This Platinum Crown

by Capn_Chryssalid

Chapter Twenty Six: Party

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(26)

Party

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It was known that good and noble stallions of gentle birth and fine pedigree would oft spend a day at the lists, tilting for valor and prestige. It was a most honorable sport and jest, harkening back to bygone days of Equestrian glory. To the esteem of all, it demonstrated respect and due reverence for one’s ancestry and ancient traditions. Together with polo, fencing and badminton it was truly the preferred physical activity of the patrician classes and those who aspired to join them. Sadly… for the common pony, however, few things could compete with that other all-Equestrian sport:

Hoofball.

Blueblood winced as his face met a quarter ton of charging apple farmer; throwing his weight to the side and pushing himself upwards with his back legs the pair tumbled off to the left and onto the grass. Feeling his otherwise magnificent white coat rub up against the sod for what had to be the hundredth time of the afternoon, Blueblood momentarily longed for facing an opponent with a lance or dagger in the lists. Surely it was better to risk getting impaled to the quiet applause of one’s wellborn peers than to get positively filthy to the cheering of one’s subjects.

“First down!” “Yes!” “Nice one, Mac!”

“Eyup.”

Stupid farmer. What insane earth pony came up with a sport where ponies had to tackle one another? Physically. With their hooves of all things!!

Without even a word, Blueblood took Big Mac’s hoof and pulled himself back up onto all fours. A hearty, all-too-familiar blow to the shoulder followed, in lieu of actual words. Probably something along the lines of “nice hit” or “keep tryin.” Then the red stallion was trotting back to the other bachelors on his team while a mare set the new line of scrimmage.

Hoofball.

Fie!

Why his Auntie Celestia loved this crazy sport so much, Blueblood couldn’t fathom. He’d learned to play it, of course. All colts did. It was Equestria’s national sport. Even noble colts were expected to join little colt teams, usually ones sponsored by guard regiments or other companies, demonstrating teamwork and friendship and camaraderie and all that bollocks. Blueblood hadn’t played in years and wouldn’t have been playing it now… if not for a less than subtle desire to impress one pony present.

He spotted Rarity talking with Fleur and a small gaggle of other noblemares by the patio. Were those scones? They were scones! Blueblood glared at the mare. Was it so wrong that he wanted to trade places with her? Then again, if she did, Big Mac would’ve run roughshod - even more roughshod - over the non-bachelor stallions’ team.

Well, he wasn’t aiming to impress her anyway. Let her enjoy her scones and tea under the shade of a parasol. Lucky curly-cue-maned marshm--

“Blueblood!” The name was punctuated by the feeling of a hoof batting his helmet. It would’ve hit him where his horn would’ve been, too, except part of the reason they had helmets was so the unicorn players didn’t kill anypony.

The royal pony glared at the source of the indignant interruption.

Magnum, the stallion who also just happened to be Rarity’s father and sire, didn’t wilt under the gaze of his noble lord. On the hoofball field, every stallion was just a stallion, no more and no less. It was more of that nutty earth pony egalitarianism, Blueblood supposed.

“Head in the game!” Magnum reminded him. “Cake! Watch the flea-flicker to Pierce. Caramel-” he batted that same hoof onto the shoulder of a large orange stallion with the same name as his smaller brother on the other team. “Break off Little Caramel and blitz with the front four.”

“Yes, sir!” the stallion had enough size, but still tended to crumble when his red cousin bowled him over. He had enthusiasm at least.

“Let’s show these mare-less pups!” Magnum, Blueblood had quickly learned, took his hoofball rather seriously. Everypony minus one aristocrat excitedly bumped hooves. “Break!”

Sighing discretely as the two teams began to line up, Blueblood took a look across the opposing offensive line: a black pegasus, Thunderlane he thought the name might have been, was on the far left. The center was anchored by another pegasus, a huge white fellow with tiny wings - wings Blueblood vowed not to make light of within the other stallions’ earshot - and on the right was a normal looking stallion, blue, with music notes for a cutie mark. Blueblood had been roughing him up the entire game, which was a small and much needed ego boost for the Prince, since behind the line was Big Mac, the bachelor team’s quarterback and running back and bulldozer all in one. The smaller Caramel and the little unicorn stallion Pierce hardly had to do much more than open up the field while Mac ran through the line.

‘I should be on that team,’ Blueblood thought, snorting into the single bar grill of his helmet. ‘I am still a bachelor myself, technically speaking.’

Maybe if he had been playing this crazy game simply for fun…

No: the point of it was to try and forge a bit of tête-à-tête, a repertoire really, with the stallion he expected to have as his father-in-law. Father-in-law. Blueblood snorted at the admission. It was very much his plan to ask this Magnum fellow for permission to propose to his daughter, but the pony was hardly what he had expected in an in-law. He had been raised to expect to marry he daughter of another Duke, or at least a noble Lord or even a Commander from Cloudsdale. No so much a retired hoofball player turned sports writer.

The bachelor team snapped the ball and Blueblood surged forward along with the rest of the blitz. His team was, with one other exception, composed of all married stallions. Blueblood had met many of them before when he invited the male residents of Ponyville to his manor for a night of smoking, drinking, and raunchy theater. It had been a fun stag party, or bull’s party as it was called in some parts of the country, but it had also proven that he didn’t have much in common with his would-be father-in-law. …Aside from their eerily similar coat and eye colors anyway.

Noteworthy! That was notes-on-his-flanks’ name!

Blueblood rushed past the pony whose name he had so fortuitously recalled, raising his hooves as Big Mac balanced on two legs to try and pass. Seeing the rush, the quiet red stallion huffed and backpedaled. He got the ball off moments before Blueblood and Magnum slammed into him. The apple farmer was like a stack of bricks on all fours, but on just two legs, he fell over as easily as any other pony.

The ball, meanwhile, arced through the air towards the slender fellow, Pierce, who Blueblood had heard frequented the Canterlot upper crust. Like the Prince, however, Pierce seemed to find himself drawn to Ponyville. Given the cheering section, it was probably due to a certain mare. He was a little pony, but he and the Prince had that in common. Ponyville mares.

“Go Pokey! Go Mister Cake! Go Pokey! Go Mister Cake!”

A yellow hoof reached up and nicked the ball before it could reach Pierce, sending it flying end over end off the field. Carrot Cake pumped a hoof, and pointed at a rather homely mare, his wife Cup Cake. Blueblood knew the two of them rather well, actually, if only due to the Gala loops and his time spent trying to teach their pink terror of an apprentice how to dance like a proper mare.

“Still got it, honey bun!” he declared, waving his hoof happily.

“You go sugar cake!” The Cake matron blew him a kiss in between trying to keep her two foals calm. One of them was an infant unicorn, too. Blueblood did not relish what those two earth ponies had to be going through.

“Yea! Mister Cake! Better luck next time Pokey! But not too much luck!”

“Thanks ever so much, Pinkie. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Everypony’s side! I want you both to win! Or lose.”

Pierce repeatedly met face to hoof as he walked back to his team. Pinkie, meanwhile, continued to alternate between cheering for one side and then the other. She even - somehow - managed to get her hooves on a cheerleader uniform that had blue on one side and pink on the other. Blueblood tried to ignore the loony mare, though half the eyes on the field wandered when Pinkie started doing high kicks in a scandalously pleated mini-skirt.

A self-conscious round of coughing later and the married stallions all huddled up again.

“Watch the run everypony,” Magnum coached, gathering up his team and distributing another round of cuffs to the helmet for good measure. “Hayseed can’t put the ball between the uprights at thirty yards to save his life. We stop them here, they’re finished.”

No sooner had the older stallions lined up along their side of the line of scrimmage than Big Mac barked for the snap. Blueblood cursed and threw himself into the press only to catch a glimpse of something move to his right. He pointed with his hoof even as he pushed Noteworthy back to block the run, clearly coming in from the side. He pushed and glanced to his left, where Big Mac had his hooves back as if to pass, but without the ball.

A loud ‘oomph’ came from a few yards past scrimmage, and breaking away from the melee, Blueblood caught sight of Magnum standing over a dazed looking Caramel. The straw colored workpony was on his back, still clutching the hoofball, eyes spinning dizzily. The officiating mare yelled and threw up her hooves to mark where the stallion had been tackled and Magnum helped the bachelor back onto his hooves. Their own Caramel, the larger one, came over to briefly check on his little brother.

“Third and four!” the officiating mare announced, tossing the hoofball back to Big Mac.

‘That poor foal got rather thoroughly laid out! I suspect Auntie probably only enjoys this silly sport so much because she doesn’t have to play it. Though… there is a certain visceral, vulgar charm to it…’

Blueblood grunted as the red train that was Big Mac broke through the left of the line, surging forward despite two other stallions trying to dog pile him. Turning away from Noteworthy, Blueblood threw himself towards the slow moving mass, his weight helping to bring it down.

“First down!”

“Yes! Big Mac!” “The Mac Truck!” “Way to go, Mac!”

‘I’m absolutely filthy. I can feel the dirt in the cracks of my hooves.’ Blueblood’s mood soured in the huddle as Magnum barked out their formation for the new first and ten. ‘I shouldn’t have bothered with this plebian shoving contest. I should’ve just presented her family with Miss Rarity’s dower and bride token and been done with it. This is… this is… rather not what I would prefer. I am a gentlestallion, after all.’

“Fancy-boy! What’s your name? Pants? Get in here!”

“Jolly good! I’ve been positively itching for some action!”

Face to hoof, Blueblood groaned. ‘Fancypants!’

The Canterlot socialite was bouncing on his hooves, happy for another chance to play and indulge his inner bucolic earth pony. With a helmet instead of a monocle, he looked positively bourgeoisie, like a regular local. Fancypants. He would genuinely enjoy this sort of exercise.

