Trottingham, being the largest city in Maresy state, was always destined to be the capital city of the region. Parliament building stands tall at the North end of market square. The ancient building was first home to the first democratically elected government to the whole North Eastern region of Equestria. Founded as a crowned republic by one of the nine sisters, more specifically Princess Rarity, and absorbed later in to the Equestrian Federation, the nation had a rich history in the arts, and the Parliament building was the crowning glory of its earliest achievements. Tall limestone pillars extend up about 100 hooves high from convex plinths with intricate bas-relief engravings depicting early Equestrian history, worn by age and weather they somehow look more detailed than in their original form, from what can be seen in old photographs in museums.
At their peak, arches, another 50 hooves in length connect the pillars spanning the distance and topped with statuettes of the nine sisters in various dioramas, depicting simple things such as their ascension to the nine thrones, to the defeat of Sombra and Nightmare Moon. Sadly, a good proportion of the statues now on the exposed North of the building had their messages lost to erosion, now simply giving the appearance of several different sized earth ponies looking in random directions. Beyond the arches domed copper roofs turned a rich celadon with age connect the arches and sweep across the top of the building, the green and cut of the copper resembled dragon scales making many wonder if this was intentionally done knowing that with age it would look as it did.
The central clock tower which was double the height again of the arches seemed to burst forth from behind the many obscuring domes. Taking a step through one of the arches you could see the main structure itself. Within the arched domes there is a rather grand partially enclosed corridor surrounding the main building with enough room for about twenty ponies to walk side by side. A balcony walkway, large enough only for two ponies walking side by side surrounded the building on the outside of the third of the five floors, held up by smaller pillars and guarded by crenelated walls never meant for defense. Framed on all sides by the roofed walkway stands a ornate converted manor house. Curved, almost organically carved limestone again makes up the majority of the main walls which creep up to the towering insides of the copper roof overhead. Walking around the building creates an baritone echo which is rather pleasant and relaxing to listen to, a stark contrast from the bustling thoroughfare through the market square beyond the pillars, and on particularly hot days is a cooling place to just sit and waste time. Generously proportioned stone benches at regular intervals are often in use by staff on breaks seeking a little peace and quiet. All in all the building seems to exude a kind of confidence and majesty that is seen so little these days compared to the modern steel and glass fronted buildings which seem to be the preoccupation of modern architects. Within the main oaken doors of the building, exposed stone, less intricately carved but no less pleasing to the eye than the outer facade line the labyrinthine corridors in every direction. Bright red carpets, soft on the hooves change the whole personality of the building from the grand and majestic to the warm and cozy, it is an almost jarring difference, but seems to welcome everypony in with a comforting embrace nonetheless. Princess Rarity herself has been credited by many scholars through the years, though not specifically named as the architect of the design of the building, at the very least it is said she had a large say in the aesthetics.
I love this building, it is simply magnificent, I couldn't imagine any way to improve it as a building. It is undoubtedly though, quite a schizophrenic home when compared to its current occupants. I hate what this building has come to stand for.
Being the corporate headquarters for Io Corp. the outer rooms are the head offices of the main corporate wings, the central clock tower, (no longer functioning), is the home to the directors and heads of departments. The CEO herself has the topmost office on the clock tower with an particularly wonderful panoramic view of the city, or so I'm told. HR, the largest corporate wing considering most of the work is centralised takes up most of the outer rooms at the northern end of the building. The southern end, and main doors are primarily corporate security. The west mainly houses the payroll staff, and at the eastern end, my destination, is corporate admin.
Yes I am an accountant.
Well, more specifically 'administrator'. My skills, or so I am told, rest firmly within the boundaries of liquidating 'toxic' corporate assets. My actual skills? Simple common sense. Don t believe me? I have over the last five or so years recovered more than 70 million (gross) bits, most of which from our flagging on-shore industrial wing using nothing but simple common sense that most foals could replicate given a little knowledge.
OK, so lets have a little example. During my first year on my current administrator job I was sent by my superiors to an steel works nestled in a valley west of Trottingham itself, it had for the better part of a decade been making steadily escalating losses and I was to evaluate whether the site was feasible or whether the site should close and ponies lose their jobs. Over the last twenty or so years they had been specializing in production of smartfab kits, modular components for buildings which are strong and easy to assemble, made primarily of steel. They had produced a vast array of kits and storage was full. As in, they had produced so much shit they had literally nowhere to put it and didn't think to stop building them. On top of that, on shore mining was all but ceased, which led to a shortage of metals on the open market for general production. So not only was this factory building unnecessary kits that even if they could sell them they were making a loss, they were doing it with expensive materials and dumping them in vast hangar sized warehouses. My solution? Stuff it all in to a furnace and melt it to steel blocks and chuck it on the open market. Simple. Common sense. Due to the increased demand for basic metals we even made a profit as the vast quantities of steel they were made with was bought when it was cheap and mined in large quantities. After converting the factory to a more modern nano-factory profits have never been better, and many pony jobs were saved. The fallout from that little fiasco was several managers sacked, myself promoted, and a rather generous pat on the back on that years Hearth Warming pay packet.
