have hobbies outside of whatever their cutie mark signifies. For instance, your brother sings in that quartet, right? Besides, you don’t really want a cutie mark that would make your family mad, would you?”
“Well, I guess that’s true,” Apple Bloom admitted.
“How did you learn to make that stuff anyway?” Spike asked her, adding, “You obviously knew what you were doing, so don’t tell us you didn’t.”
The Mayor jumped in to soften Spike’s unexpectedly harsh tone, ”You’re among friends here. We won’t tell anyone. So you can tell us.”
“Well, Zecora taught me how to distill water to make all pure fer potions an’ stuff,” Apple Bloom said, her worries allayed. ”So I figured we could use it ta make a fancy cider, maybe get a cutie mark that way. Well, the apples aren’t in season right now, so we just threw a bunch of stuff into a pot I borrowed, hooked it an’ everything up to the school’s boiler, and boiled a drink. But it didn’t taste any good so I left it. Few months later, when she went to turn off the boiler for the season, Miss Cheerilee found it and gave us detention for the rest of the year (we kinda skipped it today).”
“I see,” said the Mayor with a smirk. “Do you remember exactly what ‘stuff’ you put into your drink?”
Apple Bloom looked at the Mayor like one of them was an idiot. “Of course. I figured I’d start easy an’ then work mah way to fancier stuff if it worked.”
“Okay,” the Mayor concluded. “How about this? You make me more of your special drink…”
Apple Bloom cut her off. “Can’t. She threw the still away and sent what was in it to you or the cops or somethin’ for ‘testing’, she said. Zecora’s gonna be real upset when she finds out y’all junked her stuff.”
“I will make sure you have everything you need,” the Mayor hastily assured her. “And I will personally apologize to Zecora. We’re overdue for a goodwill lunch anyway.”
“Goodwill lunch?” Spike asked under his breath.
“You remember how Ponyville treated her when she first arrived?” she asked; Spike nodded, frowning. “Well, she’s never going to let me live that down, even though I wasn’t even here that week; I was in Canterlot trying to get the Celestial Senate to approve my request for emergency funds to repair the town after the Ursa Minor attack. So I decided to invite her out to lunch once every few weeks to show there’s no hard feelings, and it became a ritual we both look forward to.”
“Miss Mayor,” Apple Bloom said with a chuckle, “if yer willin’ ta help me patch things up with Zecora, I’ll do just ‘bout anything ya ask me.”
Mayor Mare smiled a massive smile. “Excellent. Now, this is going to have to be a secret, just the three of us in this room right now, okay?”
Apple Bloom grimaced. “I can’t tell Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo?”
Spike looked the filly square in the eye. “Do you trust them to not blab?”
“Of course!” Apple Bloom said as she puffed up her chest, incredulous, but Spike did not break his gaze.
“Really?” he asked, his tone making it clear he wasn’t buying it precisely because he knew her friends.
“Well, I guess yer right,” Apple Bloom eventually answered, mildly dejected.
“Good. Then we have a deal,” the Mayor said triumphantly. “I will have Spike come and get you once the new equipment comes in.”
“Uh, Mayor? I know I’m not as big into government as you or Twilight, but how can you get away with using taxpayer funds to buy a still? Actually, two stills, since you have to repay Zecora?” Spike asked, clearly suspicious of Ponyville’s top politician making a promise she might not be able to keep.
“That, my dear dragon, is where you come in,” the mayor replied. “If you write to Celestia explaining the situation – and for once I’ll ask you to faithfully recount all the details – she’ll probably help us out personally.”
“Why’s that?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Because the Princess… uh… would think replacing stolen equipment is the right thing to do,” the mayor replied.
Apple Bloom nodded, “Well, that makes sense.”
Suddenly, the closed door separating the mayor’s office from the outside world burst inward (despite its being an outward-swinging door) as if it had been violently kicked, which it had. Spike jumped from the startle, and Apple Bloom immediately ran and hid under the mayor’s desk.
Spike closed his eyes as he turned to the door, wondering if, upon opening them, he would see what he was expecting.
When he did, he found himself gazing upon a thoroughly-ticked-off Applejack, flanked by an equally livid Twilight.
Yep, that was exactly what he had expected.
Applejack stomped into the room. Once she had, she glared at Mayor Mare, who returned the glare with a look that could best be described as, of all things, bored.
“Apple Bloom!” the elder of the two Apple daughters snapped at nowhere in particular, “Get out here. NOW.”
Twilight rounded on Spike, “Apple Bloom’s friends told me you took her away from them and disappeared. Since you’ve been spending so much of your time here, I figured I could ask the Mayor what happened and, if I was lucky, drag you home, since you didn’t rearrange my books correctly this week. I said I wanted it done by original publication date, but instead, you arranged them by most recent print date! UGH! I’m so disappointed in you right now; you can’t do anything right lately!”
Apple Bloom, still hiding under the Mayor’s desk, locked eyes with the Mayor and gave a look that exactly reflected what she was unable to say at that moment: Seriously?!
The mayor, understanding this, replied in a whisper, “Uh-huh. And now you see why he prefers to spend all his time here, and why we both could use your little hobby. Once the new equipment is here, we can discuss whether you prefer payment in cash or credit, okay?”