“Perhaps I shall finally knight you, if only so you can squirm in a suit of armor while somepony has at you with a lance,” Blueblood muttered under his breath.

“What was that now?” Fancypants asked, adjusting his helmet strap with a hoof. It was hard to use magic with one’s horn not only covered, but magically concealed.

Blueblood sighed. “Nothing.”

“Very good!” Fancypants patted the lord Duke on the shoulder with a grin. “Let us do this ‘blitz,’ together, then! It should be positively bully!”

Mac’s lackadaisical hut broke the tension of the line as everypony clashed, the bachelor stallions making another attempt to plow through the middle. A cry came up from both sides as bodies clashed and strained. Blueblood lifted one front leg and pushed in with his left, bringing the right around and then down to send Noteworthy face-down. He caught sight of the ball, and Big Mac, but not together. Before he could close, the apple bucking workhorse slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his hooves.

A whistle signaled the end of the down, and the mare in the white shirt - by now nicely stained - called the ball: “Second and eight!”

“Back! Back to the line!” Magnum suddenly yelled, as the bachelor herd broke early and took up position on the line. “No huddle!” There was no time for a nice chat, it seemed, nor for a strategy. The other team would overhear any explicit orders on the part of their team captain. “Watch the pass!”

No sooner was it out of Magnum’s mouth than Mac snapped the ball and fell back.

“Pass!” Everypony started yelling, the stallions in the line both pushing forward and raising their hooves. “Pass!”

Blueblood did the same, but watched helplessly as Mac’s pass soared well overhead. He turned to try and follow the trajectory. It was another pass to Pierce, who had been closely covered stallion-to-stallion by Mister Cake for half the game. The two were feuding like a pair of angry oatswives at the market, hooves flailing as they jumped for the pass.

“Go Pokey! Go Mister Cake! Both of you catch the ball!!”

The hoofball did brush the hooves of both Cake and Pierce, before ending up in the grip of the latter moments before they both tumbled out of bounds. The dirty mare rushed out and waved her hooves.

“Out of bounds!” she yelled, and more than a few in the crowd voiced their displeasure. Pierce had been just at the edge of the end-zone. “Third and eight!”

“He had his hooves all over me!” Pierce complained, calling for pass interference. Tossing the ball to the mare he grumbled, rather loudly, “Unbelievable. I’m not Misses Cake, sir. Watch those sticky hooves.”

“Please, Pierce,” the lanky pastry chef snorted and the two stallions glared at one another.

“Oh! I love sticky hooves! You should have sticky hooves, Pokey!”

Both stallions stared at Pinkie for a long moment - still in her bouncy two-toned cheerleader outfit - then, the tension diffused, trotted back to their teams. Magnum in particular took a moment to congratulate Carrot Cake.

“Sticky hooves!” he said, and the two fathers laughed and bumped hooves. “Just like old times, Carrot. Those long legs of yours always did get you into trouble.”

“Just thank Celestia that ball was out of bounds,” Carrot Cake said, snickering.

“Fancy. Blueblood. You’re both with me. Take Mac down.”

Fancy enthusiastically agreed and Blueblood groaned, but agreed. They lined back up, and this time Big Mac barked out a series of audibles… only slowly. Maddeningly slowly. Blueblood kept his eye on the ball and when it snapped, rushed forward. Noteworthy, despite being a smaller stallion, put up a fight and held his part of the line better than usual. In the push it was always hard to see what was going on, but when a flash of red appeared heading his way, he guessed it to be another run. Breaking away from Noteworthy and running to the right, he saw Big Mac trying to break away. He was already a yard or two past the line of scrimmage.

He wasn’t, however, out of reach.

Jumping, he managed to catch the charging apple farmer by the waist. A lifetime’s worth of expensive physical trainers - a good physical trainer in Canterlot could earn enough to retire in five years and had his or her pick of clientele - combined with the mass of a stallion who always ate well dragged Mac down just enough for Magnum to stand the big stallion up on his hind legs with a hard hit. Then a similarly large weight crushed Blueblood and added to the force knocking Big Mac onto his side.

Three of the four stallions hit the ground in a tangle of legs and hooves.

Snorting grass out of his nose, Blueblood tasted something… unpleasant and stringy. It took a second to realize it was grass. From the ground. He gagged with an audible ‘bleegh.’ Luckily, he wasn’t crushed for much longer than the fates deemed it necessary to impugn on his dignity. Grabbing the closest hoof, he felt himself lifted up and back onto his hooves. Fancypants - of course it would be Fancypants - was beaming with excitement and triumph at their play. He pointed to where the officiating mare had set the ball.

Fourth and two.

“Very nice, boys!” Magnum complimented the two Canterlot unicorns, hurrying them back to the huddle and then to the line. A rather unpolished young bachelor by the name of ‘Hayseed’ - a name Blueblood had to check twice to be sure he heard right, as it certainly sounded like some sort of joke - one of the Apple clan, took to the field to make the three-point kick attempt. There was less to do here but crowd the line, reach for Celestia’s sun, and hope.

“Wide!” the mare called, as the kick sailed through the air.

“Aw, shoot!”

Blueblood listened, a bit surprised, to the cries of the bachelor team. More than a few, caught up in the game, were throwing their hooves up in overwrought despair. It was a spectacle Blueblood had seen before, many times, really. It wasn’t just hoofball. Stallions were usually deemed to be more competitive than mares - often by sociologist ponies who no doubt didn’t know the kind of crazy nut-job mares that ran in his social circles - and spirits tended to run high in most any game where more than five of them got together.

“Studs! Studs! Studs!” The married stallions picked up the call, high-hoofing one another. For once, Blueblood felt a moment of companionship with Fancypants, hoi polloi upstart though he was. Well, that was a tad unfair. The stallion had excellent taste in most things and a lot of bits besides. Just: did he have to be so obviously pleased with acting contrary to the habits and preferences of his peers? Did he have to always fit in so easily, no matter where he went, the lucky sod?

He and Blueblood were both bachelors, too, though - the odd stallions out on the team of married ponies.

Suddenly, the usually refined stallion chuckled. What amused him all of a sudden, Blueblood didn’t see. Was it that they’d managed to eke out a win at this rough game, thirty four to thirty one?

“You’re planning to propose to her, aren’t you, old boy?”

Fancypants’ question was unexpected and Blueblood undid the buckle of his helmet to avoid answering. It felt good to have his horn free again. He sent a ripple of magic into his forehead, just to make sure everything still worked up there. One couldn’t be too safe, not given how often he’d had to collide with a brick red wall over the last two hours. Blue eyes meandered towards the garden patio and the group of mares there. One in particular noticed his attention and waved a creamy hoof.

He still wanted to trot over and take some of her scones.

“The thought crossed my mind,” Blueblood finally admitted, watching as Fancypants also removed his helmet. “I assume you asked Fleur’s family for her hoof some time ago.”

“Naturally,” Fancypants replied with a confident grin. “I took them for a tour of one of my estates, broke open a case of the most expensive imported cigars, and told them I wished to wed their daughter. There we no objections. I had thought they’d ask for my knighthood first, but not so much as a peep.”

Blueblood snorted; yes, he could see them not objecting. Fleur’s family was noble, but poor. “I doubt overawing Miss Rarity’s parents with wealth will serve me as well as it did you.”

“You don’t need their permission at all, really,” Fancypants reminded him, but carefully. With the game over, he was quick to remember who they both were in the world off the field.

“I don’t,” Blueblood agreed, trotting towards where the teams had gathered to shake hooves. “But I want it.”

‘I want them to approve of me,’ he didn’t say. He didn’t have to say it. Fancypants was likely smart enough to see the meaning as it was. ‘They’ll be my new family. This one should like me. Only in-law, but still, a mother and a…’

The bachelors and studs shook hooves, all in agreement that the game had been fair and fun. Blueblood watched, from a short distance, as Rarity and her mother - the later fitting into noble company much more poorly than her daughter - descended to mob their father. Even Sweetie Belle was present, fresh from school. He watched, grinned, as Rarity refused to hug her father, pointing at all the dirt and grass on him. The mares around them tittered, amused, and Blueblood found himself wanting to chuckle a little, too. It was so sickeningly sugar sweet: a loving family like that.

Even if he got permission, and he was ever-confident he would, he honestly couldn’t see himself fitting in with them. The thought was an unwelcome one, but not unexpected. Even if he never fit in, even if Rarity’s parents never really saw him as much more than their daughter’s precious Prince, it didn’t have to be completely awkward. It could even be…

Nice.

It could be nice.

Bachelors and married stallions, all quickly retired first to the stable showers. As expected, there were drinks and a light buffet waiting for them, courtesy of the manor staff. The egalitarianism of the field persisted, just a little longer, as they ate and washed off together. Many were already talking about a party in town set to begin at sundown. Others muttered about relaxing before the art festival tomorrow. Fancypants soon lit up a cigar - one of his few vices - and invited some of his new burgher comrades to help themselves as well. Soon they would be returning to their families or their mares, or both, depending.

He took a seat close by the stallion he needed to talk to, waiting for a moment of polite introduction. It came as Magnum, a drying towel around his shoulders, blew a trail of smoke from one of Fancypants’ cigars.

“My little Pearl would be quite upset if she saw me now,” he said, holding the cigar in his right hoof. He gestured both to it and with it, the burning tip leaving a little trail of embers in the air. “Disgusting habit, smoking. You don’t smoke, do you, son?”

Blueblood bit back the momentary urge to correct the stallion. ‘Your Grace,’ was the proper title or ‘My Lord.’ He shook his head.

“Only as social needs demand,” Blueblood replied.

“Social needs,” Magnum repeated, the crook of his mouth curving into a half smile. “So you only smoke when others do.”

“It is considered polite, at times,” the noblepony explained. “Just as one typically does not smoke unless one’s superior has already lit up.”

