Summit Days Are Here Again
The Quadrennial Summit Preparation Meeting’s timetable was long and thorough, but the only agenda item missing was “anything enjoyable whatsoever”.
All thirteen ponies present at the meeting were more or less alert, but one was more less-alert than most. Princess Celestia sat at the head of the oval table, sitting as tall as a wilting cornstalk. Her eyelids drooped and her arms lay flat against the table to stabilize herself. She stared at a point on the table and focused on nothing in particular.
She licked her lips. “I second the motion,” she said, the hoarseness in her voice subdued but noticeable.
Merriweather, the pony to her right, arched his back and lifted a tiny gavel in his magic. His uniform was red and proud, standing out against his sensible green coat. His short mane was a brisk beige, with a neat part down the exact center. He scanned the ponies before him. “The second carries. I will now call for a second to this second.”
“I second this second,” said the minister to his right.
“I second the seconding of the second,” said a second minister second from Merriweather’s right.
The tiny gavel in Merriweather’s magic came down on the table with an elegant clink. “Seconding of the second carries. The roundtable may proceed. All in favor of the forthwithstanding second?”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
Celestia sighed. “Aye.”
Clink. “Seconding carries. The second roundtable may proceed. All in favour of the second forthmostwithstanding motion?”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
Celestia buried her face in her hooves, using her own copy of the timetable as a pillow. “Aye,” she mumbled.
Clink. “The motion to begin the meeting carries.” Merriweather nodded to the secretary. He levitated his pen in the air and clicked it, the sound crisp and promising but naively misleading. “We may now begin with the first item on the agenda.”
A pony to Celestia’s left raised his hoof in the air. “Um, permission to speak freely?”
Merriweather nodded. “You don’t have to raise your hoof, General Pointy Stick, you may ask freely for permission to speak freely, and, speaking permission forwhich, including speakage previously spoken to ask for preforespoken speaking permission, is granted.”
“Thanks, Merriweather,” General Pointy Stick said, setting his hoof back down. “I, uh, I couldn’t help but notice that Princess Celestia seems to be sleeping?”
“I am,” Celestia mumbled. “Please proceed.”
Merriweather tightened his already-tight necktie. “Your Highness, your presence—and participation—in this meeting is crucial for a successful summit with the representatives of Snaptibia.”
Celestia sighed, raising her head and resting it on one hoof. “I’m sorry, Merriweather, but this meeting is boring.”
“This meeting is thorough,” Merriweather said.
“Right, thoroughly boring.”
“No.” Merriweather tapped his pen on the 23-page timetable in front of him. “Snaptibia is a valuable trade partner with Equestria. They’re also sneaky. No no,” Merriweather said, waving to the secretary. “Don’t write that. Say… they’re also resourceful and clever.” He put a hoof to his chest. “It is my duty to ensure every part of the trade negotiations runs effectively, as well as every other part of the summit, because believe you me, the deftness is in the details.”
“The devil’s in the details,” Celestia droned.
Merriweather pointed to the secretary. “Don’t write that.”
The door to the meeting room clicked open. Merriweather’s ears swiveled at the noise.
Rarity trotted in, then stopped at the tableful of faces staring at her. She recoiled a step. “Ahem, this is the Quadrennial Summit Preparation Meeting, is it not?”
“Rarity! Hello!” Celestia said, perking up. “Yes, it most certainly is.”
“I’m terribly sorry, am I late?”
“Yes, fashionably so.” Celestia shared a chortle with Rarity. She gestured to a seat across the table. “Do make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you so much,” Rarity said, helping herself to a seat and nodding to the formal ponies on either side of her. “I would hate to commandeer this meeting any longer. Please, continue.”
“D—uh—Princess,” Merriweather said, “this was not scheduled. I would like to make a proposal that you make a motion to add Rarity’s name to the list of attendees. I will now call for—”
“Pardon me, Merriweather, but there’s no need,” Celestia said. “Rarity is a dear friend who has had a crucial role in designing my wardrobe for the summit. I personally invited her. You may continue with the meeting.”
Merriweather paused, then nodded. “Very well.” He floated a spare timetable and quill over to Rarity. He brushed his hair with a hoof and tried to smile. “Welcome, Ms. Rarity. My name is Merriweather. I hope this meeting proves to be informative for you.”
Rarity nodded. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Merriweather.”
Merriweather picked up the papers in front of him and straightened the pile. “Now, on to the first item in today’s agenda. The Honourable Duchess Ladyhooves from Scandineighvia will be in attendance. She has strong political ties to the PKB—the Pegasi Kingdom of Brickfactory—which as you all are aware is a major exporter of goods to Snaptibia, mainly bricks. According to polls from Snaptibia, bricks are up by nine points, while the Duchess is up fifteen since her visit to the kingdom last spring.”
The sound of scrawling and scratching filled the room as everyone took notes in the margins of their timetables, quills scribbling as fast as the secretary’s. Even Merriweather took notes, the only one in the room with a pen. Rarity and Celestia exchanged curious looks, neither touching their quills.
