Paperwork

by Math Spook

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mayor Mare, Romance
Length: 9674

A shared love of paperwork brings Twilight Sparkle and Mayor Mare together.

Twilight Sparkle moved to Ponyville last week to start her new job as town librarian. In between making friends and saving Equestria, she meets another pony whose orderliness, punctuality, and love of paperwork matches her own: Mayor Mare. But will their love be a match for the Equestrian Civil Service Code, volume 13, chapter 22, paragraph F?

A light-hearted fast-paced romance set after S1E2. Written for the 2024 May Pairings Contest, and tied for second place!

Published 2024-05-25 19:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-05-31 18:18:25 UTC

Chapter 1

The lemon chiffon–colored filly was only barely tall enough to see onto Twilight Sparkle’s desk. Twilight asked, “Tell me your name again?”

“Twitht.”

“Twitht?” Twilight pursed her lips. “Can you spell that for me?”

“Like it thoundth. Twitht. T–W–I–Eth–T.”

“Oh! Twist! Sorry about that.” Twilight wrote Twist’s name on a form and pushed the form across the desk. “Can you fill this out for me, Twist? And I’ll make you a library card.”

Twilight Sparkle had only arrived in Ponyville last week, but her routine as public librarian was already familiar. She withdrew a blank library card from her desk, sketched Twist’s name in pencil, measured the length of the name and the spaces on either side of it with her ruler, and shook her head. She erased it, sketched, and measured again. It was still unsatisfactory. Her third try, however, was adequate. Satisfied, she dipped her quill in the ink pot and wrote, with measured cursive strokes, Twist’s name. She checked her work with her ruler. It was perfectly centered.

As Twilight took out a blank patron circulation record form, she realized that Twist was staring at her library card application form without touching it. She asked, “Is there something wrong?”

Twist continued staring at the form. “Thith... thith... Thith ith a long form.”

By the standards of library card application forms, Twist was surely correct. By Twilight Sparkle’s, she was not. Twilight Sparkle thought of forms the same way foals thought of toys. Each form had its own unique charms. Some were passing fancies that she filled out once or twice but had no desire to revisit. Others were gifts from ponies who didn’t understand her tastes but which she completed out of obligation, so as not to seem ungrateful. But favorite forms she came back to over and over. She had filled some out dozens if not hundreds of times, and each time had been a fresh experience. Even when she experimented with other forms for a few weeks, her favorites never lost their charm. When her mood was right, she could fill them out several times a day. Each time, she told them her most private secrets the way a foal talks to a trusted stuffed animal.

In a peppy voice, Twilight said, “Go on, it’ll be lots of fun!”

Twist sighed. “I jutht wanted to read graphic novelth. But okay.”

Twist eventually left the library happy, carrying a stack of imported graphic novels and forgetting the agony of filling out Twilight’s form, with its extensive sections on demographic information, reading habits, and book preferences. Twilight returned to contemplating the library’s shelves. When Twilight had started working at Golden Oak Library last week, the shelves had seemed sparse, and she had thought that the library must have an unusually large number of books checked out. She had finished examining the circulation records yesterday, however, and they had not supported her hypothesis. She had processed and reshelved all the books that had been returned to the library, including those placed in the drop-off slot last night, and yet the shelves still had a curiously large amount of empty space. Twilight had been busy unpacking, not to mention making friends and saving Equestria, and she had work to do for Celestia, but she couldn’t neglect her duties as town librarian any longer.

She retrieved her tape measure from moving box #29, right where her notes said it would be, and went from shelf to shelf, making notes on the lengths of the shelves and their empty spaces. In the end, she was right. Golden Oak Library’s shelves were 34.19% empty. It was unacceptable.

Anger flared in Twilight’s mind. The Canterlot Library Association’s Guide to Library Stacks and Shelving advised lending libraries to target 20% to 25% empty space. And her library was at 34.19%! Was it incompetence? Gross negligence? Ponies who treated their library this way were psychopaths capable of any crime, from the high treason of Nightmare Moon to sorting books by author’s first name instead of author’s last name.

Twilight’s anger subsided, and she reflected that it was probably nothing so dramatic. Ponyville hadn’t had a full-time librarian in years, and volunteer labor could only do so much. Now that Twilight was here, she could take proper care of the library.

After the library closed that afternoon, Twilight went straight to the town hall. To her surprise, not only was Mayor Mare still in her office, she invited Twilight in immediately. “Without an appointment?” Twilight asked.

“We’ll just add it to my schedule right now,” said Mayor, seating herself behind her desk and jotting down the time in a notebook. “What can I help you with?”

Twilight explained the deplorable state of the library. As she took out from her saddlebag her empty space calculations, she said, “I made this earlier, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring it so that you could see for yourself. Sorry if it’s too much.”

“Oh, don’t apologize! I’m quite methodical myself.” She examined the sheet in front of her and nodded. “Very meticulous. I like it.” She trotted to a row of filing cabinets lining her wall and opened a drawer. “You’ll need these forms. Here’s a budget amendment request form. And the budget amendment request justification form that goes with it. After I approve them—”

“You’ll approve them?”

“Maybe after two or three revisions, because I’m particular about these things, but yes. So”—she closed the file drawer and opened another—“you’ll need a competitive bid proposal form.”

“Oh, not this time. I need a sole source justification form.”

Mayor raised an eyebrow. “You say you’ve only been a government employee for a week? I’m impressed. Or is this something you learned from Princess Celestia?”

“From Raven Inkwell. But I’ve also been reading the Equestrian Civil Service Code on my own.”

“Really? Most ponies won’t touch it.”

“I figured I should. You know, being in the civil service now.”

Mayor cracked a smile. “Be still, my beating heart. Anyway, you’re welcome to fill them out here if you like. I know it’s not much, but you can use that end table over there.”

“I couldn’t stay in your office and distract you like that.”

Mayor waved a hoof. “It’s just fine. Be my guest.”

