When I was a young colt, papa used to tell me that there were only two certainties in life: Death and taxes. I’ve always found that axiom impractical at best. I mean, surely, it’s not quite so simple, right? From where I stood, that metaphor sounded so insubstantial, so devoid of meaning. The pessimist’s razor, one could say. Still, I couldn’t blame papa; he was a hard-working stallion, but sometimes, he had trouble making end’s meet.
Well, after my old folks kicked the bucket in a freaky train accident about seven years back, I figured that papa had at least been half right.
I won’t delve too much into the details of this whole “dead parents” schtick. This is, after all, a different kind of story. Believe me, I’ve wept what I needed to weep a long time ago, and since then, I’ve had ample time to make my peace with that minor setback. Because if there’s one thing you gotta know about this Lucky Coin fella (hey, that’s me!), it’s that he doesn’t get demoralized so easily. No, in fact, I learn from those pitfalls. Life hurdles are actually blessings in disguise: They exist to improve oneself, to become accustomed with adversity. Me? I take what I know and apply it to gain the upper hoof. Playing the odds? Pfah! I only yearn for guaranteed values.
Death and taxes.
Well, if both of these are indeed universal absolutes, then papa? Consider your little colt a star player for the winning team.
Knock knock knock
Ah, what a gorgeous late afternoon in Canterlot to finish my round! Look at that 4 PM sun: So majestic, so ethereal. Princess Celestia giving us warmth and light, mmh hmm! Conditions couldn’t have been more perfect to collect what was rightfully due, wouldn’t you agree?
Here I was, basking in the hot summery air, eagerly waiting for a certain Mr. Cascade to heed my call.
One of the first things you get to learn in this field of work is to take a thorough visual survey of the house. For this particular case, we had an old-timey bungalow providing the owners with around oh, 1300-1400 square feet of living space? Quite modest by Canterlot standards. The shingles had warped a bit, begging for some urgent roof work that hadn’t been taken care of yet. Weeds had also replaced the mortar in between the slabs that separated the dwelling and the road. Finally, a quick peek at the backyard on my way to the porch, and I saw a scarcely furbished lawn, left in a pitiful state.
Now, see? Already I knew that this family was struggling. And you know what that meant?
It meant that they were the kind of ponies desperate enough to cheat the system in order to survive. Or, in laypony’s terms, it meant that I had a pretty good chance at striking gold!
Oh, what a joyous moment when the door finally opened. Standing in the drafty doorway was a burly unicorn, browner than bark, ginger bushy eyebrows angled down, with his snout scrunched up. A quick look at the cutie mark for good measure: A sun with sunglasses. How wonderfully whimsical! This case had ‘payload’ written all over.
“Yeah, can I help you? My family and I were just about to sit down for dinner,” said my recipient with tangible impatience.
“This is Mr. Cascade, is it not? Tropic Cascade?” I queried, almost as if he had won the lottery.
“That’s me. Who’s asking?”
My my, such temper! Well, since he so politely demanded, I saw no reason not to indulge: Out of my collar shirt, I unpegged my ERB badge and extended it toward the choleric stallion. On the insignia, you could find not only my name, but also, drumroll... My photo! Yup, you’ve heard that right. Only senior workers had the full thingamajig. To think that I had already cleared that prestigious checkmark with only 25 birthdays to show for it. Oh, there was pride to be had, y’know? Showed your workmanship and your experience. I had both of these things, and that smiling minty green unicorn on my badge proved it.
“Name’s Lucky Coin. I’m an agent for the Equestrian Revenue Bureau. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cascade.”
I extended my hoof with a goofy smile. Procedures, people! Tropic Cascade, however, seemed to have grown a shade paler. Gee whiz, I wonder if it’s something I said? Still, gotta give credit to the big guy: He took the time to shake my hoof back. Diplomacy achieved! See, now we were definitely going somewhere!
“You won’t mind if I come in, won’t you?” I demanded, not so much caring about the answer.
“Well we... Like I said, uh, we were about to eat, um...”
“Ah, but this will only take a moment, I promise,” I insisted, forcefully going inside, with the big lad moving out of the way without protesting any further.
I removed my aviator shades to take a better look at the interior. At first glance, not much better than the outside. I saw a leak in the ceiling; probably tied to the roof problem I detected earlier. I also spotted some mold deposits caulking a few corners. But the thing that trumped it all was the blatant lack of furniture. Meh, at least they had managed to accessorise their dilapidated kitchen with a dinner table, which I promptly used to unload my briefcase.
Oh, speaking of the briefcase! Us revenue agents came equipped with a specialized belt to clip said briefcase by your side. Simply fasten the strap over your barrel, and voilà! You had one snazzy custom-tailored saddlebag, fit to carry all the paperwork your heart desired. Heh, I do apologize for the little detour we took here, but I felt like bragging a bit. Old habits die hard!
Anyway, back to the case at hoof. As I moved the plates and cutlery away from my corner of the table to give myself a bit more workspace, I couldn’t help but notice the foal staring at me. A young apricot colored filly sitting on a playmat in the corner of the kitchen, a cup-and-ball held in a magical grip. Quite a dexterous game for a pony of her age. I suppose it’s true what they said: They learn younger and younger!
She was doing a whole lot of staring and very little playing. Frozen in trance, her look locked on yours truly. Almost as if this weird stranger in her house had interrupted her ball flinging session. D’awww, was that so, sweetie?
“Don’t mind me, little girl, I’m not going to bite,” I patronized her. “Play as if I wasn’t here!”
Welp, that didn’t do a whole lotta good. She just scooted away a bit, probably sensing that I was bad news. Ah well, there was something to be said about trying your hardest, right?
Her dad muttered an “it’s okay, sweetie,” and sat in front of me, hooves on the table.
“So, erm, what can I help you with, Mr. Lucky Coin?” Tropic Cascade asked, his tone of superiority entirely gone.
“Oh, I just need you to clarify a few details, really. Stupid bureaucratic shenanigans, right? It won’t be too much of a burden, I promise.”
I pulled a few papers out of the opened briefcase. As I scrounged, my client’s wife took this moment to make her grand entrance from... Well, if the flushing sound was any indication, I’d say she came from somewhere private- and we’re going to leave it at that.
“Okay honey, the potatoes should be ready, you can let them simmer…”
She wanted to say more, but when she saw her husband and I having a little chit-chat over their dinner table, she became quiet. With her mouth vacuum sealed, I could practically hear the cogs spinning under her long ebony mane, until finally:
“Cady? Who is this pony?”
“Oh,” I replied before the husband could, “merely a humble ERB agent, Mrs...?”
