Runway Rat

"This is a complete joke!"

Hoity Toity retorted, causing the ponies on the other side of the table to recoil. Street Rat, seated beside him, suppressed a sigh and picked up the paper. He had already read through it once—some brand looking for a partnership with the Canterlot Fashion Magazine, promising exclusivity and a share in revenue, but the numbers weren’t in the magazine’s favor.

"What my associate means," Street cut in smoothly, eyeing the other ponies, "is that these terms aren’t exactly favorable. You want your brand to be advertised in the magazine, you need to offer something to match its value."

The brand ponies stared at the pair in a mixture of disbelief and resentment, and a tense silence hung in the air. “Very well,” one of the ponies said, his bitter tone masked with a professional smile. “Even if this didn’t lead to the partnership we anticipated, we appreciate your time. Have a good afternoon!” With that, his team gathered their things and left the lounge, muttering obscenities with each other. Figures ponies in this industry would be so resentful.

“Street, my dear. Can you tell me what’s next on schedule?” Hoity asked, slumping on the back on his seat.

Street complied as he grabbed his clipboard. “Next up is the interview with this fashion designer, but that won’t be until a couple of hours.”

“I see.” Hoity rearranged his glasses. “Get me a latte from the café, will ya? Make sure it’s a medium-sized carboard cup with sprinkles and whipped cream at room temperature.”

This was Street Rat’s job now. Somehow. One moment, he was just another Manehattan landlord, running his properties, shaking down ponies who were late on rent, and making sure no one stiffed him on payments. The next, he became Hoity Toity’s assistant in the so-called Canterlot Fashion Magazine. He had to meet all type of ridiculous demand and had to stick with Hoity like a stray dog. The worst was having to keep pace with the world of fashion—a world he had zero interest in.

“On it,” Street smiled, twitching his eye. “Anything else?”

“Oh, right. Also inform Fleur that the photoshoot was postponed for next week.”

Sounds simple.

“But she’s currently bodyguarding Fancy Pants, so you will have to look for her in the city. Make sure to return before 3 PM and don’t let my coffee run cold.”

Nevermind.

He still wasn’t sure how it happened. The first time, he bluffed his way out to get an invitation. And his second time? His bluff did not work, but somehow, for whatever reason, Hoity asked him to become his ‘adorable’ assistant. He called it fate. Street called it a mistake.

“Right away, Hoity!”

More than once, Street Rat thought about walking away. It was no wonder why whatever former assistant Hoity had wanted to quit. Hoity was insufferable, arrogant, flamboyant, and always undermined Street’s attitude. Yet, every time he considered quitting, he stayed by Hoity’s side. This job was temporary, it was just as stepping stone for the staircase of stability, nothing else. Soon, the pain and frustration would be worth it.

That’s what Street kept telling to himself.

The next days were a blur of errands that Street Rat had to endure. From arranging meetings, to fetching more refreshments, to something as ridiculous as stopping an argument on who invented the color blue. Street had swallowed his pride so many times, like it was his new favorite meal.

“Dear, please send an invitation to Lily Lace to be a guest designer for our upcoming show.”

Street sat in a desk and began to write his invitation. It turns out his hoof-writing wasn’t fancy enough, so he had to write in cursive and retry many times. Then, the letter was too formal, he had to start from scratch. Too flourish, try again. And when everything seemed good, he had accidentally misspelled Lily Lace’s name.

By the time he nailed the perfect letter, Hoity changed his mind. “Nevermind. We decided last minute to invite Starstreak instead.” Street could barely prevent himself from shredding the letter with his own hooves.

“Street, please refill the printer with ink.”

All he had to do was run down to the basement. While he wasn’t familiar how the printing machine worked, he just needed to pour some ink and step the pedal a few times to get the machine running. Good, that was easy.

Until he slipped from a puddle of ink and crashed with a shelf of ink bottles. He left the printing room, completely covered in black. “The machine is good and running,” Street said.

“Darling, you made this studio a terrible mess,” Hoity disapproved. Street looked back at the trail of ink he just made, making the studio look like a crime scene. Hoity tossed him a mop and a bucket. “Start cleaning. It’d be inconsiderate to make the janitor’s job even harder.”