Right, so a little context is in order here I feel. For those of you not intimately familiar with the workings of corporate middle-management you should know that, for the most part, it is controlled by not those who have worked hard to get in to positions of power but by those who have the ambition for nothing but more money. Money-whorses. Oftentimes the ponies who are best suited for progression up the slippery slope of career progression are overlooked in favour of those who 'embody the corporate principles'. E.g. the ponies whom would actually do a good job simply do not wish to 'progress' for the sake of 'progression' and just want to keep their simple lives, work and get paid. The ones who do jump in to the roles not suited to them sadly have a tendency for being unable to work on their own, let alone control what other people do. Subsequently middle managers are on the whole incompetent procrastinators who usually make awful decisions costing the jobs of the people who by all rights should actually be in charge of them. Even sadder still, it seems the further up the corporate ladder you go competency becomes even more inversely proportional to the height of your rung.
Before you jump to conclusions, I am, admittedly in my own opinion only, not one of these money-whorses. My career progression has been entirely unintentional. I enjoy simple things. I am a single stallion with little to no family, no wife, no children and no intention of getting myself stuck with a mare whom I have little to nothing in common with. Start a family? Pah!. I have no vaulting ambitions to live up to. I am a simple fellow with simple wants, for which my current bank balance far outstrips my needs. Perhaps I will become the benevolent patron of a homeless charity or orphanage or some such good cause should I ever motivate myself enough to find out if such charities actually exist.
There is a welfare state after all.
My unfortunate promotions started almost immediately from my graduation from the University of Canterlot. On receipt of my degree (a 'first' if you care on the grade) I walked across the street to an conveniently placed recruiting office for Io. Was offered a job practically on the spot and was shipped out from my native Canterhorn state to Maresy, plonked in to an apprentice accommodation building and given directions to the minor office in the outskirts of Trottingham city. My manager at the time was an aging stern faced mare named Pocket Calculator who seemed to ooze management skill. An old school mare who had actually been one of the few in the management chain I came to know who warranted her job. A scant year or two from retirement of which her graying mane and coat was testament to she seemed to single me out as her successor. I was taken under her wing, literally, she was a pegasus after all, and told me everything about the job. Her office was a well oiled machine, ponies came in and either worked as they should have been capable or were transferred to the other offices which hoovered them up and spat them up the corporate chain like a cheap prostitute who refuses to swallow.
I was deeply saddened to hear of her death a mere two years after her retirement was finalised.
Regardless, I soon came to realize that the competence did not stop at her. Her manager (an previous apprentice to Pocket's himself) was an astute stallion who had an air of authority. When his subordinates were asked questions, they damn well gave answers. Above him it seemed that there was an entirely different class of manager grown from this small office whose ladder stood parallel to the many other management ladders, but instead of missing and wonky rungs, were a stable and deserved line of competent ponies whom were deserving of their jobs leading to the very top.
Then there was me.
Maybe I am being harsh on myself, but I do not consider myself particularly brilliant. I work. I do what needs to be done I am a pragmatist. I am not especially concerned with the inner workings of everything, that is other ponies jobs and I do not wish to complicate my own. Maybe that is what makes me good? Or at least what people perceive as good anyway. I never was one for the little details, management is about the big picture as far as I am concerned, the details are down to the people who understand them. After all who likes having a jobsworth as a manager.
OK so where was I. Ah yes, I was now currently trotting along the domed walkway heading to the eastern corporate admin offices. I had plastered a bland smile on my pale brown face. I am a unicorn, not that that matters much these days after the advent of grav manipulators. This particular morning I had collected my black suit jacket and gray waistcoat from the cleaners prior to getting dressed and combing my long white mane and tail. I am above average height, and fairly lean. Not muscled just slender, I have been called skinny on occasion by friends but that is just because they are all big fatties. My height and lack of body mass is the main reason I keep my mane and tail fairly long, makes me look less out of proportion, well at least I think it does. Basically I was dressed to the nines, because I was expecting another bloody promotion. That's the only bloody reason I got to come here these days. Typical.