“... Scarlet. Scarlet Tulip.”
“Right, Mrs. Scarlet. By all means, tend to your potatoes, we’ll only be a short while.”
She was as hesitant as she distrusted me. Cascade whispered a low “it’ll be alright,” to the lady. What a devoted father, this pony! You love to see it. Still, between the daughter and the wife attacking me with their globular eyeballs, I felt like a museum exhibit. Sheesh, I knew I was one suave stud, but keep your fangasms for yourselves, ladies! Eventually, Mrs. Scarlet nodded silently and took control of the oven, still wary of my presence.
“So, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” I excitedly declared with my documents properly retrieved. “First of all, I’d like to kick things into motion with a small, innocuous brain teaser – s’just a silly thing I do, haha! So yeah, here’s a thinker for you, Mr. Cascade...”
I looked left and right, and hunched closer.
“... Are you familiar with the concept of tax fraud?”
The sound of a ladle being dropped on the floor reverberated in the house. Both Cascade and I craned our necks toward Scarlet Tulip: She looked absolutely flabbergasted by the accusations. Seeking proper decorum, she apologized, and slowly magicked her kitchen tool back into her grip. The ladle incident properly resolved, the stallion turned back to me, visibly agitated.
“Yes, I am aware of what it entitles. But you’re making a huge mistake, I-I’m... I’m an honest citizen, and I’ve got nothing to hide!” he harrumphed.
“Whoa nelly! We sure are getting ahead of ourselves here, hahaha!”
I always prided myself on being quite skilled at diffusing tender situations...
“But I suppose I’ll be the judge of that, won’t I?” I added, my comedic charade vanishing in an instant.
... Until it was time for business. And I think we’ve stalled long enough, here. I had very little patience for those who thought they could exploit our fragile system for their own selfish benefits. Thankfully, Equestria was blessed with white collar heroes such as myself to set them straight. I was always one to argue that the quill was mightier than the sword. One could blast their adversaries away, sure, but one could also fetch a lawbook and find a loophole to get them imprisoned. One of those avenues was far less gluttonous in energy; I’ll let you figure out which one.
Now, observe as I explore why this Tropic Cascade chap was a bona fide felon and, in my honest opinion, an enemy of the Crown.
“What I’ve got between my hooves is a series of discrepancies the Bureau found in your tax return claims,” I told him, straightening the papers on the table. “Let’s skim through them together, m’kay?”
Husband and wife shared a look of stress, with the stallion sweating bullets, and the mare being more out-of-the-loop than anything.
“So, let us begin our journey with a good ol’ case of mismatched eligible income. As you can see here under this line, you have declared a number that’s disproportionally higher than the income you’ve actually received last year. With this fraudulent number, the Crown gave you back way more than you were owed for your basic worker’s deduction. Bit of a shame, huh?”
“W-well! I must’ve made a small mistake here but... Actually, you know something, mister agent? If you already know how much we earn, then how come you’re asking us to tally it up ourselves, huh!?”
Ah, that one was a classic. The classic counterargument, in fact. Have heard it more times than I can count over the course of my career. It was the one and only iconic rebuttal they all oh so cleverly came up on a whim after being put on trial. I didn’t need to fall into that trap anymore.
“I’d appreciate it if we didn’t get sidetracked, Mr. Cascade, for I am not done with my list. The second grievance you have with the ERB partakes to your Registered Pension Plan deductions. We have verified with your bank and your employer – a certain Mrs. Gold Coast from Happy Travellers Ltd, right? Right. Sadly, both of these parties independently debunked your claim, confirming that you indeed did not make a contribution last year.”
At this point, Scarlet Tulip had detached from her cooking entirely. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say that she was completely in the dark about the fraudulent whereabouts of her better half. She was now as much of a statue as their offspring was (the wee lassie still hadn’t moved a muscle).
“I… I don’t know anything about that!” Tropic Cascade proclaimed.
“Oh? In that case, allow me to refresh your memory – it’s all there, in dry ink!”
I floated the proper page in a turquoise hue toward the pony of the hour. While he was reading (or pretending to; I didn’t particularly care), I moved on to the next order of business.
“Ah, here we are. Last but not least, your many claims for the deductions you were owed for the purchase of company tools and equipment. Now, after double checking with the accountants at your agency, it seems like the material listed here was indeed bought with the budget allocated by your firm, not via your personal assets. And the ones listed in the right column do not appear to be associated with your work life at all. For instance, a bedframe? Mr. Cascade, you can’t expect the Crown to compensate for this needless expense.”
“Needless? My daughter needed a new bed! Was I supposed to let my sweet child sleep on the floor!?”
“Whether you did or not is irrelevant. I couldn’t care less about your justifications. My only concern is that you tried your luck and passed it off as a work-related purchase in the hopes of recouping some of your spent bits. I’m telling you right now, that kind of trickery is sure to incur some hefty penalties.”
Feeling cornered, the big lad had enough of my many gotchas and rose up in a bounce. His stool was projected backward, banging against the wall. This yielded a small eep from his daughter, and his wife to shout his name. He flared up his nostrils, like a bull ready to pounce, and approached me with loud, abrasive stomps. All the while, I kept my professional demeanor. This kind of reaction was not entirely unexpected. I’ve seen much worse, trust me.
“Where the hay do you get off, coming into MY home and accusing me of swindling your useless gang of cubicle monkeys! Humiliating me in front of my wife and my kid!!”
Oh, ‘cubicle monkeys,’ terrific! Can’t say I’ve heard that one before. Every day was a good day to learn new expressions. Sweet Celestia did I love my job!
My assailant went the extra mile and pointed his horn at me. It glowed in an incandescent white, ready to fire whatever spell he had prepared for lil’ ol’ me to cash in. He sure talked the talk; let’s see if he was all bark and no bite.
“You’ve got a big mouth,” he threatened, “how about I fill it up with a good dose of magical plasma, Pointdexter!?”
So, here we were. In a standoff. Only the grandfather clock was challenging the silence. The filly quivered, the mother hid behind a front leg, and me? Oh, I chuckled. I mean, I couldn’t help myself! I had front row seats for quite the spectacle, after all.
Alright, alright. Enough provocations. Let’s tame this meathead before he did something incredibly stupid, something he’d regret for the rest of his pitiful life.
“Aheh,” I cleared my throat, “you do realize that assaulting an Equestrian Revenue Bureau agent is a criminal act of the highest offense, don’tcha? You’re looking at several years behind bars, away from the missus and that adorable ankle biter.”
I also got up from my seat, and started to pace around the table. Tropic Cascade still had his horn pointed at me, following my every movement.