The mahogany desk was piled high with papers and proposals in need of reading and signatures. A single sheet in the middle discussed the idea that the local schoolhouse needed new textbooks, since the old ones were quite nonexistent. Also some other stuff, but the pony to whom it was directed could not have cared less.
Mayor Meyer Mare sat in her high-backed chair staring through the paper. An onlooker who didn’t know better would assume she was reading it intently, but that pony or other sapient entity certainly missed that, behind those half-rimmed glasses, her eyes were utterly glazed over. If she saw anything, it would have been the thirty-seven miniature mariachi men dancing a jig across her desk. She smiled, amused at their antics and secure in the belief that she alone knew of their joy. They returned her smile and upped the ante by beginning an impromptu conga line.
She hummed along to the jaunty Latin rhythm only she could hear. A hiccup escaped her mouth, courtesy of that rank brown liquid she had commissioned Apple Bloom to brew in secret, her so-called Happy Juice. That filly deserved a medal for her service, she thought briefly.
The door to the office – scorched and remounted twice in as many months – suddenly swung open, revealing a thoroughly distraught Spike. Though he was with-it enough to close the door behind him, in so doing keeping Mayor Mare blissfully separate from the din of government work happening outside.
“Mayor! I— uh?” Spike began before trailing off as he noticed the mayor staring at a jar of writing utensils, grinning contentedly.
“Heh-heh. Funny accents are funny,” the mayor observed.
“Mayor Mare. A-are you okay?”
“Huh?” She looked up from the party staged solely for her benefit and noticed the tiny purple dragon. “You’re not a flamin– Flamenco.”
“No, I’m a dragon. A dragon with a problem,” Spike said.
Ponyville’s mayor blinked a few times, in hopes that the glaze over her eyes might dissipate and she could sober up long enough to be coherent. The effort failed, but she tried. For a split-second, she found enough of her marbles to thank her lucky stars that Equestria does not have elections.
“So, uh, what’s the story today, Spike? Twilight Sparkle beat you to death with a reference book again?”
“No,” Spike replied. “Worse.”
That made the mayor sit up and take notice. Or rather she attempted to sit up, but lost her balance and fell to the floor. Spike ran over to help her up, but she waved off his assistance.
“Ergh,” the Mayor grunted as she slumped back into her chair. “There’s something worse than Twilight Sparkle beating you to death with a reference book?”
“Yes,” Spike began, “It was awful, terrible.”
“Okay, so what is it?” asked the mayor, more insistent this time, as the effects of her beloved drink of questionable legality began to wane.
“So, half a hour ago, I was minding my own business, walking into the library’s reading room, and Twilight… had wings!”
Mayor Mare cocked her head. “You mean she turned herself into a Pegasus? Granted, I wouldn’t put a spell like that past her.”
“No,” Spike shut her down. “She’d turned into…” he gulped, “an Alicorn. An actual Princess with actual authority!”
A chill ran up the mayor’s spine, instantly sobering her up. She shuddered at both the reality of her sudden lack of inebriation and the implication of Spike’s words. “You sure this wasn’t a dream? Or a delusion? Like, maybe Apple Bloom made her latest batch of my Happy Juice too powerful?”
Spike considered this for a moment. “Well, it is true that the last thing I remember before that is talking with you yesterday about how half of Ponyville’s business owners got together and tried to bribe you into not enforcing Princess Celestia’s latest decree requiring businesses be closed on Foal’s Day (a dumb law, I agreed). Then on the way home, Pinkie Pie found me and started talking – her voice was weirdly masculine with a foreign accent… and she said ‘Yes’ at the end of every sentence – rambling about how both the bourgeoisie and the government would tremble and fall to the ideals of the Proletariats’ Revolution or something. Yes.”
Mayor Mare stared at Spike askance. “Huh,” she said, utterly unconvinced. “You killed my buzz for that? I thought we were friends.”
Realizing he was losing his only ally, Spike tried mightily to salvage the situation. “B-but it doesn’t matter what happened yesterday! The point is I saw Twilight with wings today! I haven’t slept since then! How could I?! Twilight might ban sleep, saying we should all devote more time to studying or some dumb thing like that! Would you put that past her? I wouldn’t!” The little dragon slumped down to the floor. In a quieter voice, he lamented, “I should have seen this coming.”
“What do you mean?” asked the mayor.
Spike was ready for this question. “Because Princess Celestia’s latest letter was really cryptic. Something about wanting to send over a present soon and that none of us can ever really escape destiny and could I please send her one of those fancy cakes from Sugarcube Corner and… I think that last part wasn’t meant for Twilight.”
The mayor sighed. “Spike, Spike, Spike. Princess Celestia has ruled this land for longer than any pony can remember. You don’t stay in power at that level for that long if you’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, speaking of which, how is she still around? You know that old legend is about her and Princess Luna, right? And that was like a thousand years ago. I mean, I’ll live that long, ‘cauz I’m a dragon, but most ponies only live for a hundred years, and that’s if they’re lucky. Maybe Alicorns are just special… Oh no! Does that mean I’ll have to be Twilight’s ‘assistant’ for the rest of time?? I don’t know if I can take it!” Spike had flipped from introspective back to panicked in the span of less than five seconds.