“It is also worth noting that in Snaptibia since last spring, Prince Iron Thighs is up by eleven points compared to the Duchess’s fifteen points. Tensions between the two kingdoms may be apparent at the summit tomorrow.” Merriweather held up a thoughtful hoof. “Also take note that Scandineighvia is up by five points, straw is down by six, and the initials PKB are up by four points to PVC’s one point, PB&J’s three points, and Ph.D.’s negative two points.”
“Question.” Rarity raised her hoof.
All eyes and ears shifted to Rarity, on the other side of the table.
Merriweather cleared his throat. “As was previously mentioned, you don’t have to raise your hoof, Ms. Rarity, you may ask freely for permission—”
“Permission granted,” Celestia said, ignoring Merriweather’s frown.
Rarity leaned forward on the table and crossed her hooves. “Is the Duchess seeing anyone right now?”
Celestia’s ears perked up.
Merriweather glanced down at his timetable. Everypony else in the room waited quietly for him to be the first one to respond. He scratched his nose, the action enough to grant somepony permission to cough. Merriweather said, “And by seeing, you mean…”
“Dating.” Rarity sat up in her chair, scanning the table of silent ponies, few of whom made eye contact. “Do any of you know? Or was this already discussed before I arrived?” She shuffled through her timetable, skimming the list of items.
Merriweather raised his eyebrows. “No, this was not previously discussed. I doubt it holds relevance to our meeting’s agenda.”
Rarity nodded, setting her stack of papers down. “With all due respect, I think it’s relevant. Do political ties matter any less than romantic ties? Do all ponies make decisions and base discussions around politics and points, or emotions as well?”
Nopony responded, this time none of them making eye contact.
Except Princess Celestia. “Well, if nopony else will tell, I will,” Celestia said, leaning forward and practically whispering. “I heard the Duchess is seeing Senator Coppercloud’s brother.”
Rarity also leaned forward. “Senator Lead Balloon? No, you don’t say.”
Celestia smiled. “Yes. Yes I do say.”
Merriweather shook his head, holding up his timetable. “This sounds more like gossip than serious discussion. Now, if we could resume with the scheduled items on the timetable—”
“Oh, but this is indeed serious,” Rarity said. “Senator Lead Balloon has been seen in public lately with somepony named Fiery Jewel, one of the cabinet members of the PKB, so everyone just assumed he was taken, but this puts his relationships with her and with the Duchess in an entirely different light.”
Merriweather pressed his lips together.
General Pointy Stick leaned an inch forward. “I, um, I heard a rumour that Senator Lead Balloon was going to propose to Fiery Jewel.”
“General,” Merriweather said. “You didn’t ask for permission to speak freely.”
“Permission granted,” Celestia said.
General Pointy Stick stared straight ahead and avoided Merriweather’s glower, while Princess Celestia innocently shrugged at it.
“A rumour, you say? Who’d you hear it from?” Rarity asked, leaning farther forward.
General Pointy Stick tapped his hooves together. “Uh, that’s not important.”
“Was it Princess Puffy Pastries?” Celestia said, nudging General Pointy Stick on the shoulder. “I bet it was Princess Puffy Pastries.” She turned to Rarity. “He has tea with Princess Puffy Pastries every second Tuesday of the month.”
Clink clink clink went Merriweather’s gavel. “Order, fillies and gentlecolts, order.” However, the clinks were too quiet to dispel the discussion.
“You have tea with Princess Puffy Pastries?” Rarity asked, her eyes sparkling. She leaned so far forward, her torso was flat against the table. “Tell us everything you know. Spill the juicy details.”
Celestia placed a hoof on Merriweather’s shoulder. “I promise we’ll get back to the summit preparation, Merriweather, but please understand—juicy details are at hand, here.”
And since she’d served as the secretary for the Quadrennial Summit Preparation Meeting and many other such important and professional meetings, the secretary wrote down the word ‘juicy’ for the first time in her career.
~ ~ ~
Two days later, the weather was calm and temperate, with barely a cloud in the sky. The day could not have been better suited for a formal garden party, and the same could be said for the garden itself, though the garden could not have been better suited for an informal garden party as well, or any garden party, really, or just gardening in general. A garden only had so many possible functions.
Rarity and Celestia entered the garden from the north gate, utilizing one of the garden’s functions, mainly that of being a place to enter into. And though gardens could also be a thing to focus on, Rarity was not focused on the garden, but instead on Princess Celestia’s dress.
“Oh, my goodness! Princess,” Rarity said, nearly swooning at a princess wearing a dress she designed. “You look even better out in the sunlight!”
Celestia looked down at her dress. The fabric was a smooth gradient from the soft blue waist to the lively green hemline, the colours stunning but composed. Sparkling purple sequins dotted the hemline. She had a light blue, frilly collar in place of her usual golden neckpiece. To top it off, she wore a daisy in her mane, pinned behind her ear.