Magnum raised an eyebrow that seemed to indicate he was amused, but not much more. He glanced down at his cigar, took one last tiny inhale of it, and dropped it. A stamp of a hoof and it was out.

“I played four years in Canterlot,” he said, before Blueblood could begin to broach the reason why he had arranged all this. “It was before your father died, Celestia light his path. He ran things well enough, as far as I could see.”

It was a kind form of nostalgia, Blueblood figured. His father had left his son a Duchy in slow decline. He had kept it level, which was something, but it was far from the prestige and glory and power Canterlot had once wielded. It was also possible the Fifty First Blueblood was remembered fondly by many because he had died young, before he could get old and indolent enough for ponies to resent him and wonder how the years and thousands of bits they paid in taxes ended up wasted.

“Not too long ago,” Magnum continued, the older stallion’s eyes fixing Blueblood with a stare. “I ran into my little Rarity in town. Trainin’ for some kind of fancy unicorn duel… she said she was a noble mare now. It was because of you. I didn’t know what to think before that, not about you two. I sort of figured it was a fling on your part. But my Rarity actually fought another mare for you.”

It was… more complex than that, but Blueblood kept quiet. Courtly politics weren’t the issue here.

Instead, he nodded, understanding.

“This isn’t a fling,” Rarity’s father concluded, sighing. “I guess that’s a good thing. Pearl always said she had a bit of noble mare in her, so she’s happy. She thinks all this is so damn cute, like one of those romantic radio dramas, except when she thinks about Rarity having these duels. Then she can’t stop fretting. But my little Rarity? Did she ever tell you? She saw you once, when you both were small. You came to Ponyville to meet the more prominent families here and darned if she didn’t fall in love with you from afar. All these years and I never was able to talk her out of it.”

Realizing he was rambling a bit, Magnum sucked in a breath.

“Go ahead and ask me, son,” he said, finally, resigned.

So: he knew, too.

“Your daughter Rarity,” Blueblood began, straightening in his seat in the stable. Around them, other stallions relaxed and chatted, either eating or being groomed by mares from the household staff. Blueblood silently wished one of them had taken the initiative to start on his tangled blond mane. It would’ve helped him relax.

“Your daughter,” he said again, meeting the older stallion’s gaze. “I mean to marry her. With your permission, sir,” he added, after a pause. It was a long enough pause, too, that Magnum grinned.

“With my permission,” he repeated, but didn’t give it. Blueblood grinned, too. This was more familiar territory. He was certain he had that permission, but it was customary to at least bargain a little, especially when both parties were wealthy. Or at long as one was.

In fact, it would have probably been construed as rude had Magnum accepted right away.

“Eighty thousand bits over the next ten years,” Blueblood rattled off the massive sum without preamble. “One fourth of it to remain in an account for Sweetie Belle, who shall have her education provided for in any way she wishes. I will personally provide for any mentor she desires once her special talent develops. I would give you land, too, but Ponyville is your daughter’s demesne at the moment and I doubt you want to live far from town.”

“The house we’ve got is just fine,” the older stallion replied, and a hoof of his reached up to scratch his forehead. He’d been quick to grab a curious straw hat from his wife and wore it now, even indoors. “Eighty thousand over ten years? How many barrels of apples is that, I wonder?”

Blueblood couldn’t begin to guess. “A great many.”

“Pearl joked the other day that if this comes up, I should ask you to introduce Sweetie to some fancy colts in Canterlot. I said I’d think about it.” Magnum shook his head. “I thought about it, and realized I don’t like thinking about it.”

“And so a new dynasty was born,” Blueblood joked, and held out a hoof.

“Right,” Magnum decided, and the stallions firmly shook hooves. “You have my permission, our permission, I guess, to propose to our daughter. You treat her right, now, son.”

Son?

Son-in-law, of course. But it still had a nice ring to it.

“If I don’t, I’m sure she’ll hit me with a cake until I learn better,” Blueblood gave the older stallion’s hoof one last shake, sealing the deal. “Now I just need to figure out how to ask her. She’ll want it to be something fancy and romantic, of course.”

“So?”

“So I’ll probably ask her next time we’re in the bath.”

The two stallions laughed.

- - -

It was a little surreal trotting alongside Pinkie Pie without her bouncing instead of walking. Usually only long walks tired her out enough to put the spring in her step on reserve. This time, though, the culprit wasn’t fatigue. It was her mane.

Pinkie’s mane had always been a volatile thing that often reflected her moods. Pierce knew this from experience. Any moment it could expand without warning, growing or losing body or even turning limp when she was feeling melancholy or upset. Tonight, it was neatly curled and dressed with a hoof-full of little pink ribbons. It still appeared pretty chaotic, but a closer look showed that all the curls in her mane flowed in the same direction, and all the curls in her tail were roughly the same size. She’d put some actual effort into it this evening.

“You look really nice, you know,” he slyly whispered and Pinkie beamed, just barely stopping herself from a mane-style damaging bounce.

She pointed a pink-glossed hoof at him. “You almost had me there!” She touched one of her mane’s curls. “I am not messing this up. Not yet anyway!” Cue the fit of giggles.

“I don’t recall if you ever styled your mane at all back when we went out,” he mused, teasing her.

“You just never noticed because you spent all night fussing about your own mane, Pokey!”

Pierce tossed his head and in the process his own short mane of wavy alabaster and baby blue curls. Pinkie giggled again and reached up to flick the foremost of his curls where they flowed around his horn. More than once she had jumped onto his back to have an easier time of it, playing with his mane. It was a little embarrassing when she did it in public, but he didn’t mind. He’d returned the favor a few times in private, after all.

“Ohhhh!” Pinkie gasped as she caught sight of their destination. “My party senses are tingling!” She briefly floated into the air, her entire body shivering. “As if a hundred ponies cried out all at once, and then were silent… and then they danced.” She hit the ground and started to pre-emptively shake her rump. “Dancing! Dancing! Every-pony’s Danc-ing! This is gonna be super fun!”

“Down, girl,” Pierce said, bumping her with his own flank. “Let’s at least get inside first.”

“Oh! Oh yeah! Righty-reeny-roo!”

It was quite a sight, for Ponyville.

Euporie had apparently bought out the entire Ponyville Mareiott Hotel, converting the lobbies and lower floor into a dance floor. A pair of suited bouncers, local Ponyville stallions hired for the job, seemed content to let anypony in. Ponies in singles and groups were entering or milling around, waiting for friends, some clothed and others not. Pierce and Pinkie were both bare, aside from little things like Pinkie’s mane ribbons, but that was by request.

The roar and beat of dance music met their ears as they approached the entrance. The Ponyville Mareiott was only a fraction the size of either of the two in Canterlot, but at four stories high it was one of the taller buildings in Ponyville. Located just down the street from the train station, it was on the corner of the village’s small downtown area. The roof was flat, unlike most of the roofs in Ponyville which were steep and often thatched, with stylistic corbels and cornices. Pedimented Reinitian windows and a half-again higher than normal ‘piano nobile’ first floor gave it a classical, Bitalian appearance uncommon to the more rustic buildings that made up Ponyville. Decorative wrought-iron railings led up to a raised belvedere on the second floor, and it was here that the building also accommodated more of the local styles with hearts and gentle curves.

The whole building had been lit up with a warm orange glow.

Pinkie and Pierce were about to enter, personal guests of Euporie, when one of the bouncers stopped them with a raised hoof. “Pinkie!” he said, cheerfully. “And guest?”

“And guest?” Pierce asked, annoyed. “I have a name, you know.”

“You remember Pokey, don’tcha Tough Stuff?” Pinkie asked, and of course she knew this stallion’s name. As she said herself: she literally knew every pony in Ponyville. “He’s my date for tonight!”

The big black coated earth pony narrowed his eyes at Pierce, clearly not remembering him.

“Like I said, Pinkie and guest,” he repeated, and reached into one of his suit pockets to hoof over a pair of glowing neon bracelets. “Lady Euporie said to give this to ponies on her list. They’ll let you up into the VIP area.”

“VIP passes!” Pinkie exclaimed, and in a blur, she quickly slipped them onto her right front leg. Pierce blinked, and realized that his neon bracelet was on, too. Four years he’d known this mare, and he still didn’t get how she did that.

“Oh! I wonder who else made it onto the list?” Pinkie asked, dragging Pierce bodily into the hotel lobby. “Euporie said I gave her waaay too many names, and I bet she didn’t just invite everypony! Actually, I guess she DID invite everypony! But not to the special party upstairs! Hey! It’s Vinyl! HI VINYL!! This is much more of a DJ party than the artsy party tomorrow, not that I’m not looking forward to that party, too! OH! Let’s dance!”

“W- ah- if you want--”

Pokey Pierce always found it hard to say ‘no’ to Pinkie Pie.

Mostly because she never let him get the chance.

As she dragged him onto the dance floor that had once been the hotel lobby, he also caught sight of the party’s DJ. Vinyl had been hired to play, in a much more sedate capacity, for Rarity’s - Lady Rarity’s, Pierce corrected himself - art festival tomorrow. It had been at Pinkie’s insistence, as the two mares were good friends, but Pierce still wasn’t sure it was all that wise. DJ Pon-3, as she was billed, was well suited to a party like this: mixing records while flanked by loud speakers and pumping out the jams or ‘wubs’ or whatever the parlance was. This certainly wasn’t going to fly tomorrow, where the idea was to provide ambiance, not dance music.

Pierce shook his head to dispel his worried about the festival tomorrow. Pinkie Pie was organizing it, too, and she sure wasn’t worrying about it. They’d all done everything they could to prepare for it. Tonight was a night to have fun and unwind!