I stepped up to the office door and took a deep breath whilst brushing a stray hair from my mane back behind my ear before entering. The reception area is like most of the innards of the Parliament building, apart from being a wider corridor than the usual walkways. It is large enough to have a fairly long desk constantly tended by a pretty, but uninteresting mare facing the door, without hindering movement along the hall. I gave the mare a patented bland smile, to which the mare responded with a much more convincing but still insincere smile before heading along the hall. I knew where I was going after all, along the corridor perpendicular to the desk towards the central clock tower.
The head of corporate admin is a particularly gruff stallion by the name of Money Harvest. A stallion of few words, which I have come to learn. A meeting with that stallion usually consists of 'do this, don't do it badly' which I actually appreciate, which is also why when I entered his office and saw him sitting there waiting for me with hooves crossed upon his desk I halted. I somehow knew this wasn't going to be some simple promotion. Money Harvest does not lift his eyes from his paperwork. Ever. I am not even joking.
“Mr Harvest sir” I coughed out and still managed to keep it entirely understandable. “its good to be back in the office again” I finished, before resuming my trot a little more cautiously towards the seat facing his own.
“Ah, I have been waiting for you Ledger” an apologetic looking smile on his graying black-coated face stared up at me from behind the rather large mahogany desk he sat at. “Please take a seat, we have much do discuss”
“Of course sir”
As ominous as the meeting had started I didn't wish to jump to conclusions. I took a breath readying myself to speak but I was cut off by a raised hoof.
“Perhaps, Mr Ledger, it would be best if we got straight to business” Harvest cut in whilst sliding a manila folder across the desk to me. “if you would take a quick look at that then I am sure we can proceed when you have a clearer idea of what is going on”
“Of course sir” smiled and nodded. Don't look nervous, Do not look nervous I thought to myself.
Now, I am no cryptanalyst, but I do understand intricately corporate jargon. When I saw a folder titled 'Liquidation of corporate assets in response to hostile takeover of Enyo office' I blinked. Read the title again and sat back on my chair with hooves shaking and looked back to Harvest. After the event obviously many of you would know what that means, but if you don't, then first; where have you been? And secondly; I will get to that in due course.
Harvests expression took a more dour turn now that I looked back to him. His bottom lip had bunched, obviously currently in the process of being chewed by his front teeth and his brows furrowed almost comically. I very nearly felt the urge to giggle given the look on the so normally stoic stallions face. Nearly.
“Yes,” he accompanied that word with an almost imperceptible nod. “we would like you to handle the recovery of assets Mr Ledger, there will also be a very generous bonus should you accept. Dare I say it enough for early retirement, even at your tender age” he adopted a more pensive look. “Okay Mr Ledger, I'll level with you here and now.” he seemed to deflate a little knitting his lips together in an almost childish pout “there are a lot of ponies whose livelihoods are at stake here. A joint meeting of the heads of departments was called and the only name Madame CEO and the other heads could agree to was you”
Now don't get me wrong, I am not, by my own admission, a particularly pleasant stallion. Ponies sometimes find conversation with me grating, and I am not one to listen to inane babble and pretend I am entertained. I have my own interests, most of which do not include others. But I am not an absolute twat. Bringing me in to this meeting was as far as my superiors were concerned, probably a gamble. They would most likely expect me to refuse and then go to the next pony on the list, even if it meant having to fire me. This sort of thing after all was my job, so who was I to say what I did and did not do. But at the same time;
“I will do it sir” I reached my shaking hoof towards the folder and started to gather it closer. Knowing how others would go about the same job my conscience would not allow me to knock back the offer. Perhaps 'request' is a more accurate word? Anyway I wasn't about to let some incompetent fuckwit make a mess of things.
Harvest, for the first time I have ever seen actually smiled. Not a polite little example of facial dexterity, an actual genuine smile. The dark earth pony lifted his hoof and pointed the grav manipulator on it towards his medicine cabinet. Not that kind of medicine, we're talking the kind of liquid medicine cabinet that heals only frayed nerves and the aches of a tedious day of work. And floated an crystal decanter of something amber over with two well cut brandy glasses. As I started to read through the employee manifest and asset list as the glasses were filled to half empty, got to leave room for the bouquet.
A glass was set in front of me.
“Mr Ledger” Harvest broke me from my reading and floated the glass a little closer. “we have not taken this decision lightly” I took a hold of the glass using telekinesis letting him turn off his grav bracelet. “We are not expecting you to complete this alone though. I have someone I would like you to meet” He looked over my shoulder to the corner of the room and gave a gentle nod.
