#not beating the labor aristocracy allegations

[ask-crimson-cardinal]

Equestria isn’t what it seems. Ask anything. And you will get the entire truth. No questions asked!!

To read a bit more of my backstory, keep reading. 

Hoofington is a seemingly pleasant little town. Located on a pristine beach, just a little ways north from the shining star of Los Pegasus. On the outside, a sweet and simple villa for scholars and aspiring writers, and escapees from the hecticness of the outside world. However, its isolation did not spare it from the influences of the Equestrian aristocracy, albeit that seemed harmless enough, if not more secure. Of course, the reality was much, much darker.

Equestria was a rickety house of cards that managed to rebuild itself pretty quickly when knocked over, but it was a house of flimsy cards, no less. A world of chaos almost completely governed by four goddesses and their families, not to mention the various other atrocities that controlled the world beyond, in addition to the very elusive racial divide between the the four equestrian races and the two other sovereign species, gryphons and dragons. What a mess. But who was to acknowledge it? Meet Crimson Cardinal. A skinny, tall red pegasus with a long and flowing purple mane and tail, a journalist of ill-temperament and an extreme lover of conspiracy, cider, and revolution. A proletariat of cynicism and pride with an extreme hatred for dark magic, corruption and aristocracy. And finally, not much a flyer, but a strong adherent of pegasus pride and a shameless destroyer of alicorn supremacy. Though seemingly sour, Crimson greatly enjoyed his little town and the ponies who inhabit it. His full-time job (journalism being more of a freelance job and anti-fascism being more of a hobby) was a bartender at everyone’s favorite salon downtown, “The Bubbly Mare,” owned by an equally gleeful little stallion, Bubbling Cider. Crimson―a lover of conspiracy and writing is also a great, great lover of alcohol, almost more than pen and paper. In truth, his best rhetoric was born from the bottle. But the townsfolk flocked to his side drunk or sober. The political views of Hoofington were slightly varied, but there was one thing in common―The town was mostly Earth ponies and Pegasi. Farms on the borders of town were hard workin’ folk who prided themselves in tending the soil with their own hooves, criticizing the unicorns for laziness. The pegasi, whose job was to beat clouds into submission and maintain the weather likewise berated the unicorns for using their powers to whip up a storm or chaos anytime they pleased. On the flip side―those small-town earth ponies and pegasi were shunned by the elitist unicorns of the big city, and it was remarkably difficult for a non unicorn to have a profession other than a farmer or cloud-kicker. And it wasn’t just Hoofington that held this belief. This distrust of magic wasn’t seen by those who visited the shining capitals and paragons of Equestria. Canterlot, Ponyville, the Crystal Empire and other big cities that portrayed the unity and magic that the country prided itself on and preached had shiny, posterless walls. But elsewhere, every alleyway in almost every small town, hidden from dignitaries and diplomats, was marked with cynical graffiti alongside the tyrannical Celestia’s infamous “Obey” posters. Now, Crimson himself wasn’t a hater of unicorns per se, or at least that’s what he contended. His roommate and ‘special friend,’ Regal Pen, was one and a rather magically inclined one at that. But did he appeal to the collective distrust of magic in the town? Oh yes he did. …

