Runway Rat

Refinement and stability – Those were the only terms that could be used to describe Canterlot’s society – Only in the highest districts of the city, of course. The lower districts were notably less wealthy or noble, and yet many ponies agreed to settle in these areas as they couldn’t afford anything better. But a certain pony wasn’t going to aim just for the low-hanging fruit, he wanted to climb the social ladder and eventually become a part of the elite. That is the goal of Street Rat, a landlord of Manehattan who saved enough bits to move to Canterlot. And staying true to his ambitions, he got lodging in the highest district… albeit in a tiny apartment-studio that really should not have cost him that much, but it would do, nonetheless.

And it’s not that he abandoned his former home and business. Street Rat decided that he would return to Manehattan at the end of each month to manage his properties and charge rent to his tenants. Who knows what would happen if he neglected his job. But Manehattan wasn’t his problem, not now. His goal was to climb the social ladder – and what better way to do it by attending social events and forging connections?

Of course. Entering these events wouldn’t be an easy task, especially with Street’s status as a ‘nopony’. However, being a landlord had its benefits. Street Rat knew a variety of ponies from many walks of life, one of which granted him a ticket for an upcoming event… after being nearly evicted from the building. Figures that a pony would have access to such an exclusive event but wasn’t able to pay rent.

But that didn’t matter now. He was in Canterlot, and he wasn’t going to let his opportunity go to waste. And in the very unlikely case he failed, Street Rat still has his properties as a safety net for him to bounce back from.

Street Rat made sure to blend in with the rest of ponies. He brought a pink suit and a yellow tie of high-quality material, giving him an air of professionalism and class. And if that wasn’t enough to sell the image that he belonged here, Street Rat also had an earring and a golden tooth… which he had to implant after one of his tenants knocked one of his teeth down.

And here he was, standing in the middle of a social event – A place where gossip, laughter and the smell of luxurious beverage was in the air. It was a dance of social movement, where ponies of high status wore suits and dresses, exchanging pleasantries and hollow laughs at a joke that very often was at the expense of somepony else. These classy ponies were… well, everything you would expect from the upper society.

Street Rat wasn’t foolish enough to think that simply showing up would be enough to secure his place among Canterlot’s elite. Networking was a game of patience, strategy, and knowing when to push and when to wait. He needed allies, business prospects—ponies who could open doors for him, even if it meant running errands or humoring their insufferable small talk. Investments, favors, strategic friendships and even a traditional relationship—there were plenty of ways to reach the stability he needed.

With all of this in mind, it was time for Street Rat to start making moves. He passed a hoof through his mane, readjusted his tie.

He knew better than to throw himself at just any conversation. Networking wasn’t about speaking—it was about positioning. He scanned the room, eyes darting between groups, weighing his options. The ponies laughing the loudest? Too tight-knit, he’d be an outsider intruding. The lone mare eyeing the hors d’oeuvres? Tempting, but desperation clung to her like a cheap perfume—any pony here worth talking to wouldn’t be eating alone. No, the real prize was the mid-sized clusters—engaged, but not exclusive. That was his opening.

He approached the first promising group with a confident smile, casually inserting himself into the rhythm of conversation. He made a well-placed comment about the venue’s décor—safe, neutral, just enough to prove he had taste. A mare in a sapphire gown gave him a polite nod, but her gaze drifted past him, already seeking somepony more. Another mare humored him long enough to let out a dry chuckle before turning back to her original conversation partner.

Fine. That was just the warm-up.

He tried again, this time pivoting toward business. Real estate was always a solid topic, right? Turns out, not when it involved his kind of real estate. One stallion in a sharp suit—the kind that looked imported—arched a brow when Street mentioned managing rentals in Manehattan. "How quaint," he remarked, voice dripping with condescension. Apparently, property ownership only mattered when it involved mansions, not apartment complexes that housed ponies with jobs.

No matter. He adjusted.

A conversation with a well-dressed mare seemed promising—her questions were direct, her smile lingering just long enough to hint at intrigue. But then came the inevitable mention of her husband, slipped in so effortlessly it was almost impressive. Street laughed it off, made some remark about “lucky stallions,” and excused himself before he had to endure the pitying glance that always followed.

Another group barely let him get past an introduction. Something about his stance, or his expression, maybe his golden tooth or—Celestia forbid—his scrawny build gave them an excuse to dismiss him. They didn’t matter, they were the type of ponies that wouldn’t be pleased by anything.

Street tried his luck with a good-looking old stallion of clean suit – not that his looks mattered. Elderly meant wisdom, right? The two of them got deep into a conversation, the elderly stallion listening attentively and responding with refined dialect that Street could barely understand. He seemed like a potential associate that knew how the society work, until he started to go on a winded rant about taxes – irrelevant to real estate. Street barely could hold his sigh and he walked away from the conversation.

