Fake.
I am a fake. A pony composed of a web of lies, all compounding into a personality, somehow. I might as well be a changeling with how many personalities I don every day, each face calculated to get the best result from whoever I’m speaking to, even amongst friends, each tone of my voice a tool to relax the pony before me, even my posture an instrument to be wielded to my advantage. Every pony in this town knows a different me.
For I am a fake, and I fake myself.
This single fact is something I’ve known for the entire time I’ve been in the public eye, which has been quite a while, enough that my mane has grayed significantly from the vibrant color it used to sport. Back when I was myself. Back when others knew the true me. But then it changed… and I became the farce I am now. An insignificant version, but still the image I’ve compounded over time.
This always seems to come to light when I’m alone, quill in mouth, filling out the countless forms that seem to always fill my desk. It’s monotonous work, but perfect for my mind to wander down the roads of wonder and whim, the trails of philosophy, and the paths of my identity. It allows me to discover things, relive memories, and remind myself of my overwhelming falseness. A sigh escapes my mouth as I turn to the mirror, gazing back at myself, the true me. The me I wish everypony could know.
I am only myself when there is nopony around to see.
A soft knocking on my door reaches my ears, and my gaze takes on a somber tone. These fleeting moments of serenity never last long enough, it seems. I quickly swivel back to my desk, shoving the paperwork to the corner of my desk, none of it fluttering down to the floor. I quickly compose myself, my expression going blank. “You may enter,” I state softly, letting the silence carry the words for me. The door swings open, revealing a cyan mare with a rainbow ma-
And just like that, I change. My posture relaxes slightly, my expression becomes looser, and I smile slightly. My lie for Rainbow Dash is a slightly relaxed mare, one whom she can relate to, despite my lack of wings and lack of enthusiasm for flight tricks in general. At least I can feign interest for that.
And it’s already working. She came in uptight, professional, and ready to be a model citizen for me. But since she saw me, she’s relaxed, as evident from the way her walk changed and her mouth upturned slightly. She’ll be more free to speak her mind now, and that’s what I want. This is her vision of me, and I reap the result.
For me to get the results I want, I craft a new identity, turning myself false.
I motion for her to sit, and she does. She begins to state her reasons for being here. She came to pick up the report she requested. I was expecting this and patiently wait for her to finish, listening to her every word. It’s not the reasons I’m listening for, no, it’s the offhand remarks she makes about how she feels about her situation as the head of the weather team. Those remarks, with Rainbow Dash, show how she thinks more than her planned speeches do. And I take what she thinks into account, as for everypony I talk with. I think that’s part of the reason I still hold this position. The subtle changes I make when I sense unease among the many around me aren’t very noticeable, but ponies notice I’m doing SOMETHING that makes them content. It’s a good strategy for me.
At the cost of my own self around others.
So far, Rainbow is making jokes, not snide remarks. She’s happy at the moment. After a few more minutes of idle conversation, she takes the report and stands, bidding me goodbye. I do the same, and she leaves.
And just like that, I change.
My small smile vanishes, my posture returns, and I take on the hard expression I wear when I’m alone. I sigh and look down, sliding the paperwork back in front of me and taking the quill back into my mouth. As I begin to fill out more forms, I reflect on the conversation I just had, and the infernal change I went through, just to be able to relax her. I can’t be myself, no. If I do show them me, all they would see would be my title. A mare of my status has to show them a different side of her, or a falsehood, to hear what they want to hear. Some of them are charismatic and get what they want through charm. I… I have to lie.
Another knock slices through the scratching of my quill. I repeat the motions, say the permission, and the door opens, showing a tall, red stallion.
My posture stiffens. I lower my voice, and I give him a warm smile. It’s hard to tell, but Big Mac relaxes a little, walking in. I notice the basket on his back, followed by the smell of baked goods. How kind, he brought lunch. I mustn’t allow that to sway my decisions, though. It’s a simple tactic, sure, but you would be surprised how many ponies are swayed by the urges of their digestive tract. I will admit, I am quite partial to some of Sweetie Drop’s bon bons, if ponies bring them in, but that still won’t affect my decisions.
Big Mac sits down, and I nod for him to speak. His speech is short, concise, and to the point. He’s wanting to purchase some one-hundred acres of land to expand the Apple’s orchard. We’ve been discussing this for a while now, but today, he wants to negotiate for a price. I smile and nod, making my presence in the room less imposing to give the red stallion room to talk. The normal cost of the land would be around three hundred thousand bits, but he would like it to go down to one hundred thousand. Normally, I’d say no, but the apples have an uncanny habit of helping the economy with the land they purchase. I counter-offer with one hundred seventy five thousand, which he nods to and says that he’ll be back tomorrow. When he leaves, I return to myself and sigh.
Fake. I am fake.
The next few ponies come and go, and each time, I change to fit them and their likes, to help them talk. Each time, I give up myself.
Eventually, the day comes to an end, and I finally finish the day’s paperwork. No doubt, there will be more tomorrow, but it’s a small comfort that I won’t have to work overtime again. I turn to look out the window at the sunset. It’s quite beautiful, really. A canvas of warm, vibrant reds and yellows. I smile at this, but can’t forget the one truth of my life. I lie to others to get what I want.
My name is Mayor Mare, and I am a fake.
END
Author's Note
This was certainly a thing I wrote.
I feel like a lot of politicians are like this, using careful manipulation through subtle actions, and I think (or at least hope) that it saddens them.
This sort of I change around others is a topic I've wanted to write about for a bit now, ever since I came to the realization that I change my personality around different people. It felt a bit odd that I did that, and yet I realized that it happened. It's an interesting subject of thought, for sure. Do you guys do the same?
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know if I screwed up somewhere and I'll fix it! Feedback of all kinds is appreciated. Thank you for reading this! 
