One more week. It was hard to believe the last year had gone by so quickly. He could have sworn that Hearth's Warming Eve was only a few weeks ago. It made sense, he supposed, that time had flown past him so swiftly. The longer you lived, the shorter the days seemed to last.
He removed his monocle with a grip of orange magic and rubbed his temples gently with his worn hooves. He couldn't remember the last time he didn't have a headache. He set his famous accessory down on the old, wooden desk and pulled out a bottle from his desk drawer. One pill and a short massage later left him feeling exactly the same; medicine didn't work like it used to.
He then remembered what it was he had been doing before he let his mind get sidetracked. The bill. With his last act as Mayor of Canterlot, he hoped to pass a bill that would create jobs, improve the community, and raise the standard of living for all citizens of the fine city where he had spent his adult life. Unfortunately, he needed time to finish it, and it was time that he lacked more than anything.
The bill was aimed at altering the city infrastructure and creating a new hub for small businesses and investors. A move for a stable, solid future. If only he had the time to make that vision come true. His successor surely wouldn't finish it; no capitalist-minded candidate was running this year. Of course, Princess Celestia had full authority over the city, but she left many public affairs to the office of the Mayor. It was a more important job than ponies seemed to think.
He had certainly scoffed at the idea of mayor once himself. Back when he was younger, wilder, less attuned to the way a city worked. The things he took for granted...Then his life changed when he ran for, and won, the position on a dare. He owed much of his life's course to a late night with a few too many drinks.
It was a tough start, especially before his heart got in it. By the end of his first three years, though, he promised himself he'd run again. He was popular, his policies were well received, once he'd begun doing his political homework, and he had the energy and drive to be an excellent politician. 'One more term' he'd find himself saying. One more term. Three more years behind the desk, then'd move on.
Now the law was forcing him to move on.
The crackles of the fireplace behind his comfortable but not extravagant chair broke his concentration. The entire office, decorated with old awards and certificates and mementos from better days, was set in a melancholy, orange glow, but the fire behind him wasn't overbearing. In fact, he was a little cold. He used his magic to light another few candles across the office.
He enjoyed the nights at the office, and he'd really miss them when they were gone. For a few hours, he wasn't somepony to adore or seek advice or approval from. He was an honest, hardworking pony. Just a stallion trying to do his public service. All his adult life there was a misconception about him, especially as the younger generations matured. Their parents saw him as an admirable figure, a regular business owner and true, blue Equestrian patriot.
Not that he wasn't any of those things, but there was depth to him they just didn't see. Maybe some of them didn't look for it in the first place, but even those that did appeared to find it overshadowed by his status and figure. It wasn't such a curse, but it certainly did bother him from time to time. His work was a sacrifice, he told himself, even if it made him out to be a little larger than he was in real life.
But their children, the next generation of citizens and socialites and heirs to what his generation had done...they really saw him in a different light. To almost anypony over the age of 28 or so, he was a symbol of power. Of something they didn't have. He was sometimes portrayed as a bit selfish. A snobby aristocrat that held no true heart for those not of his kind.
Some just didn't care about him at all. They were a lot like him in his youth, agnostic to the notions of anything that did not apply to themselves. Sadly, he sensed that they wouldn't turn out quite like him. Times were changing and society moved on. Even those at the top couldn't alter its course too much. Not even the mayor.
So much bravado, so much emotion for but one hour on the stage. He was certainly glad he learned a few things about himself and the proper conduct of a good citizen, but he did fail to pass on these virtues properly. He blamed himself of course, for he could have reached out to his peers, taught them the values to then influence their inheritors. Evidently, he was just so swept up in acting his part, he never passed it on right. It was too late now.
He chuckled lightly, breaking the somber atmosphere of the lonely office. That was happened to the lame duck. No vision of all the things you did right, only a burning remorse at the things you did wrong-or couldn't do at all. Stuck to drown in your personally produced turmoil, unless you were such a great pony that you had taught yourself better.