Bouncing, albeit carefully, Pinkie swayed to the music and reached out to grab his hoof with her own; Pierce smiled and joined in and the two danced around in a jaunty circle. Pinkie’s smile grew even wider and she threw away just a little bit more of her inhibition - inhibition itself being rather difficult for the pink party pony - messing up her carefully curled mane as she stood up on her hind legs to jam. Then, as a new song started, she whipped around and stuck her rump in the air, waving her tail back and forth.

“Put giraffes in the air! Put giraffes up in the air!” she sang, bouncing briefly to spin a hundred and eighty degrees around. Then she was back to the flank wagging. “Put giraffes in the a~i~r!”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes, Pinkie.”

“Whatdoyamean?” Pinkie asked, ass in the air. “It makes sense to me!”

Pierce raised a hoof to try and explain, and then thought better of it.

“The song is definitely about putting giraffes in the air,” he agreed with the swaying pink tail. Rolling his eyes, he spun around and mimicked his date. There were certain responsibilities that came with being partner to Pinkie Pie: balancing out silly with yet more silly was one of them.

If only he could hide his grin - he wasn’t enjoying it that much, was he?

The two ponies danced after that song ended, too, and then after the next one. Only a reminder that they needed to head up to the VIP area limited Pinkie to “just one more dancy wancy, please? Pretty please?” Which, of course, turned into two more dances. Then, on the way up, they ended up taking a quick snack detour during which Pinkie thoroughly raided the buffet table and first spiked the already alcoholic punch, and then drank enough to earn the ire of Ruby Punch who had taken on ‘Master of Punch’ ceremonies.

A normal pony would probably have been exhausted or close to passing out, but for Pinkie Pie, it was a nice, light buzz to start the evening. Her bounce was back, though she kept it to just an inch off the floor to avoid further messing up her mane and tail. Not trying to keep pace with the mare and her nuclear powered metabolism, Pierce nibbled on some of the free food and helped himself to one, then one more, glass of the discretely-spiked punch.

Euporie had laid out a rather impressive spread.

Just as she had invited anypony in town to attend the party - the lower party anyway - she had brought in enough food and drink for half the town. Lady Rarity had already reserved a great deal of local produce for her art festival, Pierce knew that personally, so much of what Euporie had here must have been imported overnight at considerable expense. The only guaranteed local product in sight was that new Apple Family Cider… the one everypony was raving about. “Granny Smith’s Personal Reserve” it was called. Pierce had a cup on tap - he’d had Apple Family cider before, but this was really something else!

As some point, though, he noticed Pinkie taking a long, appraising look at the party. They had been on their way to one of the curved staircases leading up to the second floor and the VIP area when they’d paused to finish their cider. Watching the pink mare, Pierce noticed an intense look in her blue eyes.

“Pinkie?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“This is a good party,” she said, breathlessly, like she wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not about it. “There are one hundred and sixteen ponies here and they’re having so much fun. Twenty three came in since we showed up and only two left.”

“How you even know these things…”

“Pinkie sense!” she assured him, bumping shoulders with the stallion. Her eyes remained on the party they were about to leave behind. “I’d have set up more balloons and more party games, but this is a good party.”

“It isn’t bad,” Pierce agreed. “But I still like your parties better.”

There was only a moment’s pause before Pinkie spun around and glomped onto him, rubbing noses with the stallion. “You always know what to say to make me smile, Pokey! Besides-” She kissed him quickly on the cheek. “One of the reasons I need so many balloons is because somepony keeps popping them!”

“If I find him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind,” Pierce promised, winking.

“Silly pony,” Pinkie declared, bonking him on the forehead and heading for the stairs. “Let’s go see what this super special VIP party is like!” Seeing him lingering, Pinkie batted her eyes in a surprisingly coy way. “Coming, Pokey?”

“Somepony has to keep an eye on you,” he agreed, chuckling as he followed the element of laughter. They were halfway up the stairs when suddenly the DJ started playing an upbeat tune.

“Stomp to my beat?” Pinkie asked, leaning over the railing. “No! I love this sooong!”

“You love any song you can stomp to,” Pierce reminded her, grabbing onto the pink mare’s foreleg to drag her along.

“I know! I do! It’s like my hooves have a mind of their own!” She stuck one of said hooves in his face and wiggled it. “You know, Mommy Pie used to say that idle hooves are Nightmare Moon’s servants, but I met Nightmare Moon, and my hooves didn’t try and do anything more naughty than usual!”

“Pinkie Pie and guest,” Pierce announced as they came to the top of the stairs. Below them and past the bannister, Vinyl continued to play for the first floor of the hotel. A few ponies noticed the pair of guests allowed up on the second floor and pointed. Despite the identical black suits and white bowties, the pair of guards up top here weren’t locals: they were barrel chested unicorns from Canterlot.

The guard checked the names on a list, and the neon bracelets on their forelegs.

“Rooms are reserved to the left and right,” one of the guards explained, satisfied that they were who they said they were. He then handed them a pair of envelopes and ushered them inside.

The dance music below faded as Pinkie and Pierce walked down the luxuriously appointed hall. The lights were low, the chandeliers overhead only half lit. It made the dark mahogany wood of the carved door frames look even darker and richer. It only grew quieter as they walked, until the party on the floor below them became a faint background drum.

Pierce opened his envelope, curious about the contents, revealing a heart shaped piece of parchment.

“What do you supposed this is…?” he almost jumped as the neon bracelet around his foreleg moved, turning into a sparkling cloud of magic. Checking on Pinkie, he saw the same had happened to her. They stopped trotting and watched, mesmerized, as the light seeped into the heart shaped paper.

A trio of balloons appeared on Pinkie’s paper then, and a safety pin on his.

“Hi there, Pinkie Pie!” her card suddenly declared.

“Hi!” Pinkie replied, as if talking to a piece of paper were second nature. She even waved to the copy of her cutie mark.

“Hi there, Pinkie Pie’s guest!”

“…uhm…”

“These are your VISSP cards!” the paper continued to say in Euporie’s voice, clearly pre-recorded. “What’s a VISSP you may be asking yourself? A Very Important and Super Special Pony, of course!”

Pinkie gasped, drawing in enough of a breath to float for a moment in midair.

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

“You’re both my very special guests tonight,” the card continued, the first few words drowned out by Pinkie’s muttering about how much neater it was to be a VISSP than just a ‘plain ol’ VIP.’ “Make sure you hold onto these cards until the time comes to collect them and don’t let anything happen to them! Guests who break their cards will be ejected from the VISSP party! Oh, and one last thing: your cards are partnered together, so if either of you break your card, both of you have to leave!”

Pierce turned the card over. It did look like there was a crease in the paper where it could split down the middle. “That’s… odd. I wonder if-”

Mid-sentence, he noticed Pinkie Pie had her card in her mouth, bending it like somepony checking to make sure a bit wasn’t a counterfeit.

“Don’t do that!” he cried, and Pinkie Pie spat the invitation out and into her hoof again.

“It isn’t normal paper,” she stated, examining the card. “I don’t know what this is. I bet Twilight would know, though!”

“It’s clearly magic or enchanted,” Pierce explained. “Breaking it probably teleports you out of the room. Seems like a very roundabout way of doing it, though.”

Considering the unusual cards with their cutie marks imprinted on them, Pierce and Pinkie made their way to the end of the hall. A pair of gilded doors opened at their approach, and inside they saw a smaller private lounge. There were already a dozen ponies waiting there, tended to by half as many maids and stallions in frilly servants attire. This was the VISSP party: Euporie’s real party.

A glass pony sculpture of a mare on her back dribbled a stream of chocolate from her breasts into a fondue moat resembling a shallow bath. A few ponies were nearby the erotic glass sculpture, dipping and sampling an assortment of sweets and fruits, cookies and cakes. An elderly mare - none other than Mayor Mare herself - chatted with a confident looking earth pony stallion with a slicked back black mane: Filthy Rich. Picking from a platter of cantaloupe, stemmed cherries, honeydew, strawberries, pineapple and bananas, oranges and apples, she speared a fig, dipped it lightly in the dribbling chocolate milk from the glass mare, and ate it with more than a little sinful delight.

At another table, an edible sculpture was still mostly intact: this one even more enticing than the chocolate mare. It was of two ponies locked in an embrace, the stallion a muscular earth pony and the mare a lithe unicorn. The entwined lovers were made of sponge cake; angel food and layered butter cake… their manes and tails of amaretti, ladyfingers, and wafer cookies. Their coats, white and black, were chunks of biscotti. Whipped cream pooled around them like fluffy cloudstuff.

A third table was heavy with liqueurs and fruit brandy, and though the glass sculpture that was the centerpiece of this table did not - thankfully - produce anything, it was rather enough that it was an anatomically exaggerated stallion, reclining on a chair, two mares holding lasciviously onto his legs. Below the sculpture bar and the sweet alcohols, a more conventionally stocked bar was built into the base at an angle to allow easy access.

Finally, a fourth table was set away from the others, but behind the glass Pinkie and Pierce could see small vials and carved wooden boxes. One item, too large to fit under glass, was also the most obvious to the eye: a Neighpalese or maybe Saddle Marabian Hookah of silver and porcelain, inlaid with flowers and tiny geometric shapes.

Perhaps without even thinking of it, Pinkie backed up a step…

“Oh, Pinkie Pie!” Mayor Mare noticed the mare, and her guest. “And Pierce! Lovely to see you joining us!”

“Mayor!” Pierce welcomed her, and hearing a familiar voice also seemed to snap Pinkie Pie out of her momentary hesitation. She bounded over to the gray-maned mare.

“Hiya Mayor Mare! Oh! And hiya there, Mister Rich! I didn’t know you two were, uhm…!” Pinkie looked innocently between them. “I didn’t know you two… were that kind of special friend!” she said, eyes wide. “Aren’t you both married?”