Of course, now he cared about the janitor.

"What if you make yourself useful and book me a spa session for tomorrow? Pronto, chop chop."

Fine. How hard could booking a spa be? He just had to drop Hoity’s name, and they’d take care of the rest. Except… The spa was completely booked for tomorrow.

Street tried bribing the receptionist. No dice. He tried negotiating. She laughed. He tried calling in a favor from a past tenant who worked there – and she threatened to dump cucumber water on his head. But after enough convincing, she would make an appointment – with one condition. Street would need to give a hoof-massage to a customer, as the spa was short of staff.

After two hours, Street returned to the studio covered in sweat, oil, odor and shame. “Oh, good, darling! You must have pulled some strings,” Hoity said.

If only he could use those strings to strangle himself to death.

“Please deliver these dresses back to the boutique. Hurry up, these dresses need an urgent couple of changes.”

A simple run down the street. He got this. Street took the bags and stepped out of the studio, only it to start pouring immediately. With no umbrella or protection, Street had to sprint through the storm, the cold and the humiliation. He had to jump a couple of puddles, save himself from slipping, and dodge a couple of carriages.

The moment he got to the boutique; the owner insulted Street for getting the dresses wet and slammed the door up his nose without any recognition. Street had to walk back to the Studio, damp to the core. Might as well get struck by lightning while we’re at it.

But that would be too much to ask for.

One of the few positives this job had is that Hoity would sometimes request Street to accompany him to parties, galas, and other type of events. These are the only times when his job was worth it, because he would be able to play his game and form the connections that he desperately needed.

And this gala was the perfect opportunity. Street Rat stood near a polished marble column, with a careful expression of casualness as he spoke with a group of well-dressed ponies – financiers, boutique owners, and a few magazine editors. Ponies with influence. Ponies who mattered.

For once, he wasn’t just Hoity Toity’s assistant. He was Street Rat, an entrepreneur, a stallion with ambitions beyond fetching lattes and running ridiculous errands.

“So, tell me,” one of the investors said. “You own several properties in Manehattan? That’s quite the venture.”

Street nodded, flashing a smirk. “Of course. Real estate’s always a safe bet—especially in a city where everypony’s fighting for space.

“That’s fascinating!” A mare chimed in. “How are you capable of managing all of these properties by yourself?”

Street waved a hoof dismissively. “It’s all about efficiency and order. You have to do everything as fast as possible – from taxes, to management, everything quick and snappy. Else you would be wasting time,” he replied smoothly. “You know what they say, time is money.”

The other ponies murmured in agreement and intrigue, fascinated by Street’s capabilities. Street smiled proudly. He was making progress and forming connections. He was in his element, and it was a matter of time before he could-

“Oh, there you are, my lovely assistant!”

Street felt the air in the room shift. The moment those words left Hoity’s mouth, every bit of credibility he had been building shattered into dust. The ponies he had been speaking to exchanged glances – some amused, others dismissive. One outright stifled a laugh behind his champagne glass.

Street clenched his jaw but forced himself to turn around, he couldn’t prevent his eye from twitching.

Hoity Toity stood there, radiant and oblivious, waving a delicate hoof in the air. “Can you be a dear and – oh, what was it – hold my cape while I make my grand entrance?”

Silence.

Street felt all eyes on him. The same ponies who had been genuinely interested in him just moments ago now stared at him with puzzlement.

“…Of course, Hoity.” He replied with the best smile he could fake. As he carefully lifted the train of Hoity’s crimson cape, he heard a couple of hoof steps from the group behind him. They were leaving him, looking from somepony actually worthy of their attention, somepony more than a glorified coat rack.

“Fabulous! You’re such a dear.” Hoity patted him in the head.

Street had never wanted to launch himself off Canterlot’s highest balcony more in his life.

But the catastrophic gala wasn’t the end of it, nor it was a pivotal moment in which his luck would take an 180° after enduring so much tormenting. His job resumed normally afterwards, and the worst part is that Hoity didn’t care about the humiliation he caused. Instead, he kept assigning jobs, and this time, he asked Street to fetch him and other 4 guests some latte.