The mayor stared at a spot about a foot behind Spike’s head, a look of utter blankness plastered across her face.
Her torpor was interrupted by a knock on the door. Opening it revealed Granny Smith, the ancient matriarch of the Apple Family. Perhaps it was because she had won Ponyville’s only mayoral election… before resigning after less than a month on the job for reasons known only to herself and Celestia, or maybe it was her age, but City Hall employees gave great deference to the old mare – she was allowed to go anywhere in the building she pleased.
Spike greeted the matriarch, who looked ever more like a shrivelled up facsimile of the fruit after which she was named. Indeed, the hoof-made tie quilt draped over her back and the oddly large hat further drove the point home.
“Good morning, Granny Smith,” the mayor said flatly.
“Well, howdy there, Meyer!” replied Granny in a tone far too pleasant and enthusiastic for a pony her (assumed) age. “I was just wonderin’ if I could talk with ya about a little problem we’re havin’ down on the farm?”
“You’re wanting to defer your property tax payment again, aren’t you?” asked Mayor Mare as she glared.
Granny Smith smiled a toothy grin (as she was wearing her dentures today). “Heh. Always one to git right to the point, ain’t ya? Y’know that’s why I had Celestia give ya back yer job; I told ‘er, I said, ‘Ponyville’s in good hooves with this’n’. Now I gotta tell ya, it ain’t easy runnin’ a binness that’s, at its core – heh, apple pun – seasonal. Y’all make yearly taxes due right before the big harvest, when the farm ain’t got no money.”
“Yeah, this sounds boring,” Spike said as he stood up. “I’m outta here. Take care, mayor. I’ll probably see you tomorrow… if we’re not all zapped to bits or forced to be servants by then.”
As Spike passed Granny Smith, a claw on his right foot became entangled in her quilt. By the time he realized it – by its causing him to trip and fall flat on his face – he had pulled the colourful collage of repurposed ties completely off her. Before he could turn to apologize to the aged mare, he heard the mayor fall to the floor.
“I thought you said you were sober now,” Spike admonished his friend.
“I thought I was too,” replied the mayor, whose deep blue eyes reflected confusion and terror as she stared at a point behind Spike.
He turned around and beheld Granny Smith, her withered body now sporting absolutely nothing save for a pair of large folded wings.
Spike tried to speak as best he could with his mouth agape, “G… G… G…” but failed utterly.
Granny Smith glanced at the quilt on the floor, then at her back, and sighed. “I guess the secret’s out, then,” she said in a voice much younger sounding and far less cornpone than anyone in town was used to. She shook her head roughly, causing her hat to fall to the ground, revealing a long Unicorn’s horn. It glowed orange as she levitated the quilt back to herself, neatly folding it in the process.
“How… How… How…?” the mayor attempted to ask.
The secret Alicorn sighed as the quilt continued to hover next to her. “It’s a long story involving Equestrian history, a magical demon, and Celestia’s poor judgement. Maybe one of these days, someone will finish it,” she said, narrowing her eyes at a spot somewhere far beyond the realm of ponies or dragons.
Spike did not hear the end of that, as he was already out the door and on his way out of City Hall. Within less than a minute, the mayor had caught up with him.
“It’s a workday. Shouldn’t you stay in your office?” Spike asked the mayor.
“Spike,” the mayor explained, “You didn’t want to be in a room where Princess Granny Smith…” she shuddered, “is a thing either.”
He nodded. “That’s true.”
As the two reached the front door, they came across Raven Inkwell, the mayor’s loyal but put-upon secretary, having just entered the building with a stack of papers strapped to her back. She halted to peer at them accusingly over her thick-rimmed glasses, whose black stood in stark contrast to her light grey coat.
“I just need some fresh air,” the mayor explained tersely.
“There’s too much crazy in her office right now,” Spike said.
Raven stayed silent, rolling her eyes at what she (correctly) assumed to be another one of her boss’s bizarre antics, thankful that she had saved up enough money from her job to quit if she was ever pushed over the edge. She reached into a nearby ficus for aspirin – years of working for Mayor Mare taught Raven to always be prepared to self-medicate – when *pomf!* her right wing suddenly and involuntarily unfurled.
Spike and the mayor took a step back in shock and fear, as they were reasonably certain Raven was meant to be an Earth-pony.
Raven groaned, a scowl on her face as she tried to manually fold her wing back into place. In doing so, her painstakingly styled dark brown mane shifted to reveal a Unicorn’s horn much smaller than Granny Smith’s. It emitted a dark blue aura that matched neither her brown eyes nor her parchment-coloured cutie mark as she summoned her inkwell and quill to write part of yet another resignation letter she knew she would never hand in.
The Mayor and Spike spied the double door main threshold for City Hall, and passed through it as quickly as they physically could.
Once out on Stirrup Street, as the sun bathed them in its comforting warmth, the two let out a collective sigh as they regarded each other and confirmed their mutual safety. Their relief immediately drooped as they surveyed their surroundings. Dozens of Ponyville citizens were going about their daily lives; all of them sported either wings or horns or both that they had not had before. Shadows danced across the road as far too many ponies took to the skies.
Without saying a word, Spike and the mayor walked into a nearby alleyway normally used only by cats, rodents, and criminals.