The bill taunted him, egged his spirit on as he firmly accepted that he was not such a great pony.
The phone rang alive, startling him greatly. He settled back into his chair and levitated it to his face and cleared his throat, "Hello?"
"Oh, good, I'm so glad you're there," the familiar and always heart-warming voice of Rarity answered, "I'm sorry to call so late, but I've been so dreadfully busy. I hope you weren't about to leave."
Fancy Pants couldn't help but smile and turn his chair so that he was facing the wall, specifically, staring at a picture from many years ago, not long after the two unicorns had run into each other for the first time, "No, old politicians don't get to sleep until they retire. Or perhaps I've confused my profession for yours..."
Rarity giggled on the other end, "Always the charmer, huh?"
"Always."
"I'm so sorry to see you go; whatever will you do with yourself when your term expires?"
"Who knows, my dear? The world is full of things to do and see. I'm not so old yet as to spend my life at home. Perhaps you could send me your travel schedule, and I'll come and see you when you come back to Canterlot."
"I'd like that, but my schedule is simply random. We go where the highest bidder wants us without much warning. The world of fashion is dynamic, always changing. The styles and the faces can't last forever, but sometimes you can hardly tell some of them even existed, just because they move on so quickly."
"How very unlike being the mayor."
"Oh come now," Rarity embellished him, "as much as a travesty of a world without good fashion sense may be, a world without dedicated and good-hearted ponies like yourself is even worse."
Fancy Pants could not hold back the deep chuckle at that remark, "Please, you spoil my ego."
He imagined her rolling her eyes, playfully, on the other end. She put down the phone for a moment, he could tell, as muffled voices on the other end interrupted their brief reminiscence. He grabbed the phone with his hoof and held it in place for when she returned and levitated the picture on the wall towards his face.
So young, so full of life, but errors too. She always brought a smile to his face, and he relished in thinking of their journeys. Her's was more interesting, more vivid, but he was happy about it. She understood him, from a perspective of business and professionalism, of course, but also from a personal one. If more ponies were like her...there just might not be so much of a need for ponies like him.
"I'm terribly sorry about that interruption; my demands are many, but that's not an excuse to dismiss you so easily."
"Not at all, I was just recalling your grace and splendor."
"Charming devil," Rarity mockingly scoffed.
Fancy Pants had closed his eyes, mentally drawing up the night they had danced at one of the last balls he attended on his first year as mayor. He could near perfectly recall the dress she wore, a beautiful pink one with embroidered jewels along the hemlines. Nothing overly extravagant. She didn't need to be, and she knew it.
"As I said, always."
"Well, anyways, I wanted to call to check up on you and let you know that my company won't be donating to the mayor's office this year, unless you want me to."
"Actually, I would like that. It'd be a wonderful surprise to whatever good natured sap they pull into this office."
"The usual amount?"
"Unless I can convince you to give more."
"Done."
"Quite remarkable of you. I'd expect no less from my favorite mare."
"Anything for my favorite mayor."
His brief laugh was nothing short of genuine and her infectious giggle only empowered it. He inhaled deeply as he set the picture down on his desk and grabbed hold of the phone again with his telekinetic grip.
"Oh, before I have to go, my younger sister, Sweetie Bell, asked me to ask her a favor."
"One good donation deserves another."
"She'd like you attend her performance in Manehattan; she's in a joint venture with a few other musical artists, and their goal is to bring in as many high-profile faces as possible. More donations, you understand?"
"A philanthropic event? I'll be there."
"Wonderful, I'll mail you the tickets. You still live at the same address, don't you?"
"Indeed."
"Well, it's been a pleasure speaking with you, Fancy Pants. Give my regards to Princess Celestia at the ceremony next week, and do try and enjoy yourself."
"Likewise, hearing your voice has done wonders for me; take care, Rarity, I'll keep in touch."
"All right then, goodbye."
