//------------------------------//
// Chapter 4 
// Story: Final Curtain 
// by Purple Patch 
//------------------------------//

“After that, I think we were all content to call it an early night. I know I was.” Alma continued, shaking her head “I took my meal upstairs to my room to eat it in peace. There would be too much awkwardness around the dinner table, I knew it.”
Cadence and Shining themselves felt the awkwardness in the room they sat it growing rapidly. Just thinking about it was enough to make one cringe. 
“But when I made my way upstairs, there was something on the banister. I almost brushed against it on my way up.”
Alma gave a small shudder.
“Red paint...I don’t remember why I thought it was blood.”


The day after the uncomfortable dinner scene, Lord Herod Sanguine seemed in better spirits, at least around Alma.
Rowena, Aeschylus and Conkers had helped move her equipment to ready in the auditorium first thing that morning, the young mare talking incessantly but refusing to bring up anything relating to the night before, evidently putting on a brave face.
“The theatre?” Alma had asked “You mean there’s one in Sanguine Hall?”
“Well, it’s not exactly the Royal Palladium but I suppose you’ve realised by now that Papa does nothing by halves.” Rowena explained “You’ll have MacHeath’s scenery, the blasted heath and all that...and if Babbles can be made to pose, you’ll even have the Bloody Child.” she muttered derisively.
As a habit, Alma preferred working in daylight but the windows sufficed. The Sanguines had spared no expense.
She’d found Herod Sanguine dressed in traditional Trottish garb, the ‘dagger he saw before him’ in his magical grasp, ready to begin.
She’d just about finished the preliminary sketch with graphite and charcoal when the old stallion gave a groan and stretched a little.
Alma looked over the easel.
“Have I tired you? Sorry.”
“No great worry, my dear. One simply grows a trifle stiff after a time”
“Then I think we’ve done enough. At least you have.” Alma put down the tools as Herod let out a grateful sigh and relaxed, holding the dagger in his hoof “Gotta’ say, you’ve been a pretty tough model. You hold position better than most young ponies.”
“I am pleased to hear it, Miss Rose” The Sanguine patriarch twiddled the dagger, flashed it in the light and grinned proudly “Do you know, I can recite the play by heart? And I dare any upstart to claim otherwise.”
“You mean MacHeath?”
“Indeed so. Since the Fall of New Raptoria, near five and twenty years past, I have reprised the role of MacHeath eleven times and always do tremendous business. It hasn’t been an unlucky play for me.” he chuckled.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that superstition. Is it true that you can’t quote from that play unless you’re in the cast or crew?”
“Or even speak its name, to be sure. It is known outside of the theatrical circles as ‘The Trottish Play’. A most significant custom.” His voice darkened in manner reserved for telling ghostly tales to foals “It is said that Prince Trymwic, the first son of my ancient ancestor Synric, seventh King of Marchion, once made ridicule of the so-called superstition of actors and dared quote a passage of the Trottish Play. Within moments, the great Trefoil Theatre went up in an almighty inferno, killing the Prince and over a hundred others and driving King Synric completely mad, gibbering and shaking, forever-open eyes contaminated by some otherworldly horror. No Sanguine has ever made light of the tradition since then.”
“I admit, the only Shaking-Spear Play I’ve seen in a while was All’s Well That Ends Well two years ago at Bridleway. And that was only because a friend of mine had a crush on Cucumber Patch.”
Herod scoffed.
“Cucumber Patch, indeed. A decent player of thrillers and follies, to be sure, but the colt lacks...majesty. I myself studied under Drury Lane himself and toured with Horson Welles in The Merry Wives of Winsomely. Mine, dear lady, is not a mere filmography but a legacy. One that lives on, long after my eventual passing.” He breathed deep and pointed to the easel “Am I to be allowed a glimpse, dear lady of the vibrant crafts?”
“Well, it’s only a kind of synopsis but it’s coming along well.” Alma turned the board round to show her model the result thus-far, a fairly well-detailed sketch of his face and most of his body.
She was pleased with it and he seemed of the same opinion, his face brightening in earnest satisfaction.
“Aha, yes, I do see it.” His eyes twinkled “I chose well indeed, Miss Rose. I look with great predilection the coming ends. Work thine spells, my muse, work thine wondrous spells. I must adieu.” And with a hearty bray of laughter, Herod Sanguine strode offstage, giving his artist a coy wink before disappearing.