Filthy Rich chuckled and pointed over to another small group of ponies, one of which was a mare with a pink coat and a snowy mane, bundled up high behind her. It was Patent Pending, Mister Rich’s wife; Pinkie recognized the inventive mare from when she had planned Diamond Tiara’s last birthday party. Looking at the ponies chatting by the wealthy pony, she saw a multitude of familiar faces come into focus: couples she had seen around Ponyville, and all ponies from her ‘pretty ponies to invite’ list.

Mayor Mare’s husband, Mister Domain, was at the bar table, chatting animatedly with Doctor Stable Condition, the oldest of the Caramel Clan. Pinkie had it on good authority - which was to say her own authority, since she had somehow ended up in the Mayor’s bathroom one morning - that Mayor Mare dyed her pink mane gray to look older. Mister Domain was genuinely in his forties, though, and was probably the oldest pony in the room, with a streak of white across his graying mane, the same color as his coat. They were colors inherited by his daughter, Silver Spoon. Pinkie knew him mostly because he was one of the few ponies with little to no sweet tooth. He did like a nice drink, though, and he sometimes stopped by Sugarcube Corner to pick up rum-gum-drops for the Mayor.

Elsewhere, Pinkie recognized one of Ponyville’s most well-known pegasus stallions - well known in mare’s circles anyway. Thunderlane had shown up with Cloudchaser, the shyer mare eyeing the rest of the room with some trepidation. Seeing Pinkie looking his way, he waved with a friendly smile and eyes that lingered just a bit longer than she was used to. Usually, he only came by Sugarcube when he bought some treats for Rumble, who Mrs. Cake always gave free cookies to just for being cute. Cloudchaser also waved, and then blushed pretty fiercely.

The pegasus couple was sitting on some pillows next to Dizzy Twister and Cappuccino. Then there was Well Spring, who must have come with Doctor Stable, and Miss Amethyst Star and Mister Comet Tail… who Pinkie just saw entering, a heart shaped card in hoof.

“It is more complicated that, Pierce,” Filthy Rich said, and Pinkie snapped back to the present. At some point the four of them had migrated to between the drinks and chocolate fountain tables. “No mare has ever stimulated and challenged me as… intellectually… as my dear Patent, but to let you in on a little secret - since we’re all soon to be quite close here - I very nearly married our own Mayor Mare. We were quite close in business school.”

“Though I wouldn’t tell our little girls that,” Mayor Mare said with a little laugh.

“If the two of you hadn’t been such alpha mares, they could have almost been sisters,” Filthy Rich replied, and so Pinkie’s surprise, and more than a little embarrassment, Ponyville’s wealthiest stallion leaned over to pluck a piece of chocolate covered kiwi from between the Mayor’s lips, their tongues touching for just a moment.

“Delicious!” Rich professed, licking his lips. “I’m tempted to put aside the drinks and appetizers and get to the main course. Everypony should be here… except our honored hostess…”

“Ask, my little ponies, and you shall receive!” A voice announced, as if waiting for her cue. Immediately, the music stopped playing, and all the serving ponies bowed their heads. A whip tail of wind rustled the manes of chatting mares, and all eyes turned to where the winds began to swirl together. With a flash of light, three ponies appeared.

“Flim! And Flam!” Pinkie exclaimed, recognizing the two unicorn brothers. Rather than their usual trademark blue pinstripe vests and black bow ties, they like all the guests at the party, came minus clothes. Both brothers bowed their heads, their forelegs supporting the third pony.

“My own dates for the evening,” Euporie said, reclining on the two stallions. Her wild blue mane was the same, albeit with a slightly purple sheen that shimmered as it caught the light.

“I couldn’t pick just one,” she admitted, running a hoof through Flam’s peppermint mane. She ended the caress by patting him on the head, like a well behaved dog. “So I just picked both!”

With a laugh, she bounced out of the stallions’ hooves and onto the floor. By now, everypony had their eye on her. She smiled, imperiously, and soaked in the attention and anticipation.

“Welcome,” she said, after a long moment, savoring the smells and emotions in the room. Intense, amber eyes roamed over her guests. “Welcome, to my garden of sinful delights, my very super special ponies! I am Euporie, your hostess! Your Mistress of Ceremonies and Princess of Pleasure!!”

Her eyes settled on one couple in particular.

“Let the party begin.”

- - -

Twilight Sparkle glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re going out? At this hour?”

Eunomie was already dressed, a wool cloak covering her body, the hood drawn back. As she turned, Twilight saw that one of her eyes was open, the other closed. The quiet mare dipped her head in apology.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” She blinked her one eye, as if it was perfectly natural to do so. “I merely wish to check on some things in town.”

Twilight could guess what. “Euporie?”

“Yes.”

The pale mare flipped the hood over her head, leaving only a single amber orb visible in the darkness. She opened the library door and left without another word. Perched on a window sill nearby, Owloysius hooted and also took the opportunity to take flight and leave for the night. Twilight knew her pet, like a cat, needed to prowl for a few hours every nightfall. Eunomie didn’t have that same excuse, though it made sense she would want to keep an eye on her troublesome twin sister.

“Oh well!” she decided to let sleeping ponies lie and concentrate on more important and pressing business. Eunomie was pleasant company, especially during a study binge, and she had done a wonderful job organizing the library, but she had already contributed everything she knew towards Twilight’s current project.

Before her, Twilight took in the sight of the torc.

It was Lyra’s torc… supposedly. Alpha Brass claimed that it had been his, or his family’s, before being stolen. He had also spoken about what the torc was. Holding one of the delicately carved and braided golden coils, meant to fit around a pony’s chest, Twilight thought about Celestia’s own regalia. She had seen the Princess in it before and knew it had ceremonial value. These torcs were more primitive precursors, maybe even the models for what Celestia now wore, and harkening back to magic ponykind had forgotten or hoped to forget.

Rarity had discovered the identity of the missing gems and Twilight had repaired them. The secret then had been water: pure to one part in a thousand-million. A droplet of it had crystalized on contact with the vacant settings in the torc, forming a type of gemstone called a Captured Star. She had studied it very carefully after that, and on many long nights since. Lyra had written to say she would be some time in picking up her torc, due to an extended stay with a client, and that Twilight was free to continue to hold onto her newest find. Unusual for the minty mare, there hadn’t been even word-one about if Twilight had found anything about the “hands” - spade shaped leaves, really - that wreathed some of the gems on the torc’s circlet.

“Lenses,” she muttered, looking into one of the ice crystals.

Once set, the ice had become impervious to any and all attempts to remove or melt it. Close study had also revealed a thin latticework of iron within the gold. If magical energy were being channeled through the crystals, then the iron could well be acting as a conduit, and the gold an insulator.

“Except somepony broke it,” Twilight lamented, frowning at a crack in the iron lattice embedded within the gold. “How, though? And why?”

Repairing the goldwork had been easy, but repairing the former…? That was more difficult. New iron couldn’t just be soldered in. It would disrupt the spells in the metal, and unless she was mistaken, the iron used was meteoric in origin. That was a problem. Meteoric Iron was touched by the cosmic aether beyond the horizon’s veil, and once enchanted, it took on unique properties, including near indestructibility. Forging or even repairing Enchanted Night Iron was a real challenge - could ponies even do that, anymore?

Twilight closed her eyes, deep in thought.

There was one family who would still know: one pony who would still have that forbidden knowledge hidden away in the name of Princess and Country. Would it be so hard to look for it? He had given her free access to his secrets, hadn’t he? Tomorrow, she would even be at his home. How hard would it be to sneak off to Blueblood’s archives and… see if there was anything there?

‘Not hard at all,’ Twilight decided.

“While I’m at it, maybe I should ask Alpha if he can bring down one of the other two torcs…”

Tempted, she held the device over her head. She had tested it very thoroughly, after all, but never tried wearing it. What did it feel like? Against all reason: would it react, somehow? Brass knew some. Cruciger and Lady Twinkling Star Light knew more. It was Brass’s mother, or so he said, who had first somehow reconstructed the torcs. She was the one who had discovered, or rediscovered, their magic.

“Do what you can; see if you can repair it. I would not object to having more weapons on hoof for when we confront Chrysalis,” Alpha Brass had told her, before he returned home. He had then reached out to gently touch her shoulder. “You are the very Element of Magic. If anypony can decipher it, I believe that pony to be you...”

A warm blush turned the lavender mare’s cheeks pink.

“No. No no no! No wearing it!” She told herself, putting the regalia back on the mannequine. “Not until you know what to do with it! The only thing more dangerous than a magical artifact is a broken magical artifact!”

Celestia’s Rules.

“Celestia’s rules,” she gave voice to her thoughts. “Just like…”

Don't panic. Cause it.

Twilight’s expression fell, remembering those words from her teacher and mentor. Wasn’t that what she was doing? Nopony would be expecting her to pick up Alpha Brass of all ponies as an ally. She had Blueblood secretly supporting her, too. The only ponies not behind her were the main branch Terre Rares, and they would fall in line when either Antimony or Cruciger gave in. There was Chrysalis, too, but it wasn’t as if she could have planned for a changeling invasion when she wrote that letter to Princess Celestia.

Don't panic. Cause it.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” she asked, raising her voice… but there was nopony to overhear. No Eunomie. No Alpha Brass. No Spike. No Owloysius. Twilight fell forward onto her hooves, head lowered.

“You understand, don't you?” Blueblood asked, and Twilight slowly lowered the scroll between them. “Auntie is our beloved Princess. We love her because she doesn't abuse her power and because she doesn't make sweeping changes to things. She is the steady rock, the very foundation of our world.”

“The sun that rises every morning, without fail,” Twilight agreed, and the scroll rolled up with an audible whorl. “She makes the ponies who make the changes.”

The Prince of Canterlot leaned forward until he was balanced on his front hooves. “Are you that kind of pony, Twilight Sparkle?”

