“Princess Celestia, are you really sure this is a good idea?” Mayor Meyer Mare asked as she stood before the ornate throne.
She shivered as air flowed around her on its way through the vast throne room, spiraling up towards the fifty-foot vaulted ceiling. Ponyville’s longtime leader took note of how small her aging beige body must have looked in this enormous space to the millennium ruler of Equestria, who seemed a completely different pony from the one with whom she had shared drinks just weeks earlier.
“Meyer,” Princess Celestia began, in the measured, motherly tone of voice that had long since become her standard. “I know you disapprove of my choice of Prime Minister, but the ponies of Equestria have spoken.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Mayor Mare corrected, “But your Senate has spoken, and its membership is not exactly evenly distributed – Ponyville has no seat at all, for instance. You are no doubt aware that if all ponies’ voices counted equally, the outcome would have been different.”
Celestia nodded sagely. “True, but this is our system. Changing it mid-stream simply because you do not like the outcome sets a far worse precedent than letting things take their natural course.”
Mayor Mare pursed her lips, using all her energy to hold back explaining to Princess Celestia that Her Majesty was in fact Equestria’s absolute monarch and could easily dissolve her government with but a word.
Well, technically diarch since Princess Luna’s return from exile. Come to think of it…
“Was this Her idea?” the mayor asked, as diplomatically as possible.
Celestia lolled her head, a noncommittal gesture. “My sister has always been more interested in the mechanics of government than I. And she did insist, then as now, that I devolve power away from its traditional centers. She is not wrong for viewing broader representation as an ideal to strive for; after all, a stagnant government is often unable to adjust to a changing world. But from that same inertia comes stability, the key any place needs to thrive. Sudden alterations to the system have an inevitable downside.
“But Princess,” the mayor said. “Surely you know that rapid change without thinking through the consequences is exactly the modus operandi of your new P.M.”
“Meyer, there is something I must explain to you,” Celestia said as she stood from her throne and made her way down the regal mini-staircase.
The absolutely outclassed mayor of Ponyville instinctively took a step back as the Princess stood before her, craning her head down to normal pony level.
“I have been ruling Equestria for over a thousand years,” said Celestia. “The Senate has existed in its present form for centuries. In that time, I have had dozens of prime ministers – some excellent, some less so, but all up to now had a desire to do well by our citizens. You are an administrator; you understand better than most how monotonous this work can be. A bland dish needs spice.”
Mayor Mare levelled a what-the-hay look at her sovereign. “You’re telling me you let him be chosen because you were bored??”
Princess Celestia smiled. “Equestrian government has never had a prime minister so utterly unqualified and unfit to serve. Princess Luna and I agreed that watching Lord Orangeglow fail at his job will be amusing.”
“You… Don’t you realize ponies’ lives are on the line here?” the mayor nearly screamed.
“Of course I do,” replied Celestia as she stood to her full height. “That is precisely why I selected him. Ideally, he will live up to the expectations of the office and continue Equestria’s prosperity. If not, well, his missteps are likely to reactivate civic participation in the citizenry, hopefully compelling them to use their own power to weed out the deader branches of the Nobility and allow us to craft a more representative Senate.”
Mayor Mare cocked her head. “Do you not worry that angry ponies might instead focus their ire on you? Remember what happened in Neighpal not too long ago.”
Confronted with this historical fact, Celestia nodded slowly. “That is true, but Grand Duke Ramasama tried to rule by force in a society unused to it. A heavy hoof will inevitably break the floor. Lord Orangeglow and the Senate ignore this at his peril. He will learn, as Princess Luna and I did long ago, that ponies are not easily controlled, and they are not willing to sacrifice for a cause they do not believe in.”
“Well, Princess, I wish you luck,” said the mayor, forlornly. “In case this long-game blows up in your face, as I expect it to, my liquor cabinet is always open to you. If we run out, then I’ll have Apple Bloom make more.”
“She is an excellent distiller,” Celestia agreed. “It is not just any pony who can successfully resurrect the ancient libations completely by accident. Why her cutie mark does not involve potion making is a mystery even to me.”
“Speaking of Apple Bloom,” the mayor said, “She’s the actual reason I’m here. Orangeglow insulted her newspaper column in his press conference the other day.”
Celestia facehoofed. “Of course he did,” she said with a sigh. “You know where his office is, I assume?”
Mayor Mare nodded, then she turned and headed out of the massive throne room toward her destination a few hundred yards away.
Orangeglow, the new leader of the Celestial Senate, sat in his ornate office in the ‘Government Wing’ of the Palace for the first time, relaxing his pumpkin-like (in both colour and shape) frame in a plush leather chair… ‘plush’ by anyone’s standards other than his own, of course, for he resented its age. He also resented the silk tapestries hanging on the walls, the marble columns holding up the ceiling painted with a frieze of the sun and moon in a yin-yang symbol, and the intricately crafted historic furniture and rugs – not nearly ostentatious enough for his taste; more gold trim was needed.
Earlier that day, Princess Celestia officially presented him with the ceremonial mace signifying him as Equestria’s newest Prime Minister, as well as stamped the parchment declaring him and his immediate family to be members of the Nobility: his lifelong dream. Okay, his most recent lifelong dream; his original lifelong dream was to become the richest Unicorn in Equestria and stick it to those old-money snobs that laughed at him or, failing that, cultivate the appearance of being the richest Unicorn in Equestria and stick it to those old-money snobs that laughed at him.
