My Little Pony: Government inAction
A My Little Pony Story © 2012 by Walter Reimer
MLP characters are owned by Hasbro, Inc. Other characters are courtesy of The Goons. You have been warned.
“Luna? Sister?”
Princess Celestia called out again, trying not to sound concerned. It had only been a month or so since her younger sister had been cleansed of the evil of Nightmare Moon, and Luna was slowly regaining both her power and her royal status as Ruler of the Night. The Court of Shadows was being reestablished, as well as the Night Guard.
Still, her older sister worried about her. To Luna, a thousand years caged on the Moon had been a millennium of arrested development. It was very difficult for her to avoid using the loud and excessively formal Royal Voice. Celestia was certain, though, that Luna would get better as she fitted back into Equestrian society.
“Luna?”
“Yes, Celestia?” came a voice from the Princess’ private apartment.
“Oh! There you are. I was wondering – what are you watching?” The white alicorn paused in the doorway.
The dark, almost royal blue alicorn was curled up on a sofa, her wings folded demurely. A small remote control hovered before her, surrounded by a soft violet glow that was matched by a flicker of magic. “This . . . apparatus, Sister,” Luna said, “is quite a wondrous instrument. Is it of recent provenance?”
Her older sister smiled. She took a seat on an adjoining sofa, curling her legs under her as her mane and tail settled down. “Yes, Luna, it is.”
“And . . . thou sayest it is a . . . television?”
Celestia nodded helpfully. “It is pretty amazing, isn’t it Lu?”
“Truly, a wondrous thing, Celly.”
“So, what are you watching?”
“Watching? Oh. Um, the Equestrian High Council’s session from earlier this day. We, er, I, felt that I need to see how things have progressed in my . . . absence.”
Her absence. Both of them realized that the wound was still a bit fresh, and picking at it would never allow it to heal properly. Luna loved her sister, and was grateful to the Elements for freeing her, but there was still that one thousand-year abyss yawning between them.
Luna had barricaded herself in the Royal Library for nearly an entire week in order to get caught up on things she missed. When she had emerged, she had slept for two straight days.
“So, the High Council?” Celestia looked at the images on the screen. “I confess I wasn’t present. Turn the sound up, Lu, and we’ll both watch.”
Luna smiled at her. “Of course.” A tiny magical nudge, and the volume went up. The image showed the High Council’s chambers, divided into three sections for each part of ponydom – earth, unicorn and pegasus. The Royal Thrones sat on a dais above the Speaker’s position.
“ . . . That's all very well, but why a semi-circular settee?” an elderly earth pony quavered.
“Because, Sir,” the bewigged Speaker said slowly, “it was for the use of a semi-circular Councillor.”
“Oh, ah.”
An equally elderly unicorn mare, who appeared to have been dozing in her seat, perked up and said, “What about Mahoofeking?”
The earth pony, undaunted by the interruption, soldiered on. “Has the Minister of Works anything to say? What about the Ministry of Works, what, what, . . . where is he . . .”
The Minister, a rather tall and surprisingly unkempt pegasus who looked a bit wall-eyed, said, “Ummm, I chose all that furniture myself. I chose it all . . . I chose all that furniture . . .”
“What is all this about. What are we all here for - -“ the earth pony said, clearly losing the thread of the discussion.
There was a confused babble of voices, with one member loudly demanding, “What about our lads in Griffinland then? What about the lads? What about the lads?”
“Griffinland?” Luna looked at her sister. “Are we at war?”
“Not for quite a while.”
“What about – “ the unicorn mare’s horn glowed and an inkwell lifted from her desk, flew through the air, and effectively corked the offending member’s mouth. “Let, let me finish. What about the drains in Hackney?”
“What about the drains in East Trotter?” the elderly earth pony said, rousing himself from yet another doze.
“Never mind them in Trotter,” the unicorn said defiantly, “I live in Hackney and the drains pong!”
A pompous-looking unicorn dressed as a noblecolt said gravely, “But what about all this washing outside the Palace, that's what . . . “ His voice trailed off as he started mumbling indistinctly though his mustache.
The Speaker tapped a hoof against the arm of his seat. “Please, gen –“
“Shut up you big –“
“Shut up.”
The Speaker rapped a bit louder. “Oh, shut up yourself,” he said with some asperity.
“That's unfair. We've got – “
The Speaker’s tapping grew louder. “Please, gentlecolts.”
“I'm not a gentlecolt!”
“You said it,” the Speaker said, and took a deep breath. “Mares and gentlecolts, this is an enquiry into the cost of a Government building in Mooskow.”
This news was greeted with a hubbub of voices from all three factions.
The earth pony who had first spoken managed to get his voice above the din. “Who authorized this? Who are . . .”
“Oh, Mr Pickles here,” the Speaker said, pointing at the Minister of Works with a hoof.
“Yeah,” the pegasus said somewhat distractedly, “I chose all the furniture myself.”
The earth pony squinted up at the pegasus, who for some reason was hovering upside down at this point. “Mr. Pickles, why did a seventy-five bit window-seat cost two hundred and forty six bits?”
The pegasus’ wings twitched a bit, causing him to list dangerously to port. “Ummmmm . . . I resign! You speak to my secretary, you can't talk to a Government Minister like that! I won't be out of work long, you see! I'll get that Ministry of Fisheries job, you watch. I've kept goldfish!”
The Speaker rapped for order. “Mr. Pickles, Mr. Pickles, we are not for one moment doubting your sincerity. It's just your intelligence that's in question.”
“Well, I accept your apology.”
“How dare you interrupt me when I wasn't saying anything!” the earth pony demanded. “How dare you?”
“I resign!”
“Shut up!”
“Shut up!”
“Shut up, Pickles!” said the First Minister.
Pickles obligingly started yelling, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up Pickles!”
There was a chorus of “Shut ups!” as various members of the Council started staring daggers at each other.
“One moment please,” the First Minister interposed, the unicorn stallion heaving his ponderous bulk to his hooves.
“Aaah, Shut up!” the old unicorn mare snapped. “You steaming nit you . . .”
The First Minister muttered incoherently, “Needle nardle noo. Now,” and he strolled around his seat to face each faction in turn, “as a trotting First Minister of no fixed address, I must protest at this gross misspending of public funds. This-this-this building in Mooskow was supposed to cost twenty five thousand bits! In fact, it cost fifty-nine thousand!”
There was a surprised, indignant and confused babble of voices punctuated by a lot of hoof-stamping. Finally one pegasus, who appeared to be drunk, slurred, “We mustn't stand for this!” Suiting actions to words, he sat down.
“We're not going to!” the First Minister said smugly. “We're not going to indeed! To teach those concerned with this disgusting waste a severe lesson, I've ordered the building burned to the ground, and a new building put up at the proper price.”
This statement generated wild applause, hoof-stamping and eventually a fight as each faction sent members forward to add their vocal support to the scheme.
Luna turned the sound down a bit, then studied the screen for a long moment. “Celestia? Dear older sister?”
“Yes, Luna?”
“Is there – is there any way you could send me back to the Moon?”
The Princess of the Sun looked at her younger sibling, then at the screen as a fight broke out practically in the Speaker’s lap.
“I think . . . I think I’ll go with you, Lu.”
end
