Chapters “Welcome to the Hayburger, home of the hayburger, can I take your order?” Tirek monotonous intoned, having evoked the boilerplate greeting for the umpteenth dozenth time that afternoon. Trying not to openly glower down at the portly stallion, as he browsed the obscenely displayed menu of junk food, he forced a grin.
"I'll have two number nines, a number nine large, a number six with extra dip, a number seven, two number forty-fives..." the corpulent stallion droned, prattling off an order which easily explained his rotund and possibly diabetic state.
Scribbling furiously on the slip of paper, doing his level best not to miss any items, the centaur clenched his jaw. It was only his second week on the job and, though he’d grown accustomed to dealing with the insufferable atmosphere of the eatery, his vitriol had grown by the day. It wasn’t like he chose to endure a minimum wage career, surrounded by screaming foals, obstinate patrons, and ponies who didn’t know how to properly use the restroom - no, he’d been forced to.
Upon release from his stony prison, he’d been elated - that was, until he found out that his liberation had several strings attached. For starters, he had to stay within the city limits of Ponyville, surrounded by the Elements of Harmony, the Princess of Friendship, and a whole host of creatures who knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of doing - secondly, and more troublingly, he’d been conscripted to take a job at the Hayburger, since the rent for his shoe box-like apartment required that he pay rent.
A clearing throat caught his ear, snapping him from his lamentable ruminations and causing him to blink over at the customer. “Anything else ?”
Thoughtfully rubbing one of his innumerable chins, possibly mulling over the option of ordering something else to expedite his inevitable coronary, the stallion eventually nodded. “And a large soda.”
“That’ll be…” Tirek trailed off, tabulating the final cost of the gargantuan order. Though he prayed the purchase was for a family, the patron’s tubby aesthetic left him to assume it was a meal for one. “Forty three bits.”
The stallion rummaged about in his saddle bag, heedlessly dropping a colorful detritus of napkins, candy wrappers, and what looked like a sullied sock to the floor, before eventually producing the payment. As the centaur extended a hand, allowing the customer to drop the coins in his palm, he winced; the currency was partially coated in some unholy amalgamation of what he could only assume was nougat and chocolate - at least, he prayed it was nougat and chocolate.
The dubious hygiene of the gluttonous consumers and his painfully inept coworkers was galling, because not a single one of them was making use of their potential. Each and every one of the colorful equines was a waste, being wholly content to squander their lives in ignorance and/or hedonism; it was disgusting, quite frankly, and it made him resent them all the more. If ponies actually attempted to better themselves, dedicating some portion of their time to study or the improvement of their health, he felt certain that they’d be much, much happier.
He’d initially tried to convince several of his workmates to join him for some exercise, on their off days or after shifts, but not a single one had taken him up on the offer. He’d heard all manner of excuses from the lazy creatures, ranging from being tired to wanting to socialize, heightening his disdain for the overly friendly equines. If he could find the time to take care of himself, despite living the bachelor life and toiling at a den of greasy indulgence, anypony could.
His days all started the same; well before dawn, prior to the sun rising, he would jog across town and to the gym. Once at his destination, he would lift for nearly an hour, run home, shower, and prepare for his shift. The lifestyle he’d adopted was a trial, especially since his healthy diet and his membership at the fitness center took a considerable amount of his pitiable paychecks, but it was worth it.
Terrible job notwithstanding, he figured things could be worse - after all, at least he wasn’t suffering through a nightmarish eternity as a pitstop and restroom for pigeons. He had a roof over his head, a semi-stocked larder, and he was able to meet with his former companions to bemoan their pitiable conditions - still, things were less than ideal. As badly as he would have liked to rampage about town, siphoning energy from his tormentors and laying waste to Ponyville, it simply wasn’t an option.
Shortly after he’d been freed, he’d been lectured by Twilight Sparkle on the conditions of his release. Any signs of subterfuge or clandestine dealings would result in a thorough investigation, while rebellious or treasonous acts against the Equestrian empire would see him imprisoned immediately. In spite of the Princess’ charitable decision to set him and his cohorts loose, it was by no means a full pardon.
