Common

What a waste of time.Que perdida de tiempo., she thought bitterly to herself, skirting along the southern border of the Peak without a backward glance. Going to the Peak had been a longshot anyway, a desperate attempt to find some sort of something for herself in this life now that she was alone. Switch had never truly been the sort of mare that would thrive among other mares. She didn't enjoy their attention or their bickering or their energy, but after Loupgaru had all but abandoned her in the Inlet, she'd felt like she had no other choice.

It was that or face the dejection of going to the Commons again, and she'd chosen poorly.

Switch had watched the elections happen with the sort of apathy reserved by those who truly didn't care about what the outcome was. Without a Prime Minister, Marceline had needed only one vote to gain the title so even if she'd cared enough to vote, it wouldn't have mattered. Like a snake chasing it's tail, the new Prime Minister and the new General patted themselves on the back and elected each other to their new positions.

Living with Marceline had been bad enough. But living beneath her? Out of the question.

She'd endured it for a day as she debated what to do, but when the decree came rolling out of the fallen Queen's mouth, Switch quit waffling and started walking. The last thing she was going to do is be called a trinket by anyone ever again. And while the whole "rescue" angle was admirable, Switch had no desire to do any of that. She'd gone there for the quiet, not to find herself a job.

Of course the Commons always came with a risk, but Switch represented a risk all her own. One with teeth that snapped and hooves that struck and a tongue that sliced into her victims. She was no easy prey if the Lagoon grew so bold, nor was she young or pretty enough to truly catch their eye anymore. Her solid black coat and perpetual glare usually did the trick to ward off most would-be suitors, and she trusted that this armor would continue to protect her today, especially with her hormones throwing her into rarely-before-seen levels of man-eating hatred.

Rain drizzled around her as she marched across the Commons, drenching her dark coat and dripping from the slightly waved strands of her mane. It was an early autumn downpour, cold and dreary, which matched her mood almost exactly. It made the ground squelch beneath her marching hooves as she set course for the Meadow, which was her ultimate target. From there, she'd have to figure it out. Maybe go looking for her daughters. Maybe give it all up and try to find the Mainland again somehow.

Either way, she knew she'd figure it out. She always did.