Emotional Compensation

by Kiernan

Chapter the Fourth

Another day, another batch of customers and prospective suppliers to entice—okay, that sounded wrong, but at least Filthy was careful to keep that musing to himself as he led the freshest batch of would-be suppliers and investors to his office for a group meeting. He had enough chairs to go around, and it was a shame he hadn't used them more often, but this was fine by him—either way, big gains for his establishment chain, if all went well. And hopefully, it would.

He had them all gathered around the desk, like a game of duck duck goose he had played in his formative years, except for the backside of course—that was his seat, and his seat alone as long as he manned the business's helm. Atop the desk lay a fat stack of manilla folders, which he checked the contents of briefly—so far, so good. They were untampered with, and marked with names to go to designated ponies to peruse as they saw fit.

It was a shame that none of the prospectives before him were of noble blood. But it was a shame he chose not to waste breath, words nor thoughts with—better to barter with them another time, when their mood was more amicable. Besides, he could probably procure the bits he needed elsewhere, from other ponies, and through entirely legal means, anyway—spilt milk could always be cleaned up in the end, and it was better to not cry over it being spilled to begin with.

In the meantime, he had investors to potentially drum up sales—enough to necessitate the extra chairs to begin with. He passed the first folder to the pony at the edge of the frontmost row, making doubly sure that the name and pony matched perfectly. "I believe you'll like what you see, Articulate Paper," he said with a smile.

Articulate Paper nodded and took the manilla folder in her hooves, smiling as Filthy went to the pony at her side and gave him a folder. "Same with you, Sunny Smiles," he said. Sunny Smiles, true to his name, beamed like the sun as he received his folder.

It was a simple song and dance, go down one row, then the next one, zigzag back to the other side of the room, and back again until the third row of investors had received full folders of their own. Afterwards, Filthy returned to his desk, and smiled at the bunch.

Goodness, they seemed giddy about something, not that he could blame them—business propositions of this nature only belonged in massive corporations with CEOs at their heads and, while a rarity in Equestria, were picking up in fame just the same. Maybe someday, he reasoned, maybe someday he would be among the numbers of CEOs… but right now, he was content with what he had—all big businesses and corporations started small after all, once upon a time, and his tale would begin like any other.

He cleared his throat, if only to steel his nerves and harden his resolve. It was time to put on his business face—a face that ponies would buy anything from. Excellent. Now, to enact phase two of his hook-line-sinker strategy. Surely, this would go off without a hitch.

"Now, as we are aware, this is a rare moment for Barnyard Bargains—never before have there been this many investors interested in partnering with it before, much less the same day," he said, improvising on the fly. It was best to wing it when there wasn't time to prepare for the grand and glorious stage. "Therefore, we will do this in an unorthodox way—we will discuss our business proposals one at a time, so that nopony gallops over each other in their fervor to have their partnerships sullied, and until then, everypony else is to wait their turn. Are we clear?" When a crowd of nods answered him, he smiled. "Alright. Now, with that out of the way… Articulate Paper, you're first."

Articulate Paper smiled and stood up. "Mister Rich, I would like to supply your business with a new product—I run a paper factory, you see, and it churns out all sorts of goods. Toilet paper, paper towels, book-making materials… and I couldn't help but notice that your books seem to remain on your shelves for a while, before somepony decides to give them homes," she said, looking around.

"I have recently innovated a special type of paper,” she continued, “and a special type of ink to go along with it—the ink remains invisible, except only to the unicorn or alicorn who writes using that ink in their magic. The paper will then be enchanted, and then you can hide those enchantments with regular ink so that nopony can guess how the paper is enchanted. It's a step up from dragonfire messages, as well as phoenix fire messages—a lot more practical to use in the end," she said, using a hoof to indicate her horn. She conjured the paper in question, and it looked ordinary to the untrained eye. Filthy, however, knew the distinct sparkles floating around it, shimmering in the aura cradling it with a faint iridescent sheen.

She also conjured a well of the special ink she had mentioned, which once more rippled with a soft iridescence. Another inkwell came after it, but without the fanciful rainbow adorning its brethren, and after that a pair of standard quills. "This might need further demonstration, so do pay attention," she said in warning, causing the eyes of the investors to zero in on the seemingly unassuming paper.