Celestia twirled, a hop in her step and a smile on her face. “It’s absolutely wonderful. Thank you, Rarity. Thanks again.”
Rarity nearly swooned at a princess personally thanking her twice. “Think nothing of it, dear, I’m more than happy to help.” She took a step back, regarding the dress once more. “I say, the sequins really do match your eyes.”
“Thank you,” Celestia said, nodding at Rarity’s pink frilly dress. “And you look wonderful yourself, as always.”
Rarity once again nearly swooned at the same princess complimenting her own modest outfit and parasol, as well as thanking her a third time. “Oh, but it’s nothing. In no way will I outshine you today. You’re the star of the show, Princess.”
“Regrettably so, but yes,” Celestia said, smiling. “And please, call me Celestia.”
Rarity did swoon, this time, at a princess letting her call her by a familiar name.
Celestia leapt to catch her. “Oh dear, are you okay?”
“Yes,” Rarity said as she smiled, her eyelids fluttering. “Oh, I’m fabulous.”
Celestia shrugged. “I can’t argue that.”
“There you are,” Merriweather said as he trotted up to the pair. He checked his watch. “The match is about to start. Did you accidentally lose your timetables for this afternoon?”
“I assure you I did not,” Celestia said, helping Rarity to her hooves. “I misplaced my timetable entirely on purpose.”
Merriweather frowned and checked the sundial at the end of the courtyard. “I wish you hadn’t. I needed you to meet with three diplomats and a statistician before the arrival of Prince Iron Thighs.”
“I’ve already met them, Merriweather.”
Merriweather raised his eyebrows. “Met as in spoke with today, or met as in you’d already been introduced prior to this event?”
“No,” Celestia said. “Met as in met eyes once or twice, at another similarly meaningless grown-up costume party.”
“Doesn’t count,” Merriweather said, holding a spyglass up to his eye to check the Canterlot clock tower off in the distance. “But that may have to count for now. We’ve no time at all before the Prince arrives. And it’s not a costume,” Merriweather said, brushing the lapels of his jacket. “It’s my great uncle’s Royal Guard uniform.”
“Is that so?” Rarity said. “You’re wearing it marvellously, as you did yesterday. The red goes well with your splendid green coat,” Rarity said, pointing to a bronze medal on his right breast. “May I ask what this one’s for?”
“Of course you may.” Merriweather puffed up his chest, showcasing the medal. “It’s also my great uncle’s. He fired a gun once.”
“Oh, my.” Rarity said. “That’s a feat of bravery, to be sure.”
“Yes, truly,” Merriweather said, checking his watch once more. “But I’m afraid as much as I’d like to talk about great moments in Equestrian history, Princess Celestia has to meet with at least one diplomat before—”
“You know,” Celestia piped up, “it’s amazing to think about how long it’s been since Equestria was at war. I don’t think we’ve had a serious and devastating conflict since the War of 3 Days and A Frosty Afternoon in January Where Everyone Pretty Much Stopped Fighting when One Pony Actually Died of Hypothermia.”
“That’s correct,” Merriweather said. “Equestria has only dealt with a few wars, shortly after wars were invented but not long before peace treaties were invented. One of those first peace treaties was with the good ponies of Snaptibia. It was written on the condition that, in addition to countless week-long trade negotiations (my specialty), we both participate in a summit, complete with a ball and a friendly competition, every four years.”
Merriweather pointed to the table in the middle of the garden square. “That over there is the friendly competition. It is designed to serve as a symbolic substitute for war, a peaceful and bloodless method of resolving conflict. It’s a game requiring the utmost in skill, strategy, wits, and brilliance. A true test of will, and the ultimate method of truly fair mediation.”
“It’s checkers,” Celestia said.
Merriweather nodded. “This is what peasants call it, yes.”
“Merriweather, we’ve had this discussion.” Celestia sighed. “ ‘Peasants’ is disrespectful.”
“Oh, right. Plebeians.”
“No.”
“Natives, then.”
“That’s worse.”
“Commoners?”
Celestia shrugged. “Close enough.”
“Checkers according to commoners, then,” Merriweather said. “As per tradition, one friendly game of checkers shall be played between the two leaders, each allowed to have one advisor at their side. Then later this afternoon, we’ll hold the ball, and thus mark the end of a successful Quadrennial Snaptibian-Equestrian Summit.” Merriweather sighed wistfully and filed his timetable back into his saddlebag.
A waiter passed by with a tray of glasses full of grape juice. Merriweather picked one up and swirled the juice in the glass.
“You swirl juice like a natural,” Rarity observed.
Merriweather raised his glass to her in toasting motion. “Thank you. Well, Princess, shall we take our places at the board?” He took a sip of his juice.
“Yes, well, about that,” Celestia said, looking at Rarity. “I want Rarity to be my advisor this time around.”
Rarity gaped. Merriweather spat out his juice, away from anyone’s dress.
“You spit-take juice like a natural,” Rarity observed.
“Thank you.” He raised his glass to her once again. He turned to Celestia. “And pardon me, Princess, but what?”