“You saw all that, right?” Spike asked. Given the mayor’s history, it made sense to ask.
Mayor Mare nodded. “I think… the better question is, did we see what we think we saw?” She began to sweat. “Is this a dream? If so, whose? Am I in your dream? Are you in mine? A-am I real? Where’s Apple Bloom??”
“I’m right here, Mayor!” the eponymous filly chirped as she suddenly popped up in front of her. “How can I help ya?”
The mayor and Spike turned to face Apple Bloom. She sported a pair of tiny yellow wings; a similarly-coloured horn had at some point appeared in the middle of her forehead, interrupting the flow of her red coif.
Just then, a voice no one in Ponyville ever wanted to hear boomed out, its volume and resonance magically enhanced beyond the point of acceptability.
“SPIKE!! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!!! YOU’RE IN A LOT OF TROUBLE! HOW DARE YOU WRITE A LETTER TO PRINCESS CELESTIA ABOUT THE ‘ALICORN SCOURGE’ AND DEMAND SHE SEND IN THE VALKYRIES!!”
Once Mayor Mare’s ears had stopped ringing, she turned to Spike, who had fainted, foam forming out of the corners of his mouth. Her main ally gone, she looked to Apple Bloom and explained herself.
“Next ‘juice’ order, cut down a lot on the poke-berries.”
Apple Bloom considered this and nodded. “You got it. Anything else?”
“Yes,” the mayor replied. She pointed her right hoof at a spot in the middle of her hornless forehead. “Shoot me. Right here. I’d like to wake up from this nightmare, please.”
The day was cool yet sunny, not uncommon for Fall. A brisk wind blew its way through Ponyville, forming tiny vortices as it hit buildings and odd-angled alleyways. Some warm-natured ponies had begun applying layers to cope.
Spike, as a dragon, needed no layers – after all, his was a species that could and did bathe in molten rock; insulation works both ways. Also the fire-breath, though that tended to land him in trouble. For example, Spike had been dusting the bookshelves for Twilight the other day when he sneezed and vaporized Golden Oaks Library’s only copy of the “F” volume of the Encyclopædia Equestria. Twilight was naturally livid – now ponies (read: her) could no longer look up information about Foals, Ferriers, Fetlocks, or Feldspars. As punishment, Spike was ordered to sit in the middle of the floor and contemplate his toes while Twilight went out to buy a fireproof muzzle.
Of course, the minute Twilight had closed the door behind her, Spike left his spot and made nachos. He had long stopped caring about Twilight’s reprimands, since they were the same whether a book was irreplaceable or common.
As he sat on the floor messily eating his snack – he at least had respect enough for the library’s books along the walls to not sully them with food – his euphoria was broken by a knock at the door.
“Who’s that?” Spike asked no one in particular. As keeper of Twilight’s schedule, he knew she was out meeting with Rarity and the other four, so he was not expecting any visitors. He tossed the plate of nachos into the air and caught it in his mouth, which unhinged horrifically to swallow it, plate and all. After waking two steps toward the door, he coughed up the plate, burping immediately after, enveloping it in flame before it hit the floor, ferrying it straight to Princess Celestia.
“Hope she likes the plate,” he said nonchalantly as he reached to the door handle.
On the other side of the threshold stood a nondescript grey Earth-pony mare with dark eyes, a dark brown mane tied into a bun, large glasses, and a red scarf. Spike recognized her as Mayor Meyer Mare’s longtime (very put-upon) secretary.
“Raven? Hi,” Spike said, holding in a burp that, if released, could have inadvertently sent her on a one-way trip to Canterlot Castle. “What can I do for you?”
Raven, never one to beat around the bush, adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. “Spike, your presence at City Hall is requested.”
Spike cocked his head in confusion. “Usually the Mayor sends me a letter or something early in the day if she needs me.”
“This is… my request,” Raven said with a pained expression, shutting her eyes.
“Yours? That’s unu…” Spike pondered aloud before connecting the dots. “What did she do?”
The conversation continued as the two walked the short distance to City Hall.
“She discovered that a certain arrogant, stuck-up, overweight Unicorn with whom she has exchanged harsh words in the past is eligible to become the next Prime Minister,” Raven said in a tone that assumed Spike knew more of the context than he did.
“Twilight?” asked Spike, serious. After all, Twilight was the only daughter of a mid-ranking Noble family and the Mayor’s dislike of his ‘boss’ was well-known to everyone except Twilight herself.
Raven blinked at Spike. “No. The prospect is a businesspony named Orangeglow.”
Spike nodded in recognition. “Isn’t that the guy who hosted that travelling contest where a bunch of ponies try to run one of his businesses? And then got quoted in the national newspapers saying a bunch of nasty things about Gryphons?”
“To the point that Griffonstone lodged an official complaint with Canterlot. Yes, that’s him,” Raven said with a nod. “He isn’t a member of Nobility or even of the Equestrian Senate. He claims to be one of the richest ponies in Equestria, but no one has been able to prove it in thirty years.”
“Okay. So what does any of this has to do with me?” Spike asked.