Sighing, the young pegasus set about touching up the various lines and working away the smudges, dusting away the excess shade with a brush.
As she did so, a voice piped up, distinctly that of a filly’s.
“Why are you rubbing it out? Don’t you like it?”
Alma turned round.
She was back, peering round the doorway. The small, pink, plump filly in the bonnet, eying her in a manner that betrayed her overall disposition as extremely stubborn and suspicious by nature.
An archetype of a difficult foal.
“I’ve got to get rid of the leftover charcoal or it messes up the paints.” She answered, returning the suspicious glare “How long have you been hiding?”
“Ages.” the filly retorted with a dismissive sneer “I sit quiet because Auntie Gwen tells me I’m not allowed to interrupt Papa’s painting.” She stood in the doorway “I’m Babette Cliodne Tintagella Hawthorn-Sanguine.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.” Alma said plainly.
“You couldn’t have gathered that, because everypony calls me 'Babbles'!” the filly snapped, before trotting over to her equipment, opening a case, lost in curiosity “Are these your paints?”
“Yeah, so hooves off” Alma said, trying to be stern, while finishing her brushing.
“I’m going to paint with them.” The filly wasn’t put off.
“Not with my paints, you’re not. Buzz off, I’m working.” She was losing patience.
“You’d better let me paint with them or I’ll kill you.”
The foal, Babbles, must have thought that sounded threatening.
Sighing, Alma turned round.
“That ain’t gonna’ happen, now...”
Swift as a rat, Babbles had picked up a small tube of crimson ink paint and flicked the end of it, shooting a thin drizzle of it onto Alma’s apron, narrowly missing her foreleg.
The filly giggled. Alma scowled.
“Okay, that’s it! Gimme’ that paint back right now, missy. This is your last warning!”
“You can’t hurt me, I’ve been brought up on the system”
“Oh, are you now?” Alma snarled, not really knowing what she meant by that and honestly not caring a whole lot. Rearing up on her hind legs, balancing with her wings, she reached out and grabbed the irritating filly by the ear between both forehooves.
“Ow!” Babbles yelped, thankfully not screaming.
“There’s a shock for your ‘system’. Now put that paint down right now.”
“Let go of my ear or I’ll scream!” the filly growled, tugging pathetically in her clutch.
“I’ll scream louder if you bother me again. Put that paint down now!”
“Fine, take it, I don’t even want it!” Babbles sneered, replacing the cap and throwing it back in the box.
Alma let her go, leaving her to sulk, thankfully far from her work.
Alma returned to her work, breathing a sigh of relief things hadn’t gotten any louder. To be fair, she’d known foals who were a bigger hoof-full than this, none of whom she’d be able to pull at the ears.
“That hurt my ear, you stinker!” she growled after a pause.
“Well, I gave you fair warning, kid. It’s your own fault.”
Babbles weighed her words and gave a sly smile.
“Alright, then it's your own fault if you catch it”
Alma turned.
“Catch what?”
“Didn’t they tell you?” the filly was grinning “I’ve been sent home from school. I’ve got ringworm. Want to see?” She made to lift her bonnet.
“No!” Alma snapped, startled, checking the soles of her hooves, the irritated scowl returning upon the impertinent foal.
She sighed, rolling her eyes, finally prepared to compromise.


“Okay look...” she began “If you just leave me to finish this very important work in piece, I’ll let you borrow some spare paints and brushes and give you some paper and you can paint whatever you like.”
Babbles weighed the proposal.
“When do I get them?”
“After lunch, once I’ve finished.”
“Can’t you give them to me now?” she sulked.
“No, but I can tell your aunts who was stopping me getting on with this portrait.” Alma’s stern tone returned with her scowl.
“Alright, alright, I’ll wait ‘till after lunch but you’d better keep your promise.” The filly agreed reluctantly, hopping onto a table and dangling her back legs idly “I want lots of red. I like red. I’m going to paint flying red cows...and they’re dropping poos on stupid old Gormless.” She broke into foalish giggles as Alma rolled her eyes.
The room was then greeted to another old acquaintance. The white cat from the floor below Alma’s. Strutting into the theatre through the open door, it bounded up to Babette who brought it up on her lap and stroked it.
“This is Scaramouch.” she said “He doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like Canterlot ponies, they smell funny. That's why he doesn't like Gormless.”
“Is that the only reason?” Alma asked, disinterested, before a thought occurred.
“So, why is Gormless always in the capital, then? If the rest of you distance yourselves from it?”
“Oh that’s easy.” Babette said with a smile “He’s their hostage.”
Alma wondered if she’d heard correctly.
“A hostage?”
“That’s right. Papa told me that when the Sanguines surrendered to Princess Laurelore yeeeeeeeaaaaaars ago, they give them one hostage, a son or grandson most of the time, to prove they’ll do what they’re told. So if Papa doesn’t do what Celestia tells him to, then they’ll cut Gormless’s head off. Papa told me himself, that’s what they do with hostages. If a Sanguine starts fighting or scheming or calling himself a king again, they’ll drag stupid old Gormless outside the borders of Marchion, strap his neck to a big block, get the biggest, sharpest axe they have and cut his head off, like a big silly fish.” she grinned and whispered “But Papa tells me that they’re welcome to cut off Gormless’s head because there’s nothing in it anyway!” The filly broke into a bout of giggles, Scaramouch nearly falling off her lap.
Alma was quiet.
All the while Blueblood had been living the high life in the court of Canterlot, he’d had a knife to his neck, doomed to die if ever his family went against the wishes of the crown.
It seemed mind-boggling.