The day was searing hot, the sun was beating down on the coast and the streets were fairly empty. The dark alleyways, however, were flooding with quietly chattering ponies, but they weren’t there for the shade. They crowded around a soapbox, placed in front of a fresh, untouched, massive propaganda poster, Celestia’s image glaring down at the crowd in ominous shades of dark blue, tan and red, below the stark blue OBEY. There was a hanging uneasiness and tension within the crowd, starting at the poster which they had been specifically instructed not to brutally desecrate by no other than Crimson himself. However, they also knew that the crafty pegasus would not leave it untouched for long. The dark red pony in question stepped over to the soapbox, sitting on his haunches with his chest puffed out. His eyes were dark and sunken as ever, but there was a glimmer of pride and deviance within them too. He opened a prepared sheet of paper and cleared his throat, grasping the ecstatic attention of his listeners. “I would like to start off by thanking everypony for attending this meeting, especially under such short notice, but I declare this a matter of emergency. As you may have noticed, military presence has increased within our borders in the past few months, which is obviously a reason for concern―But it wouldn’t be so problematic if it wasn’t for the plague that they bring with them―Nationalism!!” Crimson gave a quick gesture to the poster behind him, riling murmurs and cries of affirmation from the crowd. “What you see here is the tyranny of the equestrian aristocracy! To many, it is no more than a frail piece of paper. But we, as the enlightened and intelligent ponies we are, know that it is so much more. My moral is that the pen is mightier than the sword, and this extends to a picture that speaks a thousand words. Be it a thousand and one words of celestial corruption and militant authority!” Crimson violently stomped his hoof against the podium, initiating more whinnies and shouts. He waited patiently for the crowd to cease, preparing for an obligatory remark. “Now, my animosity towards Celestia does not necessarily extend to the other princesses, her devout subjects, nor the blindly following, and I obviously harbor no contempt towards those who are simply unaware. However, I can say that the first three are the willing pawns of Celestia’s every bidding! However, I would be remiss if I did not clarify that I revere Princess Luna, and I do not believe she is a pawn nor an ecstatic aide to her sister’s reign. She only does not resist because she is trapped in the guilt that her sister has has bestowed upon her. I also don’t deny Twilight Sparkle as a heroine, a luminary and the paragon of unity and friendship. And Cadence…well, I don’t believe I need to state my opinion on that airheaded sparkling celebrity…On the other hoof, the honorary ‘Princesses’ Twilight and Cadence, and their extended aristocratic families combined represent all that is reprehensible with Celestia’s reign, including her sloth, her gluttony and her incompetence! They are the perfect plastic pawns in Celestia’s games. They are shining public icons, used to preach the alleged solidarity and morality of Equestria! What’s worse, the great and powerful Celestia sends them to solve her problems! What deity would allow the gods of chaos, the dreaded changelings, and abominations from Tartarus itself to wreak havoc on our country, and send her neurotic, monumentally less powerful slave to fix her own faults? And what if these were manifestations of her own magic, as a means of oppression?” The crowd was riled up, shouting and waving their hooves aggressively. And there was still one last note. Crimson took a breath. “In conclusion, I have a little treat for all of you. I’ve instructed you not to desecrate this lovely, lovely poster, but I’m sure you all knew that I would never leave such a thing standing proudly on the walls of our town for very long.” Crimson turned around and tore the poster clean off the wall and held it up. The crowd was practically snapping at it, as if Crimson was holding a slab of meat over a pit of manticores. He hushed the crowd and puffed his chest out. “DISOBEY.” He threw it into the mud. Every pony in the crowd went at it like a feral animal, grabbing each corner and ripping it at the seams, stomping on Celestia’s ominous muzzle into the disgusting brown mud, saturating it and making the frail poster just that much easier to tear apart. Crimson’s usually cold maw curled into a smirk. He shouted with an undertone of malcontented laughter―DISOBEY!! CRUSH IT!! DESTROY IT!! The desecration persisted for several minutes. Crimson caught his breath and stepped off the stand, looking back at the very happy crowd with a sense of pride. The horde eventually dispersed with adrenaline to fuel a day of proletariat’s labor. The poster laid in the mud in literal shreds, but left just barely recognizable to proudly display the desecration of Celestia’s image. Crimson’s younger sister, Emerald Paint was waiting at the end of the alleyway. A bouncy green pegasus who didn’t quite understand Crimson’s near-obsessive immersion in political discord. She was a painter instead of a writer―A painter who secretly wished to paint the revolution with strokes of blood instead of the written word. “Shit, when did you become so inspirational?” “Shut the hell up. It took me two fucking hours to write.” Crimson opened his satchel and grabbed a flask, taking a quick swill of the sweet nectar that fueled his anger and creativity. “Does it look like I give a shit? Anyways, it’s insane how you made destroying that poster seem so important. I mean, it looked like fun…” “Symbolism. One of the greatest literary strategies. It’s kind of like burning an effigy or some books, although it doesn’t quite have the same effect as tearing the thing itself to shreds and leaving it to rot in the mud.” “The fuck you talking about? Why wouldn’t you just destroy the real thing?” Crimson shot a sarcastic glance at his internally violent sister. “I don’t think that’s a very…realistic…solution, Emerald. Besides, I’d much rather have Celestia rot in Tartarus for eternity next to the monsters she created.” “Do you really think this is gonna end peacefully?” Emerald cocked her head. Crimson sighed and averted his eyes. “Well, not exactly…Regardless of how it ends, Celestia and her pawns can’t condemn us for rebelling when she has been slaughtering, imprisoning, and banishing for centuries, if not millennia?” Emerald shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t feel like it’s worth it. Talking doesn’t get anything done, plus you can’t just beat Celestia!” Crimson huffed and narrowed his eyes, taking another aggressive swill of vodka. “How could you say that?! Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘The pen is mightier than the sword?” “I don’t fucking know. I’m going home, going to work to make MONEY, unlike you.” Emerald said snarkily, flipping her hair and trotted away. “Journalism is a noble and well-paying profession!! And bartending is just to pay the bills!” Crimson growled and flipped his sister off with his wing. He was glad that the rest of the town didn’t share the same ironically bourgeois sentiment. He would show her. … Crimson sat as his desk, continuing on his endeavour to create the perfect combinations of letters that would convince the most stubborn sheep to awaken from their comatose states under the shades of fascism. “That is a great fucking sentence.” Crimson mumbled. Thank Celes- Thank god sheep were too stupid to read and too weak to be of any use to the revolution (He thought with gratuitous disregard of his own hypocrisy). Stamping the last word with his typewriter, Crimson fell back in his seat. The town was on his side, and with the beautiful ink on paper, many others would trot alongside him. But where to go next? Los Pegasus was close, but going into a such a big city with Hoofington’s small population was, well, a really bad idea. Revolutions don’t start overnight. It must be slow, methodical, covert… But it would happen. That was for certain.