She dipped one of the quills in the special ink, and the tip… the tip came back perfectly clear, despite the vial containing the ink being classic black! Filthy blinked in amazement, but dared not say anything just yet. He watched as a complex spell circle was hashed out on the paper, and for the life of him, he couldn't see one trace of the ink at all! While he was no unicorn or alicorn, he knew the value of a good product when he saw it—and for a whole third of Equestria alone, this would be absolutely insane! Another runic circle was hashed out on the back, but to his eyes, he saw only blank parchment.

Afterwards, a simple message was scrawled out in the regular ink, with the other quill, as soon as the special blend had dried. Despite her writing on one side of the paper, there was text appearing on the other side: Good evening, investors! “Just a simple copy and paste,” she chuckled.

"This is… this is amazing! Tell me, how much does this cost to make?" Filthy asked, eyes widening at the prospect of potentially jumping onto something that looked like it would have no trouble trending in Equestria.

"For these babies?" Articulate Paper smiled. "They only cost three bits to make, between them! Thanks to the most recent breakthroughs in magic, we can use this faster than dragonfire messages."

“I have a question,” called a stallion from the third row, raising his hoof. “If only the unicorn writing with the ink can see it, how would it be of any use sending it as a message?”

“An excellent question, Captain Worrywort,” nodded Articulate. “What I mean is that you can draw a transmission spell circle on the page and it would take the paper right to the recipient, quick as a whip.”

“How complex can the spells be?” chimed in another. “Can I send my wife a letter that reads itself? How could that even be turned off? As much as she and I have a happy marriage, I doubt she wants to hear my voice repeating as she sleeps. I don’t want her to tune me out entirely.”

“You can set it to just play once,” Articulate replied. “And there is a limit to how complicated your spellwork is.”

“What happens if somepony overdoes it on spells and makes the paper try to cook a full three-course meal?”

“What does this have to do with selling the books already on Filthy’s shelves?”

“What if somepony puts a powerful explosive spell and a transportation spell on the page? They’d have made a letterbomb.”

The room fell silent as everypony turned to face Captain Worrywort. Nopony had been thinking of how to use this ink in warfare. Some of the investors turned pale at the thought.

“What if somepony took that special ink of yours, made a large scale fireball, as large as a children’s book would allow, and then attached a spell that sent it to, say, Princess Luna? What safety measures have you put in place to ensure that our dearest princess of the night is not harmed?”

Filthy’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t even considered that. He was there to do business and bring goods of all varieties to the citizens of Equestria. He did not wish them any ill will, and he certainly couldn’t fathom bringing harm to the princesses. Why would anypony want to do that? He couldn’t think of a reason, but he was not willing to risk being tied to an attack on the crown. He turned his attention to Articulate. “You did put in safety measures to prevent that, right?”

Articulate cleared her throat. “I had intended it to be as a way to increase the books’ durability and longevity. Perhaps even boost their appeal… I think I need to spend a little more time at the drawing board.”

“I think, once you do, that should become a proprietary service,” added Worrywort. “I don’t mind you making books better and more desirable, but I think magic that strong should be regulated, rather than widely available.”

“It’s readable through divination magic,” added Articulate. “Is anypony here skilled in that?” she held up the paper, and a unicorn in the second row cast a quick spell on the page. It was a very standard paste spell.

Filthy clapped his hooves together. “Let’s move along to the next thing, shall we?”

Articulate sat down and Sunny stood up. “My name is Sunny Smiles, and I run an advertising company out of Whinnyapolis. Now, I think it’s probably pretty clear why business has been slow lately. I think we all know why you’ve taken a hit. It’s the season. Come winter, you won’t be able to keep the shelves full. As far as my investment goes, I have this to say: I will provide you with free advertising for the summer. In return, I want to do all of your advertising through the winter at the standard price. Exclusivity.”

“Standard price?” asked Filthy. “Usually, contractors ask for a markup.”