Celestia placed a hoof on his shoulder. “You’ve served me well as Minister of Foreign Affairs, Merriweather, but you’re simply too qualified. I want Rarity to advise me on this one.”
Merriweather squinted, slowly shaking his head. “Princess, as your advisor for the past three Quadrennial Snaptibian-Equestrian Summits, I would strongly advise against this. This is a delicate situation that I have much experience with. I’ve trained for years in foreign affairs and diplomacy. I can negotiate better than the sharpest politicians in the country. I once convinced another kingdom to give us exclusive rights to half their exports, just by holding meetings for forty-eight hours straight.”
“Yes, but did you see the dress Rarity made for me?” Celestia twirled around, the purple sequins of her dress glinting in the sunlight. “The sequins match my eyes.”
“Oh, but don’t they?” Rarity said, eyes shimmering as she witnessed Celestia’s glorious twirl. “Though, if I may, Princess, wouldn’t it be best for Merriweather to advise you for this game? It sounds awfully important.”
Celestia stopped twirling. Merriweather waited, ignoring a passing plate of hors d'oeuvres. Celestia looked at Merriweather, then bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Merriweather. I understand the implications of this competition, I do, but I’ve been going to this summit for many years now, and every time I get bored stiff. I just want to have fun in a game of checkers. Just this once, could you do this for me?”
Merriweather sighed, setting down his glass gently on the cobblestone ground. He reached into his saddlebag and looked at his timetable, then put it back. “Though I’ve been trained to do what I do well, Princess, sometimes I forget you’ve got centuries more experience than I.” He bowed and held out a hoof to Rarity. “You may choose whomever you wish to be your Advisor.”
“Thanks, Merriweather, you’re the best.” Celestia shook Merriweather’s hoof and gave him a peck on the cheek, then trotted off with Rarity towards the checkerboard in the garden square. “I promise not to start a war this time!” she called out over her shoulder.
“Princess, you know I don’t appreciate jokes like that!” Merriweather said, picking up his glass. He took a sip, then swallowed and called after Celestia, “And what do you mean ‘this time’?”
Princess Celestia and Rarity cantered through the garden, greeting ponies as they went, exchanging compliments on outfits, hairstyles, and glass-swirling techniques. Rarity was quick to praise Celestia, and Celestia quick to praise Rarity’s design, but also quick to hurry along to the garden square, where the competition was quick to not yet start.
The pair approached the checkerboard, which was a plain board by itself but mounted on top of a surprisingly ornate marble pedestal. As Rarity took her seat next to Celestia on the soft white garden cushions in front of the board, the general chatter in the garden quieted down.
A new party approached the courtyard from the south gate. These ponies were clad head-to-hoof in steel battle armour. They marched, but not in sync with each other, their marching resulting in a low thunder that rumbled through the gardens as they trotted. Their faces were hard, not in the physical sense as their rock-steady glances might suggest, but more in the emotional sense.
One red-coated stallion stood out among them. His shoulders were as wide as two of his guards put together. His muscles, bloating like overinflated balloons, threatened to break free of his tunic and armour. Though his limbs seemed too large to properly bend, he strode up to his side of the checkerboard. He removed his helmet, revealing his short but sharp black mane.
He sat down on the cushion on his side of the checkerboard, his scowling gaze never leaving Celestia. His dark green eyes drilled into hers. Every breath he exhaled was a low thunder, and every breath he inhaled a low, gentle breeze, much like anypony else when they inhale.
Anypony except Rarity, who at that particular moment, inhaled with more of a sharp gasp. Rarity craned her neck up to whisper in Princess Celestia’s ear. “That’s Prince Iron Thighs?”
“Indeed it is,” Celestia whispered back. “He’s a real knockout, isn’t he?”
“I suppose that’s an apt description.” Rarity shifted, tilting her parasol forward, almost as if it were a shield. “He’s certainly, um, hefty. And scary, quite frankly.”
“He’s the only one on the continent to rival Merriweather’s trade negotiation skills. He once convinced another kingdom to give them exclusive rights to half their exports, just by glaring at their leader for forty-eight hours straight,” Celestia said. “He spends seven hours a day sleeping, two hours ruling, and seventeen hours lifting.”
Rarity paused. “But that makes… twenty-six hours?”
“Exactly,” Celestia said. “And, I might as well mention: he’s single, too.”
Prince Iron Thighs pulled out a steel dagger from its sheath and dragged it across his square jawline to sharpen the blade. However, the handle of the dagger shattered in his grasp, so he tossed it aside and one of his guards immediately placed a new dagger in his sheath.
“I’ll pass,” Rarity said.
“Celestia,” Iron Thighs boomed, completely silencing the crowd around them. Even the nearby birds stopped chirping.
“Prince Iron Thighs,” Celestia said, offering her hoof to him.
Holding her hoof in his, he reached down and kissed it. Despite his comically large arms, he managed to make the gesture look gentle and elegant.