He honestly couldn’t say if he’d ever be able to wreak vengeance upon the detestable equines, since he was being watched nearly constantly. Shaking his head, attempting to clear his thoughts, he deposited the sullied bits into the cash registered, blindly handed the order back to the cook, and pinched the bridge of his snout.
“Welcome to the Hayburger, home of the hayburger, can I take your-”
“I'll take a double triple bossy deluxe, on a raft, four by four animal style, extra shingles with a shimmy and a squeeze, light axle grease, make it cry, burn it…” the next customer rudely interrupted, nonsensically ordering some abomination or an off-menu item or possible summoning an eldritch deity.
Tirek sighed, numbly smiling and nodding, as he frantically jotted everything down. Be darned if he knew what the tubby patron was trying to buy, but he didn’t care; he’d stopped caring ages ago. As much as he hated his job, he’d much rather be dealing with difficult diners than putting up with what Chrysalis had to face...
“Oh my gosh ! Did you hear about Prince Blueblood?” the svelte, supine mare asked, grinning cheekily to herself. Turning to her left, lifting a cucumber from one eye, she peered over at her companion. “I heard he was caught flirting with one of the Yak ambassadors!”
The similarly pampered mare, reclining next to her friend, bolted up and waved her free hoof. “Shut up! Blueblood?!”
“Ya-ha!” the first confirmed. Nodding enthusiastically, she launched into a scandalous tale about the affluent stallion’s supposedly dubious penchant for large, hairy, muscular bovines, while utterly ignoring the glowering attendant who loomed over them.
Silently holding one of the obnoxious pony’s hooves, carefully administering a pedicure, Queen Chrysalis glanced over at the clock. Her brow furrowed, realizing she was only fifteen minutes into the duo’s hour-long session. For a great many of her coworkers, listening to all the juicy gossip was even better than the pay itself, but rumors and hearsay did nothing but evoke her ire.
She’d initially thought that taking a job at the La Di Da Spa would be a cake walk - sadly, she’d been dead wrong. When she wasn’t catering to patrons, fetching them towels or tending to their hooves, she was stuck dolling out massages to the indulgent, spoiled egoists who assumed that their money or looks were inherently linked to their value - that wasn’t to say that beauty and money didn’t have an impact on one’s worth, but the ponies who visited the beauty salon were anything but beautiful.
Compared to herself, each of the infuriating equines was a philistine, which made her position all the more demeaning. Mares would come and go, giggling about how gorgeous one another were or proudly boasting about the costly gifts they were lavished with - all the while wholly ignorant to the superior creature serving them. The entire situation sickened her to the core, leaving her nauseous on a great many evenings.
Her freedom had been some sick, twisted design by that infernal Starlight Glimmer, she just knew it - why else would she have been consigned to such lowly, unfitting work. She was a Queen, a higher rank than any of the pony nobility, yet she’d been reduced to that of some unsavory, sycophantic peasant . Dwelling on her unfortunate turn of luck, losing check of her temper, she bore down just a bit too hard with her emery board.
“Watch it!” the mare barked, snatching her hoof away. “Are you even trained properly? I swear, this place will hire anypony!”
Literally biting her tongue, lest she unleash a scathing diatribe, Chrysalis inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and slowly exhaled. “My apologies.”
“One more slip up like that and I will speak to your manager,” the petulant pony huffed, only reluctantly offering her limb to the changeling.
Though the deposed matriarch didn’t show it, the downright contempt she felt for the spa’s clientele was unfathomable. Nearly all of the business’ patrons were conceited and insufferable, with even the most humble being barely tolerable. Unlike herself, who actually deserved to be worshiped, the ponies she was constantly surrounded by were delusional beyond belief and were practically begging to be subjugated.