“I don’t need a markup,” answered Sunny. “I looked over the numbers. I’m pretty sure that the exclusive right to do your advertising in the busiest season will pay for a light summer campaign twice over.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean for me?” asked Tilde Umlaut, another advertising executive. “You accept his pitch, Filthy, and I’m walking. I mean it!”

Filthy put up his hooves. “Calm down,” he said, his voice smooth and level. “We’re only on the second pitch. If you’re offering something better, I’ll hear you out fully when it’s your turn to speak. I’m not signing any deals until I’ve heard everypony out.”

Sunny and Tilde returned to their seats and the pitches went on as intended. A few more of them tried to strike partnership deals where they would work together and then split the profits, but most of them just put forward an amount of money in exchange for either a stake in the venture, or perhaps just a withdrawal with interest at an agreed upon later date, leaving the work and decisions solely in Filthy’s hooves. When they were done, he separated them into three groups; Six of them were pitching him a product, two wanted a stake in the company, and ten more were just there to give him loans.

“So let’s go over the financials,” Filthy said, flipping open his own portfolio. “If you’ll open up to the third page, there, I’ve put together a graph that shows the foot traffic this consignment had before I acquired it. The green line shows last year, the blue line the year before that, and the red line the year before that. As you can see, the–”

“What about the purple line?” asked Silverbuck, one of the lenders.

“How much he spends on central heating,” read Sunny, confirming it with the legend in the corner.

“Just a little joke,” chuckled Filthy nervously. “I thought you all might enjoy a little laugh if the meeting ran long, or if tempers ran high. We can all have senses of humour, right?” As a few chuckles were heard around the room, some forced, others genuine, Filthy cleared his throat. “So, as you can see, the numbers tend to go up significantly in the colder months. That makes this place far more lucrative in October, lasting all the way to March. That’s actually why I bought it when I did. The downturn was about to hit the bottom, meaning it was nice and cheap. I don’t have to run the heater as much, either.”

That quip actually managed to catch a few more genuine chuckles. A spectacular recovery. “So, as I was saying, Those of you that want to collect by September are not going to see a lot of return right away. In order to allow for gainful investment, I would recommend reworking your schedules to December. That’s when business booms, and that’s when the returns are highest.”

Things were turning up. Now to grease some more wheels, and set the whole carriage into motion. "Now then, the next page should detail another chart, namely the projected sales for the next year. I believe it will be especially important, since Princess Twilight frequents the store from time to time," he said.

Sunny Smiles looked up. "You have one of the Princesses shopping here?" he asked, eyes widening in disbelief.

Filthy nodded. "Well, she was shopping here before ascending, and still continues to do so to this day," he confirmed with a smile. "She has personally made it a point to visit from time to time, in order to stock up on things she might suddenly need." He was careful to not mention her various world-spanning adventures at this rate, much less how and what items she might suddenly need for such a quest if the issue ever arose, but that still seemed to put his prospects at something of an ease just the same. He was also very careful to avoid mentioning her habit of sending Spike on some store runs if she couldn't make it for whatever reason; the little drake had enough on his plate, and didn't need any complications tacked onto that deal.

Besides, Spike could very well look after himself, being a baby dragon and all… although, the last few times Filthy had seen him, he had started to hit a growth spurt lately. He made a mental note to check the ceiling height at some point in the future, before Spike became too big to peruse store shelves properly. The way Twilight was changing the face of Equestria, he could have more dragon customers one day—better safe than sorry.

Right now, he returned his attention to the investors as they flipped over to the next graph, projecting next year's sales if all went well. His smile deflated when he saw brows arching sharply. The investors coughed awkwardly, and traded looks, unsure of who should speak about what they were seeing. Filthy was about to trot over and take a glance himself, when Articulate Paper wordlessly flipped her dossier around, revealing two things that Filthy did not remember putting in the charts.

The first was the labeling: "How Much Filthy's Wife Blows on Expensive, Worthless Gifts and Spa Trips," and the second was a particular picture of his wife, held to the chart by a paperclip, crowned in the most extravagant jewelry money could buy. From a custom crown and peytral, to gem-inlaid horseshoes and dazzling earrings adorned to said paytral with thin chains of gold that were also anchored to the crown, he could tell that whatever she had dressed herself in, that absolutely no expense was spared. He wasn't sure whence she had purchased those goods either; as far as he knew, as far as he remembered, he hadn't bought those with his own bits.