“The Mayor has been laugh-crying nonstop for the past two hours at the thought of someone like him becoming the most powerful pony in Equestria (aside from the Princesses). She hasn’t done any work. Papers are piling up. I’m unable to snap her out of it. Help me,” Raven said in as pleading a voice as she could.
“Isn’t this a job better suited to Apple Bloom?” Spike asked with a sigh.
Raven shook her head. “Leaving aside the fact that she’s in school right now, I believe her recent altering of the formula for her so-called ‘happy juice’ has made the Mayor worse.”
“Ah,” Spike said.
The two reached City Hall and immediately made their way up the two flights of stairs to the Mayor’s office. When they reached Raven’s writing desk – currently cluttered with unsorted papers, much to her dismay – they found Granny Smith shuffling away from the office towards them.
“Greetings, Madame Granny Smith,” Raven said pleasantly out of respect for the ancient mare who had for just one month been the best boss she ever had. “What brings you here?”
Granny Smith broke into a great smile. “Well now, I’ll tell y’all. I came here to see the Mayor and she weren’t actin’ right. Figger’d she was hungry. So I whipped up some o’ my special secret recipe Zap-Apple pie for ‘er – an’ she fell right asleep like a li’l foal.”
“You… put her to sleep?” Spike and Raven both asked, stunned. From the office, they could hear loud snoring.
Granny Smith nodded, pleased with herself. “Yep! Bein’ mayor’s a tough job, an’ Meyer ain’t gettin’ enough sleep ta be able ta do it right. Prolly got a lot on ‘er mind. So I figger’d I’d help ‘er out!”
Spike stood in the middle of the landing, dumbstruck, as Raven slowly made her way to her desk, sat on the stool, cleared away some of the papers, and banged her head no fewer than a dozen times against its wooden surface.
Eventually, once Granny Smith had made her way out of the building and Raven had taken several aspirin for her newfound headache, Spike gave his assessment of the situation:
“This was pointless. Still better than Twilight’s punishments.”
A crisp wind blew through the streets of central Ponyville, perhaps heralding the vaunted ‘three months of Winter coolness and awesome holidays’ the town leaders relied upon to keep its citizens satisfied with their existence. After all, a happy populace is a populace not storming your office with pitchforks and torches.
Spike bopped down the main street as quickly as his stubby baby dragon legs could carry him. Several times he found himself nearly being run over by an unobservant stallion or some even less observant mare pulling a wagon, prompting him to mutter under his breath about mare drivers. But even that could not faze him, as this day would be a good day – the newest issue of Power Ponies Ultra (a spinoff of the original) had dropped and, as a regular subscription holder, he stood a fair chance of getting a copy with the legendary holofoil cover.
However, to make sure of landing the prize, he needed to get to the comic store – The Pondroid’s Dungeon – as soon as it opened. This meant skipping out on his chore for the morning, cleaning out the owl cage. Spike had long since made his piece with Twilight Sparkle’s second assistant, but he still didn’t much like the bird. After all, birds are messy; carnivorous birds are even messier. Of course, cleaning would be a joke if he could simply use flame breath to burn the mess into tiny briquettes, which would also kill any harmful bacteria. Alas, Twilight banned it, not because it was a violation of fire codes, but because she feared smoke damage to her books – not the library’s books (which were owned by the citizenry regardless of Twilight’s opinion on the matter); her books, kept on a completely separate floor.
Before leaving Golden Oaks, he had left a note for Twilight saying “How about you clean up after him for once!”. He had calculated that her needing to process such blatant disrespect would buy him more time than no note at all.
Spike noticed the large clock on City Hall’s central tower; he had just ten minutes before the comic shop opened, so he poured every ounce of energy he could into his run. Just as he had made it past the building’s main entrance, he crashed full-force into someone. Once his head and eyes stopped spinning, he realized his unlucky victim was Apple Bloom.
The yellow filly lay in a crumpled mess on the ground for a moment, her red mane draped across the grass, trademark pink bow off kilter. Luckily for both of them, she eventually got back on her hooves. Spike saw she looked much worse for wear even accounting for his collision; her eyes had noticeable bags.
“Sorry about that, Apple Bloom,” Spike said, feeling genuinely sorry.
Apple Bloom needed another minute for her eyes to refocus on her surroundings. Once they did, her entire body perked up, but not in a manner suggesting she was pleased to see him. Or anyone. In fact, she appeared to be terrified.
“Spike! Thank Celestia you’re here!” she cried, frantic. “I was just ‘bout ta call ya!”
“Uh, okay. Why?”
Apple Bloom hung her head, eyes closed, for a second. When she looked back to Spike, she had an expression similar to what the navigator of the EMB Everfree likely had when he was forced to inform his captain that he had inadvertently guided Equestria’s greatest ship into an iceberg.
“I swear I was only doin’ what I was told to!” she insisted.
Spike narrowed his gaze in a bid for more context, which she soon gave.
“I’ve been outta school for the past couple days makin’ more Happy Juice fer the Mayor ‘cause she said she’d pay me once I was done! Well this mornin’ I brought up the first batch for her an’ she jus’ took it an’…”
“And what?” Spike prompted.
“…an’ she started mixin’ it with a big ol’ bottle of fortified Ponyville Nog!”