Shining and Cadence were also quiet.
“Wow...” the alicorn said at last “That sure puts things into perspective.”
“So wait, he’s free to act like he owns the place and insult just about everypony and Celestia only gives him a talking-down...but the moment his family start getting above themselves, off comes his head?” Shining snapped “How the hay does that work?!”
“Does he know about this?” Cadence asked.
“I hadn’t thought to ask him. Nopony else had said a word of it, I assumed it was a bit of a taboo subject” Alma answered “Anyway, I wanted to know something else from the foal.”


“Hang on, I thought you already had some red paint.” She gave the filly a firm look of accusation. Babette raised an eyebrow.
“The stuff you put on the banister outside my room.”
“Me?! I don’t know where your room is!” Babette snapped, affronted.
“Oh really?” Alma raised raised one eyebrow in return “And what about what was painted on your grandpa’s mirror?”
Babette tilted her head quizzically.
“What was painted on his mirror? Nopony ever told me.”
Alma was taken aback and looked the foal over.
Despite her mood, Babette seemed calm. Nothing about her screamed that she was lying in any way.
“You’re not going to tell me that it wasn’t you who put that raspberry cushion, or whatever they call it, under your grandpa’s seat at dinner? The one that made that embarrassing noise?”
“Really?!” Babette’s face lit up with wonder, happily rubbing Scaramouch’s belly “Why is it I always miss things? It isn’t fair.”


“I think it was then I knew that something was very wrong.” Alma summarised “Babbles seemed perfectly capable of telling lies but everything about her then seemed perfectly sincere. She hadn’t been playing those stupid jokes on Prince Herod.”
Cadence and Shining nodded intently.
“But if she hadn’t, who had? And why?”
“Geez, I know she’s a pain in the flanks but what kind of sicko frames a little foal?” Shining asked disgustedly.
“The kind that wants her out of the will, evidently.” Cadence answered “There’s another thing that doesn’t add up. She was meant to have been questioned about what happened at dinner that morning. If that were the case, why had nopony told her what she was being accused of?”
“Exactly. There was a plot about the place and I’m not talking the naughty kind.” Alma declared “Anyway, the day afterwards, whatshername...Aunt Cordelia arrived. The whole family was gathering as they planned.”