"Good evening, Rarity."
She hung up with vigor, but not any kind of disgust for him. She was busy, busy, busy after all. He put the phone back in place and then gave the picture the same treatment. It was going to stay on that wall, in the corner of his eye, until the day he left office. His life's work, more or less, was in here. Not just the official documents and objects of his work, but his personal life too. His time at charity events and parties and shows and the like.
At least that wouldn't die with this election. His social life was far from over, and his personal adventures would go, like the road, ever on. Onwards into great things, right? Well, onwards regardless.
The clock above the door read after midnight. All mayors needed to sleep, even the lame ducks. He cleaned his monocle and put it back over his eye. He stood up, and grabbed the bill on the desk and read over the last few paragraphs again. He frowned slightly, as the words gave way to the shallow, self-induced turmoil once again. His hour had gone by so quickly.
Fancy Pants threw the bill into the fire with a sigh, then doused the flames behind him so that the office lost most of the orange glow. He levitated the keys up from the desk surface and locked the door behind him on the way out.
The skies were bright and cheery that fine morning. No sense of dread overcame him as he waited patiently behind the curtain of the large stage. The votes had been tallied, and the public was about to see the face of their new mayor. He felt rather like an old war horse. Come to be remembered for the afternoon, maybe the weekend, then forgotten. At least forgotten as a politician.
He hadn't been dressed so fine and well in a long time. HIs usual black top had a polished glow to it and his red bow tie had been spiffed up by his secretary but a few days ago. He sat alone, in one of the darker areas behind the stage where the crew worked tirelessly in front of him, going back and forth and pulling the event smoothly onward.
He could see the three candidates, standing eagerly and chatting with one another just behind the large blue curtains. They seemed more bright and flourishing than he did. It was probably just their age, he told himself. They all got more tense as the announcer officially began the event.
"All citizens please rise for Princess Celestia!" She spoke as she walked up the stage, all the while a glorious ray of sunshine fell onto the opposite end of the stage and a chariot of splendor and fire landed there neatly. Applause and thunderous approval amidst gay cheering filled the air as The Princess' form took center stage. She smiled and let the cameras snap pictures of her for a moment, then she began to speak.
"I'd like to thank you all for coming out today and showing how much you all care about this fine capitol city and how it is governed. I look eagerly forward to working with our new mayor to keep this city in the great era of prosperity and advance it has seen. Now, let us welcome our three prospective candidates!"
Another round of applause rose from the audience as the two stallions and single mare came out from behind the curtain, waving and smiling and giving the public the whole show. That was his cue to rise and wait his turn to be called out.
"But before we all find out which one of these brilliant young politicians will inherent the position, we must first hear from the stallion that is vacating it; please give a very warm welcome to Canterlot's finest, most illustrious mayor to date, Fancy Pants!"
He went through the curtain, and he put on the whole show, but it wasn't forced. It was natural to him now, and inside, he didn't see it so much as a show as a suit. It wasn't a bad thing, it was expected of him, and in some ways, he was still happy to put it on. The Princess stepped away from the microphone and smiled at Fancy Pants as he took out his speech from his coat interior with a grip of orange magic.
The applause were no less rewarding for him than they were for the candidates, yet he felt they dragged on for an unnecessarily long time. He thanked them several times before they quieted down and he was allowed to go on.
"Thank you all, for showing me a splendid time as mayor of Canterlot. This position has taught me many things, and one of those many things is so simple, one might assume that everypony understands it. Yet, the more I thought on it, the more I felt that I had to make sure this point came across.
Everypony has a duty. We can't all be mayors or soldiers or Princesses, no matter how much we might fancy the idea," some of the crowd laughed and he paused for them with a smile until he could go on again, "but regardless, everypony must be expected to do something. Whether it is as simple as paying your taxes on time, starting a business to help promote the economy, or perhaps even going to the battlefields of war or, Celestia forbid, politics."