As Twilight settled into the corner of the room and began filling out forms on the end table, Mayor returned to the stack of paper in front of her. On top of her desk was the weather department’s proposed schedule for the coming month. She shook her head. Paperwork from the weather department was consistently terrible, almost like they spent all day sleeping on clouds. This was their fourth revision, and it usually took them six or seven tries every month before Mayor was satisfied. She took out her red ink bottle. If she let something this sloppy through, she had no doubt that the ensuing chaos would make the city government collapse.

Mayor was incapable of disorganization. On the rare occasions when other ponies had seen her private schedule, they had observed forty-five seconds set aside for “Fluff mane” and ten seconds for “Straighten collar.” Mayor kept a prioritized master to-do list, each of whose projects were themselves composed of checklists, and everything she did was on checklists. The last time the town hall had had a fire drill, Mayor had been seen with a checklist, stopping frequently and muttering, “Exit office. Check. Proceed to east stairwell. Check. Descend flight of stairs. Check. Exit through fire door. Check.”

As Twilight Sparkle’s quill scratched away in the corner of the room, there was a knock on the door. “Good evening, Mayor!” said Derpy. “I saw you were still here so I thought I’d bring this straight to you.” She held out a letter.

“Thank you, Derpy.” She wrote on her checklist, "Read letter," sliced through the envelope with a letter opener and examined the letter inside. She gave a sharp laugh which made Twilight look up. “You deserve to read this,” said Mayor. “It’s really about you.”

The letter was from the Equestrian City Government Association. Twilight read, “‘We are pleased to inform you that we have chosen you to receive a Special Award for Outstanding Leadership During a Supernatural Crisis for your leadership of Ponyville in the aftermath of Nightmare Moon’s reappearance.’ What is this?”

“You could call them a professional society for local government officials. They’re always trying to make local government look good, and they think they have an opportunity. They’re not doing this for me.”

“Are you going to refuse the award?”

“I know them, and I know they’ll just get pushy. And they want to do this before everypony forgets about Nightmare Moon, so if I try to stall, they’ll turn obnoxious. It’s easier to give a little speech and let them put out a press release about how great local leadership is. At least I get a nice dinner.” Mayor made a wry smile. “I can try telling them that I had nothing to do with this, that it was all you and your friends, but it won’t change anything. So how about this? I’ll put you and your friends on the guest list, and you can get a nice dinner, too.”

“We really couldn’t—”

“Nonsense. Ponies try to give me things for the wrong reasons all the time, and I know the rules very well. I assure you this is fine. At least, if you can sit through a few boring speeches.”

Twilight had only been in town for a week, but Mayor had a good feeling about her. Maybe the second draft of her forms would be acceptable. The sight of her working on the forms reminded Mayor of her own time as a young civil servant. She had spent so much time preparing forms, checking boxes and filling in bubbles and writing justifications. It had been a fun time. One month, she was told that she had singlehoofedly generated more paperwork than the entire rest of the city government. She had been so proud.

When Twilight had finished the library budget forms, she asked, “Can I just give these to you? Or do I need to send them through interdepartmental mail to create a record of their transmission and receipt?”

“I’ll take them. I’ll send them back when I’ve made corrections.”

“Corrections?” Twilight yelped. “Why would they need corrections?”

“Don’t look so scared. Nopony gets all the details right the first time, I’m afraid.”

Twilight’s face fell. “I guess maybe not. But I promise I tried. I guess now wouldn’t be a good time to ask a favor?”

“A favor? Twilight, I’m always glad to help. That’s why I’m here, after all. Most ponies don’t understand. They just complain about the paperwork,” she said wistfully. “But anyway! What do you need?”

Twilight took some sheets of paper out of her saddlebag. “Princess Celestia asked me to write friendship reports. And in order for my report to be complete, I wanted to document all my interactions with my new neighbors. So I prepared some forms which I was hoping you could fill out.”

“Hoofmade forms?” Mayor squealed. “Forgive my excitement, but I haven’t seen anyone make their own forms since—since—why, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that but me!” She studied the forms in front of her. Without even taking out her T-square, she could tell that the crisp lines were exactly perpendicular to the edge of the paper. The lettering was careful and measured. Fourteen point, she estimated, and done with a quill, no less. That must have taken some effort. She glanced up at Twilight and said, “Will you excuse me for a moment?” She took a ruler from her desk drawer and measured the letters. They were precisely fourteen points high.

“I thought about trying to do twelve-point lettering,” Twilight said, “but after my first draft I realized that it would look more inviting with larger letters.”

“Impressive,” Mayor said. She felt a little embarrassed for doubting Twilight. “You know, since you were so kind as to fill out my forms right away, how about I fill out yours while you wait?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you too much—”

“Nonsense.” She pointed at the clock on the wall. “I gave you a thirty-minute appointment, and you’ve only been here twenty-two minutes. Make yourself at home and let me indulge myself. Look over my reply to the Association if you like.”

The only line in Mayor’s reply that stood out to Twilight was, “Please include on the guest list the others who played a major role in this event, my partners Twilight Sparkle, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Spike.” She looked around Mayor’s office. Her eyes skipped over the handsome wood paneling and potted plants and settled instead on the rows of filing cabinets that Mayor had taken forms from. Their enameled steel gave that side of the room a sense of weight and importance. The forms she had filled out had come from drawers with the neat cursive labels, “Blank forms, A–M,” and “Blank Forms, N–Z.” There were drawers labeled by city departments and year, drawers for correspondence with the royal government, and even a drawer labeled, “Natural and Supernatural Disasters.”

But Twilight’s attention kept returning to the gleeful Mayor. Behind her bifocals, which were balanced on her muzzle with perfect symmetry, was a look of youthful enthusiasm. Her silver mane snapped back and forth as she thrust her quill around the paper. Twilight found her energy compelling, even alluring.

When Mayor happened to look up, they caught sight of each others’ eyes. Mayor blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m getting rather caught up in it, aren’t I? I spend most of my days reviewing other ponies’ shoddy work. I haven’t had any good paperwork to fill out myself in ages. It’s been so humdrum and straightforward. And this has flair! Good forms really are art, don’t you think?”

“Oh, well, if you say so,” Twilight said as she fixed her eyes on the sky outside the window. She already regretted her response. It had sounded just as awkward as she felt. And, for some reason she couldn’t identify, she didn’t want Mayor to see her as awkward. She wanted to look suave and confident.