A lavender hoof lifted, and a feather quill shot across the room, followed by a scroll.

“If all of you want me to act on my own so badly,” she said to herself. “Then maybe I’ll do just that.”

Spike wasn’t around, and letters to the Princess weren’t about to write themselves.

- - -

Downy soft cushions may have been available, but Pinkie Pie didn’t need them - she’d brought her favorite pillow with her when she arrived! Pokey shifted under her slightly, his hooves running freely through her mane. He tasted like chocolate and smelt like sugar, though that was probably mostly because she had upended half a shaker of the latter into his mane and because they’d been eating the same piece of angel cake, drizzled liberally with sinfully thick chocolate.

Her tongue darting out, just the tip of it, she licked a smudge of frosting and sienna from Pokey’s cheek, nuzzling their noses together. She ‘ooh’ed dreamily as he reciprocated, dipping his head to nip at her neck. One of her hooves slipped up to clandestinely cradle his horn, running up to the unusually sharp tip. He hardly seemed to notice - unicorn horns were insensitive unless channeling magic - but Pinkie enjoyed the feel of it. Unicorn horns were just so pointy and hard, while most of a pony’s body - even a stallion’s - was soft and pliant. It reminded her of a long, sexy, faintly ribbed piece of… rock candy!

“Mmmm. Rock candy,” she murmured, a pleasant buzz of drink and salt and sugar making her head swim. “I’m the only mare here with rock candy…”

“And I’m the only one with pie,” Pokey whispered into her ear.

A few more playful nips and they relaxed into the floor pillows, or rather, Pinkie relaxed on top of her date. Pokey made due with the floor pillows. Only a hoof or two away, Thunderlane and Cloudchaser were in a similar state… actually, now that Pinkie took a second look, the pegasus couple were getting a little ahead of themselves, their hooves straying more boldly than Pinkie’s or Pokey’s had, yet.

Shadows moved behind a silky blind: servants and the musicians, playing and taking away dishes or platters out of sight so as not to distract the guests. The music was languid but melodic, and a faint haze of smoke could be seen drifting about the room. Two ponies, Patent Pending and Cappuccino, were smoking shisha, or honeyed tobacco, from the beautiful Saddle Marabian water pipe. Pinkie had tried a little herself, despite an aversion to smoking; the flavor had been gummy apple, strange but not initially unpleasant, but it had still made her cough.

Euporie didn’t seem to have the same problem, as she inhaled felicitously from the water pipe’s embroidered gold and sapphire smoking tubes. She had the only chair in the room all to herself, everypony else making due with luxuriously soft floor pillows. Playing up her Marabian affection, she had dressed in a bit, bridle and saddle festooned with ivory lace and delicate silvery tack. Flim and Flam, meanwhile, had been given black veils to wear over their faces as they attended to her. Despite the pleasurable haze drifting through her head, Pinkie felt a little pang of pity for the two cider brothers. Euporie wasn’t kissing them at all, and they were her dates and everything!

Other ponies were sure having a lot more fun!

Not the kind of fun Pinkie usually saw at parties at all, but Pokey had said that Euporie’s parties had a reputation… and a little sexy time kissy fun was why they were here, wasn’t it?

Feeling Pokey’s chest rise and fall under her, she still blushed hotly at how, er… enthusiastic… Mister Rich had become. Pinkie wasn’t sure she’d be able to look at him or Mayor Mare quite the same after today. She had voted for Mayor Mare just last year, and now the esteemed mare was by the chocolate table, Mister Rich making good on his earlier promise to rekindle their old flame. Mrs. Patent Pending didn’t seem to mind, either. Together with a bright faced Dizzy Twister, the two mares were urging the richest pony in Ponyville on, occasionally jumping in to hold a drink or a stemmed cherry or other treat just out of reach of the two pony’s mouths.

“This is so…” Cloudchaser muttered within hoof’s reach. She was looking at the same thing that had caught Pinkie’s eye, to the amusement of her coltfriend.

Thunderlane chuckled at her lack of words. “So hot and sexy?”

“No!” Cloudchaser objected, batting his chest playfully with a hoof. “Okay, yes! But kind of surreal, too. Maybe. I dunno…”

Cloudchaser and Thunderlane had sort of migrated close to Pinkie and Pokey, maybe feeling more comfortable around the young couple they sort of knew. Cloudchaser in particular still seemed a little embarrassed being this kind of affectionate in front of other ponies, despite her normally outspoken and outgoing personality. She seemed to be working herself up to daring to try the sort of thing Mayor Mare had been ready for, right away. But then, Mayor Mare also had somepony, her husband asides, she wanted to… be with.

“We’re both glad you two are here,” Cloudchaser said, a lilac hoof brushing back a few of her snow and sky blue bangs.

“Thanks!” Pinkie replied, smiling and eliciting a smile from the other mare. “Though I don’t think we’ve really done anything? Except some smooch smooch!” She stuck out her lips and made kissy sounds.

Slowly, the ambrosial music solo tapered off, allowing a flute to play with a more upbeat tempo.

“Everypony!” Euporie announced, and soon all eyes were on her. Even the Mayor and Mister Rich paused… mostly. They averted their eyes upward, at least.

“You two are actually just fine,” the presiding unicorn mare said, pointing at the pair. “I think everypony is enjoying my party, aren’t you?” She didn’t give time for anypony to answer, as Euporie slid out of her seat to trot around the room. “Drink, eat, smoke… enjoy yourselves! Those are my commands. More than that: drink in me. Your pleasure is my pleasure. I want nothing more than to see it in your eyes.”

Approaching Dizzy Twister and Patent Pending, Euporie gently ran a hoof along the younger mare’s cheek and down her neck. She shivered, almost melting at the touch. Patent Pending laughed but quickly blushed as Euporie met her eyes. Their hostess was younger, but the lively and apparently rather lusty wife of Mister Rich was caught breathless as a wispy loop of magic reeled her in. The two locked lips, to the delight of Mister Rich who clopped a hoof against the floor in applause. By the time the two mares parted, Patent Pending’s legs gave out and she slumped down to the floor.

“That’s the look,” Euporie said, only glancing down at the sighing older mare for a moment. “Pure pleasure! There is nothing to compare to it in this world. All the values of Equestria: love, friendship, harmony… all are just different shades of pleasure and desire.”

She looked around, trotting from group to group, and as she passed by Pinkie felt a strange surge of energy, beginning with her hooves and ending with a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. The music from the flute became a gentle warble and she sighed, softly, and felt Pokey stir beneath her. He rolled onto his side and tried to deftly stick a leg between them, a little too slow and a little too clumsy to really be anything close to discrete. It wasn’t exactly virgin territory to her, but Pinkie felt unusually bold as she smacked away his leg.

‘There was no point playing hide and seek, was there?’

But, even that thought felt… funny…

“Revel in me,” Euporie commanded them, a musical pulse flowing from her pale horn. From across the room, heart shaped cards magically imbued with cutie marks began to take to the air, floating out of reach and overhead. They slowly circled within the room; they slowly circled the mare named Euporie.

“Revel in me,” she said again, holding up a polished, alabaster hoof. “And in each other! Tonight is a night for exotic desires, is it not? For fruits rare and forbidden, for desires not given voice… do you wish to feel pleasures new and exciting? To taste that which you have never put lips to, my little ponies?”

“Yes!” “We do!” They responded, calling to her. “Show us!”

“Any one of you can find pleasure in the embrace of your friend or lover,” Euporie explained, and two of the heart shaped cards settled in the flat of her raised hoof. “You do not need me for that. But if it is a delicious, new pleasure you want to feel…your Princess may be able to help with that.”

Her horn glowed softly, projecting an image of the two chosen cutie marks: a gray cloud sporting a bright yellow bolt of lightning and a trio of emerald tinted gemstones in profile.

“I have a game I’d like to play with you, my special little ponies. Would anypony like to play it with me?” Euporie called to them, and two ponies rose up to answer, looking first to her and then, to each other. Voices answered her, crying “Yes!” “Yes!”

“Good,” Euporie said, eyes a glow. “But first, before I tell you about the game. Let me tell you a little story, to set the mood…”

Together with the soft music from behind the curtains, Euporie’s magic began to cast a warm and inviting illusion along the walls: that of a rolling and fantastic desert, with a golden castle and streaming blue pennants and tents the color of the clear, azure sky in the day, and the dusky smoky blue of midnight. Smoke rose from one of the walls, revealing a handsome but tall and thin pony, riding across the desert and streaming silks from his shoulders and neck to mingle with his mane.

“A long time ago, they say, there was a fearless and bold Saddle Marabian Prince. Craving adventure, he cast aside his throne and turned raider lord. What was less known, at first, was that this Bandit Prince was possessed of a lust… for gold, for silks, and for the fairest Equestrian mares. From his desert castle he would ride out and capture only the most beautiful maids to add to his harem, to make love to them in his moonlit garden of forbidden fruits.”

The Bandit Prince rode on, until he came upon a small caravan on the road, lit by the setting sun.

“One day, he happened upon a Princess of Equestria, traveling the roads by the desert… she was the most beautiful pony he had yet seen, and so he captured her…!”

- - -

Four pale, well-manicured hooves paused outside the canvas drawn around the market stall. They lingered there a few seconds, perfectly still, before resuming their measured pace. It was dark, late enough that most every shop in the town market was closed or in the process of closing up. No pony noticed the faint trail of sparkles briefly left behind by one of the white hooves.

Ducking her head, Eunomie entered Shady's Curiosities and Antiquities.

The plain brown canvas clearly indicated it was closed for business, but the shelves and tables within were still piled with locked glass and wood cases. Racks of carefully labeled antiques hung from hooks or by carved displays. A thick crystal case showed off an array of watches, most gold and a few sporting a gem or intricate scrollwork. The case was next to another, similar, one displaying a variety of jewelry with little or no organization or similarity besides the shared background of being purchased second-hoof.