Then he noticed an irregularity with the picture: against all odds, his wife was wearing a golden and sapphire-striped, elongated, fake beard on her chin. While he was no Neighgyptian expert, he certainly knew that particular piece of jewelry when he saw one—it was in practically all of Equestria's books regarding other nations' histories, at this rate. He trotted over, and gingerly extracted the picture, turning it over when he saw a faint sheen of what seemed to be red and sparkly ink smear itself on the tip of his hoof.

On the back of that photo was a message, apparently meant for only his eyes since Articulate Paper showed no reaction to possibly seeing it before him upon extraction. "Like putting lipstick on a pig," the message read, in fanciful cursive font, partially smeared onto the back of the photo, hewn entirely of glossy, glittery, garishly garnet lipstick. Whoever wrote this, he could feel the sheer contempt for his wife in that message. He hastily crumpled the photo and tossed it over his shoulder, where it landed in the bin. "Apologies; I swear on my store shelves that I had not edited those graphs or included such questionable photos," he muttered, putting as much sincerity into his words as his vocal chords could allow.

Fortunately, none of the investors had left yet, though worryingly enough, they were trading glances at each other's manilla folders. This set Filthy on a tiny tumult, but he held his composure. He had to remember the business face—the face of a stallion anypony would buy anything from. Still, with all the worrying amount and frequency of side-glances the folders were attracting, he couldn't help but crack a tiny bit just the same—fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for him, the investors seemed to be more interested in the folders than whatever façade he could uphold at the moment.

Another flipped over his manilla folder, and Filthy could hear the distant sound of glass shattering in his head—from where, he wasn't concerned with, because now he was seeing another photo tacked to the manilla: namely, of him and Granny Smith in rabbit suits, singing to pails and hopping over watering cans. "Oh, that's just a ritual we undertake yearly, for the zap apple harvest…" he said, though the investor holding the manilla folder tipped his chin wordlessly, silently ordering an elaboration. "Magic apples, with their own rules for harvesting and everything," he said. Once more, the photo was extracted, crumpled, and sent sailing over the heads of those assembled right to the bin—though Filthy made a mental note to extract that one later, when no prying eyes were in his office.

Another investor, weirdly, chuckled fondly at something, a warm smile on his face as he beheld the picture in his manilla. "I still remember that day… the day she earned her cutie mark…" he muttered to himself, before snapping back to awareness and hastily closing his folder before anypony could glance at whatever dirty secret he was hiding from Equestria. "D-daughter's ballet practice…" he stammered, hoping to keep the heat from his tail.

“The pie-eating contest, I remember that,” chuckled Worrywort, looking over the shoulder of the mare in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she chuckled. “I forgot you were there that day. Second Lieutenant, If I recall.”

“Fresh out of officer’s school,” he proclaimed proudly.

The mare pulled out the photograph. “Some kind of prank, Filthy? I didn’t figure you to be the type for extortion.”

Filthy waved his hooves in front of him, trying desperately to hide his panicked sweating behind a smile. “Just a harmless prank, yes! I had my secretary put these together. I had given her the order to make sure you were kept happy, and I guess she did some extra digging. I hope this wasn’t too embarrassing for you?”

Luckily, his ruse went off without a hitch, and even the investors that had considered leaving cracked a small smile. Even better, they started sharing the pictures with each other, chuckling along to each others’ jokes. Filthy caught sight of a few of the pictures, and while they may have been somewhat jarring, some of the investors, he’d never seen so much as a smirk. It was a relief to see them smiling. Happy investors were like happy customers, in that both were very good for business.

Rather than crumple up any more photos, he let them enjoy their company for a bit longer, then resumed his presentation with newfound confidence. “So, as you can see by this graph that shows how much money my wife spends spoiling herself, I’ve taken in a fair amount of profit from Barnyard Bargains over the years. Looking over the chart, you can see that this number is only going up. That means that my profits are going up. Take this as an indicator that I am well-equipped to run a business, and that entrusting your investments to me over a long period of time is a safe and reliable choice.