Her eyes crept back to Mayor, to how her parchment-colored skin set off her starched white collar and the entrancing way the ruffles on her jabot bounced as she moved. She liked it. She could have watched Mayor filling out forms for hours. It made her realize why she wanted to look suave and confident: Mayor was beautiful.

Chapter 2

Early the next morning, when Celestia had only barely lifted the sun over the horizon, and the world was painted in shades of yellow and orange, Mayor knocked on the door of Golden Oak Library. Twilight opened the door, saying, “We’re not open yet, but—oh!” Joy surged through her. “Excuse me, Mayor. Come right in.” There was a stack of books on Twilight’s desk, and two of her file drawers were open. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of processing the overnight returns.”

“That can wait a few minutes. Twilight, it’s about the forms you gave me yesterday.”

Twilight’s joy was replaced by foreboding. “Did I—were they—I’m sorry. I’ll try again right away.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m here because I’m impressed. They were perfect.”

“Perfect?” Twilight gasped. Hearing Mayor call her work perfect made her heart pound.

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I tried harder than usual to find something wrong. I thought I couldn’t let you off so easily, not on the first batch of forms you’ve ever submitted to me. But there was nothing wrong. They were especially impressive for having been written in only twenty-two minutes. Good job.”

Twilight wanted to act casual, but she couldn’t hide her grin. “Thank you. So you approved my request?”

“Yes. Which means I have more forms for you!” Mayor pulled out more sheets of paper. “First, I need you to sign the amended budget. Then you need a property requisition request form. And a postal service attestation form stating that you’re using the public postal service to the extent possible. And the Equestrian Paperwork Reduction Act requires you to complete an itemized breakdown of how much time you’ve spent filling out forms. But that’s the last step. After that, you can order the books for the library.” Mayor laid the forms on Twilight’s desk. “And that will be the end of our first adventure together.”

“But not our last, I hope.” The eagerness in Mayor’s voice had spread to Twilight. They looked at each other, each transfixed by the other’s eyes, both considering their future.

Twilight, inexperienced in romance, was a churning, roiling river of feelings. She yearned to be around Mayor. She wanted to remove Mayor’s bifocals and look straight and unobstructed into Mayor’s blue eyes. She would lean forward and kiss Mayor, a long and deep kiss of foolish passion and extravagant folly. Mayor would kiss her back, and by noon they would be married, the capstone of a day of infatuation. It was a bold plan that felt incautious to Twilight’s orderly mind, but she did not immediately carry it out only because, at any step, Mayor might reject her. Rejection would crush Twilight’s hope, and fear of rejection so paralyzed her that she could do nothing more than look into Mayor’s eyes and daydream.

Mayor found it enjoyable to be around Twilight. Quite enjoyable. But not in an unseemly way, she told herself. There was nothing indecent about admiring Twilight’s diligence and conscientiousness, traits that were visible even in little things like her evenly tended mane and scrupulously trimmed hooves. That kind of care was admirable in any pony. It deserved, even required, admiration. Mayor was simply giving Twilight the attention that such a remarkable pony deserved. And what a remarkable pony! But her adulation of Twilight was tempered by wisdom. Even the appearance of favoritism, let alone romantic interest, could damage both of them. A pony in Mayor’s position needed to be cautious. If she could have put aside her feelings for Twilight entirely, she would have, but she didn’t know how. When she was with Twilight, time seemed to stop. Her schedule went unheeded, and her checklist disregarded, and she could think only and utterly about Twilight.

“Good morning!” said Spike.

The lovesick mares jumped, and Twilight found herself blushing. “Thank you for bringing these by,” she said. “I’ll have them back to you right away.”

“Bring them to me whenever they’re ready,” said Mayor.

Outside, Mayor paused and took out her checklist. She checked off the line, “Bring forms to Twilight.” Below it, she inserted a new action item, “Admire most beautiful mare I have ever known,” and checked it off, too.

Twilight was conscious of her duties as public librarian, her continued studies with Princess Celestia, and her ever-present desire to read books. Despite those, she immediately began preparing the forms. She needed her signature on the amended budget to look perfect, so she practiced on scrap paper, varying the sizes of the loops and changing the amount of slant in the letters. She tried turning the dots in the i’s of “Twilight” into little hearts, but it looked fillyish, and she didn’t want to look fillyish to Mayor. She wanted to look ripe.

The important part of the property requisition request form was a table of books, divided first by section of the library (fiction, non-fiction, or foal), then (for fiction and foal) by author’s last name or (for non-fiction) by RCLCN (Royal Canterlot Library Classification Number). She prepared it on a separate sheet of parchment, using a pencil and a T-square to sketch guidelines, sharpening her quill after inking each row, and erasing the guidelines when the ink was dry. On the form itself, she proudly wrote, “See Attachment 1.” The postal service attestation form was just checkboxes and another signature. To ensure she had the data for the itemized breakdown on the Equestrian Paperwork Reduction Act form, she tracked the precise minute when she started and stopped each of the other forms, as well as any breaks she had to take to help library patrons.

The forms, being a tangible reminder of Mayor, made Twilight happy. But being finished with them meant she was finished with her excuse to think about Mayor, and that left her aching. She wished that Mayor would find some reason to come back to the library. Even if Mayor did, however, Mayor’s other responsibilities meant that such a visit could only be a few minutes. Twilight thought she should ask Mayor out to lunch. But it was too late to do that today, and besides, she couldn’t leave the library unattended. What she needed was a good excuse to spend personal time with Mayor.

That evening, Twilight’s hooves splashed in moonlit puddles on Ponyville’s cobblestone streets. Each step threw up a small scattering of drops that wet her fetlocks, and the evening rain trickled in sloppy rivulets down her flanks, but she felt none of the night’s chill. She was warmed by anticipation. Her goal was simple, practical, and offered her the excuse she needed. It was something she needed to do anyway, but there was the prospect of deeper fulfillment, and the fantastic images in her mind made her walk nearly into a dance.