This answer made Spike roll his eyes. “So? Everyone knows Mayor Mare likes mixed drinks. You’re not turning into a prude like your sister, are you?”
“No!” Apple Bloom cried a bit louder than necessary. “That ain’t it! Do ya know what goes in ta each o’ those drinks?”
“No,” admitted Spike, shaking his head.
“I do. An’ if what I’ve learned from Zecora’s potion-making lessons is even halfway right, the liquids and gases in those drinks ‘re super-volatile in combination! All it needs is a spark, an’ she’s fixed herself up a bomb!”
Spike’s eyes widened at this. “We need to get up to her office!” he said.
The dragon and filly raced into the City Hall, completely ignoring the main floor receptionist’s attempts to stop them as they reached the creaky wooden staircase. With all the speed of Rainbow Dash at mealtime, they made their way up to the third storey in record time – would have been even faster had they both not had such stubby legs.
Just past the landing sat Mayor Mare’s personal secretary, Raven, at her desk. She peered down at the two diminutive visitors, immediately inferring there was a reason why they had appeared. Seeing the looks of panic on their faces, she could only shut her eyes and facehoof when thinking of what her boss could possibly have done this time.
Spike and Apple Bloom took Raven’s silence as an invitation to pass her and enter the mayor’s office, the door to which was closed for once – never a good sign.
Using themselves as tiny battering rams, they busted down the door, making sure to close it behind them for they were not savages, only to find Mayor Mare sitting at her desk as usual, eyes even more glassed-over than normal. She stared at her two visitors for several minutes while her brain – what was left of it, at any rate – attempted to process the image being relayed to its visual cortex.
“Ohai, Shpaaaaa,” the mayor slurred pleasantly, a goofy grin plastered across her face.
“It’s worse than I thought,” Spike stage-whispered to Apple Bloom. “Good thing you found me when you did.”
“Yeah, so, what’re we gonna do?” asked Apple Bloom.
Spike pursed his lips as his brows furrowed in deep thought. “Well, first things first, we need to get the sauce away from her.”
He motioned to two glass bottles on her desk, one of which was once filled with Apple Bloom’s so-called ‘Happy Juice’ (of which only about a quarter remained), the other a milky yellow substance full of black flecks. Both emitted visible stink lines that curled around themselves near the ceiling in a twisted infernal ballet, creating minuscule sparks that fizzled after a microsecond once they touched.
Unfortunately, once he hopped up on the desk to take one of the bottles, Mayor Mare was ready for him… with a second glass.
“Ye don’… khumm an’ gejjurshelf a dhreeenk! Sh’ gooooood shhhhhii~,” the Mayor attempted to say. “Shwear, Aal-vluum izzza graaaaaytt misher. Have yershelf a li’l glash uh…”
Spike turned to Apple Bloom, who had reared herself up on her hind hooves to better see over the top of the desk. “She stopped speaking.”
Apple Bloom cocked her head, unsure. “Spike, does her face look kinda green to you?”
A quick glance back to the mayor allowed him to confirm this. Her cheeks seemed puffy too, and her eyes resembled those of Ponyville’s friendly-but-useless cockeyed grey postmare. Once the import of this became apparent, he immediately assumed a look of concern. “We should probably go,” he said.
Just then, the door was blasted off its hinges, flying at the trio and just barely missing them but shattering the two bottles of liquor, whose liquids spilled all over the desk and cascaded onto the wooden floor, mingling like star-crossed lovers as they permeated the poorly-sealed planks. Spike and Apple Bloom had ducked, but Mayor Mare continued to sit in her chair, unmoving as her face resembled the colour of oak leaves in Spring.
Neither Spike nor Apple Bloom needed to look to the door to know who had intruded, but they did anyway. Sure enough, in the damaged threshold stood a beyond-livid Twilight Sparkle, unicorn horn already aglow with an attack spell she needed only speak a power-word to unleash.
“Spike!” Twilight bellowed. “You are in big trouble this time! How dare you tell me to care for my own pet!! And now you’ve got sweet little Apple Bloom acting as your accomplice and hiding out in City Hall?! Oh once I tell Princess Celestia about this you’ll be so gr…”
As Twilight continued to rant, Mayor Mare leaned forward across her desk until she was directly facing Twilight, who took no notice. Spike, sensing what was coming, jumped off the desk and grabbed Apple Bloom in a protective embrace, eventually pushing themselves toward the wall. Apple Bloom, thoroughly confused, mouthed words of questioning but no sound escaped her lips.
Finally, the Mayor could take no more. All of her mistakes came spilling out of her, green with regret, directly into Twilight’s face.
Spike took this opportunity to usher Apple Bloom and himself from the room and out of City Hall, where they found Raven already standing in the street.
“What’re you doin’ out here?” Apple Bloom asked the secretary.
“I have enough life experience to know to run the other way whenever Twilight is on the warpath,” Raven replied with a frown.
“Heh, nice,” Spike said with a half-chuckle, “It took me years to figure that out, and I live with her.”
All as one, the three turned their heads skyward to the Mayor’s Office, its corner windows closed to block out the elements and the occasional angry screams of the townsponies. For a moment, calm prevailed, an uneasy quiet lessened only by the random noise of the street.
Then the room exploded.