He trotted down sidewalk, balancing a tray of overpriced cups in his head, teetering dangerously in their flimsy cardboard holder. One wrong move and the whole thing would be a disaster – and guess who’d get blamed? The worst part wasn’t even the errand. It was the stares.

“Hey, isn’t that…?”

“Oh wow, Hoity Toity’s little pet errand colt.”

Street didn’t need to look to know who was whispering. Canterlot ponies always whispered just loud enough to be heard.

“I thought he’d had already quit by now.”

“Guess not. Looks like he’s still crawling back for scraps.”

He kept walking, eyes forward, forcing himself to ignore them. They didn’t know anything about him. Not really. But Street was a pony, there was only so much humiliation he could endure.

“Wonder how long he’ll last this time…”

“He’s probably just desperate.”

Street grit his teeth, shoulders tense as he pushed forward. He wished to have been born as a unicorn, not only this task would have been easier, it would allow him to fit right in. But there was no point in thinking about it, he could feel their eyes, their judgment, sticking to him like filth he’d never be able to wash off.

He almost reached back to the studio when the inevitable happened – a stallion, one of those perfectly-groomed, smug types that Canterlot seemed to mass-produce, “accidentally” bumped into him.

The tray wobbled off, but just barely Street manage to catch each of the cups back in the tray before they spilled on the floor. “Watch it,” Street snapped, more out of reflex than courage.

The stallion turned, a smirk already forming. “Oh, my apologies. I didn’t see you there… beneath me.”

Street’s blood boiled. He was not about to tolerate this any further. He grabbed one of the cups, and with a perfect aim, he spilled it on the stallion’s suit, causing everypony to gasp. “Oops, I didn’t notice you there,” Street quipped.

The stallion stared daggers, approaching him slowly.

"Und pose!"

Photo Finish said, clicking the camera. Fleur de Lis took the center of the stage, posing and smiling naturally, quickly adapting to each order from Photo Finish who barked in her thick accent in quick succession. It was a photoshoot for the Canterlot Fashion magazine, and everypony was in their element, everypony was where they belonged.

Everypony except for him

Hoity tasked Street Rat to make sure everything ran smoothly – from background arrangements, lightning, wardrobe, and so on. This is not where he should be standing. He should’ve already dumped this job and ascended higher in the social staircase. But here he was, sitting at the back of the set, holding a clipboard in his hooves with ponies who thought that he was a rat who somehow managed to slip into the fashion world.

He held a bag of ice in his eye. The stallion who he spilled the coffee on had punched him up in front of everypony. But that wasn’t the worst part, when he returned back to the longue, the guests were more devastated that there were only four cups instead of five, not paying any mind to his state while Hoity had to invent an excuse to not make himself look bad. He also tossed Street a bag of ice for his eye, and considering how low the bar was, that was the best Street would get.

Everytime he thought he reached a new low, there was always something that defeated his expectations – in the worst possible ways he couldn’t conceive – Who knows what would happen next, but there was no point on thinking about it as he had to oversee the photoshoot. With a gruff, Street huffed and checked over the list again. Everything was going smoothly. The shoot was on schedule. The designers had finished their adjustments. The—

“No! NO! STOP DA CAMERAS!”

Street dropped his bag of ice before Photo Finish’s shrill voice cut through the set like a whip. The make-up ponies, Fleur de Lis, everypony froze. All eyes turned to Photo Finish, who approached Street in big stomps.

“YOU!” she shrieked, pointing a hoof at Street. “What do you think you’re DOING!?”

“Uh…?” Street gapped, eyes wide as plates.

“Zis setup! Zis entire PRECIOUS, BEAUTIFUL shoot! And YOU ruin it! Because you CANNOT EVEN DO YOUR SIMPLE TASK CORRECTLY!”

He scrambled on his clipboard, frantically checking over the notes. What did he mess up? The schedule was fine. The equipment was fine. The lights – And then he saw it. One of the light reflectors had been slightly tilted the wrong way. Barely noticeable, but just enough to mess with the shot’s balance. It must’ve happened when he moved past it earlier.