Twilight knocked on the door of Mayor’s house. Right then, there was a lull in the rain, and Twilight waited in a tremulous silence of eager anticipation. She heard nothing from the house, and there was no light behind the windows. New images flipped through her mind: Mayor at an official function that Twilight had not been invited to; Mayor visiting a friend; Mayor asleep; Mayor at a tryst. Twilight had not thought of these before. She had been fixated on her secret hope, on fantasies that she now worried were foolish. She decided she should leave, not from embarrassment but from the practicality that if Mayor wasn’t available, then there was no point in waiting. Yet she lingered, giving Mayor ten more seconds, then twenty, then thirty. She had just resolved again to leave when Mayor opened the door.

Though Twilight was lit only by the moon, Mayor recognized her at once. She knew the tidy straight line of Twilight’s mane and the tint and location of its streaks. She knew the precise shade of lavender in Twilight’s coat, the shape of her muzzle, and the sensual curve of her barrel. Mayor wore neither her collar nor her bifocals. It was a state of unpreparedness that she was uncomfortable letting other ponies see. Except for one pony, one whom she already trusted more than any other: Twilight.

“Twilight? What brings you here?”

“I finished the forms. And you said to bring them by whenever they were ready. And I thought, why not now? Plus, I was hoping you could document our interaction this morning for my friendship report, so I brought another form for you.” She opened her saddlebag and presented a stack of paper to Mayor, holding it just inside the door so that it didn’t get wet.

Mayor ogled the tempting stack. It would be so easy to take Twilight’s finished paperwork now, to read it and to complete the new form now, and she knew Twilight would stay with her the whole time. If she deliberated over her answers, she might lose herself in an orgy of free-response questions, and it might take her hours.

Yet even as Mayor looked up from the forms at Twilight, at the prim librarian who had captured her heart, duty reared up inside her. She stepped back and raised a hoof as if to shield herself. She asked, “Twilight? How much of the Equestrian Civil Service Code have you read?”

“I’ve reached volume nine. Why?”

“So you haven’t read volume 13, chapter 28, paragraph L, part (c)? Prohibition on civil servants providing material assistance to governmental functions on uncompensated time?”

“Oh. But what about my friendship report? It’s not a governmental function.”

“I review everyone’s timesheet. I know yours uses the charge code for time spent writing reports to Canterlot. Twilight, why are you here? Be honest.”

“It couldn’t wait.”

“It couldn’t wait, or you couldn’t wait?”

Twilight knew the reason she was there: She had wanted to see Mayor. She had known there was a chance of failure, but the urge that had seized her heart had been too strong. Now, seeing Mayor again had set her ablaze with passion. She moaned, “I couldn’t wait! I just want us to do paperwork together. Beautiful paperwork. I want to fill out forms with you. I want us to check each others’ boxes. I want us to write our names in evenly spaced boxes using all capital letters at the top of every page. And I want us to do it all in triplicate.”

Desire struggled against duty in Mayor’s heart, but she knew her obligations, and she had never failed at them before. The filly inside her had listened to Twilight’s confession with excitement and now leaped and pranced with joy. It wanted to embrace Twilight, to invite her inside and tell her that this was her home, too, now, and they would be together forever. But the sober bonds of Mayor’s maturity restrained it. Softly, with a calm voice that belied the struggle inside her, she said, “Do you remember the Ponyville city government organization chart? As librarian, you’re in the Department of Parks and Recreation, which is in the Operations Division, which reports to the mayor. To me. And the Equestrian Civil Service Code, volume 13, chapter 22, paragraph F, prohibits me from having a romantic relationship with a subordinate.”

Twilight croaked, “Mayor? Do you love me?”

“It’s against the rules. I’m sorry, Twilight.”

Mayor closed the door with a suddenness and force counter to her feelings. Her legs trembled, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from weakness or fear or self-loathing. She lay on the floor and took out her checklist. She scrawled, “Reject most beautiful mare I have ever known,” and put a check next to it. Then she hid her muzzle in her forelegs and cried.

Chapter 3

Twilight sent her forms through interdepartmental mail. She was so miserable that she wanted to take a day off, but, because she had just started working for the government, she had only accrued two hours of leave. She could have requested an advance on her leave, but she didn’t have a copy of the right form. She would have had to go to the town hall, and that risked encountering Mayor, and when Twilight thought of Mayor, tears welled up in her eyes.

The Equestrian City Government Association’s banquet was next week. “I’m not going,” she told her friends.

Fluttershy said, “But are you really sure you should stay away?”

“You can’t avoid her forever,” said Rainbow Dash.

Applejack said, “You’re one of the guests of honor. I kinda think you have to go.”

“You’ve never been to this kind of event,” observed Rarity. “They’ll seat us all together. You won’t have to talk to her. Trust me, darling.”

“I’ll make sure you have a good time, no matter what!” said Pinkie Pie. She sang,

“Our Twilight’s turned from purple into moody blue.
We’ll try to cheer you up, ‘cause that’s what true friends do.
As long as you’re with us, you’ll have no cause to bawl,
You shouldn’t fear to go inside the banquet hall!
I’ll fill it with confetti falling so thick from above,
you’ll never even glimpse the pretty pony that you love!”

“Thanks, Pinkie,” said Twilight. “I guess.”

Contrary to Rarity’s expectations, however, the six ponies and one dragon were not seated together. When the usher saw Twilight’s name on the invitation, he jumped to attention. “Mrs. Sparkle!” he declared. “My apologies for not recognizing you. Your seat is on stage next to Mayor.”

Twilight attempted to protest, but when she moved her mouth, no sound came out. It was like a nightmare where she was continually looking for the right form to fill out but could never find it. All the drawers in her file cabinets were empty. She would open one, but it had only file rails. Another drawer had hanging folders, but they had nothing inside. A third had a single blank sheet of paper sitting at the bottom. She opened drawers in a panic, searching for the right words, for any words at all, but the idea of sitting next to Mayor all night evoked joy and fear so intense that it overwhelmed her faculties.

Rarity said, “There must be a mistake. We were supposed to sit together.”

The usher fetched the banquet organizer, Amethyst Star, who consulted her guest list. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “but on the guest list, you’re marked as couples. All of you.”

Applejack said, “We’re all couples? What the hay does that mean?”