“The moment you so much scratch the collar of my shirt,” I continued, “I can guarantee that a squadron of royal guards will be at your doors before those potatoes even get a chance to cool off. I know these guys, they’re no joke: They’ll slam your face onto the parquetry first chance they get.”
I stopped next to the trembling pony surrounded by her brave toys. I loomed over her, lowering my face close to hers, my smile stretched from cheek to cheek.
“What says you? You don’t wanna see daddy bleed on the carpet, don’t you, sweetie?”
My sinister tone was enough to make the youngest of the family bolt toward her mom with a few audible sobs. As intended, my intimidation stratagem struck true, and Mr. Cascade withdrew from his battle stance, a few swears mumbled under his breath for good measure. Brilliant! See? There was no need not to listen to reason! Wasn’t it much nicer when everypony kept their mind sober?
Angry daddy sighed. He motioned with his head toward what I assumed to be the living room. I acquiesced and followed him. Methinks Mr. Cascade wanted to keep his traumatized family out of hearing range. I didn’t have any qualms with that. After all, underneath his confrontational persona, my ruffled client proved to bear specs of composure. Let’s see what he had in stock for his favourite ERB agent.
He sank into a green sofa of many sewed patches, inviting me to claim the century-old armchair in front of him. Eh, I preferred to stay on all fours; I sat enough in my office as it was.
“Okay listen,” he said, considerably calmer than before, “I’m sorry I got... a little upset, b-but you’ve got to help me out here! I-I can’t let my family suffer the consequences of my foolishness.”
“Whatever happens to them is in your hooves, not mine,” I refuted, stoic, impartial, unbreachable.
“C’mon, you gotta show a little compassion! I barely made any commissions last year; The Happy Traveller is bleeding bits like you have no idea! Not only has work been in a rut, but with the recent changeling attack on Canterlot, nopony is looking to buy themselves fancy blimp cruises! Who the hay is even thinking about booking vacations after the cataclysm we were all subjected to!?”
Oh boo-hoo. Sweet tragedy!
Made me return the biggest shrug I could give. As far as groveling went, I’ve had ponies literally kiss my hooves before. His call to emotion was a subpar attempt at best.
“Mr. Lucky Coin, I beg of you!” he insisted. “My mortgage term just expired and I had to renegotiate it with abysmal new fixed rates! And... And with the princess increasing the Sales tax some more, the cost of living is becoming so dang difficult to overcome!
“I’ve... I’ve told my wife that everything would work itself out in the end. That these tougher times wouldn’t last. But even I can’t see the end of the tunnel anymore. So please, just... Just allocate me a little bit of time to rebuild myself monetarily, and I’ll give back every single bit I loaned from the Bureau! I promise I will, you have my word!”
I nodded a few times, my trademark dishonest smile replaced by a sympathetic one.
Could it be? Could it be that I’ve been a smidge too severe in my application of the law? Had I been too cold, too empirical this whole time? Did we really live in a society where no wiggle room could be given to those who really needed it? Had we done away with the concept of altruism altogether? I mean, look at that poor sod: I could see the glint of hope in his pleading eyes. He was begging for mercy, crying for leniency, praying for clemency. He was, for all intents and purposes, at his lowest, trading his pride for my pity.
Y’know, maybe I have grown too jaded over the years. And maybe I persecuted him a bit too hard. Perhaps, at the bottom of it all, Tropic Cascade was simply a hard-working stallion who sometimes, like many others, had trouble making end’s meet.
Perhaps he was just like papa.
I breathed in, edged closer, and put a gentle hoof on his shoulder. I smiled at him. He smiled back. And then,
“You have a week to pay back the overstated credits from your erroneous statements, plus 60% of their value. And not a day more. Have a nice evening, Mr. Cascade.”
Last thing I saw before I turned my back on him and trotted toward the entry door was a facial expression deformed by pure shock.
“A... A week!?” he protested behind me. “Y-y-you can’t do this to me! I don’t have those bits on me; my coffers are running dry! P-please! This will cripple me financially!”
His juvenile attitude made me sigh out of disappointment. Here I thought this egomaniac could’ve taken the blow like a stallion, but that was too big of an ask, I suppose. It never failed to disgust me how low some ponies could sink in their quest for a pardon. Never issued one of those in seven years at the Bureau; I wasn’t going to have a change of heart today.
“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” I said with a majestic eyeroll. “The law wasn’t curated to accommodate crooks of your caliber, and it most definitely does not give an ounce of care about what you think is fair. Just be grateful that I’m overlooking your assault and your threats instead of reporting them to the Bureau.”
“But... but... Don’t you see!? T-the bank! It’ll totally foreclose on me! My family and I will be tossed out of our home!” he went on, ignoring my cold-hearted response. “I have a foal to raise!! She can’t grow up on the street! Doesn’t that mean anything to you!?”
“It means that Foal Support Services will become a bit busier thanks to you and your wise life choices.”
With a flex of my brain, my horn latched onto the door and turned the handle remotely. I passed the trim to see the sun being juuuust a little lower than it was when I came in. Before disappearing into the wildlife of urban sprawl that was Canterlot, I craned my neck back and gave a jovial expression to mom and daughter. They were hugging each other in despair by the end of the corridor, with the wine-colored mare giving me the most vicious scowl I’ve ever seen.
“See Mrs. Scarlet? That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” I chuckled. “You lot should enjoy your supper while it’s hot.”
Then, I bowed.
“Best regards from the ERB.”
I’ve always enjoyed the smell of my office. All those stacks of paper permeated a scent that made me feel like I was in the middle of a library. Toss in the permanent aroma of coffee in suspension between these four walls, and I truly felt like a detective. A money detective! Seriously, this was my turf, my centre of operations, my private hideout of many dossiers and overstuffed file cabinets... In a few words like many, it was my home. Well, not really my home, but, y’know, semantics. T’was the place I spent the most time outside of my actual home. And hey, I even had a window! How incredibly posh.
After a day like today, I still had a few bureaucratic obligations to take care of. Yes, it was past 6 PM, but a work day can only be deemed over when the entirety of your workload was in the “done” pile. Mine wasn’t, so it was a trip back at the Bureau right after the Tropic Cascade fiasco.
This busy lifestyle wasn’t without perks. Made lazing around in my two-stories dwelling all the more satisfying, all the more rewarding. Nothing like arriving home, looking in the mirror with your chin held up, and saying: “Lucky Coin, you handsome sonofagun, you’ve done it again!” I swear, Scotch tasted miles better after a hard day’s work.