Behind the counter of the market stall, a pegasus pony with a crimson coat and sleek orange mane had his back turned, attention focused on a brass scale, measuring bits against tiny blue bags. Over his head loomed a rather frightful looking zebra mask: a totem. Also close by was a mechanical bird in a little golden cage, chirping away noisily. It wasn’t a sound Eunomie had heard outside, and the bird itself was not producing a particularly sweet melody.

“Please excuse me,” she said, knowing the pegasus was already aware of her presence in the closed shop. Under her hood, one amber eye nestled in shadow.

“We’re closed,” the pegasus grumbled.

“I apologize again,” Eunomie said. “But I need to speak with you. You are Shady Deal, are you not?”

“Maybe I am.” He kept his back to her, fiddling with the brass weight scale. “Maybe I’m not. Depends on who’s asking.”

“Eunomie, of the Mosaic Family.” She pulled back her hood so he could see her face and extended a hoof.

He turned, glanced at her hoof, but didn’t shake it.

“I might be Shady,” he admitted, at length.

“Shady Deal.”

“Yeah.”

Eunomie blinked slowly and nodded, once. “Good. Please allow me to ask you some questions, Shady Deal. Then we can part company, if you like.”

“Talking is fine and dandy,” he said, and waved a hoof for her to leave. “But unless ya wanna buy me dinner, sweetie, we’re still closed for the day.”

The mechanical bird continued to chirp, an incessant little warble-song.

“The torc you sold Lyra Heartstrings,” Eunomie asked, persisting despite the lack of cooperation on his part. “You were instructed to sell it to her, were you not?”

“No. She was only a means to put it in the ‘ooves of Twilight Sparkle.”

Shady’s ears perked up as he processed his own words. He turned on Eunomie, blinking in confusion and a hoof shot up to his mouth. It appeared that he couldn’t quite comprehend that he had answered the question; much less that he had done so candidly.

“The torc was always meant to be studied by Twilight Sparkle, then,” Eunomie reasoned, and asked, “Did Princess Celestia give it to you?”

“No. We never meet the Old Lady face to face and-” Shady hissed, trying to press his hoof into his mouth, but it stopped, quivering, just in front of his treacherous lips. “My orders came from a ‘andler. Time Keeper. D-damnit! What are you doing to--”

He gasped, falling forward onto the counter, upending the carefully balanced weight scale and sending bits and small bags full of tiny gems falling to the rug on the floor. Failing to seize his mouth, he went for his throat, but it was clearly not going to suffice for keeping quiet.

“Please don’t struggle or hurt yourself,” Eunomie suggested, calm and sympathetic as a pony cut from stone. “You no longer have control of your words. At the moment, they belong to me.”

“Like pony-hell they do!” Shady Deal reached under the counter, bringing out a sealed scroll. Spreading it across the counter with surprising speed, unfurling it with the side of his foreleg, he pressed a hoof down into the vellum.

“Get out of my store!” he spoke, but not with his voice. This was a borrowed voice: powerful, overwhelming, magical and irresistible. It was literally Celestia’s Voice: Celestia’s Celebrated Commanding Castigation.

“In fact,” Shady roared in Her Voice. “Get the hell out of Ponyville!”

Eunomie’s one open eye crinkled; a wave of magic washing over her.

“I already know about Time Keeper,” she said, simply. “Tell me who gave you the torc you sold to Lyra Heartstrings, as well as when and how that pony acquired it, to the best of your knowledge.”

Shady Deal stared at her in mute shock.

“I- I--”

He gagged, and the magic of the compulsion scroll ripped away from his body, leaving canvas fluttering around them and dangling trinkets chiming. Eunomie’s hood rustled behind her mane, but she otherwise stood perfectly still. Waiting.

“-picked up my orders on the third day of the month of the moon,” he said, eyes still wide, mouth moving of its own accord. “It said to meet a pony at the Courier Inn, on the road to Gaskinring. To follow her orders…”

Shady slammed a hoof on the counter, struggling not to say any more--

“Never got her name,” he choked out. “She was a pegasus. Big. Real big. Looked like a fighter or… or bodyguard. Light purple coat. Blue mane, like a royal guard’s, cut short. Red eyes. Couldn’t see her cutie mark. Gave me the torc. Said it was broken. Smuggle it into Ponyville, near Canterlot. Twilight Sparkle! Used Lyra. She was always getting her purchases appraised or inspected by- by Twilight Sparkle! Less conspicuous this way!”

Eunomie listened, but as Shady described the mare he had met, her one open eye narrowed in just the slightest shadow of displeasure. A bodyguard? A pegasus?

“Red eyes. Blue mane. Light purple coat,” she repeated, sighing at the picture it painted. “Sirocco? How are you still alive, I wonder?”

That brief blink was all the time Shady needed.

Turning around, mouth clenched tight, he pulled down the zebra totem mask. It was long, in mockery of a normal pony’s facial features, with black striations and shadows around empty eyes and a snarling grimace. Foreign tattoos were both carved and dyed into the cheeks and sides of the mask. Shady Deal gasped once for air, put the mask over his face, turned, and breathed.

On the wings of his breath flowed pure terror.

A twisted pony with six eyes howled, pencil-thin legs wrapping around one another like mating serpents. A beast with seven jaws surged from a black portal, a living maw wide enough to swallow a pony whole. Eggs spewed from eyes in the mask, tumbling over the counter and onto the floor like rolling tears, splattering and hatching into a swarm of ravenous spiderlings. Out of the mask’s mouth, twisted, clawed arms stretched and branched at a dozen elbow joints, like the legs of a warped centipede. Skeletal hooves ripped out from under the floor, wading through the rising tide of arachnids, empty eye sockets glowing with a pale blue luminescence.

Eunomie stood still, the illusions, the horrors, all flowing through her. Magic poured from the mask, and as one of the twisted claws grabbed hold of a bronze vase, it pulled it down from its shelf. Another ripped lines in the canvas around the shop. The seven jawed maw closed around Eunomie, engulfing her. The floor beneath her tore as the teeth passed through it.

She took a step forward, through the tidal wave of nightmares.

…Then another step, passing through the tide of hungry spiders. Dozens launched streams of webs up at her face, but they arced and fell through without purchase. Claws reached for her legs and body, ripping her cloak, but passing harmlessly through the body beneath. Two more steps, and her hoof reached up to touch Shady Deal’s enchanted mask.

CLACK

Face down, on the counter, the wave of horrors emanating from the mask vanished into thin air.

“A four-alliteration charm compulsion and then an alchemically enhanced horrify spell,” she said, the tip of one pale hoof still on top of the mask. “That last one was extremely potent, but still useless.” Shady Deal stumbled back behind the counter, breathing frightened and frantic.

“You are well prepared. Please take that as a compliment.” One amber eye drifted to the side, where the mechanical bird continued to chirp. “Interesting. This bird… is it an early warning system? Does it detect ambient magic?”

“Yes,” Shady blurted out and crushed his eyes shut in shame. With a groan, he fell back onto his tail. “It started chirping right before you entered.”

“Oh?” Eunomie asked, eyeing the bird carefully. Letting go of the mask, she reached for the clockwork canary. “It must have detected my ‘inscription.’ That is a very useful device, Shady Deal. How much to purchase it?”

“Not for sale.” He shook his head, but smiled at the phrase that came to him then, even lost as he was to Eunomie’s magic. “Don’t touch it.”

Her hoof stopped, and pulled back, doing as he asked.

“Sorry,” she apologized, and it seemed rather ridiculous given the situation, with him at her mercy.

“How?” he asked, at least able to ask questions of his own. “How on Equestria are you doing this?”

To his surprise, Eunomie answered him. “You currently exist within a zone controlled by me, as a being with which I have a contract.”

“Zone? Contract?” Shady tried to scramble back, but his back hit canvas, and behind it, something hard and immobile. He was trapped. Trapped in his own damn shop!

“Please don’t be afraid. I swear am not going to hurt you, Shady Deal,” Eunomie promised, and a small smile formed on her face but didn’t quite reach her one visible eye. “The Princess would hear of it, if you came to harm. I only want to ask you a few more questions and then you can sleep and forget me, this, even the chirping of your bird. I promise.”

“If - if I won’t remember, then tell me,” Shady asked, one last question, of this mare. “What are you doing? Just what are you after?”

“After?” Eunomie inquired, still smiling, but only skin deep. “If you mean, ‘what do I want?’ I want what you likely want: to protect Equestria… from her enemies and even from herself.”

So she asked.

And he answered.

- - -

“They fought for the entire day, across desert and dune and the Princess was in awe of the Prince’s courage and skill. In the end, for all her magical power, the Princess was no match for the Bandit Prince and she collapsed,” Euporie’s story continued, illustrated by the gorgeous figures that moved along the walls, lit and animated by streams of magic.

“He stole her away and escaped to his palace in the desert. There, the Princess first entered his moonlit gardens, where fruits forbidden to all ponies hung ripe from the vine, and where the rest of his harem waited on his insatiable appetite. The Princess cried, her magic exhausted, and the other mares of the harem took pity on her.”

The ghostly Princess, a snow white alicorn with a gold and crimson mane and green eyes, moved among a dozen other beautiful mares, all with the same sort of lithe figure. They hugged her as the sky above turned from sand blown day to falling night.

“That night, the Princess and the others hatched a plan. The Princess prayed to the Mare in the Moon for mercy, and for clouds to obscure the moonlit gardens. That very night, a strange darkness fell, and the moonlit gardens - where no other lights were permitted - became shadow. Her prayers had been answered! Nonetheless, despite the darkness, the Bandit Prince hungered for his new concubine.”

The handsome Saddle Arabian stallion burst into the room, a silhouette, and behind him a fleeting glimpse of light in the deep darkness that had fallen over the room.