By now, he found himself lingering near the refreshments, his untouched drink growing warm in his hoof. Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe he had just exhausted his patience, but he caught himself watching other ponies across the room. He did most of the tricks in the book – flattery, subtlety, frankness… And none of it was working. If charm and conversation wouldn’t get him in, then perhaps a favor, a business opportunity, something would.

But then, his ears perked up at murmurs from afar. Not quite words, but a hum of conversation that carried a certain weight—louder, livelier, charged with interest. Street Rat followed the noise and spotted the source: an earth pony, blueish-gray coat, a highly stylized white mane, and – whatever that outfit is. Purple glasses, layered accessories, and… tap shoes? He stood among a group of ponies, his posture relaxed but commanding. The way he moved, gesturing with just enough flair to keep eyes on him, exuded confidence. Effortless. The stallion didn’t need to ask for attention. It simply followed him.

Street Rat’s narrowed his gaze. What’s with this guy? Everypony was glued to his words, hanging on as if he were Celestia herself. The way they leaned in, nodded along, even giggled at his remarks—it was almost ridiculous. Almost enviable. And yet, he found himself watching, taking in the way the stallion carried himself. Every movement was deliberate, precise—like a performance meant to be admired. It was almost too polished. Too effortless.

It was almost funny. He’d seen stallions like this before, ones who practically dripped with self-importance. And yet, this one…

Enough of that. It wasn’t worth his time. He had actual work to do. After all the rejections, his patience was wearing thin, and the evening wasn’t getting any younger. Still, something nagged at him—the way ponies gravitated toward that stallion so easily. No struggle, no effort, just instant admiration. It wasn’t fair.

But… maybe it was actually a good thing.

The thought crept in slow, reluctant at first, then clearer. If that flamboyant stallion could bathe in the spotlight and get everypony drooling over him, then maybe Street Rat could find a way to use that to his advantage. Yeah. If he hanged around an important pony, that would help on getting other ponies get interested in him.

Downing the rest of his drink in one go, he slammed the cup onto the table, startling a few ponies nearby. He straightened his suit and adjusted his expression into something more neutral.

Sliding into the crowd, he kept his steps measured. He didn’t shove his way in – that would be desperate. Instead, he lingered in the corners, pretending to be just another guest enjoying the chatter. In reality, he was listening. Watching. Waiting.

Sure enough, the stallion in the center of it all commanded the conversation with infuriating ease. Naturally. He didn’t demand attention—he simply took it, weaving words with effortless charm. The way he spoke, gesturing lightly with a hoof, made everypony lean in, utterly captivated.

“I mean, a suit like that isn’t something you quite see every day. The fabric’s texture, the colors… It’s all unique! But sadly, the patterns were glaring to look at! Such a great suit ruined by such details!”

Street Rat barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. A fashion critic. Great. Just what Equestria needed. He couldn’t care less about fabric, patterns, or whatever tragic design crime had offended this stallion’s delicate sensibilities. But he held his expression steady, scanning for an opening.

“Of course, I wasn’t heartless enough to disprove her creation as a whole, but I had to decrease her score quite a bit.”

Even greater. Other ponies depended on his word! Sure, it wasn’t as different to being a landlord, but this was just another level. Annoying as he was, this stallion had influence—real influence. Maybe, just maybe, he was worth talking to after all.

Minutes went by as the stallion rambled about fashion. Street Rat’s eyes were focused, perhaps too much on the stallion at the center and analyzed each of his movements and words. They were too theatrical, but always managed to keep the group engaged and listening actively. The passion and soothing edge of his voice... At least that made Street Rat tolerate him just a bit more than earlier.

But that wasn’t the point. He was there for an opportunity, a moment to strike in and get ponies interested in him. And so far, it was very unlikely the critic would talk about anything else other than fashion.

Then, he mentioned something about boutiques.

“And when I enter a boutique, I’m completely turn off by the lack of focus or intention behind the design of such places. The clothes should ALWAYS take priority above anything else. Or else, is it even a boutique to begin with?”

Street Rat’s ears twitched. There it was. A moment to challenge the critic and enter the spotlight.

He let a breath pass before speaking. Casual and smooth, as much as he could. “It’s funny, because a boutique is rarely one to begin with.”

A silence hung in the air, and everypony’s gaze was pinned upon Street Rat. The pressure, the stakes. It was on. The critic turned slightly, eyes settling on him, assessing. The crowd mirrored him, waiting. Street Rat met his gaze, smirking just enough to keep things playful. “No offense, of course,” he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, trying to hold his sweat. “I just know from experience.”