At their table, the place cards stated in flourishing calligraphy, “Mrs. Rarity and Mrs. Pinkie Pie,” “Mrs. Fluttershy and Mrs. Applejack,” and “Mrs. Rainbow Dash and Mr. Spike.”

Rainbow Dash waved her hoof at the place cards and said, “This is more embarrassing for you than for us, but it doesn’t really matter.” She pointed to the stage. “That does. You need to move Twilight here.”

Amethyst Star’s embarrassment was obvious. She was Ponyville’s premier event organizer (except for parties, since those were Pinkie Pie’s domain) and the Equestrian City Government Association had engaged her on Mayor’s recommendation. For the past week, she had been a tornado of action. A whirlwind of forms had secured the use of the town hall. She had crashed into the kitchen of caterer after caterer until she had found one who was available. She had printed the invitations and sent them whizzing through the mail on the same day the Association provided a guest list. She had been unstoppable.

“Let me get my Association contact,” Amethyst Star said.

Her Association contact was a pegasus with the peculiar name of Zoning Law. Amethyst Star had only talked to him once before deciding his name was appropriate. He was pedantic and fussy, overly and obsessively concerned with aspects of the event that didn’t matter, like the precise color of the chairs or the lengths of the stems on the flowers that were to be presented to Mayor. Yet on every major question, his carelessness and ignorance obstructed everything she did. He didn’t provide a guest list until she took the train to Canterlot and barged into the Association offices, and then he had acted as if she were wasting his time with trivialities. She couldn’t print programs until he told her who was giving speeches, but he didn’t seem to care who spoke or in what order. His worst offense happened before she was even hired. When Zoning Law first told her about the event, he claimed the Association was flexible about the date. She accepted the job believing that the banquet could be next month, giving her plenty of time to prepare. But when she attempted to book the town hall, Mayor contacted her and told her that the president of the Association wanted the event held next week. The revelation that she was nearly out of time sent her into a panic. Mayor, unsurprised, said, “I see you must be working with Zoning Law.”

Amethyst Star found Zoning Law as quickly as she could. “There seems to be a problem with the seating—” she began.

“Then you ought to fix it. That’s what we’re paying you for, you know.” He pretended to yawn.

Amethyst Star dragged him to the table where Twilight Sparkle and her friends stood in awkward silence. She explained the situation, concluding with, “The guest list is outside my purview, so I thought it would be best if you spoke to them. I’ll have the staff remove Twilight’s place setting from the stage and put another one at this table.”

“These arrangements were made in strict accordance with Mayor’s wishes. I still have her letter right here. See, it says, ’My partner Twilight Sparkle.’ So I—oh. It says, ‘partners.’ Not ‘partner.’ I thought she meant they were a couple. That you were all couples.” Zoning Law put the letter away. “Oh well. It’s too late. Seating has already been decided and nopony is going to move now.”

Amethyst Star said, “I’m sure the staff can—”

“No!” Zoning Law barked.

“Excuse me?”

“Absolutely not! I will not have them engage in such a complete and utter waste of time. Really, to think we might let ponies just move their chairs around like that. Absurd!”

Pinkie Pie said, “Now hold on, Mr. Meanie Law! She’s our friend and she wants to sit with us—”

As Pinkie berated Zoning Law, Twilight let her eyes drift through the hall. Ponies gathered in little clusters, chatted for a few moments, exchanged a hug or a pat on the shoulder, then shifted to other clusters. Every pair of ponies acted like old friends reconnecting after years apart, and they drifted among each other like dandelion seeds in the wind. Except, Twilight saw, for Mayor. With her silver mane, she resembled a dandelion seed more than any of the other ponies there, but unlike them, she was fixed, rock-like and steady, at the center of the crowd. Ponies said a few words to her, no more than a perfunctory greeting and congratulation, and then floated away.

The shallowness of it offended Twilight. These other ponies, who were supposed to be here to honor Mayor, seemed not to care about her. They were here because it was a high-society event, the kind that gets into the newspaper gossip column because everypony who’s anypony was there. Twilight, who had barely been able to think of anypony other than Mayor for a week, was both the only pony who cared about her and the only one keeping her distance.

Twilight interrupted her friends, who were still arguing with Zoning Law. “Pinkie? Everypony? It’s okay. I’ll sit with Mayor.”

“You don’t have to,” said Applejack.

“I want to.”

Zoning Law sneered, “Well, if we’re all agreed this is pointless, then I really have better things to do.” But as he turned away from the table, something caught his eye. He crouched, stared at the tablecloth, and gasped. “Oh no,” he whispered. “Amethyst Sparkle! Look at this! Look! The tablecloth isn’t even!”

Rarity, who couldn’t resist an opportunity to examine a piece of cloth, crouched to examine the tablecloth herself. “Why, it’s just a little askew. Hardly at all, though.”

Amethyst Sparkle’s horn glowed, and the tablecloth shifted slightly. Zoning Law muttered, “No. It’s still not right. This is unacceptable.” From somewhere he produced a pair of shears. “I’ll have to even it myself.” She didn’t try to stop him. She would make sure there was a line item in the Association’s bill for “tablecloth damage due to unauthorized use of shears.” It might ruin her reputation as an event organizer, but it filled her with schadenfreude.

Mayor greeted pony after pony mechanically, as if she were a wind-up doll who could only shake hooves and say, “Good evening. How are you? Yes, I do feel honored, thank you.” Her recitation had become so automatic that she didn’t notice when she was talking to Twilight. Then she stopped, too ashamed to go on.

“Hi,” said Twilight.

Mayor hadn’t expected Twilight to come. She had rejected Twilight too firmly, too definitively. She had wanted to reject Twilight so utterly that Twilight would not dare to see her again. If she had had to put Twilight on her to-do list, she would have written, “Avoid most beautiful mare I have ever known.” Twilight was temptation ponified, sweet forbidden fruit that Mayor longed to taste, and if Mayor were confronted with that temptation enough times, she knew she would eventually succumb. The only sure way for her to resist the temptation was to not be confronted with it at all, but here it was. Twilight had said a bare syllable to her, a mere pleasantry, but the dulcet tone of Twilight’s voice made Mayor heave a sigh of pleasure. Upon hearing her own sigh, she realized that Twilight might interpret it as frustration or exasperation. She rushed to fill the silence with something more inviting, but, having nothing else prepared to say, what came out of her mouth was, “Good evening. How are you? Yes, I do feel honored, thank you.”