Cordelia Wildsmythe Buttercup-Sanguine, judging by her greying mane and stately manner, was the eldest of the Sanguine sisters. Bedecked in a plumed garden-hat and a tasselled shawl, she exited Conker’s carriage and strode along the garden path up to Sanguine Hall.
Alma turned back to her watercolours. More Cadence and Shining romantics, omitted from her story.
Things hadn’t gotten quite as saucy as she let them do in the late hours of the evening.
She prayed that nopony ever found that particular scrapbook.
“That’s not half-bad. From a book or something?”
She had company.
Honeysuckle had emerged, a fur coat hanging loosely over her shoulders as she idly puffed on a cigarette.
She wasn’t putting on the ‘showmare’ manner. Perhaps she felt she could trust her.
Alma gave her a polite smile.
“Friends of mine.”
“Wha...Get out of it, you know an alicorn?!” Honeysuckle chuckled in disbelief “What am I saying, course you do. You’re from the capital, aren’t you. There must be hordes of them strutting around.”
“No, just the one or two, contrary to popular belief, but this one’s very friendly. Haven’t you ever been to Canterlot?”
Honeysuckle sucked her teeth.
“Nah, couldn’t afford to travel before I came here and I know that if I take one step outside Marchion, the rest of the pack’ll start stirring poor old Roddy up against me again.” She glanced down the garden path and glared at the approaching Cordelia.
“Here comes Witch Number Three.” she muttered.
“You mean as in the Three Weird Sisters? From MacHeath”
“Well, not really, there’s four of ‘em.” Honeysuckle said with a shrug “The one they call Muffy hasn’t arrived yet. What’s her name...Roddy told me...oh yeah, Maeve Goneril Vortimeria Sanguine . Huh, three names. Most of us have to make do with one.” she muttered sardonically “Besides, Gwendolyn isn’t his daughter, she’s an in-law. Married the son, Lockhart, the one with that wasting disease. He was dead long before I came here. So there’s Witch One, Witch Two, Witch Three and Witch...” she trailed off, eying her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be painting Roddy at this time of day?”
“We started in the morning. Watercolour helps clear my head. And Prince Herod’s not up for posing for too long.” Alma explained.
“True that.” Honeysuckle nodded gloomily, puffing on the cigarette “He’s poorly, you know. His joints are in a bad shape and his belly’s got it worse. Can’t eat anything stronger than broth or he’s as sick as a...”
She stopped as Cordelia approached, striding primly past. She greeted Alma with a short ‘Good morning’, an imperious tone in her voice, but did nothing to acknowledge Honeysuckle who quietly fumed at the noblemare until she was several steps behind them.
“As a dog...” Honeysuckle finished, turning and yelling back at Cordelia “As a Lady Dog!”
Cordelia half-turned, eying her father’s protégé with disdain, and gave her head a curt toss but said nothing, walking on.
“You see that for ploughing manners? She’s as bad as the rest of them!” Honeysuckle grumbled “Load of dressed-up, toffee-muzzled hags, wouldn’t pause to spit on you if you were on fire! They all hate me!” She looked close to crying, stomping over the grass “Anypony would think I wanted to be stuck in this gods-forsaken rat-hole! Nothing to do and all day to do it in!”
“Are you stuck here?” Alma asked intently.
Honeysuckle seemingly had few ways to vent her frustrations and the fact that she seemingly trusted Alma with keeping them secret gave her a sense that what the mare had been through had been more arduous that most had assumed.
“Well, what else is there? I’m delicate.” the made-up mare sighed “Asthma. Ever since I was a kid. Got over the attacks but I can’t work a plough or anything like that. I thought I might go touring with the Pony Tones, see the world and all that. Except whenever I opened my mouth to sing, all the other ponies in the orchestra said they couldn’t hear themselves play.”
She tutted.
“So when Roddy took a, you know, ‘interest’ in me and asked me down here, I had to pinch myself! It was Hearths-Warming, Hearts n’ Hooves and Nightmare Night rolled into one. Never been so excited...Didn’t know what I was getting myself in for” She looked up at the towering hall in much the same dreading manner Blueblood had done on the train.
“Whatever I get out of this, I’ll have earned it.” She said darkly before turning to the flower garden “He’s the only one I feel sorry for.”


She gestured with her cigarette to Blueblood, who seemed to be choosing which rose went best in his jacket. Picking one, he jumped back with a yelp as a bee emerged from it and chased him round the patch, robbing him of a generous portion of his dignity.
The two mares held back chuckles and Honeysuckle shook her head.
“I suppose he has that...aura about him. Makes you want to change him, better him. Nopony understands him like I do. He can’t sleep most nights. He’s afraid old Roddy’s gonna’ leave all this to that stinking kid.”
“You mean Babbles?” Alma asked “I thought she’d fallen out of favour?”
Honeysuckle shrugged.
“Well, I mean, that’s her fault, isn’t it. She shouldn’t be messing around with raspberry cushions or painting on mirrors and banisters.”
Alma’s ears pricked.
She hadn’t told anypony about the paint on the banister.
Aeschylus had cleaned it off when they took the equipment down but nopony had said a thing about where it came from or who might have been responsible.
“Did Babbles tell you she’d done that?”
Honeysuckle suddenly coughed on her cigarette, her eyes nearly watering as she turned.
“Well, I-I-I mean...wh-who else could it have been? P-p-practical jokes, foal stuff, right?”
She was stammering. Something was certainly putting her on edge.
“Yeah, but when Prince Herod questioned her this morning? Did she admit it?”
The beige mare’s eyes darted about.
“Uh...Not really sure, I don’t stick around for that kind of thing. Look, I gotta’ go. It’s getting a bit chilly out here.”
And with that, she’d scampered off back the dreaded Sanguine Hall.