My office was on the thirteenth floor, which made me one of the important ponies employed by the all-seeing firm. After all, the topmost story was only reserved to those who managed to climb their way to the top. The corporate ladder was segregated by floors, and while a bit corny, the higher you were, the closer to your supervisors you were. Protip: That kind of proximity was a good omen for your paycheck.
Mmmmh? Why did we need such a big building? Funny you should ask! Back in the days, a few years prior to my ambitious younger self being hired into the wonderful world of tax collection, the ERB used to be less dependent, less of its own entity. Princess Celestia and her team of advisors had way more of a say about what went on with the scrutinization of the citizens’ revenue. The Equestrian Revenue Monitoring, as it was called back then, was merely a small branch of the financial juggernaut. In fact, revenue workers actually had an aisle of the castle reserved for them.
Can you believe this? Bureau workers punching in at the princess’ doorsteps! Yeah, I know it sounds a bit heretic, my friends – you’re preaching to the choir. But fear not! For my predecessors’ insistence in gaining more control paid off (heh, pun). After one too many day courts full of disgruntled managers bickering with Celestia’s public servants, the princess finally abdicated: The Equestrian Revenue Monitoring was dismantled, and in came the Bureau. With its own private headquarters!
Now, of course, compromises were negotiated. For instance, the Bureau was to be erected close to the castle. Possibly so the higher-ups could keep an eye on our activities, I dunno. But the fact of the matter is, out of my window, the castle’s gardens held no secrets to me. How good of a view was that, huh?
In the end, the ERB proved itself to be a reliable and trustworthy asset within princess Celestia’s administration. We’ve always been extremely thorough, and sloppy practices before the ERB’s inception have been entirely eradicated. Thus, over the last decade, the princess has grown significantly quieter with her periodic visits. These have been reduced to a couple of royal guard envoys checking if everything was in order every now and then. But these have also lost their pace; in fact, the last time we’ve had an impromptu inspection was over three months ago!
No, truly, the ERB was big and powerful, and it knew how to govern itself. So much so, that for every acquisition we made each passing year, the building itself steadily increased in size, as more renovations were launched to house an increasing number of workers. We became a mighty machine, overseeing Equestria’s activities with eagle-eyed precision.
I’m telling you! The wheels weren’t going to stop on churnin’ anytime soon! I mean, it always boggled my mind to picture a world before our existence. Things must’ve been so anarchic, so... inefficient. An era of chaos, in sum. Foals these days, they didn’t know how good they had it, sleeping soundly under the thankless supervision of their money-checking benefactors!
Knock knock knock
T’was my door being asked earnestly. A good thing too; it broke me out of my passionate daydreaming.
“You may enter,” I hollered behind my piles of taxpayer reports.
I quickly lifted my eyes from my work to see two silhouettes behind the frosted glass. I immediately recognized them, and the door being flung open did nothing but confirm my suspicions.
Smith and Jones.
Two coworkers, two big earth ponies. Yup, non-unicorns squatting in the capital of Equestria – a rare sight indeed. Smith was the acorn colored one whilst Jones erred more on the maroon side of things. At first glance, to the uneducated, these two would be seen as doppelgängers. If it weren’t for their differently colored coat, they’d be nearly indistinguishable. Oh, and they certainly had a flair to them! Both of these stallions wore black melon hats, for starters. T’was no joke: I don’t think I’ve ever seen them without their iconic headgear. The other set piece that made S&J who they were was their hirsute lampshade mustaches. I suppose their striped green ties were also a bit idiosyncratic, but then again, even I hadn’t been spared by the ERB’s stern uniform protocols.
“Fellas! How are we doing this evening?” I welcomed them.
They entered my office without scruples. I noticed that their respective briefcases were clipped onto their barrel with the special belt system I talked about earlier. Meant that their day was running its course and heading home was the next item on the agenda.
“Doin’ as good as a stallion ‘bout to punch out can be doin’, yep yep!” Smith said.
“What ‘bout you, Lucky? Still crunchin’ numbers at this time o’ day, eh?” Jones added.
“Can’t beat the clock there, sadly. Got a bit held back by this Tropic Cascade guy.” I unlinked my magic from my quill and snickered. “Easily agitated client who just had to turn an innocuous courtesy visit into a feisty encounter. Got his panties in a twist and all that jazz. You know how these unsophisticated low-income homeowners go.”
Jones cocked an eyebrow. “Another one o’ these? That’s like, what, the fourth retaliative act this week?”
“Geez, what’s their beef?” Smith sighed. “It’s not because their miserable life is in shambles that these bastards should take it on us.”
“Damn straight.” Jones again.
We all laughed in agreement. Yeah, they weren’t wrong. Been a lot of problematic cases lately. Ponies fighting back as if this would improve their situation in any way, shape, or form. A knee-jerk reaction that only made it worse for everyone involved.
I blame the changeling invasion, really. It did a lot of damage to the city, and the allocated disaster fund saved by the princess didn’t fructify enough to fully cover the repairs. Like clockwork, in came the recession, in came a new wave of shoehorned taxes, in came austerity. A fair share of the local population had insufficient savings vaulted away to deal with the fallout of this foreign incursion, and through desperate measures, tried to pickpocket the Bureau for some spare cash. The fools. If only they knew how much horsepower we packed, ha! Would’ve made them think twice before illegally “borrowing” bits from us.
I mean, how utterly rude, right? To think that we were the ones selfless enough to push credit unions to distribute their dividends to their members before the usual due date! All in the name of alleviating some of the stress unprepared citizens faced. And after this philanthropic move, this was how ponies like Mr. Cascade thanked us? By thinking of us as the villain, the ultimate boogeypony of their woes and tribulations? Puh-lease. The Bureau has always been and forever will be impartial. Changeling coup or not, we had a role to play, and this changed literally nothing.
In fact... I’d go as far to say that this catastrophic event, though tragic at its core, brought some opportunities with it. Some scrumptious opportunities. The kind of opportunities a guy like me would jump onto in a heartbeat.
“Eh, look at ‘im. Stuck into wonderland again,” chortled Smith at my expense.
“Ya gonna snap out of it, Lucky boy?” Jones followed. “Because Smith and I were just about to head out to the Mezzanine. We’re supposed to meet with a bunch of Dev Co. technicians to organize the final preparations for Project Chameleon. You do remember Project Chameleon, right? Big day tomorrow!”
“So, you in, Lucky? Doin’ a bit of networking with our strongest business partner won’t look too bad on your resume. Plus, drinks are dirt cheap in this lounge. Why don’tcha drop your busywork and come with?”