The Prince set his hooves back down on the ground. “It’s wonderful to see you. I have been looking forward to this match for many moons now. May the best pony win.”
Celestia nodded. “Likewise on all counts. May the best pony win.”
And with a raise of Toastmaster Toastmaster’s glass of juice (who everypony agreed had the best juice-toasting technique in the country), the game began.
The next ten minutes were agonizingly slow. Each player took at least a minute to take their turn and move a piece. Whenever a checkers piece was captured, the crowd would break out into low whispers, but the whispers would die down quickly the moment Celestia brought her hoof up to her chin or Iron Thighs’ eyes moved from the board to Celestia.
Rarity looked at the checkerboard, shifting on her cushion. She rested her parasol on her shoulder.
Iron Thighs’ eyes were steadily focused on Celestia, only moving to whisper something his advisor, who had to climb up over his shoulder to whisper back. Both of them were too quiet for Rarity to hear.
Rarity looked up at Celestia and whispered, “I don’t mean to annoy you or insult the proceedings and long-standing traditions here, but… is this it? It’s so boring.”
“I completely agree,” Celestia said. “But don’t worry, though it may not seem like it, there’s plenty of intricately detailed strategy right now.”
“It’s hard to tell through your whisper whether that’s sarcasm or not.”
Celestia chuckled lightly. “It’s not. Here’s an example of how boring it gets: If I was watching the left corner of his mouth right now, I’d notice it was tugging slightly. This would tell me he’s about to put one of his pieces in a more aggressive position unless I block his path with one of my men. A twitch of his right bicep would tell me he has an alternative route, which, although his right bicep is twitching, it doesn’t look involuntary—it’s intentional, telling me that he’s doing his tell on purpose to bluff me. That’s, of course, if I was watching for all that. But I’m not.” Celestia watched as Iron Thighs moved a piece over hers, taking it captive. “Instead, I’m watching Senator Coppercloud’s eyes.”
“Why?” Rarity said. “Not to be so forthcoming, but are you attracted to him?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Well, of course, so is just about every mare and stallion on the continent, but I heard he was engaged.”
“He is, but I think that’s going to be a temporary, public image sort of thing. I have no doubt he’ll convince his advisors to break it off quietly in pursuit of a stallion’s heart.”
Rarity whispered a gasp. “Whose heart, dare I ask?”
Celestia floated a checkers piece along the board. “As you’re aware, rumor says Governor Zappyhorn from Earthponia, but his eyes say otherwise.” She raised an eyebrow at Rarity. “Notice the occasional glances in the direction of the swan fountain, sometimes holding for just a little too long.”
“The Honourable Duchess Ladyhooves’ personal assistant’s scribe’s aide. How did I miss that?” Rarity raised a hoof to her cheek. “They’d make for such an adorable couple.”
“Celestia,” Prince Iron Thighs rumbled, his advisor trying, but failing, to glare quite as intimidatingly.
“Yes?” Celestia asked.
Iron Thighs stood still as a statue, his mouth moving slowly but powerfully. “I sense the game before you is not capturing your interest. Might I ask what is?”
“Oh, nothing. Just sharing a joke with my advisor here.”
Iron Thighs raised an eyebrow. “A joke, you say. May I ask what, or whom, this joke is about?”
Celestia nodded. “That’s a fair question, your Thighness, but I would prefer this joke remain between me and my advisor.”
Iron Thighs straightened up, his massive frame now casting a shadow over the board. He spoke in a booming voice loud enough for everypony in the garden and beyond to hear. “This joke sounds to be a massively entertaining witticism, Celestia. I implore you to share with us what is so humourous as to distract your attention from our match here. Please, tell us this hilarious joke.”
Princess Celelstia grinned, covering her mouth with an innocent hoof. “Your checkers skills.”
Murmurs flooded the audience like wildfire. The veins in the Prince’s red neck bulged like fire hoses.
Rarity stepped back, dropping her parasol. “Um, Princess.”
“Attention, everypony! I implore you to settle down!” Merriweather said, his nervous laugh persuading everyone to calm down. Giving Celestia a glare, he pulled out a handkerchief and patted his forehead. “Banter is simply a part of the fun. It’s playful banter, is all, everypony.”
Iron Thighs stared at Merriweather, his overinflated muscles tightening. He turned to Celestia, inhaling as thunderously as he exhaled. “Playful banter,” he said.
Celestia nodded. “Yes. Playful banter.”
Rarity tapped her hooves together as Iron Thighs calmed down. She leaned towards Celestia and whispered, “What are you doing, Princess?”
“I’m having fun,” Celestia said. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to have fun in a game of checkers for once?”
“Yes, but is he the best one to make fun of?”
“Yes,” Celestia said. “In fact, he makes it the most fun.”
Rarity shifted and inhaled slowly. “But is it smart to begrudge somepony so powerful, in the physical sense and the political sense?”
“Honestly, I’m not too worried about ol’ Thighsy. He knows it’s all in good fun.”
Rarity bit her lip. “Is that so?”