Another small laugh session occurred, spearheaded this time by Princess Celestia herself.
"We are all expected to live according to the standards set by our great leaders, and if you should become a leader yourself," he turned to the three prospective mayors-to-be, "then you had better make doubly sure that you not only know those standards, but that you're prepared to carry them out and, if possible, enhance them too.
I tried to do a lot for this town, once I realized how great of a position I had landed myself in around 20 years ago, and it is indeed with a sad heart I leave it. This city means so much to me, and I will never stop contributing my part to it, I only wish I could contribute as much as in the last couple decades.
I poured much of myself into the mayorship, and I frankly don't care if I sound bitter or over-embellishing of that office when I say this: It is a job not many can do, but it is a job that must be done. To work side-by-side with the other wonderful ponies that care deeply about the city and the people that make it a city, is an honor, but a tough burden too. To serve the Princess in such a way is a stressful position, but if you do so, you will find due reward in it.
I have no regrets."
Perhaps that was a lie. It fit right, though, and he wrote it down on the speech.
"I have no regrets whatsoever, because I know that my work will always mean something to those I was gladly able to benefit, so that they could in turn, benefit me. I look forward to more closely enjoying those benefits as I step down. You have been a splendid public, and I thank you for making me the first mayor to reach the absolute limit of terms available to any single pony. You are the present, you are the future. As the past, I look forward to seeing what you can all do without me. Thank you. Goodbye."
The audience seemed to be in a trance for a moment, totally in awe of his oration and perhaps unaware that it was over. He looked over to the candidates, who were taking in his words, or at least appeared to be. Fancy Pants didn't pay much mind to the mayor that he replaced, albeit foolishly.
Only Princess Celestia appeared wholly unaffected by his words. She walked back up to the microphone as Fancy Pants stepped backwards and waited beside the candidates. The Princess began to clap, and following her lead, the public once more roared out in celebration and, he hoped, appreciation for his efforts. He smiled, as was expected, but again, it was his delight.
"For your work, Fancy Pants, you have been awarded a royal honor, and, in one month's time, you will officially be dubbed as 'Sir Fancy Pants of the Equestrian Order'!"
The crowd went into cheers and applause and ceremonial jubilee again. He certainly hadn't been expecting it, and he could feel a single tear move down his cheek as the masses beheld their mayor for the last moments of his last term. It could have been just an act, put on for the Princess, but it could be genuine too. Fancy Pants preferred not to know the truth.
"And now," Celestia continued, "the moment we've all be waiting for. The new Mayor of Canterlot is...Summer Diadem!"
The candidate in the middle, the mare, stepped forward, a teary but proud smile for an expression. She shook Fancy Pant's hoof eagerly and bowed before Princess Celestia, who in turn, bowed her head back and clapped with the masses. Fancy Pants watched her go up and begin her speech, but, like the other two candidates, he went back behind the curtain to listen to the ceremony's conclusion.
After her speech and her swearing in as mayor, she would be subject to a Q&A session, then she would host a lunch over at town hall, and the festivities of the afternoon would begin as a day of fun and games and hope for good times would arise among the ponies.
Fancy Pants, however, left at the conclusion of her speech. The cameras hardly had time to capture him as he made his way to his carriage, waving a little and leaving with just enough grace and congratulation to Summer Diadem to get off without scorn or scrutiny to hang over his head.
"Do take me back to my estate, old sport," Fancy Pants told the driver as he road off into the day and the leaves rustled and fell in the wind overhead and the streets shimmered with the glow of a strong, fine sun high above them. In the mirror on the opposite end of the carriage, he saw the camera ponies and the crowds capture the final moments of his exit. They desperately tried to capture his leave, but he knew that in a moment, he would be forgotten by them.
21 years. He had a fine run. He smiled and gently chuckled to himself as he wondered what he would feel like tomorrow. His estate came into view in the far distance, and he sat back, eyes closed, as the clop of the drivers' hooves carried him away into retirement.