Tempting. Sadly,
“Ach, won’t be able to join you guys. I’ve already promised this friend of mine that I’d join him at the Barley Parlor tonight. So I guess we’ll be enjoying happy hour at our respective breweries, heh.”
“You sure ‘bout that?” Jones insisted. “Ya’ve been absent for a lot of Dev Co. conferences, and I tell you, this ain’t some small side biz stuff. I know it’s not your department per say, but I dunno. Could be a good opportunity to catch up with the rest of us.”
I floated the dater stamp from its drawer, selected the right date, and began stomping it on a bunch of files. Yesh, I could multitask. “I know I’m a bit behind with this whole Project Chameleon craze, but fear not: I do have my eyes on a different kind of prize.”
“Ponyville dossier?” Jones tentatively asked.
I nodded. “Ponyville dossier.”
Smith shook his head. “You’re so predictable, muhehehe!”
Predictable I was, but crazy prepared I also was.
You see, the ERB only had a hoofful of cities under its surveillance. Canterlot, of course, and most other big bastions of population, such as Manehattan, Fillydelphia, Baltimare, etc. Smaller towns were still operating under the radar; they had, thus far, managed to avoid having to report to us. The argument brought forth by those dinky villages mostly boiled down to us being “too unforgiving” and “too oppressive,” which, between you and me, was utter nonsense. Yet somehow, princess Celestia has always followed her heart over her head, and all of those bitchy mayors got away with their incompetence.
This was about to change.
“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” I cheekily said. “I’m not sure if you guys are fully aware of this, but ever since Chrysalis’ little ploy bombed, the princess has been at her wit’s end, desperately scrounging for any spare bits she could put her hooves onto. Rumor says she’s on the verge of searching the castle’s couches for any leftover coins!”
My jab at our ruler didn’t go ignored, and all three of us shared a good giggle.
“No but really,” I resumed, wiping a tear, “you know how we’ve always argued that the smaller villages sat on a big fat pile of tax money not properly redirected to Canterlot? Well apparently, in the last few day courts, she began to be more and more attentive to the pleas of our spokesponies. Mark my words, it’s only a matter of time before she yields and passes the torch from Ponyville’s bureaucrats to those of the ERB!”
I looked ahead with a glint of hope in my eye, imagining a hypothetical future where the whole of Equestria was united under our rule. No more corruption, no more laissez-faire, no more exploitative manoeuvres. Just a steady cash flow funneled to the castle, and everypony living happily ever after.
“Imagine if we win this battle! Imagine if Ponyville could finally be in our jurisdiction! This would set an amazing precedent, and our zone of control would stretch further than ever before! And when – not if – when this happens? When the ERB will inevitably be restructured to incorporate these new cities? You better believe I’ll be at the forefront to inherit any shiny new posts available!”
Smith and Jones looked at each other, a bit awestruck by my speech full of vows and valor.
“Not that I don’t like your bravado, Lucky, but what makes you so confident you’ll nab a fancy promotion?” pondered Jones. “Lotsa other ambitious agents wanna move up in this box.”
“Well, my friend, to make a long story short, I’ve studied with undivided attention all of the ins and outs of such a scenario. I’ve been taking a lot of notes from those who were sent to debate the Ponyville affair, so I already have a leg up with the prospect. And look- If I’m not considered qualified to handle this new task, then frankly? No one is,” I concluded, chockful of narcissism.
They shrugged, their sense of doubt finally capitulating. Probably for the best too; no amount of naysaying would make me give up on that one.
“Well, if you’re all prepped up for it, then I wish ya best of luck.” He turned to his companion. “You gettin’ thirsty, Jones?”
“I’m getting thirsty.”
“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand. Nighty night, Lucky boy. Don’t overwork yerself silly over this whole Ponyville shebang now, ya hear?”
“And as always,” Jones tipped his hat, “Smith and Jones forever ♪ ♫! Spread the word!”
They hoofbumped and exited my office. When the door came to a full close, I just had to snicker to myself. I had no idea why these two always had to leave with that quirky catchphrase. Been working by their side for a solid four years now, and not once have they forgotten to depart without their obligatory “Smith and Jones forever.” Didn’t know what it really added, but at the very least, it made these two oddballs hard to forget. Maybe that was the point.
Well, 6:30 now. Celestia must’ve been really close to lowering the sun. Before her sister Luna could take over, I made a mental note to finish what I could finish as quickly as I could. Been a lot of speedbumps today, and it put me a bit behind schedule. Shame. Still, I wasn’t going to cancel on my friend; after all, I was in the mood to line up a few drinks. The hot climate of the summer and 50-something hours worth of work this week have both taken their toll on me. Nothing a couple of IPAs couldn’t fix.
Knock knock knock
“Did you two forget anything?” I said, moderately annoyed.
My spare time getting more and more scarce, I was wondering if I would ever have the chance to-
!!!
I bounced up from my seat and staggered around my desk, caught completely off-guard. I even passed a hoof in my mane to make sure all of the caramel-colored strands were well in place. Finally, to earn even more brownie points, I offered a big sheepish smile, almost sun drying my teeth on the spot.
Mrs. Amphora took that as her cue to enter my office. Now, who was that orange pony of golden mane, you may wonder? Well, only the most diligent worker of the firm, that’s who! Oh, and my direct superior too, how about that? She was the one who essentially allowed me to earn my salary, so, y’know, looking not too shabby in front of her wasn’t a suggestion. Her and I have been working closely together in recent years, which was a good sign when it came to prestige and recognition.
Amphora was stern, but just. Abrasive, but concise. Loud, but clear. You get the idea. A boss who looked like a boss, and who acted like a boss. She was pragmatic to a fault, didn’t really engage in small talk, was all-business first and foremost, radiated an intimidating aura, tolerated no excuses, etc... But make no mistake! Under this coarse outlook was a unicorn who had the ERB’s best interests at heart. If she was so robotic, so calculated, so humorless, it’s only because years of maintaining the Bureau’s impeccable reputation had molded her to be so. I had an immense amount of respect for her, despite the fact that she has never asked me once how my day was going.
If anything, in an utopian world, the common pony should’ve been a little more like her. Less idealistic, less happy-go-round, and more down-to-Equus. Society would go far and wide with everypony having an overall attitude as sterile as hers.
But for now, let us refocus: Good impressions, I said! A bow was good etiquette, so that’s what I did.
“Mrs. Amphora! How can I be of service? Do you require my assistance, perhaps?” Bam. Directly going into it, no foaling around.
“No, no that won’t be necessary. I was just passing by when I noticed Twinkledee and Twinkledum entering your office.”