“Now, I know some of you were thinking that short-term would lead to a quick turnover, but Barnyard Bargains is a long-running establishment. Those of you that think I’m some greedy, money-obsessed pony, please consider the following: If I want to have any chance of taking more money from you in the future, I have to make sure that the returns from this loan are substantial. If you scratch my back, I guarantee I’ll scratch yours, because I’ll absolutely be asking you to scratch my back again in the future.”

A few of the investors nodded along and scribbled into their notepads any adjustments they felt necessary. He hoped the numbers were going up, or at least, that the estimated timescale was being extended. Some of them had asked to recover after two months, but to reliably make sure that they saw decent returns, he would prefer at least five. Six was ideal, and longer scales would often yield very good results. A year was the longest he would take, but that came with the caveat that he could renegotiate a new loan and not have to take as big a hit.

“Now, as some of you may not be aware, the most recent expansion to Barnyard Bargains is up in Canterlot. Our new addition is, in fact, the reason we’re looking for financial backing. It’s a consignment, and we bought it and the remainder of its contracts as part of a settlement. Things were going okay for the first month, but you all know what happens in Canterlot when summer rolls around.”

There was a nod that graced many of the other business owners and managers in the room. They had been feeling crowds pulling away from their Canterlot-based businesses of late, and knew that the struggle to maintain a business in this climate at this time of year was a hefty one. Perhaps Barnyard Bargains was going through a rough patch, but knowing that Filthy was still putting on a brave face was quite appealing.

“I have quite a few concerns regarding that,” said Bottom Line, one of the partner hopefuls. “I am well aware of how efficiently you run your retail, having been there a few times myself in instances where I needed something right away, and didn’t have an assistant to run in and purchase it for me. Your stores are very well-organized and often properly stocked. Consignment is quite a bit different from retail. Are you qualified to operate consignment?”

Filthy nodded. He’d almost expected this statement. “They are different animals; that’s absolutely true. In retail, you have big name contracts running large, long-lasting shipments. An entire wagon filled with nothing but pickles, for example, and you are then obligated to sell them all off before the next shipment comes in, or send your extras as relief to an understocked alternate location. In consignment, this would be very helpful to do. If I can’t sell a media center here, for example, I could potentially rotate it to another consignment in San Palomino where it might sell better.

“That said, the option to ship for consignment rests not with me, but with whoever I went into contract with to sell the goods, as they are entitled to part of the profits by default. That’s the very nature of consignment. I sell goods that other ponies can’t, whatever their reasons may be. In most cases, it’s due to the lack of a business license, but the only reason I still have so much artwork is because the painters who want me to sell the stuff don’t want to spend a lot of time selling their work, but instead making more of it. One even told me that this is what he hired me for, even though I don’t draw a paycheck unless it sells.”

There was a bit of a chuckle as Bottom Line nodded. “Do you sell a lot of the artwork?” he asked. “What kind of turnover do you see from that?”

Filthy rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, not as much as I would like, honestly. Still, I don’t begrudge the artists for that, and besides, keeping the paintings around is not the worst thing that could happen. After all, they’re pretty to look at. Ask any of my customers.”

Another potential investor smiled. "I might be able to help with that," he said, rising from his seat. "You see, I too sell paintings—in fact, they're my bread and butter, alongside the supplies needed to make them, in addition to things for making sculptures and the like. Hope I'm not making too much of an interruption."

Filthy turned to that stallion. "I see. And you are…?"

The stallion smiled. "Artistic Brazier," he said. "I don't mind that you briefly forgot my name; with the high stress of the situation, everypony's bound to slip up from time to time." That prompted a nod out of the ponies around him. "Now, I don't know about you, but frankly, I would do things a bit differently. Here’s a bit of advice: swap the paintings out monthly, for a seasonal theme."

"A seasonal theme…?" Filthy echoed, putting a hoof to his chin as he pondered.

Artistic Brazier nodded. "Yes. I've noticed your paintings don't really have a set theme—they seem to be all over the place. But what I've noticed is, the paintings sell even less in the summer unless they keep up a theme somehow—like, say, ponds and plains for spring, thunderstorms and vibrant sunny rays for summer, and so forth. Sometimes, they sell more, especially during select holidays and festivals, depending on the vibe they're aiming for."