“Probably,” Celestia said, too quiet for Rarity to hear.
“Well, if that’s the case, then I trust you,” Rarity said, looking up at Celestia and smiling. “If ‘Thighsy’ can take it, then by all means.”
Celestia stared down at the checkerboard, planning her next move. Prince Iron Thighs had developed something of a reputation amongst the international community. Snaptibia had been home to many imposing leaders over the years, but none quite like Iron Thighs. He had arrived in an era after gyms had been invented, but not long before protein shakes were invented. His unprecedented size matched his unprecedented ego and his unprecedented desire to punch things. Few countries had the desire to get on his bad side. Most saw him as a slumbering beast, harmless for now, but if disturbed from his slumber, could bring destruction and forever ruin the life of the unfortunate soul who awakened him.
However, to some, poking the beast was great fun. Celestia leaned down and whispered to Rarity, “Would you like to see how red his face can get?”
Rarity smirked. “I suppose so.”
Celestia cleared her throat. She held her hoof up to her chest, looking down at her hooves. “I have a question, your Thighness, and though I feel much too embarrassed to ask it, I regardless feel the need to: What game is this and how do you play it?”
All eyes in the audience, now slightly nervous, turned to the Prince. He leaned his head back, his brows furrowed, seemingly ready to tell her off over his upturned nose. However, he blinked, then tilted his head back down, his lips curling up into a smile, the first time that afternoon he’d exhibited a soft and pleasant feature. “You move your pieces in front of mine. Whoever’s pieces get captured first, wins.”
The audience laughed, enjoying this newfound playful banter.
Celestia shrank back and raised a hoof, feigning hurt. She pouted. “That’s a shame. I’m afraid I’m about to lose, then.”
In one move, she jumped one black piece across four of his red, taking all of them captive. The audience fell silent once again, deciding a playful insult was not as easy to laugh at as playful banter.
The smile on Prince Iron Thighs’ face disappeared. He turned a shade of red bright enough to stand out through his already-tomato-red coat. The veins in his neck bulged like roots sprouting from an oak tree.
Celestia whispered, “He’s redder than I thought he would be, honestly.”
“A brilliant shade of red,” Rarity said, hiding a smile. “He’s redder than his checkers pieces.”
Celestia snorted, then contained herself to a giggle.
Prince Iron Thighs took several deep breaths to calm himself. For the first time that match, his glare had left Celestia for more than five seconds, down to the board to assess the damage. Once he’d made his move, he glared again at Celestia with a burning gaze instead of a burning blush.
As the minutes ticked by, the checkerboard saw the loss of yet more pieces. No more banter was shared between the players, nor any talking or murmuring amongst the crowd whatsoever. The garden was silent, save the occasional clack of a piece being moved on the board.
Towards one o’clock, the game was drawing to a close. Only two pieces remained on the board, one of Celestia’s black pieces and one of Iron Thighs’ reds.
Prince Iron Thighs’ muscles visibly relaxed at the layout. He was one square away from becoming kinged, and victory was practically guaranteed.
“Well, Celestia,” he said, sharing a grin with his advisor. “Now that the match has come to an end, I hope this served as a good refresher for how to play checkers, and that I’ve served as a good example of how to win.”
“You most certainly have,” Celestia said, giving a humble nod. “I only hope I was a worthy adversary for you this afternoon. You win against me today with the highest of dignity.”
“Your sportsmanship is unparalleled, Princess. Now, if you would be so kind…” Iron Thighs picked up his last checkers piece and placed it on Celestia’s home turf. “King me,” he declared.
Squeak.
Celestia set a rubber duck down on top of his piece.
Every lung in the audience was stuffed full of air, every nostril careful not to let a single noise slip out. Each muscle on Iron Thighs’ body tightened, the veins on his neck swollen like strands on a thick, gross, overly large spider web.
The corners of Celestia’s mouth turned up in a sly smile. “Go fish.”
Merriweather did his best to keep from screaming.
Rarity did her best to keep from bursting out laughing.
One lone piece of each team remained on the board. Celestia was trapped, that much was obvious, and was two moves away from defeat. However, Prince Iron Thighs’ only possible move in his path to victory was to eliminate the last of his opponent’s remaining men with a rubber duck.
Iron Thighs stood up violently, his powerful hindquarters launching his cushion behind him, striking one of his guards square in the face and knocking him out cold.
“If you dare to ridicule me, Celestia, you shall pay the price.” Iron Thighs’ nostrils flared. He flicked Celestia’s last remaining piece off the board. It tapped Celestia in the arm and landed on the grass. Iron Thighs’ scowl was mighty. “We will have war.”
An itchy stillness hung in the air. No one in the crowd knew quite how to react to the leader of another country declaring war over a game of checkers. The fact sunk in, however, and with it came a growing sense of restlessness. No amount of playful banter or skillful juice-swirling in the world could put them at ease. Many a swoon followed, from mares and stallions alike, some from the shock and some from holding their breath for far too long.