Or, in other words, Smith and Jones. This was the nickname she gave them. Don’t worry about it; she also labelled them as such to their very face. Maybe it was a bit derogatory and reductive, but Amphora was definitely not a two-faced hypocrite!
“However, I couldn’t help but overhear a certain... particular conversation,” she continued, playing coy.
“O-oh?” I feigned surprise.
“Mmmh hmmm,” she nodded, sinking further in my office. “From my understanding, a certain pony is looking for a certain, shall we say, promotion, isn’t it so?”
Dang. Busted by my own excitement. Curse you, easily agitated sense of pride! Look where you’ve got me now!
Sigh. Looks like I was on repair duty now. Deny everything, Coiny! Appear content, pleased, satisfied, in love with your current position! T’was the only way to save face!
“N-no! I uh, I would never! Or rather- I would, but it’s not a strictly necessary thing, y’know?” I assured her with the most sycophantic timbre I could find. “I already have so much to be happy with my current job; I love every second of it! I mean, you won’t have to-”
She lifted her hoof in silence as a polite way of telling me to can it. Which I did. I canned it. With the strongest adhesive a pony could find in Equestria.
“Relax,” she simply commanded with a half smile.
I lived by your will, Your Magnificence. I did a quick breathing exercise, and flushed the anxiety out of my veins. Begone, vile substance! Didn’t need you to make me look like a neurotic mess in front of the one who had absolutely no tolerance for ponies who didn’t cut to the chase.
“There, better,” she said with this weird, motherly tone. “I’m no dupe, Lucky. Your desire to be the one in charge of Ponyville hasn’t escaped my ears. Not 10 minutes ago, not 10 months ago.”
Crap. Have I really been that obvious about it? Guess subtlety wasn’t my middle name, ack!
“Y-yes. Yes, that is correct. I do believe I’m the perfect candidate for the task. I’ve yet to disappoint, and my performance record at the ERB is squeaky clean. Not to mention, I’m devoted, loyal, punctual, and so much more. I’d be impressed if there was a pony half as productive as me in this department.”
I said all of this as if I was being interviewed for a job. Which, maybe I was? I dunno. But heck if I was going to let that one slide. After all, she already knew I had an interest, so it was time to double down.
Strangely enough, she started to pace around me, reeeeally taking in my features. She was analysing my every detail, drawing a profile in her head. It felt a little intimidating, but at the same time, humbling. Meant she was seriously considering what I had said, otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered doing this weird... observation routine. Still, I remained stone cold frozen, not wishing to fumble whatever was happening to me right now. Even when she passed behind me, I refused to budge. Maybe this was some sort of test? Provoking my composure, see if I would break under the pressure?
Much to my relief, she finally stopped in front of me. Did I do it? Did I pass her ocular exam? Was I going to be graded on it?
“Mmmh,” she mulled. “You really are a loyal one, aren’t you? An obedient worker who never once second-guessed the chain of command. As far as I recall, you’ve always followed my orders to a tee. Never heard you complain, never heard you protest.”
“That’s what I do!” I confirmed with palpable excitement. “I execute, and I execute well!”
Amphora took a brief moment to consider my candidature some more. Then, she blessed me with a rare positive expression, something very few of us have had the chance to witness.
“Yes... yes, I believe you’ll work just fine,” she said behind her somewhat sinister smirk. “You’re exactly the kind of pony we’re looking for. Someone with undying patriotism toward the Bureau and its practices. Someone who won’t hesitate to push that button when told to.”
And how! Bring me the buttons! I’ll push ‘em all if that’s what you want! I’ll get them all pushed before I even get a chance to say ‘I love the Bureau!’
“Not to say that I didn’t already have you in the back of my mind, but seeing you now? Mmm’yes. I totally see it working,” Amphora mused some more before trotting back to the door. “I want to see you in my office first thing in the morning tomorrow, Lucky. Big changes are coming, and Ponyville will play a vital role in what’s to come.”
My legs were almost quaking with adrenaline. It was more thrilling than riding a rollercoaster, or filing charges against a lower-class pony who paid us improperly. Before my boss shut the door, and before my heart pumped out of my chest, she took one final glance at my overexcited form.
“Keep your eyes on that promotion, my faithful subordinate. It may come sooner than you think.”
And she left it at that.
...
What a time to be alive! Things just kept getting better and better. I was on my way to a prosperous future, and boy oh boy was it cause for celebration! I have to thank queen Chrysalis for it. If it weren’t for her army full of shapeshifters barging into our city, we would never have been where we are today. She may have failed at taking the castle, but the ramifications of her hostile takeover still had an impact on ponies such as myself. So thank you, you magnificent flying bug dictator! Thank you for challenging the status quo and for allowing a promotion to fall directly into my lap!
Canterlot should definitely get sieged more often.
“... And then, I told Mrs. Scarlet before leaving: ‘Best regards from the ERB!’” I recounted with the most obnoxious laughing fit known to ponydom. “Tell ya what, she did NOT look- Oh hey, another round for us! Same thing as before, and make sure to put it on my tab!”
The baremare passing behind the counter didn’t fail to notice my incessant pint tapping and promptly confiscated the empty glass off my hooves.
“Sheesh, you’re awfully chipper today, aren’t you?” replied my drinking buddy to my left.
Oh, you better believe it! Getting promoted was a big deal, and whilst nothing was set in stone yet, my boss has made it crystal clear she had big plans in the pipeline for this guy. I mean, she practically announced that I was on top of her list of bootlicking underlings! If there ever was a time to give in to optimism, now was definitely it.
Which is why I was consuming my malt liquor as if it was water. It boosted this lil’ tangle of joy living rent free in my guts. Add in the cozy ambiance of the Barley Parlor, and tonight was truly a night to remember.
I’ve always loved this tavern. It was smackdown in the middle of downtown Canterlot, on the third floor of a commercial complex. To get in, you had to sneak your way through the cramped alleyway on the side of the building. Finding the proper door was already a game of its own, especially considering how cryptically hidden it was. You had to be in on it, which gave the whole bar a flair of exclusivity. But, if you knew what you were doing, you’d find a narrow arched door with a sign taped on it announcing the name of the place. This door led to a rickety spiral staircase connected directly to the third floor. Inside, a large open area with an elongated horseshoe counter in the back, a wall covered with shelved vinyl to the left, and a plethora of 3/4 circle booths to the right. There was even a duo of ponies playing a bluesy mix of drums and trumped on a protruded stage in the corner! No, truly, the atmosphere was on point.
But what’s drinking without friends, eh? I wasn’t enjoying my ale all on my lonesome. An old buddy of mine was also sharing this night with me, seated comfortably on the neighboring cushion.