But Twilight seemed to forgive her foolishness. “I hear we’re sitting together at dinner,” she said.

“We are?”

“Yes. And, I like it that way.”

Mayor knew that Twilight’s remark was really a question. She knew that she ought to respond now the same way that she did last week when Twilight was at her door. But she also knew that she had felt miserable since then.

The crowd around them, the most fashionable and beautiful in Ponyville, looked indistinct, like smudged ink on parchment. They made dark blots here and there against the background of the town hall, and the blots trickled into one another, merging, growing, fading, always with undefined borders that made it impossible to tell where one pony ended and the next began. The blots consisted of gossip and backbiting, of petty drama and dishonesty, as embodied in the sycophants, posers, and parasites of the self-aggrandizing glitterati. These ponies, lacking the temperament for heroism, and envious of the success of Twilight and her friends, and of the success that they mistakenly attributed to Mayor, were here only to share in reflected glory. Saying nothing that any pony wanted to hear and hiding their personalities behind their tuxedos and evening gowns, these ponies lost their individuality and dissolved into the blots that swirled around the hall.

Against that background, Twilight and her friends stood out, crisp and refreshing. To Mayor, Twilight stood out most of all. Twilight had come back to her after being rejected. Twilight was in love and had been unafraid to act on it. Twilight was still the most beautiful mare Mayor had ever known.

Mayor said, “I do too.”

Twilight took a confident place beside her, and the pair stayed together in the middle of the hall, in the crowd of drifting ponies but steadfast and secure in each other. They greeted, chatted, and mingled with guests as a harmonious and indivisible unit. When they ate dinner, it was side-by-side on the stage and in full view of the guests.

Between bites of her bell pepper stuffed with hay risotto, Twilight asked, “Is there anything we can do? I looked in the Civil Service Code, but I didn’t see any exceptions.”

Mayor finished her bite of mushroom ragout on a bed of rye grass. “There aren’t any. It’s absolute. There are allowances for other situations, like if you were a family member. There’s a nice set of forms for that and some clever procedures. But for romantic relationships, there’s nothing.”

“So that’s it, then,” Twilight mused. She sipped her wine and said, “We’re not allowed to be happy.”

“Don’t be so hasty. We’re not in violation yet.”

“Yet?” Twilight fluttered her eyelashes. “Does that mean you’re planning a violation?”

Mayor blushed. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s more fun to pretend I don’t.”

“Some day. Not yet. I don’t know a way around the Code, but maybe there is one.”

“Would you mind if I ask Princess Celestia? I think she would help.”

Mayor nodded. “For somepony at the head of an enormous government, she has a stunningly casual attitude towards regulation. It’s almost as if she doesn’t like paperwork.”

“She doesn’t. Raven Inkwell takes care of it. I may have been Celestia’s student, but it was Raven who taught me to appreciate bureaucracy.”

“She sounds like quite something. Should I be worried?”

Twilight stifled a laugh. “Let’s just say she’s married to her work.”

A pair of eyes out in the audience caught Mayor’s attention, hard eyes with a glint of gold in them. The eyes were ruthless, toughened with decades of indifference toward the fates of other ponies. They were Filthy Rich’s eyes.

Mayor realized that she was leaning toward Twilight, leaning over so far that she was nearly resting on Twilight’s shoulder. Under the table, their hooves had touched without either of them realizing it. She returned to a more decorous pose, righting herself and withdrawing her hoof. “I think we have a problem,” she said. “Look at table four.”

When Twilight, too, found Filthy Rich’s stare, she saw in it hostility and conniving.

Chapter 4

Twilight wrote to Celestia the day after the banquet. She and Mayor agreed that, to keep up appearances, the letter would be a friendship report, all the words would be Twilight’s, and Mayor wouldn’t sign it. Mayor did, however, read Twilight’s first draft and write comments on it in red ink. “Because,” Mayor said, “red is the color of love.”

Twilight wrote her second draft entirely in red ink. “You did say red was the color of love.” Mayor laughed.

Twilight and Mayor didn’t expect an immediate reply. But the reply came barely an hour later, and its contents sent Twilight into a wordless panic. Her daily planner, her files, even her thoughts, all were now irrelevant. Everything she used to organize her life seemed to be suddenly obliterated. She could operate only by instinct, and instinct told her to go to Mayor at once.

When Twilight reached the doorway to Mayor’s office, she was still open-mouthed with shock. Mayor, looking up from a meeting with the Chief of the City Planning Commission, said, “Twilight? It’s not a good time. Can you come back in thirty-eight minutes?”

Twilight Sparkle held out the letter she had received. The only sound she could make was, “Uh,” a primitive grunt of uncertain meaning that indicated only that the piece of parchment was important.

Mayor said to the Chief, “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

The parchment had royal letterhead and said,

Twilight Sparkle,

You and Mayor Mare are summoned to Canterlot for an immediate audience with Princess Celestia. Do not delay.

“Oh my word,” said Mayor.

“What is it?” asked the Chief.

“It might be really good,” said Mayor, “but more likely, it’s really, really, really bad.”

Mayor, like anypony in a crisis, reverted to her most deeply ingrained habits, the kinds of habits that she had no control over and could not have changed no matter how hard she tried. In her case, she took out her to-do list and added, “Emergency meeting with Twilight and Princess Celestia.” The letter had instructed them not to delay, so she took out a sheet of paper and made a checklist. “Complete travel authorization request forms,” she began. “Complete travel authorization accelerated approval justification form. File travel forms.”

In compliance with the Equestrian Civil Service Code, before they went anywhere, Mayor and Twilight completed their travel forms, Mayor approved them, and they filed the forms with the government travel office. Only then did they hurry to the train station. Rainbow Dash, observing their pace, flew down and asked, “Where are you going so quickly?”

“Canterlot. For an emergency audience with Princess Celestia,” said Twilight.