Yes, she had plans for the loathsome equines, big plans, though she had no way of knowing if or when she’d be able to enact them. Shackled as she was, with eyes almost constantly upon her, she could do little more than grin and bear it. If she spoke out of line, she was chastised - all the ponies in town knew one another, so attempting to transform and flee would be virtually impossible - and she needed her job, unless she wanted to find herself in an even more horrible situation.
As shameful as it was to admit, her tiny apartment was far, far better than eking out a living in the woods or living in a shelter. Her sole comfort, aside from the central heat and air of her abode, was the fact that she had access to all manner of sweets and pastries. As much as she despised the simpering ponies, there was no denying their astounding baking skills.
Before work, each and every morning, she’d treat herself to a freshly baked scone or muffin from Sugarcube Corner. Once she was finished with her shift, depending on how terrible it was, she’d reward herself for not throttling anypony with a cupcake or brownie. She hated herself for hemorrhaging a considerable amount of her paycheck at the bakery, but their confections were therapeutic and afforded her a bit of therapeutic relief.
Though their adopted daughter was particularly unbearable, the Cakes had proven themselves to be moderately tolerable, if only just. Mrs. Cake had even gone so far as to begin expecting her visits, greeting her fondly and even giving her the occasional gift on the house. The somewhat portly mare was one of the few she would spare, after she inevitably reared a new hive and razed Ponyville to the bedrock.
“Hey,” one of the snooty mares arrogantly called, drawing her attention. “I need a new hot towel.”
“Just a moment, Miss,” Chrysalis smoothly intoned, setting the emery board down. Trotting towards the nearest supply closet, uttering a string of very colorful expletives to herself, she went to fulfill the trivial task.
When the time came that she flipped the tables, crushing Equestria under her hoof, she’d set things right. She would be the one getting pampered, ponies would worship and praise the ground she walked on, and only then would the deluded and foolish ponies know their place - save for Cozy. Thinking of the little filly, a cold chill ran up her spine.
Of the malicious trio, the pint-sized pegasus had suffered the worst fate. Tirek’s job wasn’t great, leaving him weary and reeking of frying oil; hers wasn’t much better, giving her frequent migraines and keeping her in a persistently sour mood, but those paled in comparison to what they’d done for the curly maned megalomaniac. In a rare moment of weakness, she silently prayed her fellow fiend was withstanding her torturous circumstances...
Crossing the street and moving down the sidewalk, Cozy glow made a hard left and trotted towards the first house she happened upon. The neighborhood was new and likely filled with possibilities to make bits, but the thought did little to comfort her - no, if anything, knowing she’d be subjected to yet more unfamiliar ponies caused a knot to form in her stomach.
As she wheeled a little red wagon behind herself, stopping just shy of the building’s threshold, she paused. Her past experiences had led her to believe there were two types of ponies who answered the door, though one sort was far less grating than the other. Steeling herself, putting on the biggest, broadest smile she could muster, she fluttered up and rang the doorbell.
Waiting patiently on the doorstep, hearing a quartet of hooves steadily clip-clopping nearer, she slowly exhaled. Sure enough, after a hoofful of seconds, the door swung open to reveal a middle aged, unicorn mare. She had no idea who the pony was, nor did she care who the pony was, but her beaming face never faltered. The resident, standing a full head and shoulders taller than herself, scanned the front yard, before eventually peering down at her diminutive visitor.
“Golly, I hope I’m not bothering you,” Cozy began, hitting the unicorn with the tried and true puppy dog eyes tactic, “but I was wondering if you’d like to buy some fillyscout cookies!”
The mare leapt forward, out of her home, and wrapped her arms around her. It was a surprise attack, one which took her woefully off guard, but she quickly composed herself. There weren’t many who were brazen or foolish enough to aggressively hug a complete stranger, and it was rarer still for somepony to accost an unknown filly, but Ponyville seemed to be rife with unnecessarily affectionate imbeciles - that being said, it made her job all too easy.
Gingerly pushing herself away, forcing herself to grin from ear to ear, she eventually broke clear of the mare’s clutches. “So I can mark you down for a -”
“Aren’t you the cutest little thing?” the unicorn interrupted, rudely pinching the filly’s cheeks.