Ladies and gentlecolts, let me introduce you to Cinnamon Roast, formerly known as Jazzy Amethyst Von Apfelland. Yes, that was quite a mouthful, yes, he hailed from Maremany, and yes, he successfully applied for a name change. Sadly, while “Cinnamon Roast” was a bit more in-line with his profession as a barista, it was too little too late. Everypony, me included, had already taken to calling him Java.
Well, Java and I, we go way back. We went to school together, where we united our wits to fight back against overzealous teachers, relentless bullies, and subpar grades. We essentially shared our pedagogical journey until we went our separate ways. It was business school for me, while Java decided to not bother with college. A damn shame, really. I totally would have seen him doing well in the corporate world. Heck, him and I could’ve tag-teamed to become as memorable as Smith and Jones. But alas, Java had already embraced the intricate world of torrefaction and customer service, much to my chagrin.
Still, that didn’t mean the two of us couldn’t occasionally meet. Tonight was proof enough. We saw each other when our schedules opened up, which happened about every two weeks or so. The two of us refused to grow distant due to age and all that other grownup garbo that makes you drift away. A few drinks every now and then was the most efficient way to catch up.
And speaking of catching up, tonight was a special night indeed! I had lots to unload on my bantering partner. So prepare your ears, Java my boy! Lucky had quite a few things to announce.
“So,” he nudged me, “what’s with the smile this time, LC?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” I downplayed. “You’re just looking at the ERB’s first and newest agent in charge of Ponyville. That’s right! Seems like we finally won the bid, or at least, we’re coming close to it. I’ll have more details tomorrow, but point is, I’m moving up the ranks, my friend!”
“Wait wait wait. Ponyville? Ponyville is now also under the Bureau’s control!?”
“Soon to be! Why, what’s the matter? You ah, you seem a bit surprised. Do you mind me asking why?”
He fidgeted for a bit, looking sideways. “No reason,” he finally admitted, before emptying his glass. “Just thought you guys couldn’t get any more totalitarian is all.”
Couldn’t get any more... Hang on a minute! The hay did that know-nothing know-it-all just mumble about the ERB? Sounded like a case of gratuitous pillorying! As an avid defender of my workplace, I couldn’t let seemingly “““harmless””” comments like these fly by. At the risk of causing an argument, well, I simply had to address his blatant lack of respect for those who put their lives on the line!
“Aheh, totalitarian? Really, Java? Puh-lease. Don’t kid yourself,” I retorted, a fictitious chuckle attempting in vain to mask my annoyance.
He replied nothing, simply nodding at the waitress who took his glass before giving us full ones. I’ve known Java long enough to understand that he didn’t want to take the bait, preferring to let the rising tension peter out. Yet somehow, I wanted him to understand the error of his ways. I wanted that oh so badly! A more mature stallion would’ve seen the writing on the wall, but me, when it came to the Bureau, I’ve been practically trained to not let things go.
“But it’s okay, I forgive you,” I advanced, as if apologizing was even something he had planned on doing. “We all make mistakes, eh? Misjudging the ERB’s one of ‘em. Because, heh, we both know that the Bureau is the ultimate beacon of fairness. It’s common knowledge, really.”
“How can you even say that with a straight face!” he finally latched on. “The Bureau is NOT fair, Lucky: The Bureau is fear!”
Oh, well played, my punster of a friend! Made me wonder if it took him that level of savviness to serve coffees on a daily basis. Or to come up with the worst hot takes my ears have had the displeasure of hearing.
That kind of volume had attracted the attention of the barmare who pretended poorly not to eavesdrop. She was distracting herself with a glass she hasn’t stopped polishing since dispensing our latest order, but her ears rotating toward us betrayed her rubbernecking ways. Thus, I had an audience. A minuscule one, but an audience nonetheless. Meant that the stakes were raised, and that I couldn’t let this gray unicorn get away with his baseless accusations. I wouldn’t let the Equestrian Revenue Bureau get its honor tainted – yes, even at the cost of butting heads with a foalhood bud.
“Okay, what are you doing right now?” I said, audibly more irate than before. “I mean, what’s all this? Why are you slandering my livelihood all of the sudden? I’m merely being happy about my day, yet here you are, trying your hardest to sour the mood for reasons unknown,” I grumped, taking more sips of liquid courage to wash it all down.
“Look- I’m sorry, LC. I’m not trying to antagonize you, but... sigh. Can I level with you for a moment? The way you talked to me about this pony you’ve seen earlier? The uh, angry dad dude?”
“Tropic Cascade?”
“Yeah, him. Just the manner in which you recited that story, it’s... Well, it’s honestly cause for concern. I mean, you essentially destroyed that family over an offense that really shouldn’t be as punishable as it currently is. With a few papers and a couple of signatures, vzziiit! That’s three lives you’ve nullified. And, you know, it wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t take so much pleasure doing it. How could you feel so elated in the face of a fellow pony’s demise!? Makes me feel like I’m sitting next to... I dunno, some kind of psychopath. It’s beyond unsettling how much of an executioner the Bureau has made you.”
Him and I may have had our disagreements over the years, but never before has he branded me with the ‘psychopath’ label. What kind of so-called friend does that? He was always so reserved, and was never much of a troublemaker. But tonight? Tonight was getting sillier by the minute. I was desperately trying to have a good time, but Java decided that now was the best moment to drop a steamy log in my cereal. Thanks, buddy! Couldn’t let me drink and enjoy myself in peace!
“Look, it’s been tough for everyone,” I offered, “but sympathizing with a pony who stole from the kingdom during these trying times is not the way to go about it, Java. If we’re hoping to rebuild what we once had, if we even want to stand a chance to recover, then ruling with an iron hoof must be in vigor.”
“Well that’s just it,” he said after a long gulp full of ale. “A lot of us are already recovering from that disaster. Physically and mentally. Tightening the noose economically, it’s doing nothing but drive a lot of ponies over the edge... You know, ponies like me...”
Ah, there you have it. The reason why Cinnamon Roast was so opposed to the idea of the Bureau extending its sphere of influence. If I understood correctly, he too has been in hot water with the ERB, which was seemingly where his contrarian attitude derived from.
Now, this is going to sound rather harsh, but as far as his living wage went, it didn’t take a master accountant to figure out that serving mochas five days a week wasn’t cutting it. Cinnamon wasn’t happy that his wallet was running thin, and lashed out at the Bureau in return. Once again, proving that we undeservingly played the role of a hate sink for those who didn’t know any better.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck in a low, but what other choices are there? On your way to the Barley Parlor, did you enjoy trotting on a fully paved road? Were you happy to commute under the guidance of the magical fires of the street lights? Didn’t it feel good to see every building restored after they’ve been reduced to rubbles a few months back?”