Filthy nodded, seeing the logic behind that. If he needed to arrange the paintings by theme… He nodded, willing to let Brazier continue.

"In addition, a lot of your paintings feature nobility, which in all honesty, should have their own separate theme—not based on their archaic ranking system or any gubbins like that, heavens no! But rather, a set theme, a set decor in the paintings surrounding them—castles and manses and other such estates," Artistic Brazier said, smiling. Filthy had to give him credit, he definitely knew what he was talking about.

"Another thing I've noticed is that nobleponies often have fruits in their self-portraits, either before them or otherwise lounging on sofas with fruits in their reach. And fruits… they're versatile in the art world—you could stick them next to anything, and they'd follow the theme. Bananas for the tropics, holly berries for Hearth's Warming, durians and starfruit for the Summer Sun… no, the Festival of the Two Sisters, and so on and so forth.

"And when they're not posing with fruits, they're often showing their wealth in other ways, like in the olden days. These days, you have ponies making portraits of fancy boats and new, modern houses, and other such things. That would divide the theme of nobility into two phases: the olden ways, and the modern. So you'd have to be careful to keep those categories separate, when sorting out the paintings," Artistic Brazier said, his smile widening. Filthy blinked and wondered, was that a sharpened tooth he saw jutting out of the stallion's upper lip for a second, or was he hallucinating?

"And then, you have… well, the wacky paintings—scenes of chaos and mayhem and general anarchy. Those, you should house in their own section, even if they portray historical events as they actually happened. And believe me—reading up on the insanity of historical events, to keep them accurate in your paintings is unbelievably hard work!"

The mention of chaos and historical scenes as they actually played out made Filthy shudder. The dreadful things ponies did in the past… the horrid, horrid things featured in paintings in historical museums… he was silently glad he wasn't like that, needing to stay sharp in a world of death to survive and carry on his legacy. He was also silently glad he didn't carry such vestments in his stores. Of course, he realized and remembered that chaos could mean other things, the improbable and impossible happening in paintings—things ranging from Celestia having a long-term earth pony commoner coltfriend, which would give the nobility all sorts of heart attacks, to popcorn coming to life to clamp ponies with sharpened kernel teeth in unpleasant places also were made in the art world, as far as he knew.

And he hoped such paintings would steer clear of his stores. The more tame the chaos could be—hah! As if, with all of the situations Equestria had weathered lately—the better contained the collateral damage would be. Unless it was a painting done using the style of a famous painter of ages past, that, he would allow in his stores. He made a mental note to check the next shipment of paintings when they were due, and sort those accordingly. He was silently grateful his wife wasn't the type to take paintings home on a whim, with or without bits—her tastes lie elsewhere.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, though only slightly enough that Artistic Brazier picked up on it. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"No, just… putting the train of thought back on track," Filthy replied smoothly.

Artistic Brazier nodded. "It's alright, it happens to everypony from time to time," he chirped, still smiling. "Anyway, what I'm saying is… your paintings lack order, and coherency in accordance to themes. So that will need to be sorted out first and foremost."

Filthy nodded. "I will see to it that it is sorted out at the earliest convenience," he said, his smile returning. "In the meanwhile, do you have anything else to add?"

Artistic Brazier kept smiling and shook his head, sitting back down. And there it was again, Filthy thought, that same sharpened tooth he saw jutting out of the stallion's upper lip, if only for a brief second. Given the shenanigans of the last few days, he realized… he might not be hallucinating after all. But he shook the thought away, to confront it another day. He looked to the gathered ponies, silently asking somepony to step up onto the proverbial stage and provide their own input on the matter at hoof.

"Now then… does anypony else have concerns to lodge forward, while we have the chance?" Filthy asked, watching as the gathered investors looked at each other. They mulled it over, and after trading a few glances, gave shakes of their heads to indicate the answer. Filthy smiled brighter than ever that day, glad to have this sorted out for the time being. But little did he know, that I would have the finale to end all finales for him in store yet~