“Emergency? I can get you there quicker than the train.”

Mayor interrupted, “No, I didn’t authorize private winged transportation service for this trip.”

“What does that matter? I’ll just take you.”

“I’ve already approved our travel authorization request. We’d have to amend it. Which we’re not allowed to do once the travel has started. Which it has since we’re on our way to the train station.”

Twilight said, “Couldn’t we submit it as an en route modification of travel plans when we complete our post-travel documentation?”

“If we couldn’t take the train, that would be okay. But since we can, we can only be reimbursed up to the cost of the original transportation.”

“I’m not asking to be paid!” said Rainbow Dash. “I’m trying to be your friend, not a taxi service!”

“That would be an illegal gift to a government employee,” said Mayor.

“You’re a good friend,” said Twilight, “but this is an important trip, and we need to get the details right. If our paperwork isn’t in order, Raven will notice.”

On the train, Mayor and Twilight calmed their nerves by determining their mileage allowance for the distance between the town hall and the train station and working out what their fractional day per diem would be if they had to stay overnight. When they reached Canterlot, they went at once to the castle and were shown into the throne room immediately.

Celestia was seated on her throne, Luna was on her right, and Raven Inkwell was in the corner. At the base of the throne, near the royal guards and with a wicked grin, was Filthy Rich.

Twilight had forgotten how long the walk from the door to the throne was. On the occasions when Celestia had wanted Twilight in the throne room, they had entered it together. The comfort of being near her beloved teacher and the thrill of helping with statecraft had made the throne room seem inviting and even cozy. But on this walk, Celestia was far away and never seemed to get any closer.

Twilight and Mayor prostrated themselves in front of the throne. Twilight, keeping her eyes to the floor, said, “We are here as you have ordered, Your Royal Highness.”

Celestia tilted her head toward Filthy Rich and commanded, “Begin.”

Filthy Rich thundered, “Did you really think you could hide it? Or were you even trying? If you were trying, you’re pretty bad at it. It’s obvious to everypony. Mayor, you’re abusing your position to take advantage of Twilight Sparkle.”

“What?” cried Twilight. “That’s not what happened at all—”

Celestia, using the Royal Canterlot Voice, roared, “Silence!”

Twilight choked back her words. Celestia never used the Royal Canterlot Voice. Twilight could count the number of times she had heard the Voice using just her forehooves. Both times, Celestia had been so angry that she had nearly annihilated the pony she had been talking to. Twilight bowed her face to the floor again. If Celestia was that angry with her, her days as Celestia’s student were over.

Filthy Rich was as discomfited as Twilight. He had never heard the Royal Canterlot Voice before, and the power and fury behind it made him stagger. His plan had not included being destroyed by a raging alicorn.

Only Luna, Raven, and Celestia herself seemed undisturbed. Celestia inclined her head toward Filthy Rich again. Calmly, as if she were having a pleasant conversation over a cup of tea, she said, “Continue.”

Filthy Rich’s voice began with a quaver. “Mayor, you’re Twilight’s supervisor. You can have her fired at a moment’s notice. You can stop her from getting another government job. Your position means that no matter what she thinks of you, she can’t say no to your demands. You should be ashamed! You’ve taken advantage of her weakness, of her youth and inexperience. Look at her! She’s hardly more than a schoolfilly. Even if she believes she’s in love, it’s only because you’ve tricked her.” Mayor’s skin crawled at the accusation, and Twilight gnashed her teeth. Filthy Rich pulled out a photograph. It showed Twilight Sparkle and Mayor seated on the stage at the Association dinner, almost shoulder-to-shoulder, their hooves touching below the table. “The newspaper couldn’t print this, could they? It’s practically indecent!” He turned toward Princess Celestia and bowed. “Your Royal Highness, I request that Mayor be removed from office. With her removal, Ponyville will need a new senior executive officer, and I humbly volunteer myself.”

“Thank you, Filthy Rich,” said Celestia. “Mayor, Twilight, what do you have to say?”

Twilight was about to speak when Mayor touched her hoof. They shared a quiet look, a moment between them alone with nopony else to interfere, before they faced Princess Celestia again. Mayor said, “Your Royal Highness, I confess to violating the Equestrian Civil Service Code, volume 13, chapter 22, paragraph F.”

Raven whispered into Celestia’s ear, “Prohibition on romantic relationships with subordinates.”

“You don't have to remind me. I’m not as bad as that,” Celestia whispered back. “Usually. Certainly not now.”

Mayor continued, “I didn’t intend to fall in love with Twilight. I knew I wasn’t allowed to have a relationship with her, and I tried to resist my feelings. But I failed. She’s the most beautiful mare I’ve ever known, and I love her.”

“Do you intend to continue violating paragraph F?”

Mayor had been a filly when she decided to become a civil servant. She had entered government service as soon as she was out of school, and she had never left. There had been nothing she wanted more. Nothing until now, when she stood next to Twilight, next to the warmth of her body and the comfort of her soul. She hadn’t warned Twilight what she was prepared to do. It would have upset Twilight, and she had wanted to spare Twilight the worry. But it was the only course available to her.

“No. Effective immediately, I resign.”

Twilight gasped. “You can’t mean it,” she said. “Please don’t. You don’t have to.”

Mayor put her foreleg over Twilight. “Yes, I do. Maybe I’ve spent too long serving the public. Maybe it’s time to do something for myself. And for you. Let’s go.”

Raven interrupted, “Excuse me, but that doesn’t resolve the investigation. One of the possible penalties for Mayor’s violation of paragraph F is a forced leave of absence without pay. That would affect her final paycheck and retirement benefits. We can’t complete her departure from government service until the penalty has been decided.”

Celestia said, “Thank you, Raven. Let’s continue. Twilight? What do you have to say?”

Twilight looked up at her teacher. Celestia had guided her since she was a filly. For most of her life, Celestia had been a source of wisdom and advice. At times, she had trusted Celestia more than her own parents. She had wanted to enter government service because of her loyalty to Celestia and her hope of making Celestia proud.

“I also resign, effective immediately.” She put a foreleg around Mayor, and they hugged.

