IT was a dark and stormy night ... only it was noontime and the sky was relatively clear. There were always some clouds over Ponyville. You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t see them work, but the sad truth is that Rainbow Dash is pretty representative of the entire weather pony crew in Ponyville. When you think about it, you come to realize that one pony, no matter how lazy and unskilled, could never do that much to wreck the process, and even if they did they would’ve been fired if they were that much worse than everyone else. It’s not a problem limited to Ponyville either, in fact it’s a common problem in most earth pony predominated towns. The weather team is made up whatever pegasi happen live in the town, even if, like the aforementioned speedster, they know nothing about clouds.
The ever studious Twilight Sparkle was well versed in these completely irrelevant issues. In fact, she’d written a letter to the mayor a few weeks ago, imploring her to hire some actual weather specialists, though she hadn’t gotten a letter back. Her annoyance at the issue had been the main topic of conversation between her and Spike since that point, much to Spike’s annoyance.
“Look, if you really want something done you could just go to that town meeting thingy, right?”
Twilight sat at a table with a lettuce and daisy sandwich in front of her, and not a rain cloud in sight. She took a bite of her lunch before answering.
“Firstly, it’s not a ‘town meeting thingy’, it’s city council. And secondly, that would take even longer than mailing the mayor herself. And the mayor doesn’t even go to council, so she’d probably think I was going over her head.”
Spike, who was munching on a place of amethyst, looked at Twilight with confusion.
“But isn’t the city council under Mayor Mare?”
“Yes, but the mayor is an independant, and most of the ponies below her are demarecrats, so if I go to them she’ll think I’m siding with them and probably won’t listen to anything I have to say.”
Spike stared back at her with a blank expression on his face, clearly not understanding a word she had said.
“Never mind. It’s a terribly inefficient system, let’s just leave it at that.”
“Okay,” Spike said, burying himself in his pile of gems. Twilight felt tempted to tell him to eat more politely, but she didn’t have any utensils that worked on rocks. A few nasty seconds later, the plate was licked clean. She looked down at her own sandwich and pushed it away.
“You know, I don’t really feel like eating right now.” Twilight stood up from the table, walking out into the main room of the library. Looming shelves of perfectly-organized books stood on all sides, paper books on wooden shelves in a wooden house. It was a very poetic.
“So, what are we doing today, Twilight?” Spike asked, coming up from behind.
“Well, there’s no books to put back since nopony used the library yesterday, and Rarity’s been asking me if she can make me another dress again, so we should probably go get that over with … and are you okay, Spike?”
Spike was clutching his belly, an apparent victim of indigestion. He grimaced, but smiled through it.
“I’m fine, my stomach just feels weird.”
“Well that’s what happens when you eat your food that fast. Just because you can digest gems doesn’t mean you can eat like a pig.”
“No, it’s not that kind of … oh wait …”
Twilight recoiled as Spike let out a great fiery burp, narrowly avoiding having her mane ignited. From the plume came a scroll, which alighted in Twilight’s outstretched hoof. Casually, she broke the seal and began to read. Spike, whose bellyache seemed to have gone away with the burp, stood on his tip-toes, trying to get a look at the letter.
“I take it we’re not getting you fitted for a dress today, right?”
“No, we’re not,” Twilight replied, not taking her attention off the mail. Spike paced around the room for a few seconds, then spoke again.
“So, what is Celestia having us do today?”
“The letter isn’t from the princess,” Twilight said in a monotone. “It’s from the DMV.”
“The D-M-what now?”
Twilight, having read the entirety of the letter, set it down and looked to her assistant.
“The Department of Magic Vehicles, Spike. They’re in charge of licences for carriages and things like that.”
Spike was taken aback by this.
“Wait, so the DMV can send scrolls through me?”
“I don’t see why not,” Twilight said. She walked across the room, grabbing her saddlebags where they hung from a hook on the wall. “The necessary information was probably forwarded to all the governmental branches by Celestia years ago.”
Spike’s indignation was replaced with a look of shock that verged on terror.
“Why would she do that? It’s already bad enough getting random mails from her when I least expect it, but now I have to get mail from everyone else too. How am I supposed to deal with all that?”
Twilight shook her head, making her way to the front door. “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic? I mean, you haven’t gotten one extra letter since we moved to Ponyville.”
“It’s not getting letters; I’m used to that. What I don’t like is all these ponies being able to send whatever they want. What if they released their information? What if I start getting spam?”
Twilight pushed open the door, motioning for him to follow.