“Suspicious indeed.” Cadence mused, placing her forehooves together in interest.
“Maybe. But my bits are on Blueblood.” Shining added “He’s the one who pointed hooves in the first place.”
“I wasn’t sure what to think at that point.” Alma said, shrugging “Anyway, the day after that, Aunt Maeve finally arrived, along with Uncle Persnickety.” she shook her head “It was weird. All of them scampered down to greet her like hyped-up school-foals, hugging and kissing and laughing. I think Rowena was right. When Prince Herod wasn’t around, they seemed pretty friendly with each other. I honestly don’t know which part was the act and which was the truth.”
“That’s the thing about actors. You can never tell.” Cadence said knowingly.
“Yeah. Also of note, Babbles got her paints and paper as promised. Seemed pretty happy about it, kept her out of my mane at least. Before long she was showing me painting after painting of big red flying cows doing their...business...on Blueblood’s head.”
Shining burst out laughing.
“Somepony ought to put them in the Royal Gallery.” he suggested as Cadence jabbed him lightly in the side to shush him, struggling not to laugh herself.
“Yeah,” Alma chuckled “Still, the mood changed right back the next day when Mr Runcible Spoon, Prince Herod’s solicitor arrived. It was like Nightmare Moon had come. Everypony knew he was there to discuss the will and how it could be changed. The preparations for the birthday party were nearly complete and so, very nearly, was Prince Herod’s portrait.”


Alma was just touching up the details of the portrait when Blueblood, or Gormless as he was known about the hall, appeared from the stage door and tapped his hoof for attention.
“Pardon me, came to inform you the old party begs to be excused. He’s closeted with Mr Runcible.” he explained “Mummy told me that if there was anything I could do to help...” he waved a hoof nonchalantly.
Alma didn’t feel particularly comfortable around the stallion but as circumstances demanded, she complied.
“Would it be okay to stand in for him?”
Blueblood’s eyebrows rose.
“You want me to pose?”
“Well, I’m just applying the highlights to this cloak. It’s right over there, would you mind?”
Alma had expected an argument, or at least some amount of sulking, similar to Babbles in truth.
Instead, the stallion’s face brightened immensely and he nearly bounded on the spot.
“Mind? I’m in seventh paradise! I adore this sort of thing!” He snatched up the tartan cloak and swept it round him elegantly, putting one foreleg upon a model stump and striking a proud stance “Like this? Shall I be dashing?”
While Alma appreciated his enthusiasm, it wasn’t quite what he was going for. She left the easel a moment and carefully positioned him as his grandfather had placed himself. The young stallion accepted without argument. 
Blueblood chuckled to himself as Alma worked at the finishing touches.
“I’ve never posed before...well, not for a portrait” He put on an accent, enjoying his character “Ach, ‘tis a braw and roilin’ tumult ah do bespy, me wee lass...heh...Trottish, you understand...Course, papa would know, him having played MacHeath however many times now...”
“Have you ever played the role?” Alma asked.
“Of MacHeath? Sadly no. The closest I ever got was playing MacDock’s son when I was a colt. As I said, I never get much luck nowadays. Last time I got a part in Shaking-Spear, I played Boreas Caesar at an Academy show...At least I think it was Boreas Caesar because all I remember is everypony else came on to stab me at the end!”
They chuckled. After a pause, Blueblood spoke quieter.
“Do you know, the house is simply seething with intrigue.” he murmured “The consensus of opinion is that the birthday boy will choose the opportunity to announce his new will this evening.”
“Are you joking?” Alma asked “You mean he announces it? Before everypony? Humiliating them?”
“Oh yes, he does it every time.” Blueblood answered, his tone darkening “He adores it.”
“Does he change his will often?”
The stallion thought a moment.
“On average, I’d say about every two years.”
“Two years?!” Alma nearly dropped her brush “But it must be terrifying for you.”
“Well of course, we’re all on tenterhooks. That’s why he enjoys it so much. I suppose it’s the only time on stage where he’s certain nopony’s falling asleep. It’s almost become a tradition, a command performance.”
There was an uneasy pause.
It seemed Prince Herod was not only suspicious about his family but positively ruthless, almost sadistic.
Between his power-games and their grasping, it was no wonder the younger generation like Rowena, Bayard, Blueblood and Babette seemed so distant from their parents. Or how Honeysuckle had become so disillusioned.


