Mane-iac Takes Manehatten
Ball lightning crackled in an alleyway of the Big Apple. It scared off a cat, rustled some discarded newspapers and overturned a trash can before colliding with the ground and fizzling out.
“You cannot get rid of me that easily! Your—” The voice trailed off when the speaker realized that she was speaking to herself. Green hairy tendrils stretched between the buildings and the grayish violet pony righted herself. She wore a tight-fitting bright purple costume with yellow trim. She laughed mane-iacally.
“Well, Masked Matterhorn, it seems that your little experiment has failed. Just as soon as I find you again I'll—” Her voice trailed off again as she stepped out of the alley and got a better look at the skyline. There was something a bit... off about it. Her wild red and green eyes darted around. Ponies noticed her and gave her hair-tendrils a wide berth, but they weren't cowering in fear, fleeing, or showing her any of the respect that a supervillain such as herself deserved. The cabs in the streets hardly even slowed down.
She wrapped her tail around a bench and was about to give these ponies a lesson in manners when her eyes spotted the towering Statue of Librayty. “This isn't Maretroplolis.” She transferred the bench to her mane and grasped/wore it like a hat.
“This is perfect! Those pesky Power Ponies think I'm gone forever. They'll never arrive here in time to stop me from pulling off my evil plan! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Oh, no no no, dear. That will not do. It simply will not do at all.” A light blue earth pony with magenta sunglasses, scarf, and a white-and-black dress with magenta accents pointed a hoof at her chest.
“What? And just who dares to—” Mane-iac's eyes flared dangerously and she hefted the bench up to swing it like a hammer.
“Yellow on purple? What were you thinking? Gold would be a much better accent.”
Mane-iac hesitated. “Gold? But wouldn't that be too bright? I wouldn't want to distract from my beautiful eyes.” She blinked. “Who are you?”
“It is I, Photo Finish. The photographer extraordinaire. Never before have I seen such grace. Oh, such curves, they are amazing. Do not worry about thine eyes, for they are perfect. Stick with me, and I will make you—a star!”
“Oh, really?” Mane-iac placed the bench on top of another bench and sat on them both. Some ponies had gathered around to watch, but for the most part they were too self-important and busy to be bothered by the outrageous scene. “Do tell me more.”
***
Prim Hemline scowled at the latest addition to her list of contestants in the fashion show. “And just who do you think you are arriving a mere ten minutes early? All of the other contestants were here hours ago!”
“It is I, Man-iac! And I am here to show the world the, um... what did you say?”
“The magic.” Photo Finish said. “We are here to make the magic.”
“Right. The magic. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Prim Hemline tapped on her list. “Well you'll do it on schedule and not a minute before. Your dressing room is the furthest on the left.”
“Why you–” Mane-iac wrapped her hair around a lamp.
“She is not important. The magic is. For that, we need, the dressing room.” Photo Finish hopped down from her pedestal that was being carried by her assistants. “You go.” She dismissed them, and they left.
Mane-iac's diabolical eyes lit up when she entered the room. “You were right to bring me here! This is perfect! Never before have I seen so many cosmetics and hair-products in one place!” Hair-tendrils grabbed items at random and brought them in front of her face.
“Aloe-based skin lotion? Peach blossom shampoo? Red dye makeup number forty-six? Oh, my, this is perfect! All I need is an aerosol can and I can make my Hairspray of Doom!” She gasped when she pulled a white object towards herself. “An ordinary bar of soap?! I think I'm in love.”
“Excuse me.” A pink pony with a purple mane stepped into the dressing room. She was accompanied by a cream pony with blue hair with a downcast expression. “Oh my goodness, you look simply wonderful.”
“Hm?” Mane-iac stashed her her collection of goodies and turned a wild eye to the intruder.
“Don't you remember me? It's your best friend, Suri Polomare from kindergarten.”
“Oh, really?” Mane-iac used a mirror in the room to help her mix up a 'surprise' while hiding it behind her back.
“Oh, yes. And I couldn't help but notice just how wild and alluring your hair is. How do you get it to do that? You wouldn't mind telling an old friend, would you?”
Mane-iac laughed mane-iacally. “Oh, this? It's done that ever since I fell into a vat of green shampoo and got zapped by a downed power line.”
“Uh, really?”