Rarity blinked. “Oh, my.”
Iron Thighs turned and left, his entire procession of guards following suit, two of them dragging their newly unconscious comrade.
Merriweather grabbed Celestia’s arm and dragged her as well, in the direction of Prince Iron Thighs. “Well, you’ve certainly done it now,” he muttered. “Come now. There’s plenty of paperwork involved in starting a war.”
“I’m sorry, Rarity,” Celestia said as she was hauled away. “I don’t think there’s going to be a ball tonight. Are you going to be fine?”
“I’m more worried about you, dear,” Rarity called out.
The mob of ponies scuttled farther away as Celestia tried to make herself heard above the crowd. “Don’t worry about me, will you be fine?”
“Of course I’ll be fine!” Rarity shouted. “Stay safe! And thanks again, it’s been a wonderful weekend!”
~ ~ ~
Rarity wailed in her room in the castle, draped across her chaise longue and writhing atop the cushions. “Why? Why-hy-hy whyyyyyy!” she asked the room, the world, the universe, but no reply of any kind came to comfort her.
Instead, her only comfort came in the form of ice cream. Scoop after scoop of vanilla oat swirl were heaped in by the mouthful. She employed two spoons to the task, but neither seemed to be working quickly enough.
The door clicked as Celestia walked in and immediately halted. Rarity quieted down and stared at Celestia, her cheeks drenched in tears.
Celestia opened her mouth to say something, but closed it. Her eyes glanced around to drink in the scene, wandering down to Rarity’s tub of vanilla oat swirl. “I, um, I forgot we’d planned to go out for lunch,” Celestia said, nodding to the tub. “I’m sorry. You must be starving by now.”
Rarity choked out a laugh, then cleared her throat. “Oh, thank you darling for trying to excuse my overindulgence, but it’s not that, and mind you, the whole weekend was wonderful, I had a grand time, and I’m glad I got to spend it with you, and all the fun and gossip we shared, but… but…” Rarity’s lower lip quivered.
Celestia raised her eyebrows. “But?”
Tears resurged down Rarity’s face. “Oh, who am I kidding!” she cried, wrapping her hooves around Celestia and sobbing. “It’s too late,” she gasped. “You’ve already borne witness to me in my darkest hour. You’ve now seen me suffer, you’ve watched me gorge myself like a wild animal on fattening anguish.”
Celestia hugged Rarity. “It’s okay. Wild animals gorge themselves on much worse things than anguish.”
She rubbed Rarity’s back and felt her jolting spasms of despair. “Is this about the war?” Celestia asked. “If so, there’s no need to worry. We have Luna. Seriously, it’ll be over by Tuesday.”
“It’s not the war,” Rarity said between gasps.
“No?” Celestia pulled away from the hug, but kept a hoof on Rarity’s shoulder. “Are you sure? War is a devastating thing that can affect all of us. One time, I lost one of my favourite earrings in a war. Losing both earrings is one thing, but losing one dooms the other to remain in its box forever, unless I want to look like a pirate.”
“Oh, I know, it’s awful,” Rarity blubbered. “But no. It’s not the war.”
Celestia pursed her lips. “Is it about my behaviour today, then? I did act childish. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you amongst the nobles like that.”
“No,” she said. “That was actually decent—snort—publicity. Bad press and all that.”
“Then is it because I lost the game? I mean, I let him win every year.”
“No,” Rarity said, her lips quaking, barely willing to let the words escape her mouth. “Iron Thighs hated your dress!” she wailed. She fell to the floor and wept.
Celestia tilted her head. “My dress? Are you sure it wasn’t me he hated?”
Rarity shook her head, draping her arm over her eyes. “Oh no, it was the dress. As soon as he laid eyes on your dress, his lower left eyelid relaxed. He made up his mind right then. I knew he hated the colour scheme by the way he said your name. And then he did the little… the little… you know, one of these,” Rarity said, pointing to her erratically twitching face. “That! He did that! He did tha-ha-ha-haaaat.”
Celestia rubbed Rarity’s back, trying to console her over whatever that was. “I didn’t know that all meant he didn’t like your dress.”
“It does!” Rarity wailed, her face convulsing with multiple candidates for that. “And now he hates me!”
“Don’t worry. Whatever he thinks of you, he thinks much less of me.” Celestia looked down and shook her head. “I was childish and stupid and I lied about the war thing… I mean, I wasn’t worried about it, like I said, but I didn’t mean to trick you and Merriweather into thinking it was acceptable to ridicule Prince Iron Thighs like that.” She paused. “Well, I did, but I didn’t mean to start a war.” She pressed her lips together. “Well, I kind of did, but it’s okay! Like I said, it’ll be over soon.”
Rarity got up from the floor, her sobs fading. “That does sound fairly childish.”
Celestia nodded. “It was, and I’m sorry about it.” Using her magic, she floated the daisy out of her hair, looking it over for a moment, then set it down on the ground. She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Rarity wiped her eyes and sniffled. “I’d think Equestria would want to hear those words.”