Blueblood spoke up.
“I say, do give old Bluey the teensiest look.” he pleaded “My very own private view. I won’t give anything away, promise.”
“Well alright, it should be just about finished. You can take off the cloak if you like. Here we go.” Alma put down the paints and turned the easel round.
The portrait was indeed coming to its full effect. Prince Herod Sanguine stood magnificent in the tartan garb, his grey mane dyed a ruddy ginger, the dagger before him, the look of a king upon his features as the moors of Trotland rose and fell behind him in the mist.
Blueblood’s azure eyes widened with wonder and he let out a gasp.
“Oh that is...Golly, it’s...It’s him! It’s...theatre...just like he is...” he announced, finding the right words. It heartened Alma to hear him so complimentary, she didn’t mind admitting it.
“It’s Shaking-Spear and its MacHeath and it’s...it’s him...all rolled into one...Just look at how he stares down at you...like a king...I think my knees are shaking. Oh, he will be very pleased about this, I can tell you that!”
His smile turned coy as he removed the cloak.
“Still...” he began wryly “I reckon he’s become interested in more than just your painting, oh mistress muse of colour and light.”
Alma’s smile faded.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do.” he chuckled “Really, you were off to a good start from the get-go. Remember that first dinner you had with us. I was very impressed, I have to say. Not in this house a full night and you already had the old colt wrapped around your hoof. ‘Truly delighted’ indeed. What’s your secret? I’d love to know your technique.”
Alma was taken aback.
“Sorry, are you implying...”
“Oh come now, Miss Rose. My Papa is many things but he’s hardly subtle.” Blueblood sighed, his eyes glinting “Maybe he’ll leave the old place to you in the end. Wouldn’t that be a hoot!”
“Wait, wait, wait right there!” It was all she could do not to clout him “Let’s be clear, I am not, in any way, attracted to your grandfather or the prospects of said attraction! Is that understood?!”
Blueblood pursed his lips.
“Not particularly. I don’t see why you won’t, at least, consider the prospect. He’s apt to treat you nicely and all this...” he waved his hoof around “could easily be yours.”
Alma gritted her teeth and let loose a confession.
“I’m not into stallions!”
At this, Blueblood shrugged.
“Figured as much. Still don’t see the harm in giving him a go.”
“Wha-”
“Look, I’m just being practical.” the stallion interrupted “Think about it. He’s not going to be around long. All you need to do is lie back and think of Celestia’s sunny flanks for a couple of nights and once you’ve got the place to yourself, who knows? You’ll probably have enough bits for all the mares in Canterlot, you lucky filly. Though you might want to keep Babbles to taste your food and drink from now on. You’ll find that Honeysuckle is not one to give up her ill-gotten gains without a fight...and she’s not the only one.”
And with a smug smirk, he left the theatre, leaving Alma quietly fuming.
“See you at dinner.”


“Okay, was he asking to get decked in the muzzle or something?!” Shining snarled “And I thought he was a pain in the flanks around the guard!”
“I admire your restraint, Alma, I always have.” Cadence said, shaking her head.
The discourtesy of Blueblood around the court was well-known yet never failed to shock and infuriate.
“Yeah, yeah, I just wanna’ put that out of my mind.” the milk-white pegasus said, massaging her temples with one hoof “Anyway, dinner was at eight, as always, I was quite happy to see Persnickety again. He just seemed impressed that I hadn’t gone insane already. He explained the routine to me.”