That was a lie. He was never related to the fashion industry; he was just a landlord. There was only so much involvement he had regarding the architectural design of a building. But he just needed a bluff, something that sounded coherent enough to make it look like he knew what he was talking about. “You see, most of business simply settle on a building to set up their store, but they don’t bother on making the necessary renovations.

The stallion paused, making the hair heavier. “Ah,” he lowered his glasses, meeting the landlord’s eyes. He looked at him, like if he was evaluating his worth and judging him quietly. It was not just the pressure now, the stallion’s look made Street Rat’s heart threaten to beat out of his chest. But he couldn’t show nerves, not when everypony was looking, not when he was looking. Then, the critic spoke casually. “And I assume you would be an expert?”

Street Rat did not need to be an expert, he needed to look like an expert. He flashed a grin, betraying the mixture of emotions inside. “I speak as a landlord,” he shrugged. “I see businesses set up shop all the time. Some invest in the space, some don’t. It’s easy to tell which ones survive.”

At his remark, some ponies chuckled. There were murmurs of interest, some looked at him now with intrigue. It seemed he conveyed himself well enough for others to take seriously. Everypony, except for the fashion critic, who still looked at him with a glimmer of amusement. He reaccommodated his glasses, straightening his posture, ready to challenge Street Rat.

“Well, tell me. What renovations would be necessary for a boutique to actually be successful, then?”

Street Rat’s answer to the challenge would define the success of his plan. He had to answer carefully, to avoid looking like a fool in front of everypony. His response did not need to be deep or explanative, it just needed to appeal to the critic and make it look like he was right and make Street himself look like an agreeable figure. Yeah, that was it. He got this!

“Like you said, the clothes should take priority above anything else,” Street Rat replied. “This means that It’s always important to show them off in the storefront and in the inside, but there also needs to be enough room to maneuver and to appreciate the couture. It ultimately boils down to space, which some buildings simply don’t have enough of.”

The critic stared in silence. Even with the glasses on, Street Rat could feel his piercing eye. His heart almost skipped a beat, and he tried to prevent sweat from forming. Other ponies stayed silent, as if they were waiting for the critic’s opinion to form their own, too. And then, the stallion smiled—small, but there.

“Intriguing,” he said, seemingly pleased by his response. Street Rat sighed in his mind, relieved that everything was going according to plan. “I believe your input would be valuable in an upcoming exhibit. Say, what do they call you?”

Street Rat’s smile widened; his tail flicked ever so slightly. He managed to bring himself to the level of this pony. He was finally somepony. “Street Rat, but you can call me just Street.”

“Street…” The critic pondered, curling his lips in amusement. “Alright, nice to meet you! The name is Hoity Toity,” the stallion extended a foreleg for Street Rat to shake. “I hope to see you at the Hoof de Beau exhibit next week.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command. Street Rat shook Hoity’s leg, the gesture lasting for two seconds. Other ponies looked at each other, surprised to see a stallion like Street Rat getting an invitation directly from the critic.

“I’ll be sure to be there,” Street Rat replied, this time with genuine emotion. He could hear some gasps

Hoity laughed. “Hah, then I’m glad an adorablepony like yourself will be joining us.” A wink could be seen behind the glasses.

Wait, adorable? Was this stallion flirting with him? And why adorable, out of all things? Street could be described as cunning, witty and intelligent, but adorable? Hoity was undermining him in public, and the worst part: It worked. Street Rat could feel his face heating up, breaking the bravado he worked so hard to maintain. He heard other ponies whispering to each other, especially noting his reaction.

“Moving on, did I ever mention the decline of exhibits here in Canterlot?” Hoity said. “It’s like they’re not even trying anymore.”

As soon as the critic started another ramble, the murmurs stopped and the attention returned to Hoity. Street Rat exhaled in relief. Crisis adverted.

Yeah, Hoity was just messing with him—there was no way he’d actually be interested in him. And Street wasn’t about to entertain that ridiculous idea – he had grown out of it a long time ago. He had bigger things to focus on now, like stability and getting connections, not a gut feeling that made him flustered. But as awkward as… whatever that interaction was, it went as good as it could. This invitation was the next step in Street Rat’s staircase to success.

The crowd’s hum dulled behind him as he slipped away, inhaling deeply. He didn’t know much about this exhibit—it was probably something about fashion—but that wasn’t the point. Just by being here, he looked important. Besides, with a bit of research he could bluff for long enough that he would seem believable, that he belonged in this world.

Street’s dream wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was happening, and he wouldn’t let anything get in his way of achieving it.