“And they will,” Celestia said, lying down on the ground. “Word of the new war will spread in no time at all. In addition to Merriweather, Luna can negotiate a peace treaty with Iron Thighs—she’s a much better shouter. But even after the war’s over, everyone will inevitably ask why and how it happened, and there were too many witnesses today to lie about it. So of course, I will be forced to apologize profusely. Celestia will go down by eleven points in Snaptibia to Iron Thighs’ positive eight. I’ll lose some public favour here, maybe even some import deals. However, everypony but Iron Thighs will forget in three weeks. A month, tops.”
Rarity sniffled, her bottom lip jutting out. “Everypony but Iron Thighs?” Tears surged in her eyes. “Oh Celestia, he’ll never forget my abomination of a dress!” She broke out in tears once again, the ice cream spoon train embarking once again and resuming its regularly scheduled runs.
Celestia sighed, giving Rarity space to vent her feelings through her tears and eat her feelings through frozen, low-fat dairy confection. She occupied herself with looking outside the window, at the hustle of the ponies in the streets. Nopony seemed quite sure of what to do to prepare for a war, some visiting the market to stock up on food, others in the massage parlour to deal with the stress, and still others in the Rubber Bands and Wet Rolled-up Towels Emporium for weapons.
“I’m jealous of you, to be completely honest,” Celestia said.
Her body now a limp sack of sadness, Rarity uttered a confused sob.
“What I mean is, what other ponies think of your dress matters so much to you. It’s been a while since anything mattered to me. I’ve been thinking big picture for so long now, I’ve become numb to it all. My picture’s 1,400 years and growing. Yours is, what, twenty?”
Rarity choked on another sob. “Twenty-three.”
Celestia shook her head and smiled. “I’d never have guessed.”
“Oh, stop it—sniff—dear,” Rarity said, wiping her eyes and waving a hoof, “you’re too—gasp—kind.”
Celestia smiled. She crossed her arms in front of her and sighed. She rested her head on her arms. “I’ve been alive for so long, I’m tired of the big picture. None of the countries do anything but import exports and export imports. We haven’t had a war in centuries, and even when we’ve had wars, they’ve been over in a week, at most. Don’t get me wrong, war is terrible, especially if anypony actually dies, but I think so little of it now. I hate to say it, but I’m bored of it. Everything I do now is for entertainment, and the summit today is no exception.”
Celestia’s eyes wandered over to Rarity’s suitcase, the light pink edges of Rarity’s afternoon dress protruding from the sides of the case. “Honestly, I miss the time when things used to matter. As insensitive as it is for me to say it, I’m jealous of how you’re so passionate about your work that you cry over it. Dressmaking is everything to you, and possibly will be. But when you’re immortal like me, you have no goals, you know? You’re just kind of stuck here forever.
“I wish I was like you, where your short mortal life is everything, and you feel like a cog in the machine instead of a gear at the end of the chain, spinning but driving nothing else, forever forced to watch the rest of the machine run its course.” Celestia folded her arms and shook her head. “I’ve been alive so long, I feel I have no effect anymore, like nothing I do will matter because everypony it affects will die soon enough and future generations won’t care. Mortals’ lives mean something to them while they’re here. Death gives life value, you know?”
She looked over at Rarity, who had long since stopped crying. Her face still wet with tears, Rarity wordlessly pushed the bowl of vanilla oat swirl towards Celestia.
“Thanks,” Celestia said, scooping out a spoonful. “Wow, this is great. I never get enough desserts around here.”
Rarity watched as Celestia closed her mouth around a modest spoonful of the ice cream and took her time to enjoy the taste. She stepped away from the chaise longue, leaving it free for Celestia, and looked down at the tile. “Have you ever considered seeing a psychologist?” she asked.
“I’ve had many,” Celestia said, swallowing. “Would you like to go see a movie? My evening’s free now that the ball’s canceled. You know, on account of the war and all that.”
Rarity crossed her arms, her ice cream spoon train now only one lonely train car running on empty. “I don’t feel much like going out right now.”
The two sat together, eating the ice cream slowly and politely. The cool afternoon breeze drifted in from the open windows. However, Celestia telekinetically shut them to block out the unrest from the streets of Canterlot. Rarity took a tissue and dried her face, which was no longer sad, but tired and dulled.
Celestia leaned in and whispered, “So did you see Senator Lead Balloon today? He spent a lot of time with Duchess Ladyhooves. Too much time, if you ask me. I don’t think he’s going to propose to Fiery Jewel like General Pointy Stick seemed to think.”
Rarity cleared her throat, brushing a hoof through her mane in an attempt to straighten it. “Yes, um, well. Who knows, I guess, how things will turn out.”
And that afternoon, as the city of Canterlot prepared for a war that would end up lasting less than twenty-four hours, Rarity and Celestia chatted idly over a tub of vanilla oat swirl until both of them had their fills of juicy celebrity gossip.
Author's Note
Preread by the super fantastic NotSoSubtle