Ponies in the vicinity scattered like cockroaches as they tried desperately to avoid being crushed by the massive chunks of wood and plaster crashing around them. Spike did not move, as his thick dragon scales made him impervious to just about everything, and because he had stopped caring. Raven and Apple Bloom, meanwhile, ran to a spot in the middle of the wide unpaved avenue where a crumpled brown figure lay in a pathetic heap a few feet away from some debris.
“Meyer! Meyer! Are you okay??” Raven near-screamed, her face etched with profound worry. Neither Spike nor Apple Bloom had ever heard such emotion in her voice before.
Spike slowly sauntered up to the prone body of Ponyville’s mayor. “Hey, Mayor. You alright?”
Mayor Mare coughed, releasing another round of verdant regret into the street. Then she hiccuped.
He turned to the worried mare and filly, saying simply, “Yeah, she’s gonna be fine.”
“Mayor! Mayor! It’s awful! Horrible!” Apple Bloom cried as she burst into the mayor’s office on the third floor of Ponyville City Hall, recently repaired (again) from its latest building-shattering explosion.
Mayor Meyer Mare looked up from the budget proposal she wasn’t reading, her eyes glassed over thanks to a nearly empty crystal bottle formerly filled with some rank brown liquid, sporting a logo with an apple adorned with a bow, the personal symbol of her underage benefactor. “Apple Bloom,” she slurred.
“Uh, yes ma’am,” the filly responded, taken off guard by the mayor’s lack of emotion.
“Do you have my latest batch of ‘Happy Juice’ ready?”
“Uh… it’s distillin’ now,” said Apple Bloom. “Should be ready in a day or so.
The mayor attempted to narrow her eyes menacingly, but only succeeded in closing them, losing her balance, and falling out of her chair, landing on the floor with a loud thump. Once she heaved herself back up into her standard position, she tried to glare at Apple Bloom again, but her lolling head suggested her unfocused gaze was landing pretty much everywhere but its intended target.
“Then why are you here?” the mayor appeared to ask a coat rack.
Apple Bloom turned to the coat rack that the Mayor had named Henry, which said nothing, for it preferred to remain quiet most of the time, then back to Ponyville’s official top executive.
“Uh, Mayor, I’m here ‘cauz Twilight’s gone berserk. Again.”
Mayor Mare leaned forward, then gravity took over as she smacked her face on her desk. She then repeated the gesture three more times.
“Who made her mad this time?” the Mayor asked, still slurred but an unusually lucid question considering her level of inebriation.
“I don’t know!” Apple Bloom cried. “Me an’ AJ just went over to the library an’ she was goin’ on some rant about some pony named Soulfire or somethin’ and how he always wrote stories about her and made her the antagonist… whatever that means.”
“An antofagasta… antigone… uh…” Mayor Mare attempted to say.
At that point, her secretary Raven stuck her head into the office to offer assistance. “Antagonist, mayor.”
“Yeah, Antagonistmayor,” slurred the mayor, who was not an antagonist, at least not intentionally. “An antagonistmayor izza bad guy. Sorta. Unless the story is about a bad guy, then the antagonistmayor izze good guy. Or somethin’.”
Apple Bloom turned to Raven. “I-is she okay? She seems… less with-it than normal. Even for her.”
Raven shook her head. “Poor dear. Like every mayor and local lord-noble in Equestria, she has been dealing with letter after letter of bizarre, contradictory, and probably illegal regulatory decrees from Prime Minister Orangeglow. For instance, the one that came in just two weeks ago that bans citizens of the Crystal Empire from travelling to or through Equestria. Or the one that directs authorities to close every medical clinic in the land and give each former staff member a kick up the arse, followed by taking lady nurses aside and groping them in the… I refuse to finish that sentence in the presence of a child.”
“I see. Bein’ mayor is tougher ‘n I thought,” Apple Bloom said. “Guess that’s why Granny decided to not do it.”
“Your exalted grandmother had other reasons for leaving her post after the election. But I am sworn to secrecy as to what those reasons are,” Raven said.
“Uh-huh,” said Apple Bloom. Then she perked up as she remembered the formerly derailed chain of conversation. “Oh! Right! So Applejack tried to console Twilight, and she just got angrier and angrier. Started zappin’ out windows, destroyin’ the statues. Pretty sure she melted the kitchen.”
“You mean she melted the appliances?” Raven asked for clarification.
“No. She melted the kitchen. Stove, fridge, walls, everything! I didn’t even know you could melt wood! When we asked where Spike was, Twilight let out this scream louder than a rooster at the crack o’ dawn, an’ this huge ball of magic came out of her an’ knocked all the books off the shelves. Well, at that point, me and big sis hightailed it outta there. I figured the mayor needed to know.”
The two ponies looked over to the mayor, who had fallen asleep at her desk, a puddle of drool slowly pooling beneath her mouth as she snored loudly.
Raven sighed. “She’s literally the best this town has,” she said, motioning over to the zonked out Mayor Mare. “Your Granny Smith aside, I refuse to work for any pony else but Meyer.”
“I’ve lived in this town all my life,” Apple Bloom said. “I believe ya.”
“So. Where exactly is Spike?” asked Raven.