Street opened his mouth, but Photo Finish wasn’t done.

“And LOOK at you!” she snapped, circling around Street’s seat. “You are supposed to represent Canterlot FASHION! And yet, you look like a rat who crawled in from an alleyway! Zis mane—unkempt! Zis suit—UNFITTING! And zis posture—APPALLING!”

Ponies were whispering, eyes darting toward him, amused, judgmental, indifferent. In this job, Street had to deal being stepped on. Not physically, of course. But that would be much preferable to whatever this was. If words could kill, then Photo Finish was about to execute him right in front of everyone. He shut his eyes, bracing himself for words sharper than a blade.

“And don’t even get me started on da-“

But before she could even continue her rant, a voice from afar cut her off.

“To what I owe the commotion here?”

Hoity Toity entered the set. He stepped forward, his usual air of indifference replaced with something cold, sharp. “And why, pray tell, are you speaking to my stallion like that?”

His stallion? What?

“Because he CANNOT do zis job correctly. He MESSED UP da lightning!” she responded in exasperation.

“Accidents happen, darling,” Hoity dismissed, stepping forward to face her.

“Accidents?” Photo Finish exclaimed. “This is simply beyond a simple accident. Just look at zis pony,” she pointed a hoof at Street Rat. “Why did you even bring him onboard? He belongs in an ALLEY WAY, not in this industry.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion on my employee’s appearance, Photo,” Hoity deadpanned. “Sure, he might be around the edges, but he Is an extremely capable pony. But of course, nopony would be able to see this.”

The room fell in silence as other ponies listened to Hoity’s speech.

“Always about keeping appearances,” he gestured dramatically. “But when something doesn’t fit the mold, it is automatically grotesque, horrendous, tasteless,” he added with a bit of edge.

“But don’t be fooled. Street is the most capable pony I’ve ever met,” Hoity placed a foreleg around Street. “He has worked his flank off just to make sure everything stays on schedule and runs smoothly. But do you know what worst part is? He never complains. And yet, the same thing can’t be said for everypony here who have arguably easier jobs and don’t have to endure the same level of torment he has to go through.”

Street was appalled. Hoity not only interrupted his public execution, he also defended him. Right here, in front of everypony.

“So, if any of you have problems with my assistant, you have a problem with me.” He added. “I trust I won’t have to repeat myself. Understood, everypony?” He looked around the room.

The ponies in the room blinked in surprise, but nodded in awkward agreement. Photo Finish pursed her lips, about to retort, but she said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then, with a dramatic turn of heels, she huffed. “Fine! But if he ruins ANOTHER shot, it is YOUR reputation at stake, Hoity Toity!”

“Duly noted.” Hoity replied flatly. “Now, I believe you have a photoshoot to return to?”

Street could feel Photo Finish’s glare behind her glasses lasting for a second longer, but she spun back towards her crew. “WE RESUME!”

And just like that, the moment was over. A pony tilted the light reflector back to its proper position. The camera clicked. The lights flashed. Fleur struck another pose, unfazed by the entire ordeal. The photoshoot resumed, as if nothing had happened.

Street remained stiff, his heart still racing. What the hay just happened?

“You’re okay, darling?” Hoity looked towards him.

Street raised his gaze, meeting the bigger stallion. “I, um…” Street stammered, unsure how to respond. Even during his worst moments, no pony would stand up for him. Not like that, not like Hoity just did. “…Yeah, I’m good,” he said.

For a brief moment, he could see Hoity’s expression relieving when he let a slight smile. Hoity gave him a strong pat in the back before returning to whatever he was doing. Street watched him leave the photoshoot, his gaze lingering for longer than he wanted. As he found himself alone once again, an odd feeling ached in his chest.

What… was that about?

The photoshoot eventually came to a close and the shift continued as usual. After what just occurred, ponies were… less talkative around Street. Of course, it wasn’t respect by any means, they just didn’t want to get in trouble. That was something, and at least it made Street’s job easier and quieter.

“Are you finished writing down tomorrow’s schedule?”