He ran an abnormally-small hoof through his sandy-blonde mane… or what might count for one in the barest legal sense; it seemed to exist in a dimension all its own in which it was not exactly attached to his head yet no one would ever be able to definitively prove it – as he considered which of his enemies he should take revenge against first, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“What?” he snipped in his thick Manehattan accent at the unlucky assistant stallion, grey in coat and, increasingly, pallor.
“Lord Orangeglow, there’s someone here to see you: the, uh, Mayor of Ponyville,” said the terrified personal assistant.
“I don’t wanna see nobody!” the newly-installed leader of Equestria’s government groused.
“Sir… uh, your lordship, remember that ponies like this mayor are what is known in political theory as ‘opinion leaders’. Meeting with her might be a good opportunity to boost your approval rating since it currently is, erm, less than ideal,” the assistant reminded him.
“What should I care about some dumb broad?” asked Orangeglow tersely, clearly neither expecting nor wanting an answer.
The assistant sighed. “Because she’s apparently friends with Princess Celestia. You know, the ‘dumb broad’ who gave you your job and can easily dispense with you if you make her mad? A literal demigoddess who is beloved by over ninety percent of Equestrian citizens?”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s on top once I’m done with her. Heh, ‘on top’.” Orangeglow laughed at his own joke, but his assistant grimaced in disgust.
“I’m sending her in. You figure out what to do, sir,” said the stallion with a groan.
As Mayor Mare made her way into the ornate marble-festooned office, Orangeglow narrowed his cold, beady, grey eyes. “Ugh, a 3 at best,” he muttered to himself.
“Mister Prime Minister,” the mayor began, but Orangeglow cut her off.
“That’s Lord Orangeglow to you,” he said testily.
“Fine. Lord Orangeglow,” repeated Mayor Mare in his accent before introducing herself. “I am the mayor of Ponyville, a small town less than a day’s train ride from Canterlot.”
“I like small towns. Real Equestria. Good ponies live there. Lot of smart ponies, but a lot of ‘em are uneducated too. I love the uneducated,” rambled the P.M.
“Of course you do,” Mayor Mare uttered under her breath. “Anyway,” she continued at speaking volume, “I wanted to discuss this press release you sent out late last week.”
“Which one?” asked Orangeglow. “I say a lot of things. The best things. I got a good brain, but it’s hard to keep track of all the things sometimes.”
“The one where you referred to my town’s Foal Free Press as ‘fake news’ not worth the paper it’s printed on after it published an article critical of your schools policy and called its writers, and I quote, ‘lousy, worthless, useless, bad, pathetic scum who need to watch out’,” said the Mayor as she recited lines from a scroll she’d pulled out of her collar.
Orangeglow listened to Mayor Mare with an utterly bored expression. Once she had finished quoting him to his face, he shook his head. “I never said that.”
“I’m holding the actual press release and reading from it,” said the mayor.
“Whoever said it is right, though,” insisted Orangeglow. “The ponies who write that paper need to learn how to journalism. Sad!”
“Sir,” said the mayor with more than a hint of exasperation, “You do realize you’re talking about children, right? The Foal Free Press is a newspaper made and published by a primary school. You literally took time out of what I assume is a busy schedule to insult fillies and colts who just earned their cutie marks.”
“And maybe your kids should learn to keep their traps shut if they know what’s good for ‘em. My assistant told me foals don’t have the right to say what they want.”
“Actually, sir, they do,” said the beleaguered assistant, popping his head back in. “Princess Celestia and the Senate extended the press freedom law to cover student-run publications several decades ago.”
“Well then,” Orangeglow reasoned through pursed lips, “Guess we need to open up libel laws, put those brats in their place. Oh, and by the way… You’re Fired.”
“Good. See ya,” said the now-ex-assistant with a broad smile as the proverbial weight lifted from his shoulders. He skipped down the hall and out the front door.
“So… you’re not going to issue an apology to my town’s students, are you?” asked Mayor Mare, knowing the answer.
Orangeglow, the most (politically) powerful non-Alicorn in Equestria, stared at the Mayor as if she were a Yakyakistani, thus deserving of being deported to behind an as-yet-nonexistent wall. “Why are you still here?”
“Because, sir, you never answered my question,” the mayor said flatly.
“You don’t wanna cross me. I’ll make you regret it in the next election,” Orangeglow growled.
Mayor Mare smirked at that. “We don’t have elections in Ponyville… except for that one time, and I ended up keeping my job despite losing the vote. Hey, that’s one thing we have in common.”
“Get her outta here!” Orangeglow called out to no one in particular. On cue, two massive Earth-pony stallion guards appeared out of nowhere and flanked the mayor.
Mayor Mare looked briefly at them, but stood her ground and decided to keep talking while she had the chance. “So that’s how it is. Fine. You may not believe it, but I still hope you do a good job in your new role. For all our sakes.”
“Come with us, ma’am,” said one guard.
As they forcibly removed her from the room, Mayor Mare managed to get one last sentence out. “This isn’t over, Orangeglow.”
Orangeglow sneered. “Yes it is. I win,” he said as he leaned back in his chair.
Halfway towards the outer gate, Mayor Mare told the guards to take a hike, insisting she could find her own way out, thank you very much. As she crossed the threshold back into the stuffy bustle of Canterlot, she remembered an old curse once explained to her by a visiting dignitary from Neighppon.
May you live in interesting times.
She had two messages to relay to the ponies she served: One was that their immediate future promised to be interesting indeed. The other, more important, was that she needed a stiff drink. NOW.
Author's Note
I'm not sorry.
This, by the way, marks the third January 20th in a row I've posted a Mayor Mare story. Thank you for the past two years. 