“Well!” said Celestia. “Thank you, everypony. This is just what we were hoping for. Luna, are you ready?”

“Always, sister.”

Celestia gestured to the window, and her horn glowed. “Everypony watch carefully.” The sun, which was past its peak in the sky, grew stronger. The shadows in the hall shortened as the sun rose toward its zenith, and they lengthened again as the sun began to fall toward the east. “Twilight, I know you very well. And Mayor, I don’t know you as well, but everything you’ve ever sent to Canterlot is filed here. I don’t exactly adore paperwork, as everypony knows, but as Raven is always reminding me, sometimes it’s useful. She helped me find some of what you wrote, and I read it. It didn’t take me long to make up my mind.” The sun was setting in the east now, and the moon was rising.

“I can decree anything I like. I could decree an exception to the Civil Service Code for you. But that would mean a violation had occurred and I was endorsing it, and that didn’t feel right. It would be so much more convenient if no violation had ever happened, wouldn’t it? But it already has.” The sun rose in the west again, streaking across the sky like a bird in flight, and the moon chased after it. “I’m sure everyone here already knows how the Code defines a day. Except you, Filthy Rich. You’ve probably never thought about it.” The sun and moon whipped across the sky, west to east, over and over, each cycle taking only seconds. “One day is defined as one sunrise. Which means that if the sun and moon go in reverse, we go back in time. At least, that’s what the Code thinks.” The sun slowed, stopping at high noon. “Would you look at that! It’s now two weeks ago. Twilight, you’re not yet a government employee. You can date anyone you like. You can even get married.”

Raven approached Mayor and Twilight with a sheet of parchment and a quill. In ornate script across the top of the sheet were the words, “Certificate of Marriage.”

“You’ve already admitted to a romantic relationship. But if you get married right now, then you’re already family at the moment Twilight enters government service. Paragraph F never applies and there will never be any violation. But in a moment, Luna and I are going to move time back to the present. So this is your only chance. Not getting married now will violate the Equestrian Civil Service Code.”

Mayor took the quill first. She jotted her name on the certificate with a flourish and passed the quill to Twilight. Twilight said, “Wait. Can I practice my signature first? This is kinda important and—”

“Twilight,” Mayor said in a soft, familiar tone. “I love you no matter how your signature looks.” Twilight’s heart swelled with happiness. She signed.

Celestia and Luna signed as witnesses, and Raven stamped the certificate with her notary seal. “Congratulations,” said Celestia. “And now. Luna?” The sun and moon moved again, this time from east to west as they usually did. Days passed in seconds. “And here we are, back in the present. Twilight, you’re a government employee again. Or you were until you and Mayor resigned. Speaking of which, I refuse to accept your resignations, and I command you to continue in government service.”

Filthy Rich had gaped in confusion throughout the wedding. He recovered himself enough to ask, “What happened just now?”

“Just now, they got married two weeks ago.”

“But that’s absurd! It doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“It does in the eyes of the law. And so does one other thing. Raven?”

Raven presented Filthy Rich with a sheet of parchment. “Sir, as you can see here, you’re guilty of making a false police report. The fine is one hundred bits.”

“She admitted she broke the law! You can’t fine me for that!”

“Your report was true a few minutes ago, but now that they’ve been married for two weeks, it was always false.”

Filthy Rich stamped his hoof and began, “I have a right—”

An enormous magical hoof appeared and kicked Filthy Rich’s behind. He sailed across the throne room, and halfway to the door, he crashed into the carpet.

Luna proclaimed in the Royal Canterlot Voice, “Get thee out, thou miserable insect! Thou art unworthy to be our subject!” Filthy Rich fled at a gallop.

Celestia said, “One more thing. Now that you’re married, you need to abide by the Code’s rules for family members. Raven, their wedding present.”

Raven presented Twilight and Mayor with a thick stack of paper. “The rules are rather complex, and there are a lot of forms involved, but we’re sure you’ll have a good time.”

As Twilight and Mayor took the stack, their eyes shone with anticipation. “Do you mind—” began Twilight. “—if we—” continued Mayor. “—started right now?” they finished together.

“Not at all,” said Celestia.

Raven retreated to the side of the throne. “When you sent Twilight to Ponyville, were you trying to hook her up with Mayor?”

“Not exactly. I only knew Mayor by reputation, but I had an inkling they would like each other. Do you remember that sick day I made you take? About three years ago?”

Raven muttered, “Two years, ten months, and seventeen days ago. My only sick day ever.”

“You could barely stand on your hooves! You needed to rest. And you never did let me tell you what happened.”

“You had Twilight fill in for me. I thought you were going to replace me, and I didn’t know where I was going to go or what I was going to do, and—”

“Raven! I would never do that.” She touched her muzzle to Raven’s cheek and let a wingtip brush against Raven’s flank. “You’re special to me. You know that, right? But that one time, you weren’t there, and Twilight was so eager, and I wondered, ‘What’s the harm in letting her try?’ So I asked her for a cup of tea. Twenty minutes later, she came back. Not only did she not have my tea, she had drawn up a ‘tea requisition form’ that she wanted me to fill out.”

“What?” yelped Raven.

“Oh yes. With little boxes to check for the variety of tea and whether I wanted milk and sugar.”

Raven looked over at Twilight and Mayor, who were gesturing at some form and jabbering excitedly at each other. She burst out laughing.

Celestia continued, “When I wanted another cup, I made up an excuse to get her to go away, and I brewed it myself. She’s a smart filly, but she can be overwhelming.”

“Even so, are you sure it’s a good idea for them to get married so quickly?”

“Well, just look at them.” They were snuggling as they checked boxes together. “If they ever try to get divorced, all the paperwork will make them fall in love all over again. Besides, it’s their only chance. Do you think there’s another pony in Equestria who would touch either of them?”

“Not a chance in Tartarus.”

A few weeks later, Twilight and Mayor went on their honeymoon. Twilight, still Celestia’s faithful student, didn’t neglect her duty to send friendship reports. Celestia wrote back to Twilight, “Thank you for your latest friendship report. I know you like to be thorough, but you’re on your honeymoon. You don’t need to include tables, charts, or diagrams. TMI.”