I hadn't, since I entered the room actually looked around. In my defence the corner of the room Harvest gestured to would have been obscured by the inward opening door. So preoccupied was I that once I had laid my eyes on Harvest's out of character behaviour I never thought to check the occupancy of the room.
Oh, my.
“Mr Ledger, it will be my pleasure to be your PA for this assignment”
I turned my head to the sound of the voice whilst she was still speaking. Her voice was light and delicate, almost shy, with a slight emphasis on the esses and w's. Prench. Although those minor things were well hidden and almost obscured entirely by a Trottingham lilt it would be difficult for people not familiar with the Prench to pick it up. She was wearing a full nanosuit up to the base of her neck so commonly worn by augmentees, but it appeared custom made and was pure white contrary to the common doctrine black body suits you would normally see. Her blonde tail was cut short contrary to modern trends of keeping it long and natural, especially prevalent in the augmentee community, being no more than three hooves in length. Her fur visible to me was as white as the suit she wore and was highlighted especially by an off white, almost transparent dress that draped around her midsection and lower neck.
She had an blonde, almost golden mane, with light curls. No. Waves cascading down around her face and her neck, her mane was much fuller and longer than her tail and it framed her features beautifully. Finally she had turquise eyes and a face composed of delicate angles and joyously accented cheek bones that gave her a heart shaped face that a model would have been jealous of. Strangely for an earth pony she was most petite. Slender legs and torso, not at all like the usually stocky earth pony.
Beautiful. She was so beautiful it was almost painful to look at her.
“My name is Livre Gardien, but I much prefer Garde” She extended a dainty hoof towards me. “We should set out our plan of action”
Perhaps this wasn't going to be all shit.
Author's Note
im bad gramur and spels.
Do you want to know more?:
[] Y
[] N
“Mr Ledger, a memo from corporate acquisitions has arrived on my holoscreen link, shall I forward it to you?”
I have always been a 'work from home' kind of pony, even when on assignment from my actual place of residence, most of my time is spent working from an 'executive suite' at the local hotel. I mean, there is nothing more off putting than going for a shit to be met by a rather large brown stain glowering back at you indignantly, what do these ponies actually eat? Little wonder hospitals were groaning under the weight (pardon the pun) of self inflicted 'injuries'. Gastric bands are no longer seen as a last resort any more, but a lifestyle choice.
Anywho.
We were rapidly approaching the end of our second day at the office. The meeting yesterday concluded swiftly and consisted of little more than Harvest giving a general outline of what the heads of divisions hoped from out little sojourn. Garde spent that time making what appeared at the time, to be excessive notes. Presumably on my behalf. Most of my time since had been spent reviewing an apparently never ending stream of acquisition requests and personnel files. The rest of the time I spent staring at Garde.
It was entirely unintentional, and I was not simply being a pervert you must understand.
I had never possessed a PA in my retinue. I never had a retinue to begin with, and I was entirely unsure of what to expect. Needless to say, my expectations were far surpassed. Frankly I was beginning to wonder how I had ever coped without her help. Admittedly the assignments I had been on in my years of service to date were not quite of the scale of this current task, and I never had to contend with such distractions before, but nonetheless, I was simply in awe.
Standard grav manipulators come primarily in the 'bracelet' form, a thin silver looking metal band, approximately an eighth of a hoof wide encircling the leg beneath the fetlock, usually worn on the right foreleg. Manufactured by one of the four big 'everything corps' (Callisto Conglomerate to be more precise) of which Io is one, they became, a long time ago, an integral part of Equestrian society. My understanding of their usage is honestly, a little vague. Amounting to basically 'think thing move' and 'thing then moves'. Being an Unicorn, and I am not exactly in the minority of my kin, many Unicorns don't use them as they have a built in horn sticking proudly out of their foreheads that does the exact same job.
Well that is honestly what I thought anyway.
The way Garde was using her manipulator was almost poetic.
“Yes, thank you Garde” I blinked from my admittedly creepy staring, and looked to the window which had a pleasant view of the small park to the east of Parliament building. The sun was beginning to creep a little closer to the horizon now, and long shadows from the leaves of a large old oak drew a pleasing pattern across the perfectly tended grass. Garde gave a little nod accompanied by an restrained smile which slowly dropped as she turned back to her work.
Watching her work had rapidly become one of my favourite pastimes. A carousel of papers seemed dance a circle about her head as she annotated sheets and transposed more important nuggets of information to her holoscreen, which she collated and brushed in the direction of my holoscreen. I have actually counted and it seems that fourteen individual items seems to be her limit, not that I actually think she was taxing herself.