“But he could not see her!” Euporie declared, as the Prince closed the door behind him, plunging them all into deepest shadow. “Yet, he hungered for her. So he groped and felt his way through the harem, trusting in his hooves and his nose and his mouth to tell him where his prize could be found. Feeling a mare that fit his ideal, he grabbed her, kissed her, and made love to her. ‘Got you!’ he would murmur to her.”

Pinkie Pie blushed as Euporie’s story came with a rather… realistic soundtrack. The strange foreign music played on, fuel to the fire for the fantasy story. In the darkness, she could almost make them out, and imagine which of the many mares the Prince had come to claim. Had it been the Princess?

“The Bandit Prince left in the night, but returned again the next day. Again, the Princess prayed to the moon, and again it answered her prayers. For five nights, the Prince came to his harem to find his Princess, only to leave, exhausted, spent, and satisfied.”

The crack of the door opened, but this time the silhouette was of a mare.

“On the sixth day, the Princess managed to unlock the door to the Moonlit Gardens and escaped into the castle compound. Her magic rejuvenated, she stole through the sleeping hallways and past the complacent guards, her fellow concubines behind her. At last, she found the Prince, resting amid his treasures.”

Across part of the room, the dozing stallion could be seen, on a lavish bed decked in finery.

“The Princess jumped him and subdued him with little struggle, taking him with her back to Equestria, there to live out his days as her servant and… some say… her lover. That night, as she bound him in her magic, she whispered to him: ‘Got you!’”

“This is to be our game, my special little ponies!” Euporie said, and the room’s lights slowly returned to their former luminescence. Still, the music played and still, the fantasy of the story played on in the minds of many.

“Got you.”

Comments

[Hoof of Approval]

Oh, this just turned srs.

What is Euporie up to...?

[q97randomguy]

Weeeelllllll then.
This is very interesting. Next chapter, here I come.

[Lithl]

Everypony minus one aristocrat bumped excitedly hooves.

Should probably be "excitedly bumped"

Pierce tossed his head and in the process his own short mane of wavy alabaster and baby blue curls.

This sentence is... missing something.

[Always Breakfast]

So Euporie is a psychotic date-rape mage as suspected, and Eunomie is immune to peer pressure, whether by magical means or just plain being an emotional brick wall.

And Eunomie appears to be working against...whoever got the torc to Twilight, which is probably Brass. I...want to trust her but my hopes aren't high.

[coinflip2]

I'm very interested to see what will become of Miss Heartstrings' torc. Another great chapter, Capn'!

[djthomp]

I so want to see some fanart of Mac knocking Blueblood on his flank.

Pinkie is best fan.

Well that worked out reasonably well with Magnum.

Perhaps without even thinking of it, Pinkie backed up a step…

Suspicious.

Crud, I have a gut feeling that major stuff is being revealed here, and I'm not sure that I remember enough about the earlier parts of the story to catch everything.

That night, as she bound him in her magic, she whispered to him: ‘Got you!’”

Having flashbacks to the beginning of A Bird In The Hoof. Was that supposed to be Celestia in the story?

[Ponibius]

Hmm, the plot continues to thicken. Not a pony to be trusted. Things look like they are going to quickly turn ugly now.

Another solid an enjoyable chapter!

[The Author of Life]

Cloudchaser and Thunderlane are a couple in this story‽

EVEN MORE REASONS TO LOVE THIS STORY!!!!!

If only all my favorite ships were in the story.

[Lurks-no-More]

This is a real rollercoaster of a chapter. The hoofball scene is great, Pinkie and Pokey's relationship is lovely and amusing, and the party seems really cool... right up until Euporie cranks up the lecherous creepy. She is a very disturbing pony... and so is Eunomie, in her more mild-mannered and less nasty way.

[nemryn]

I suspect Auntie probably only enjoys this silly sport so much because she doesn’t have to play it.

Apparently Blueblood is somehow unaware of the decennial Royal Bowl.

He still wanted to trot over and take some of her scones.

If you know what I mean.

[*sigh*]

2144602 What's the problem? I may not be the author but I'm still confused by this sort of reaction.

[coandco]

So-in-law, of course. But it still had a nice ring to it.

Should this be "Son-in-law"?

[SIGAWESOME]

Gridiron hoofball... Equestria's favourite turn-based strategy game.

[Arzoo]

Upon rereading this, I still don't quite understand the scene with Eunomie and Shady. She claims contract magic is what renders him so helpless, but he obviously didn't sign anything; is it really possible to control an area like that quickly? Was he oblivious to her fiddling with reality outside his shop for a few hours? Or was the overpowered magic her equivalent of Chalice's transformation and thus backed by a Star God?

Also, I wonder what the heck she had to trade for a crazy powerful contract like that.

[Lord Xaos]

Aw....Pinkie's so tender hearted.

[Arcanist Ascendant]

"Your pleasure is my pleasure."

This is sort of the moment where I was all, "Oh yeah, Olive Branch was actually Chrysalis, so she's a changeling. Oops."

[FinalFan]

“If all of you want me to act on my own so badly,” she said to herself. “Then maybe I’ll do just that.”

When spoken by Twilight Sparkle, those are words that can shake the world. I'm looking forward to reading about it.

P.S. I doubt this is how the story will shake out, but it would be funny if that letter went, "Dear Princess Celestia, please open the enclosed letter the day before my brother's wedding."

[zpony]

Slight critique, you change point of views from Pierce to Pinkie as they enter the VISSP room. As it doesn't happen during a break in the story, it's rather confusing. I'd either add a break or make it much more obvious when the POV transition occurs.

[Yami Vizzini]

“Pure pleasure! There is nothing to compare to it in this world. All the values of Equestria: love, friendship, harmony… all are just different shades of pleasure and desire.”

shop.geeksleeksheek.com/ekmps/shops/ivegotmojo/images/-atr-print-size-paper-11x16inch-atr-print-size--%5B2%5D-2615-p.jpg

[heynow]

So who is Sirocco?

[Sozmioi]

Hoofball is shown in the show. A million fanons cry out in horror… and carry on, mildly discomfited.

Speaking of which, I was actually pretty pleased by the game balance of show!hoofball (assuming of course certain restrictions were in play, to make what we saw anything like the right moves).

[My name is R]

Blueblood hadn’t played in years and wouldn’t have been playing it now… if not for a less than subtle desire to impress one pony present.
He spotted Rarity talking with Fleur and a small gaggle of other noblemares by the patio. Were those scones? They were scones! Blueblood glared at the mare. Was it so wrong that he wanted to trade places with her? Then again, if she did, Big Mac would’ve run roughshod - even more roughshod - over the non-bachelor stallions’ team.
Well, he wasn’t aiming to impress her anyway. Let her enjoy her scones and tea under the shade of a parasol. Lucky curly-cue-maned marshm--

Oh? I had assumed it was his beloved he sought to impress upon the field of battle. If not her, I wonder who?

Magnum, the stallion who also just happened to be Rarity’s father and sire, didn’t wilt under the gaze of his noble lord. On the hoofball field, every stallion was just a stallion, no more and no less. It was more of that nutty earth pony egalitarianism, Blueblood supposed.

Her father, perhaps? That is a common goal of prospective suitors, but I wouldn't have expected it from him.
Oh. So it is.

‘I want them to approve of me,’ he didn’t say. He didn’t have to say it. Fancypants was likely smart enough to see the meaning as it was. ‘They’ll be my new family. This one should like me. Only in-law, but still, a mother and a…’

Oh. I hadn't looked at it that way. He never really had his father's respect, did he?

“Eighty thousand bits over the next ten years,” Blueblood rattled off the massive sum without preamble. “One fourth of it to remain in an account for Sweetie Belle, who shall have her education provided for in any way she wishes. I will personally provide for any mentor she desires once her special talent develops. I would give you land, too, but Ponyville is your daughter’s demesne at the moment and I doubt you want to live far from town.”

I'd guess that even though that's a lot of money for them, it's a more typical offer for high nobility. Hmm... I'm gonna go check Brass' offer.

He had agreed to a dower of at least one castle and keep, a minimum of one hundred square kilometers of land and fifty thousand bits independent of the value of the property.

Yeah, that's probably a bigger offer, which makes sense.

“If all of you want me to act on my own so badly,” she said to herself. “Then maybe I’ll do just that.”
Spike wasn’t around, and letters to the Princess weren’t about to write themselves.

Hehehehe. Following neither your own path, nor Brass', but a combination of the two, truly aiming for maximum 'nopony saw that coming'ness without purposefully shooting yourself in the hoof.

“After?” Eunomie inquired, still smiling, but only skin deep. “If you mean, ‘what do I want?’ I want what you likely want: to protect Equestria… from her enemies and even from herself.”
So she asked.
And he answered.

I was going to comment on the potential issues with 'even from herself', but then I realized that the nobles would be a good example of that, so that phrase really means nothing here.
Also, I wonder what her final question was?

The party has-predictably-gone bad. I foresaw this miles away, even before Eunomie said something, and it was as bad as I feared.

2143109
I'm pretty sure Brass was being genuine when he said someone stole it. I think there was a hint it happened while Discord was loose? And that the Old Lady is Celestia, that's definitely been implied, though not explicitly stated. Brass specifically asked the twins to find Celestia's intermediaries in Ponyville while they were in town.

8874999
It is? When? I don't remember such a sport.

He was certain he had that permission, but it was customary to at least bargain a little, especially when both parties were wealthy. Or at long as one was.

as

Unusual for the minty mare, there hadn’t been even word-one about if Twilight had found anything about the “hands” - spade shaped leaves, really - that wreathed some of the gems on the torc’s circlet.

One word?

“Like pony-hell they do!”

...Was this written before Tartarus was introduced? I didn't think so...