“Come on, you can whine about this on the way over.”
Spike stomped at the ground like some half-cousin of rumpelstiltskin, throwing a tantrum like only a young child could.
“I am not whining, I’m complaining. What if strangers started beaming things into your stomach on a daily basis. How would you feel then?”
Twilight “Look, if you want to ‘complain’, you can do it to the ponies over at the DMV. I’d like to get whatever it is I have to do over with.”
Reluctantly, Spike followed Twilight out the door and into the downtrodden streets of Ponyville. The roads were particularly dusty today due to a certain inept weather team, though beside the occasional coughing fit, it didn’t hinder their progress. The weather was pleasant as well: the oaks and birches were beginning to turn shades of red and yellow, and there was the unmistakable, tannic scent of chimney smoke and dry grass. Twilight couldn’t help but smile. Ponyville was no Canterlot, but it made it easy to forget all of your daily stresses, if only for a moment.
“So why exactly are we going to the DMV?”
“Well, so much for that.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Twilight said dismissively. “The letter said they wanted to see me about the air balloon, so I’d assume the repairs are all done and they just need me to do some paperwork or something like that.”
“Are you sure that’s all they want?” Spike asked, clearly not buying what Twilight was selling. “I mean, you’re always telling me that there’s a catch with these government bureaucracies.”
“Spike, these aren’t small-town politicians with egos the size of Equestria. I’m sure that they’ll act in a kind and professional manner.”
“I’m sorry Ms. Sparkle, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to revoke your air balloon license.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Twilight shouted, prompting the other ponies in the room to turn their heads. By this time, Twilight had made her way to the DMV, though things were not going as smoothly as she would’ve preferred.
“Miss, I’d kindly ask you to lower your voice,” the yellow mare behind the desk replied, not a hint of emotion or empathy in her words. “I don’t think the other ponies here would appreciate your tone.”
Twilight felt like she was going to explode.
“This could be the Princess’s royal courtroom for all I care. You have no reason to take away my license!”
“Oh, but we do,” the receptionist said, her voice still infuriatingly even. She pulled a file from a cabinet behind her with a quick spell and pushed it through the small hole at the bottom of the glass pane that was all that separated her from years of carefully-honed magical prowess. Seemingly fearless in the face of all this, the mare motioned to the folder and continued.
“As you can see, this readout documents the speed and altitude of your aircraft while it was in your ownership.” The mare pointed to a steep rise in the graph. “Three weeks ago, you broke the statewide speed limit for aerial craft by over 30 lengths per second. Do you have an explanation for these events?”
“Of course I do!” Twilight shouted incredulously. “That was during Discord’s occupation of Equestria. I was saving all your small-town Hoofington flanks for Celestia’s sake!”
The mare frowned.
“Do we need to discuss these issues in private, or do you want me to have security drag out?”
The sudden astringency of her voice made Twilight jump. She collected herself before answering.
“No, I think I’ll be all right, thanks. But isn’t there anything else I can do?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. The termination of your license has already been carried out.”
“What about witness testimony?” Twilight asked. “There were four other sane ponies at the scene, and I’m sure any of them—
“I’m sorry Ms. Sparkle, but our bureau has been instructed to disregard their testimony on this issue. Also, this is a government agency, not a court of law.”
Twilight tried to think calm, pleasing thoughts: fuzzy kittens, the musty smell of books, wringing this mare’s neck …
“Well what am I supposed to do then?”
“Well, in consideration of your service to Equestria, we’ve been instructed to waive all outstanding fees …”
“Oh, isn’t that nice of you,” Twilight muttered.
“... but no matter who you are, you need to learn responsibility with your vehicle, and as such you will be asked to retake the test.”
Twilight did a double take. “Wait, so all I have to do is retake the test? That’ll be easy.”
“Glad to see you so chipper,” the mare said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would ticket number C-4 please step up?”
Twilight turned tail and walked back into the reception area, her anger now replaced with a happy optimism. She scanned the room, and quickly found what she was looking for. She sat next to her assistant, positively glowing.
“So did they make your face stick that way, or did you buy some happy juice from the pony on the street corner?” Spike asked.
Twilight chuckled. “Very funny, Spike. No, I’m just happy because I can finally show these fools that I know what I’m doing. The system is trying to make a fool of me, I tell you.”
“Well, there’s no sense in waiting,” Spike said, sliding off of his seat and walked towards the door. Twilight followed suit. “You know, what you just said reminded me of that crazy senator you were telling me about.”