How is that even possible?! I know supposedly mares are expected to be able to multitask better than the average stallion, of which I am one decidedly average stallion, but that seemed a little excessive?. I struggle at times to even lift a brandy glass half empty of Armagnac, although in my defence, the conditions surrounding said levitation were a little more stressful.
I glanced back at my holoscreen again and began levitating my stylus towards its mail icon, swiping away the files I currently had open.
Acquisitions had become steadily more insistent over the last couple of days, that each item be checked and double-checked considering the quantity of stuff we were ordering and authorising. Given the time-scales we were working with it was understandable, to a degree. Honestly though I think they were delaying so some poor fucker didn't have to work late to actually buy and ship what we wanted, hoping we would miss the cut off time. Still, it was tedious confirming confirmation mails simply saying 'yes we did order that... yes we do want that' or some-such similar iteration of the above. This particular form consisted of primarily foodstuffs, three particular items highlighted in red. Powdered milk, powdered eggs and cornstarch. Sugar was highlighted in orange, obviously not the life or death situation that the fucking eggs, milk and cornstarch were though. I racked my brain whilst looking at the staggering quantity of aforementioned items requested.
What the fuck?
Custard?
I let out an entirely stallion-like giggle.
“Is there a problem, Mr Ledger?” Garde almost whispered whilst looking up from her vast array of documents of floating materials and raising an eyebrow inquisitively. I was still getting used to the intonation of her speech at the time. She had a peculiar, decidedly un-Prench habit of dropping her tone towards the end of a sentence, making everything sound unlike like a question. Maybe my initial conclusion was a little hasty, there was certainly the sound of time spent in Prance in her voice though, of that I was certain.
“Oh, no not really thank you Garde, just some mistake it appears” I sighed, quickly dispelling my humour at the oversight while I started to tap my reply with the stylus I was still levitating. “It looks like some zeros were added to an order in error”
Garde knitted her brow and bit her cheek; “Are you sure Mr Ledger? I double-checked all those numbers myself” Her swirling carousel gently floated about her person and stacked itself on her desk as she rose to view the order I was already beginning to amend. She trotted gracefully to my side and looked over the list. She was wearing an faint perfume which reminded me of lavender. “ah, I see your concern, but everything is as it should be Mr Ledger. The request was from Enyo office directly and will go a long way to helping us I felt”
But. Custard?
I like custard as much as the next pony but, really?. The way she said it though I honestly felt like I could not refuse.
Fine, fucking custard.
Can't refuse a pretty face.
“Okay Garde, if you are certain” I started tapping my response as she started her trail back to her desk across the room. “Also. please call me Bound, Mr Ledger makes me feel old”
“Of course Mr Bound.” She said with an impassive face, her eyes though betrayed her amusement at my expense. I swear this mare was baiting me to see if she could garner some kind of response. I wish I could have seen her cutie mark, I am almost certain it would be of a grinning face smirking right back at me. On the contrary though, I actually had to suppress a smile. Most humour these days has lost all subtlety.
Reply sent, I quickly flashed through the rest of the seemingly insignificant data trying to pick out anything of note. We were to depart to the starlift via the grav-rail link early the next morning so I did not wish to linger simply out of some kind of backwards duty. The shuttle waits for nopony and I wanted to be well rested.
“Garde, unless there is anything of immediate concern, we should finish for the evening.” I waited for a response for a moment but got nothing in return. “Remember we have a long journey tomorrow and there is going to be a lot of work to do, no point in wearing ourselves out now is there? Besides, most of what we are doing can be finished on the shuttle” A lie of course, and I was certain Garde knew this. It was only a two hundred league journey and it took a mere thirty minutes on the rail.
Garde let out a little sigh before neatly stacking her papers and collapsing her holoscreen back into its crystal cube.
“Of course, Mr Bound. The hour is getting late and we must still head over to the security offices R and D wing before they close for the evening.” She lifted the cube and tucked it into her mane.
Perhaps after that I should offer to buy her dinner? I thought to myself. It was not as if we had really gotten to know each-other over the last two days, aside from small talk our conversation had stayed strictly within the bounds of our profession. We were going to be spending an significant time together, primarily in close proximity and keeping everything business only in those situations can become a little tedious and uncomfortable.
“Besides, afterwards I must meet some friends who I have not seen in some time before we go.”
Maybe not then.
Author's Note
I wrote this chapter after eating custard if you cant tell.
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