Be Still, Don’t Move

The two sisters posed mournfully in front of the press as Queen Haven’s funerary procession was flown down the main boulevard of Zephyr Heights. She had passed just two months after her beloved Alphabittle was gone. “You can’t live without somepony else by your side for too long,” Queen Haven said on her deathbed. “That’s why I’ll be joining him soon.”

Now, that Queen Haven was buried, the dust settled, the mourning period passed, the first, and most important item of business as ruler of Zephyr Heights. Was to decide whether they would be called “Princess” or “Queen”.

Thunder, once Queen Haven’s personal guard and royal advisor, was now before them at the throne, plying them both with wine and tapas from his own money, which Zipp declined and Pipp accepted, taking Zipp’s share.

The fifty-something sisters sat in the new equally sized thrones that had been sculpted from them out of pure marble (which is as comfy as it sounds). In fact, most of the castle had been gut renovated since the sisters took the throne. The paint was a creamy new color chosen by Pipp, the windows reglazed, half the panes frosted. The air was equally stagnant though, and the whole throne room reeked of the smell of fresh paint and cleaning solvents, and the first motes of dust creeping through the window gaskets, suspended in the sunlight, frozen midair.

Zipp missed the Weather Factory meeting for this.

“Well, Your Highness Philomena, if I may make the case for ‘Princess,’” Thunder said, bowing her head in subservience. “It is only right, if we are to pay homage to the Principality of Old Equestria, we must appropriate their titles.”

“I honestly couldn’t care less,” Zipp interjected, despite not being addressed. “As long as you don’t call me Countess Zephyrina the Seventy Seventh, Supreme Overlord Almightihighness, we’re good.”

Thunder seemed to ignore the elder sister, whose eyes were locked on the stallion guardpony.

Zipp looked at her sister, rolling her eyes. Pipp ignored her.

“Then we simply must go with that.”

Zipp looked straight ahead.

It’s Easy to Smile

“Pipp! You’re going to miss your 7am meeting in the throne room!” Zipp poked her head out of her bedroom after reviewing their joint schedule.

“What!?” Pipp poked her wet mane out of the doorway, yelling down the cavernous hall.

Zipp poked her head out, shouting back to Pipp twenty yards away. “You’re taking that one right!? You’re going to be late!”

“I’m not ready yet!”

“It’s the Zephyr Heights Wheat Farmers’ Alliance. Do you think they care how many layers of lacquer your mane has?”

“It’s not lacquer, it’s Mane Melody Instant Freeze Spray!”

“I hate that stuff! It smells like a potpourri factory!”

“Well you won’t have to smell it, if you take over my damn meeting!”

“Why are we yelling about manes at 7 o’clock in the morning!?” Zipp said, a hint of raspiness creeping into her voice.

Pipp galloped over to Zipp’s bedroom, her face with a warm glow, but still tired from exhaustion and a lack of sleep. She lowered her voice. “Zipp, I’m fine, trust me. I just…got up a little late this morning.”

Zipp looked up at her pitiable expression, and let out a sigh, her eyes downcast to match her sister’s. “Pipp, not again. You can’t do this! You’re Queen—”

“Princess!”

“You’re Princess now! We are THE princesses! You can’t be late to everything and do stupid stuff like this!”

Age caught to Pipp faster than her sister. Her makeup was still excellently done, but some of her chub started to sag, and her mane was a little drier and crackly. It was like Pipp had read in one of her beauty magazines—the very one she had started after opening Mane Melody. And the guest writer said “women without partners are ten times more likely to have ovarian cancer” or something like that. Exaggerated, with a yellow spiky bubble around the text in tabloid font.

Maybe Queen Haven read the same beauty magazine before she died.

“Nopony wants to see a fifty-one year old streamer…I…I was lonely okay!?”

“I understand…”

“NO YOU DON’T!” She yanked her sister’s hoof away from her body.

“Maybe I don’t understand,” Zipp conceded. “But at least you understand this. Why do think Thunder is so adamant on getting your attention?”

Pipp was silent. She knew. Zipp knew she knew.

“Do…do you think of Thunder in that way?”

“W-well no, I…”

“Hitch and I haven’t been successful. You’ve never married. And in case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t twenty anymore. We don’t have any blood successors. There's going to be a mad rush for who will take over after we're gone.”

It was Pipp’s turn to roll her eyes. “You really sound like Mom. Look. It’s okay. Let him take over. He’s served Zephyr Heights faithfully for his whole life. He’s plenty capable of ruling Zephyr Heights. Why are you so skeptical?”