“You mean Bernie Saddles? He’s not crazy, he’s just a socialist and that’s a bit against the grain. I was talking about that one time he did a speech at my school and he was drunk. He is from Ponyville, though, and he’s got a lot of popularity with the small-town earth pony demographic.”
“He sounds like a pretty cool guy,” Spike said, opening the door for Twilight to walk through.
“Yeah, he is. On the other hoof, he wants to decrease the powers of the monarchy, and I figure if I’m going to be part of that he’s the kind of pony I should distance myself from.”
Now outside, the pair walked along the side of the building, a bland brick structure with a few bushes in front of it that made an unsuccessful attempt as sprucing up the place.
“So, you really think that Celestia’s going to make you a princess?” Spike asked.
“Well yeah, isn’t it obvious,” Twilight replied. Before Spike could answer, another voice cut in.
“I presume you’re here to take the Air Balloon test?”
Twilight and Spike looked up to see a pony blotting out the sun. Really though, this guy was pretty damn fat. He wore an inauthentic smile, but the rest of his body language matched his clear apathy towards everyone and everything. He wore an un-ironed button-down shirt with a tie hung loosely around his neck, and looked like he’d been woken up at four in the morning by a rabid raccoon that decided to crawl into his bed.
“Hey Twilight, how did you know where to go for the test?”
Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know, I was just following you.”
The stallion motioned to the balloon, which they now saw was hiding behind the test instructor. Twilight obliged, telling Spike to stay behind before stepping into the cockpit. The stallion stepped in after her, and there was barely enough room for the both of them.
“When can I take off?” Twilight asked without looking at the stallion’s hideous face.
“Whenever you feel like it.”
As she had done maybe a few times before, Twilight sent a spell up into the burners, which soon burst into flame. Slowly, the envelope filled with hot air and began to pull up on the strings. After a brief fight with gravity, the basket lifted off the ground. Twilight looked down at Spike as drew farther away, and then up into the clear skies, appreciating what the hoofwork of a proper weather team looked like. It was all so serene, so peaceful, that at first Twilight didn’t notice something pulling against the basket.
“What the—
Suddenly, the air balloon stopped moving, but the ponies in it did not. While the test instructor had the inertia of an elephant, Twilight was not so lucky, barely managing to grab onto the edge of the basket, sending the balloon tumbling from the air. The wind rushed through her mane like a hurricane, and the world around her spun like some sort of triple-speed carousel. A few moments later, Twilight tasted dirt. She lied there for a few moments, her vision obscured by a field of purple.
A voice came from beyond the violet expanse, and whoever it was was doing a bad job of concealing a snicker.
“Twilight, are you okay?”
Twilight took a deep breath. She knew she was never going to live this down.
“Yes, Spike, I’m doing just fine. Would you help me up please?”
The purple canvas was lifted away and replaced with a field of purple scales, and a claw reaching out to her. She took it, the world spinning as she got up on her hooves. The first thing she saw, other than the smirk of her assistant, was the tub of lard who had been her passenger. Somehow, despite falling out of the sky, the stallion maintained the same stupid apathetic gaze as before.
“I’m going to have to mark that as a failure, Missus.”
“What are you talking about? The air balloon malfunctioned, how in Tartarus was I supposed to avoid that?”
The stallion rolled his eyes, the closest he had come to showing any emotion so far. “The air balloon was functioning perfectly. You forgot to untie it.”
Twilight looked past the stallion’s huge body to where the air balloon had been hitched. Indeed, a rope lead from the cockpit to a peg in the ground, which had been lifted part way of the ground by the force of the balloon, revealing the cinder block underneath. The scene looked like a war zone, torn earth and burning canvas littering the ground. It wasn’t very pretty.
“Well ... shit.”
Author's Note
Thanks for reading the story. It's my first one since my return to the site after a three month hiatus from writing, so I hope it didn't suck too bad.
Anyway, to clarify some story details. If the guy giving the test seemed oddly specific, it's because he's a near exact depiction of the guy who did my driver's test last month. The first thing he did when he got in the car was turn the AC onto full and turn them all to himself. I did pretty good on the test though. Twilight's experience is modeled on my friend Jake, who failed the test by running a red light at the first intersection her came to. Also, if you didn't get the whole Bernie Saddles thing, I was talking about Bernie Sanders, noted socialist and Vermonter (Green Mountain state for life). He's one of the few non-corrupt politician I can think of, but he's basically a commie, so screw him. 'Murica.