Hoity asked, laying down on the couch while Street sat across him. With a pen in his mouth, Street finished jolting the last parts of the schedule. “All done,” he said.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” Hoity said. Street Rat stood up and stretched his legs as he approached the door. Another day of work, nothing of progress was done. It has been three months since he moved to Canterlot and became an assistant, and with Photo Finish’s humiliation today, Street questioned for how long he could keep doing this. Maybe she was right, he was a rat that came from an alley way.

“Street, darling,” Hoity said as he sat up, causing the smaller stallion to halt on his tracks. Street sighed, expecting a last-minute errand. He turned back to face Hoity, a strained smile forming in his face.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you mind if I walked you home?”

Street froze. Walk him home? That was new. Knowing Hoity, he was probably just going to ramble all the way long about something trivial and ask Street for his input, only for insult him for his lack of knowledge in the matter. But Street knew that he had no choice in the matter, so he reluctantly replied. “Sure thing!” He said as enthusiastically as he could.

Without saying a word, Hoity rose from the couch and locked the studio door behind them.

The streets of Canterlot were quiet, the soft glow of the streetlights casting long shadows on the cobblestone paths. Street Rat walked with his head down, clearly exhausted. Hoity Toity strode alongside him, maintaining his chin high. Aside from the clatter of their hooves, the silence was heavy, and this was enough to get Street wary.

Something was… off. Street risked a glimpse at Hoity’s gaze, only to find his expression stoic. The two of them remained in silence for another minute, until Hoity finally spoke up for the first time.

“I must ask you, my dear.” He opened, but his tone was devoid of any dramatic flair. “How have you been doing this for so long?”

“…What do you mean?” Street replied, puzzled.

“It’s no surprise that you hate being my assistant,” Hoity replied matter-of-factly. “While I see you forcing a smile when you talk, I can hear you muttering under your breath every time you think no one is listening. If you really despised this job, then why haven’t you left yet?”

A knot formed on Street’s throat. He took this job for the connections and to escalate the social staircase, obviously. But then, why was it difficult to believe his own words now?

“I don’t know…” Street replied. “I guess I’m just hoping to get lucky and find a better job later on,” he shrugged. Another silence followed.

“You’re very persistent, did you know that?” Hoity remarked, but there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm or malice in his tone. “You put up with a lot of things most ponies wouldn’t be able to withstand. You’re the one who keeps everything running behind the scenes, even when nopony notices. You’re the one who deals with the messes, who fixes the problems, who makes sure I don’t completely lose my mind. And you do it all without expecting praise or recognition.”

Taken aback, Street remained silent. It was the second time he had heard Hoity openly acknowledge his efforts. He figured that Hoity stood up for him in the photoshoot session just to save his own reputation, to not make himself look too bad. But then… there’s this, and Street still did not know what to make out the situation.

“What are you getting at?” He finally asked.

“You’re very admirable,” Hoity replied with a smile curling up his lips. “And it’s the reason why I want you around. Despite everything, you’re honest. You’re grounded. And that’s rare. That’s valuable.”

Street blinked, the words catching him off guard. He wanted to scoff, to brush off the compliment as more of Hoity’s manipulative charm, but something in the bigger stallion’s voice… it felt genuine. Glancing away, “I… I’m not admirable,” he mumbled. “I’m just doing my job.”

Hoity’s gaze softened, though Street didn’t notice. “And that is more than I could ask for,” Hoity said quietly.

They reached Street’s building. As deceptively big as the building was, Street only lived in a small part of it. “Well… thanks for walking me back,” Street said. “I’ll… see you later.” He said as he reached the doorstep.

Hoity nodded, “Take care, darling.” He said as he turned his back.

As Street Rat made his way to his small room, he threw himself to bed and exhaled in exasperation. This was the first time Hoity acknowledged his efforts even if it put his own reputation at stake. Does that mean that perhaps Street was doing something right? Or maybe it was Hoity playing a weird game Street couldn’t understand.

Many of these questions didn’t have answer, at least not now. The exhaustion of the day started to catch up, and Street Rat drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day.