Chapter 1 - Tumbler Vs Uniformity

It is a wonderful day in Ponyville! ‘Why?’ you ask? Well, because the Circus is in town, silly! Don’t you see the wonderful giant tent at the edge of town, it banners and flags flapping gaily in the wind? The neverending procession of fillies and colts dashing here and there, begging their parents for a balloon or a cotton candy? It is a joyous time, and everyone is having fun. Everyone, that is, except for two very upset ponies. Let’s take a gander into the office of the circus manager, hmm?

*WHAM!* A hoof, wrapped around a glittering, multicolored piece of fabric, slammed down onto the already rickety desk.

“How DARE you try to blackmail me into wearing this...this...rape encouraging garment!? I’ll be practically naked up there! Don’t you know there will be CHILDREN in the audience, you sicko?”

The circus manager, a brown, balding, heavyset earth pony with a moustache that a police sergeant would be jealous of, rubbed the bridge of his snout with his hoof and took a deep breath.

“Miss Tumbler, the idea of responding to that fills me with a sense of bowel-loosening dread, but I’m going to try anyway.” He opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of his guest, a blue-grey pegasus pony with a white mane and red eyes. Red eyes that were currently tiny pinpricks of fury, boring into his soul.

“First of all, it’s not ‘blackmail’ if it’s the uniform that comes with your job. It’s a leotard. All the acrobats wear them, stallions and mares. Secondly...’rape encouraging garment’?” The manager gave Tumbler an incredulous look. “There hasn’t been a case of stallion on mare rape reported in...well...EVER!” The Manager put his hoof to his chin and looked up in a thoughtful manner. “There are, however, a few thousand of the reverse every year when estrus season hits. Not that these are treated as crimes, mainly because A) The stallions don’t *really* seem to mind, and B) Our immortal, all-powerful, sole source of government is female. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s a yellow pegasus mare in this very town who holds the Equestria-wide record for most stallions uh...taken...in a two-week period, and she’s a fucking national hero.”

The manager refocused his gaze on his adversary, and noticed that not a single thing he had said seemed to have any effect on lessening the severity of the mood of the mare across from him.

He sighed deeply, and against his better judgement, continued. “Lastly, ‘practically naked’? Tumbler, I’m not sure how you haven’t noticed, but *everypony* is naked. All the time. The audience will be naked. The lion tamer, Whippy, will be naked. All the clowns will be wearing are the giant squeaky shoes and a red nose, and all *I* wear ever is a tie. The only reason the Equine Cannonball wears anything is because of the horrific burns.” He pointed a hoof meaningfully at her. “You were naked when your parents, who were *also* naked at the time, got you this job! Which, I might add, you *do* only have because they are famous acrobats. OH, and guess what?” The manager reared up on his hind legs and planted his hooves firmly on his desk. “THEY BOTH WEAR LEOTARDS!” he shouted at her.

His rage subsiding, the manager looked at Tumbler to see if his explanation had any effect on the baleful gaze before him. A stallion can dream, can’t he? Unfortunately, the look of pure rage, instead of subsiding, had twisted into a mask of horror and disgust.

“How DARE you look at my naked body without my express written permission, signed in triplicate and notarized by a strong, independent mare attorney who runs her own law firm without having to kowtow to preset gender roles?!” the warrior of social justice screeched in a single breath. “First you demand that I dress up like a WHORE and when I don’t you oogle me and undress me with your eyes!? Pervert! Creep! Sexist pig!” The manager, who, despite any good sense, was going to ask her how he could undress her with his eyes when she wouldn’t put on her fucking uniform, was prevented from speaking by a swift hoof connecting to his jaw. “You can take this slut shaming rag of the patriarchy and stuff it in your plothole!” Tumbler shouted, tossing the leotard onto the dazed stallion’s head. Swiftly turning in place, Tumbler stalked out of the office with a sneer on her lips and her nose held high. “When I get home I am going to put this on my blog so ponies everywhere can see what a discriminating workplace this is!” After slamming the door shut behind her (breaking the window in the door in the process), the manager was left with only his thoughts and the musky smell of the rarely-washed fabric assaulting his nose.

“If she never wore it, why does it smell like rotten horse vagina?” He was spared any further horrifying questions as he lost consciousness.

MOOD: SUPER OPRESSED!!!1 >:(((((