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.
Des changements inattendus
"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.