“Well, sure, but-”
“There is no ‘but,’ Java! All of those nice things must be financed somehow, and that money has to come from somewhere. As bleak as it sounds, everypony is naturally bound to be stingy with their purse. If the bureau was too gentle with its rules about tax collection, then we’d still be prancing in a city in ruins. I know that on the surface, Equestria may seem like a wonderful paradise full of friendship, rainbows, and all that other carelessness, but there’s an underlying sense of order that ties it all together. The ERB brings that order, whether you think of us as ‘too intimidating’ or not.”
Back to my drink I went. I could feel Java’s hot piercing gaze judging my every movement. A few awkward seconds elapsed that way, with me pretending he wasn’t staring me to Tartarus and back. Either he was flabbergasted by the grim dose of reality I tossed his way, or he was in the middle of formulating a rebuttal.
“What the hay has happened to you, LC?” Rebuttal it was, then. “Do you even hear what you’re saying? You don’t really believe any of that hogwash, do you?” he dryly blared.
I shrugged, glass to my lips. He let out a small huff of bewilderment.
“Damn, what has the Bureau done to the pony whom I befriended as a foal? To the pony who used to have integrity and a moral code? That four leaf clover cutie mark of yours, it used to stand for something, but nowadays? Pardon my bluntness, but you’re not honoring it, LC.
“I remember fondly how you once fought for what was right, how you once called out injustices as you saw them, how you once solemnly swore to make Equestria a better place... But ever since you’ve got this fancy job, you’ve become so... submissive! You never question anything anymore; you just take whatever lands onto your desk for granted. It’s like you’ve lost the flame! Well, fight back, dammit!! Try to influence the system for the better for a change!!”
“Yeah? And when does losing my job factor into your rant full of fallacies and impossibilities? You have no idea what you’re even complaining about, Java. I don’t operate on the basis of doing whatever pleases the populace. I have laws to uphold!”
“Laws aren’t always just, and you know this! Laws are not immovable either; they can change over time. I’m not jiving with the current power trip the ERB is having, including its cruel practices. What if... What if there was a corrupted executive at the top, huh? What if a couple of bad apples soiled your corporation? They have the freedom to do as they please, a perfect getaway to give in to their evil ways, and no one, not even the princesses, would be the wiser!”
I furrowed my brow. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not- Look, all I’m saying is, in the light of the changeling invasion, the last thing Equestria needs is for the Bureau to grow even stronger. It’s bad enough as it is! Because with the current deal? We are not happy, Lucky.”
“That so? Well then, why don’t you get your rump into motion and do something about it? Go see the princess during her day court and tell her about how you feel!”
I finished my drink with the blood rising to my temples. You’d think I was on the verge of dehydration with how fast I poured it all into my gullet. My beer might’ve been done, but this conversation certainly wasn’t. Time to finish off this insolent killjoy with what I liked to call ‘a good dose of verbal brickbat.’
“A fair warning though: As far as things go? We’re the ones pulling the strings. The amount of influence we exert over princess Celestia and her new cohort, princess Luna, is staggeringly high. But hey- don’t let me stop you! If you think you stand a chance at going against the march of progress and the enormous team of lobbyists backing it up, then all the power to you, my sweet gullible friend! Who knows, maybe the perspective of a walking coffee pot was the only thing missing to sway her court the other way?”
For the second time, Java glared at me for a short moment. Then, instead of talking back, he too downed whatever was left in his glass, which he followed by tossing a couple of bits on the counter.
“Nevermind, I was wrong,” he said, his tone full of bitterness. “You haven’t lost the flame. You’re just an asshole.”
He rose up sharply, ready to take a rain check. Meanwhile, I just shook my head with a condescending grin. Couldn’t fight with words, eh? Had to resort to petty insults? Your lack of education was showing its true colors, pal o’ mine.
“Have a good one, Lucky Coin. I hope your promotion brings you whatever happiness you’re looking for. Just be careful what you wish for though, because you’ll find that it’s very lonely at the top.”
I didn’t entertain that disingenuous tidbit of encouragement with a response. Nor did I turn to see Java take his leave. Whatever. For a stallion so quick on accusing others of being “assholes,” he sure was acting the part. I dunno if it was the alcohol talking or not, but somepony was projecting hard.
Bah, I’m sure he’ll be filled with regrets tomorrow morning, ashamed at having sabotaged what should’ve been a pleasant evening. And when he’ll inevitably beg for my forgiveness, I’ll be there to accept the olive branch, because I was a good pony, and that’s what good ponies did.
I lifted my eyes from my glass and saw the baremare, still there, now staring and blinking incredulously at the little quibble that unfolded in front of her.
“Ah, don’t worry about him,” I told her. “He’s just a bit naïve, but he means well. I’m sure he’ll learn to live with his head out of the sand in due time.”
“... Right,” she noncommittally agreed.
And that was that.
I spent another hour nursing a few more beers, celebrating this party of one. Friends were a cool thing to have, but a solid sense of self-worth was a gazillion times better. I fought for it, and lo and behold, I was the last pony standing. So, hurray, me. Winning an argument is magic.
Still, I’d be a liar if I said tonight went without a hitch. Could’ve done without this whole end bit. Had I known about Java’s upcoming tantrum, I would’ve bailed and joined Smith and Jones at the Mezzanine instead. What a crime.
To be fair, this bickering session sort of elevated an important point: The world needed us. Thank Faust there were ponies of my notoriety to keep the economy afloat. Made me appreciate the role I played in Equestria that much more. Not everyone was blessed with my courage! Because poets and pseudo ideologists like Java, they didn’t live in the real world. They were unable to see the bigger picture. In fact, their emotional fragility was only useful to sink our magnificent country straight into bankruptcy. If it weren’t for the Bureau and its devout platoons of “cubicle monkeys,” we’d already be drowning in an insurmountable amount of debt.
These ponies didn’t know what true misery entailed. Spanking the villain du jour? We already had a ragtag team of superheroes to fulfill that role. Chrysalis getting the boot was all the proof you needed. But making sure our budget didn’t go too far deep into the red? Not having to pay twenty bits for a carton of milk? Now that, that was the real threat. An omnipresent menace that would make Java et al quiver in their horseshoes.
And you know what’s what? At the risk of garnering a couple of enemies, princess Celestia be my witness, I was going to do everything in my power to keep us safe. If I had to break a few families on my way there, then so be it. A small price to pay when the alternative was the total collapse of our civilization.