Finding her face veritably smashed between the mare’s hooves, Cozy’s earlier question was answered - the resident was the most insufferable sort of potential customer. By and large, townsponies would either politely turn her offer of mass produced confections away, thwarting her attempt to huck product, or buy a few boxes from her. Paradoxically, the most unbearable ponies were often her best customers, leaving her in a tricky situation.
On one hoof, she wanted to sell as many of the cheap, poorly made cookies as possible; the quicker she sold her supply, the quicker she’d be done for the day - the quicker she was done for the day, the faster she could distract herself from the unfortunate turn her life had taken. It was a travesty, knowing a genius like herself was being wasted on such childish affairs, but therein lay one of the problems - she was a child. She was a filly, for all intents and purposes, and society insisted on treating her as such.
Due to her age, unlike her former teammates, she’d been relegated to mandatory service with the local fillyscout troop. The job , if it could be called such, was painfully simple - she sold cookies for the organization and, in turn, they paid for her living expenses. Within the first day of her indentured service, she’d outperformed all of her fellow members.
Between her adorable aesthetic and her ability to play the part of a sweet, innocent, fillyscout to a T, she was the perfect little salespony, but there was a catch - she absolutely hated everything about the setup. Not only did she have to routinely serve with other scouts, but she had to attend their meetings, wear their uniforms, and sell their revolting pastries - still, those weren’t nearly as bad as having to deal with the public. Since she’d begun her work , a day hadn’t passed when she wasn’t left unmolested by denizens of Ponyville.
Being fawned over by patronizing, simpleminded townsponies was common, far too common for her tastes, as was being accosted by the blithering imbeciles who seemed to infest Equestria like a plague. The blasted ponies had no sense of personal space, often hugging her, ruffling her mane, or even squeezing her cheeks, while she tried to huck the horrid, overly sweet, chalk-like cookies. Hate wasn’t strong enough to describe how she felt towards her fellow equines, especially because she usually had to deal with them after her job was finished.
To her surprise, Twilight had allowed her to have a small apartment for herself, possibly for fear that she may corrupt the malleable minds of those at an orphanage, so she did get a bit of respite. Though the troop didn’t afford her any sort of commissioned pay, they were charitable enough to give her a weekly stipend for her efforts. She made enough to keep her head above water, barely , and used what little extra she had to distract herself from her misery.
While she may have been young, she was an intellectual titan compared to her dimwitted kin - as such, she found typical entertainment boring. Theater and films did little to stimulate her, and she abhorred social gatherings, but she did have a few things to keep her occupied. Since her liberation, she’d taken to playing chess in the Ponyville park on her afternoons off. Much to the chagrin of the local players, her foes quickly discovered she wasn’t some rank, witless filly.
Crushing ponies and various creatures in games of strategy didn’t come close to executing plans of world conquest, but it was the best she could do. Effectively crippled by the infamy she’d garnered, with practically anypony and everypony on the continent knowing who she was, there was little she could do - heck, she didn’t even have any menacing abilities like Tirek or Chrysalis! As regrettable as her lack of preternatural powers was, she had something much, much more dangerous up her nonexistent sleeve.
She’d done the math, crunched the numbers several times, and systematically accounted for anything which could possibly upend her scheme. She’d been saving spare bits since her release, and won cash at a number of chess tournaments since then, bringing her closer to enacting her plan. If everything lined up properly, and she knew it would, she’d be able to crush the Equestrian economy and send the world into turmoil in less than a year.
She would have preferred a strategy which didn’t create a global crisis, but the Princesses had forced her hand. Through a number of careful investments, convincing her fellow fillyscouts to buy certain stocks, and possibly causing a barge to accidentally block a major waterway, she could thrust the world into a cataclysmic financial depression. And from the ashes, using every ounce of her intellect and charm, she would rise to become a businessmare supreme - after all, friendship may have been power, but money is a darn close second...