“I don’t know! Twilight kicked it up a notch as soon as we mentioned his name, so I know somethin’ must’ve happened,” Apple Bloom answered.
“I’m on strike,” said Spike, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
The two conscious ponies turned around in surprise. Mayor Mare burped.
Apple Bloom cocked her head at Spike. “Whaddaya mean you’re on strike?”
“Twilight’s not the only one sick and tired of the treatment she gets,” Spike said. “Though, to be honest, she deserves it a lot more than I do.”
“I was under the impression that we treated you rather well as a counterpoint to Twilight’s constant abuse,” Raven interjected.
“Well, you do,” admitted Spike. “And I’m glad to have you two and the mayor here as friends. It keeps me going. But, whenever I’m not with you three, I’m being subjected to the stupidest things. Did you know I had to endure a dream courtesy of Discord where every pony exploded and…?”
“Well, that’s Discord for ya,” Apple Bloom interrupted.
“Or that I had to talk Twilight back from the brink because Celestia got drunk and outlawed basic grammar?”
“I… don’t really remember that.”
“Or the time that every pony except the mayor turned into an Alicorn and Twilight went berserk?”
Apple Bloom levelled a glare at him. “I warned ya not ta drink any of the Mayor’s special holiday ‘Happy Juice’ blend, no matter how much she invited ya to. I made it extra strong at her request. That ain’t my fault!”
“Or when I had to rescue the Friendship Express train engineer from a blast crater because everyone else forgot about him?”
Raven cleared her throat. “We understand you’re upset. But how does this all translate to you ‘going on strike’?”
Spike sighed. “I’m tired. Tired of all the abuse, tired of all the insanity, tired of Twilight’s constant screaming. I just want to take some time off and go somewhere far away until I can finally calm my nerves. To the Crystal Empire. They love me there. Cadance said I’m welcome whenever, so I wrote her a note.”
Apple Bloom and Raven looked at Spike, then to the mayor, then out the window where they could see flashes of magenta magic spark down the street, then back to Spike. A pregnant pause passed before the two ladies spoke.
“Take us with you!!” they said.
Spike pondered for a moment. “Sure. Why not? I’m sure Cadance has extra bedrooms in that palace of hers. May as well pick up a ticket for the mayor too. Leaving her alone with Twilight and no backup is probably a bad idea.”
“Should I leave the train ticket on her desk for when she wakes up, or do we take her with us?” Raven asked.
“Hmm…” Spike thought as he scratched his chin while sizing up his passed-out friend. “Let’s drag her along. She’s so out of it right now that nothing’s gonna wake her up.”
Mayor Mare let out a hiccup.
“Well, that settles that,” said Apple Bloom. “Should I tell my family we’re joinin’ ya on strike?”
Spike stared at her like she’d grown an extra head. “No. What would be the point of that? We leave the story without telling anyone!”
“What story?” Raven and Apple Bloom asked.
Spike slapped his forehead. “Best you don’t know, and don’t ask.”
Ten minutes later, Spike, Apple Bloom, Raven, and a still-unconscious Mayor Mare sat on the train station platform as Ponyville burned in the distance, but they did not care in the least, for their tickets to the Crystal Empire had been bought and stamped… and had no return date.
“Should be any minute now,” Raven said, checking her watch.
Off in the distance, a massive explosion somewhere in the vicinity of City Hall – likely at City Hall – sent a deep rumble through the entire area as a massive column of black smoke rose from the site.
“That… might’ve been my distillery. I sorta kinda set it up behind City Hall so big sis wouldn’t see it,” Apple Bloom said with a blush.
“Eh. Not our problem anymore,” said Spike flippantly.
Raven nodded sagely. “Much as I hate to agree, the dragon has a point.”
Mayor Mare, propped up against their few pieces of luggage, groaned incoherently as she slid onto her side and began burbling.
Soon enough, the train rolled into the station. The conductor, sporting scars from his previous encounter with unreality, helped them load Mayor Mare into the first-class car, whereupon they were greeted warmly by the engineer, still clad in bandages and burns from the same unfortunate incident.
“Thanks for setting us up like this, guys,” Spike said as nicely as he could, which wasn’t much, but at least he tried.
“Think nothing of it. You saved my life,” said the engineer before he limped back to his controls.
“Also, your accommodation comes courtesy of the ruler of the Crystal Empire,” said the conductor. “I assume you sent word ahead of time about your intention to visit, as we received an urgent note from Her Highness directing we give you and your friends top-class treatment.”
“Well, even if I’m on strike, it’s rude to drop in on Cadance unannounced,” Spike said. “Don’t care about anyone else, but she deserves my manners.”
“Hey, this is a whole lot better than that time we stowed away on here, ain’t it, Spike?” Apple Bloom said rhetorically.
“Yeah,” Spike agreed with a contented sigh as he stretched his legs out along the plush seat as Raven gave the two of them a disappointed glare.
Mayor Mare, strapped onto another plush velvet seat across the aisle, simply snored as visions of pickled plums danced in her head.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” the conductor said before clearing his throat and calling out “ALL ABOARD!!”
Final boarding call given, the Friendship Express slowly started up its engines again, its gears and wheels turning more and more rapidly as the train picked up speed, leaving Ponyville and beginning its multi-day journey to the promised land in the north.
