Fleetwood Rides Again

The sound of the T.V. woke him up.

"...Some critics are calling this move, a 'Step Backwards on the Road to Democracy'."

Fleetwood rubbed his eyes, everything still blurry. He had some faint memories of sex with Luna, and some crusty French ancestor of his, but he could not remember the whole dream. He sat up straight, and was immediately struck with a headache that made him want to groan. His vision was blurry, and the entire bed smelled of whiskey.

"Darn.." he mumbled, stretching, "Must've been out...drinkin' with th'guys....I smell like a Motel Six..."

And, with that, he moved toward the shower on the other end of the little room, grabbing a towel from the linen closet. From what he gathered, he was in his crappy little apartment, above the dealership.

The T.V. droned on, tuned to some sort of news report.

"In a move that proved highly unpopular among Equestrian citizens, Princess Celestia has declared a sizable portion of the Everfree Forest- Approximately one hundred and eighty miles- the sovereign land of the Brougham Family."

He froze, ears pricking in interest. The brown, middle-aged pegasus JET across the room, wings flapping fruitlessly, only to crash into a large pile of whiskey bottles at the foot of his bed. He winced in pain, as glass cut into him in certain areas, but listened keenly to the broadcast.

" The nobles which have not possessed the land since they were abdicated in 1984, were originally French explorers, who later conscripted to the Equestrian forces. This is just the latest in a series of decrees issued by the Two Sisters, which have provoked negative responses from the working class, such as the appointment of Princess Twilight Sparkle, the recently-rediscovered American steam gunboat, USS Grenbrier's entry into service with the Equestrian Navy, and the cutting of taxes for the wealthy."

"Holy SHIT!"

And with that, the drunken pony hurled himself down the stairs, down to the showroom floor. He raced across to the back office, toward his father, Eldorado. Several ponies grimaced at the sight of him in a stained t-shirt and boxer shorts.

"Ah, yer up," Eldorado grumbled, eyeing him, "Can't you see we got-"

"Dad," he breathed, blue eyes glittering like sapphire, "They gave us the land back...All of it...I heard on the-"

Suddenly, a hoof was in his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," his dear father rasped, "You've been out fer, like, ferever."

"...Really?"

"Yeah. Came home one night, just collapsed in bed, real drunk an' angry."

Fleetwood was in shock. How could his father have left him in that state?! "Why didn't you take me to a HOSPITAL?"

"We ain't got no health insurance. Now, get yer ass in th'shower, get dressed, and GET UP T'CANTERLOT, T'CLAIM OUR LAND!"

  As he stepped out, into the noon sunlight, Fleetwood found himself in a much-different world.  Colorful banners hung from the little cottages of Carousel Square, the smoke from the Plywood Mill was now billowing, clean white steam, and Allen Avenue had been cleaned up. Instead of the lines of heavy traffic, ponies trotted along the street, seeming content with life, the occasional Ponyville P.D. Dodge Monaco drifting by on patrol.

Nonetheless, he didn't have time to lose. Excitement still welling up in him like steam in a boiler, he tore out of the gravel back lot, in a white Chevy Caprice, nearly sideswiping a gas street light, right-side wheels hopping the curb. He had chosen the car out of the used autos he was allowed to drive, as it looked the most 'official'. It sported turtle-shell hubcaps, a velvet red interior, and a genuinely restrained fashion that Fleetwood rarely practiced. But today was different. He wanted to look 'official', so to speak. Classy, but not extravagant.

To his side was a briefcase. He really didn't know what to do with it, but decided it would look better if he came prepared. Perhaps they were to give him some important documents? As for his clothes, he wore a white dress-shirt, black slacks, and a red tie. The tie had a martini-glass pattern, but that was all he could find in his haste.

Suddenly, a mare loomed out from behind a building. Swerving to avoid, the Chevy smashed a mailbox, leaving letters and bills flying everywhere. "HEY, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE WALKING!" he howled out the window, shaking his clenched hoof in rage.

The streets had become dangerous. In the time he had been asleep, a lot had changed in Ponyville. It had become a lot less accessible by automobile. So, with that, he turned onto the freeway, and burned rubber toward Canterlot.

He finally found the address Eldorado had written down on the piece of paper shoved in his coat pocket. It was a big, Neoclassical stone building, with a huge dome, supported by stone pillars all around. It gave off a somewhat human-European feeling, a byproduct of Lord Canterlot V's infatuation with humanity during the 1890's. The building, known as the Hall of Nobility, was where the nobles of Equestria's counties, much like Canterlot V himself, met, and discussed borders, budgets, and other important, boring matters. Fleetwood had once, as a colt, watched a fierce debate between his father and Lord Dunwich III, which resulted in a brawl on the Forum Floor. Somewhere in his room, back in the Brougham Manor in the Everfree Forest, he had kept Dunwich's gold tooth, which had been dislodged in the fighting.

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Bracing himself, he entered through the thick, oak doors, and found that it was exactly how he remembered. The floor was cold and smoothed, waxed by some mule earlier in the day, the air hung with cigarette smoke, and somewhere far-off, an Equestrian royal march drifted from some massive speaker, set high in the dome. Important-looking stallions, donning monocles, expensive clothes, and trophy wives, strutted to and fro. Some loitered and chatted in the lobby. Others stood in queue, waiting for paperwork regarding their lands. Despite this number of ponies, most were probably in the forum.

Starting toward the queue, a peculiar thought struck Fleetwood. He had never seen a mare of Nobility before.  All he had ever seen were the stuffy lords, their pelts often a white or a brown, and those painfully-thin, achingly-beautiful wives of theirs. Perhaps they were incestuous, like his cousins, Harley and Fleur once were? Looking around the room briefly, he chuckled, noticing that most of the men and their escorts bore a resemblance to one another!

The laughter rose beyond control. Soon, he was doubling over, rolling on the floor. His hoofs pounded the marble floor, echoing around, louder than the music. Sighing, he froze in shock, noticing everyone was watching him, including Fancy Pants of Trottingham...And Fleur.

Nodding slightly, he simply picked himself up, and walked to the front of the line, which had dispersed. In front of him sat an old mare, aged probably around a hundred and five. She wore thick spectacles, that magnified her tiny, beady blue eyes.

"May I help you sir?" She breathed, barely audible.

"Why, yes, I'm Lord Brougham of Everfree."

"Hm? Weren't they thrown out for fighting?"

His face went a little red. "Why, yes," he corrected, attempting to keep his cool after the ridiculous incident, "But that was my father. Princess Celestia brought us back."

"Oh," she replied, now brightening up a bit. A light had went on in her head. "I remember that. Please, forgive me.." A large folder that smelled of age and dust was dropped upon the desk. "Here. Just fill this all out, come back, and the land will be yours once more."

"Thank you."

As Fleetwood collected the folder file, he nearly fell forward. It must weight eighty pounds! Struggling, he returned to the car, placing in the backseat, and made his way through the streets, back towards home.

Well, shit, he marked to himself silently, absently tapping his hoof on the steering wheel, This is gonna suck. How long is this gonna take anyway? Celestia only knows..'cause she's the one who cursed me with this garbage.