“Really.”
Suri's eyes darted back and forth. Her assistant huddled in a corner. Suri's mouth opened; it closed; then she opened it again. She asked, “What kind of green shampoo, exactly? It wouldn't hurt to tell an old friend, would it, m'kay?”
Mane-iac grinned, evilly. “Bayleaf and sunflower herbal extract with a hint of lime,” she said. She rolled her eyes up in thought. “Or it could have just been a vat of green dye number twenty-two. It's not like the shampoo was mixed yet.” She blinked and looked around. Suri was already gone. Oh well. She grinned again.
***
Prim Hemline knocked on the door while Photo Finish was getting her assistants to apply the finishing touches to Mane-iac's outfit (in her usual 'More! Less! More! Less! More! Less! Perfect!' style).
“Come in,” Photo Finish said.
“Oh, yes, do come in,” Mane-iac trilled.
“There has been a change in schedule.” Prim got straight down to business. “Our first contestant had to drop out because she suffered and injury that required hospitalization. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?”
“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don't. Perhaps it won't matter in the end because you will all bow before me! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Mane-iac's hair pulsated wildly (causing much consternation from Photo Finish's assistants).
“What is this that you speak of?” Photo Finish asked.
Prim scowled. “Suri seemingly tried to electrocute herself in a vat of green shampoo. The police suspect that assistant of hers, but she was last seen entering this dressing room.”
Mane-iac was having trouble laughing mane-iacally because she was laughing too hard.
“It is, what you say? Tragic. But the show must go on,” Photo said.
“Just watch yourself,” Prim warned. “The world of fashion is cutthroat and even the smallest of scandal can ruin a career.”
***
The fashion show went about as well as expected. Pretty ponies in pretty clothes took to the stage and flaunted their prettiness. Hundreds of ponies filled the audience and cheered, clapped their hooves and stomped. There was much talk and speculation about who would come in first place until she stepped on stage.
From the get-go Mane-iac commanded complete attention. Her tight-fitting purple outfit with gold accents was fetching enough, but her wild eyes, and wilder hair were a fashion unto themselves. Nopony had ever seen such graceful cures before. Her hair was too big to fit into the spotlights, even. With each step, it flowed and undulated; with each step, another pony would gasp and faint in its sheer magnificence.
She wasn't just all beauty and form either. She had style; she had an act. Ponies gasped in awe as she reared up in maniacal laughter. By the time she walked off the stage they were left stunned and speechless and immobile. They were all totally going to vote for her (once the Hairspray of Doom wore off, of course).
***
A week later, from the apartment she now shared with Photo Finish, Mane-iac looked out the window at Manehatten. Billboards and signs along the skyscrapers showed her image on them, advertising products from tail extensions to parasprite repellent. Down below, she grinned at the ponies walking underhoof. All of them had tried to emulate her manestyle, and all of them failed.
Mane-iac laughed mane-iacally.
The wild and uncontrollable hair of the ponies down below caused them much anguish and fuss as they tried to keep the hair just so. They had hairspray and combs and pins but nothing seemed to work quite right. A breeze would come along and they'd have to start all over again.
“It's just what I've always wanted. Look at all of their manes out-of-control! I've accomplished my evil plan, and I didn't even have to use a doomsday device!”
Photo Finish walked up next to her and looked out into the streets as well. “You are a star. I, Photo Finish, have made it so. They try to emulate, but they fail. Only you have the magic.”
Mane-iac grinned, but her smile faded and she turned to Photo Finish to ask, “Why did you do it? I could have crushed you with that bench when we first met.”
“It is, as I, Photo Finish, say. Every photographer has a dream to work with an impossible model.”
“Oh, you mean like those anatomically incorrect Barwhinny dolls that every mother buys for her fillies to serve as a role model—but actually having the proportions of said doll would cause one serious harm?”
“Precisely!” Photo clapped.
“It seems that you and I shared the same dream then.” They both looked back down on the ponies in the streets below. Mane-iac burst out into laughter.
“The 'ha-ha'. I, Photo Finish, say it.”
Mane-iac looked into Photo's sunglasses. “You were my dream.”
Photo looked into Mane-iac's wild eyes. “And you, mine.”
They kissed.
The magic. It happened.
Mane-iac had taken Manehatten, and it, had taken her.