“You’re stronger than this, Pipp.”

Pipp looked at Zipp’s consoling smile and wanted to slap her. “It’s easy for you to smile like that. You’ve got Hitch. Who have I got?”

“You have the ponies of Zephyr Heights. They still adore you. You have Sunny, Misty, Izzy, Hitch—”

“I don’t care about Zephyr Heights’ legacy. I just want to be happy. This is about me.” Pipp started to tear up. “This is about me…me…me…me…”

She muttered that last word to herself, but couldn’t even hold it on the same note.

We’re Not the Same

“Princess Zephyrina, what are your thoughts on increasing subsidies for us wheat farmers?”

Zipp was more unprepared than usual, but thankfully a quick search online gave her all the information she needed to know about wheat production in the High Alpine Region constituency—the region the delegation was from—and peer-reviewed studies from esteemed economists she could up on the impacts of subsidies on wheat productions, drought years and non-drought years.

Zipp scoffed to herself as she walked into the room, right on the dot at 7am. There was no way Pipp had prepared as much as this.

It started with thirty minutes of coffee and pleasantries before the actually meeting started. “Oh Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you this early. Pipp usually shows up an hour later and we take this opportunity to have some free breakfast courtesy of the royal castle…no offense your Highness. We just love eating pastries and biscuits made with Zephyr Heights locally-grown wheat.”

“O-of course,” was all Zipp could say to that.

Zipp pointed out the study from Agricultural Monthly that indicated increasing subsidies actually discouraged worker participation in the industry and reduced yield per acre. The Zephyr Heights budget was running a deficit and they could not afford giving any more taxpayer money to the already heavily-subsidized wheat industry.

“Actually, Princess, that is an older study,” one of the stallions—Thresher, according to her prior research on the delegation. “This current study suggests that increasing subsidies will increase yield per acre by 65%.”

Thresher, the delegation head, interjected. “Oh our advisor Wheat Sell crunches all the numbers. Total nerd, if you ask me,” she whispers to her in a lower voice “Tell me, where is Her Highness Philomena? Tell her I said hi.”

“She…she couldn’t make it,” she lied. And it was clearly a lie when Pipp strolled in at the door, sure enough, at 8:02am, her mane perfectly frozen, a spring of wheat tucked in her mane.

“Hello, Thresher! So good to see you!” she immediately reached to embrace the delegation head. “You know…a foal who visited one of your amazing wheat farms picked this stem of Zephyr Heights spring wheat…and I just LOVE how it compliments my mane!”

“It does suit you well, your Highness. Now, about those subsidies…”

“You know that foal told me…how amazing your crops are doing this year! And so…” they walked further into the room and continued their conversation.

“I need a slice of bread,” Zipp muttered to herself as she made her exit.

With You By My Side

Pipp asked Thunder to carry in the sacks of flour the delegation had offered as a gift after the meeting. Misty Brightdawn-Blossomforth, daughter of the late King Consort Alphabittle Blossomforth and Secretary of Foal Wellness, would be making sweet rolls with them to give out at the next Cutie Blossom Bash.

The two royal sisters ate dinner in the breakfast hall, a smaller casual dining space they used outside of banquets. Zipp took a bite of food. “Somehow…you managed to pull that meeting off. Even though you were late…even though you had an emotional breakdown…I don’t know whether to be amazed or concerned.”

“That’s how it has been, Zipp. Thunder is a part of my life. Just like Hitch is a part of your life. Lives are messy, Zipp. We can’t be the perfect rulers that you want us to be. Mom wasn’t. I mean, look at what happened when they whole kingdom found out we couldn’t fly. We aren’t either.”

Zipp looked back at her sister, pondering over a spear of white asparagus.

“There’s a part of ruling together as sisters that you’re forgetting Zipp. It’s not just working together and doing great things together. Sometimes it’s working alone. And trusting each other to do their job. There’s one thing we can’t give up, though…if we can’t get along as friends…”

“Fancy the moon?” Zipp smirked.

Pipp, slightly inebriated from the wine Thunder gave her, threw her head back in laughter, the mane spray losing its grip and swinging over the back of the chair. “In your dreams, Zipp…”

“What are you even trying to get out of your relationship with Thunder? What do you see it becoming?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“That’s not a very clear answer.”

“I know, Zipp. I know. And that’s how real life works.”