“First Papa will toast to the Princess’s good health then one of us will toast Papa’s.” Persnickety said in the general rhubarb of the festive dinner hall.
All the family had gathered, chattering amongst themselves.
Prince Herod, though indeed the birthday colt and the stallion of the hour, didn’t seem in particularly jovial spirits. His manner seemed distant, almost disinterested. Yet he was eating well, and drinking.
“It’s me this year. Last year, Babbles was called in to do it but what with ringworm and practical jokes, she’s been scratched.” Persnickety continued before the main course was brought forth.
He stared at the crustaceous platter before him and gave an uneasy roll of his eyes.
“I say, this can’t possibly be crayfish. Gwen?!” he sighed accusingly.
Gwendolyn looked up and looked as defensive as conduct would allow.
“Don’t blame me, Persnickety. He insisted.”
At the head of the table, Herod could be heard tutting loudly.
“Tchah! They call this rock lobster?! It’s no more a lobster than I am! Nothing more than an obscure Horsetralasian shellfish! Aeschylus, champagne. Look lively now, what ails you?!” He barked, raising his empty glass.
Cordelia shook her head, sighing, and joined in with Persnickety.
“Gwendolyn, you know what that stuff does to him, you should have put your hoof down!” she hissed.
“Cordy dear, my hoof is cracked and furrowed from being put down.” Gwen retorted, noticing Herod no longer seemed to be listening “If any one of you wishes to fetch and carry for that impossible old stallion, then you’re welcome. It would make me the happiest mare in Marchion.”
“Nonsense, Gwen, you thrive on it. The whole of Sanguine Hall knows it.” Ninienne chuckled derisively.
“Do they indeed, Ninny?” The blue mare shook her head, her polite smile never leaving her face “I gave up the theatre for him. It’s still in my blood.”
“Do you know, Gwen,” Maeve piped up, a gaudy and exuberant mare whose syrupy smile hid an acid tongue, Alma had learned in the short time she’d known her “I’ve always thought that when Gladnys Swooper left the stage, she left a gap that you could feel nicely.”
“Thank you, Muffy.”
“Good looks apart, of course” Maeve added in a whisper just loud enough for everypony to hear.
Gwen’s smile barely left her face but Alma saw.
There was hurt behind those eyes.
It had been brewing away for a while.
Persnickety sighed, eying his uncle breaking apart the crayfish and scooping the meat upon his fork. He edged over to Alma.
“Champagne and hot crayfish...You’ll hear more of this.”
“Is it very bad for him?” Alma asked.
“Catastrophic.”


Dinner continued for some time in such a fashion. Once it was done, and the servants were serving hot drinks and digestive cocktails, Prince Herod rose to toast the Princess’s good rule in a firm and magnanimous manner and after him came Persnickety who, as per tradition, toasted Prince Herod’s continued health.
“To Papa” The Sanguines stood and charged their glasses as one, unified it seemed.
“To darling Woddy!” Honeysuckle piped up in her showmare manner reserved for crowds “Here’s to juithe in his tank!”
The merriment died so fast, one would think it had been snapped off at the neck.
At last, Prince Herod rose, smiling warmly at his family. 
“Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you.” he declared “There is no audience as near and as dear to an old player of parts than his own kith and kin. Bless you all.”
All those around the table smiled and gave themselves an imaginary pat on the back.
“Soon now, we shall all of us prepare for the theatre, there to see unveiled the fruits of our lovely artist, Miss Alma Rose’s mighty strivings.” he gestured grandiosely to Alma who blushed humbly as she received a generous applause.
“A likeness of myself which I may say it is my intention to present to the realm.”
“Bravo.” Blueblood piped up before Gwendolyn shushed him.
“However, before we feast on our bounty of glory and refinement, there is that which I would impart. I shall be brief...” Herod continued, breathing deeply and brushing away a tear “Forgive me...my heart is full. But it is my incomparable pleasure to announce that Miss Honeysuckle has this day done me, the immeasurable honour...”
“Oh no...” Ninienne gasped aside.
“...of consenting to be my wife.”
He marched gallantly over to the young mare’s chair, retrieved a spectacular gem-strewn ring and fitted it upon Honeysuckle’s dainty forehoof.
“Oh Woddy...” she looked near to tears as they kissed before all present.
“Oh gods help us all, this is the end!” Maeve was heard to hiss “I hope you’re happy, Gwen, now we’re all stuck with the trollop, damn it all!”
She silenced by Herod drawing himself and clearing his throat.
“Methought I didst hear the groundlings applaud.” he beckoned meaningfully, gesturing with one ear. On his instruction, Blueblood began clapping, a look of giddy excitement etched crudely into his features, followed by his mother, Mr Runcible, Persnickety and all the rest, some ecstatically rapid, others morosely slow.
“Congratulations, Papa.” Blueblood cheered “Both of you, congratulations, you lucky young things! Bravo!”
“I thank you all.” Herod said, silencing them once more. “I am...moved.
His eyes twinkled in an almost predatory manner as he surveyed the table and spoke again.
“And now I come to the reason for the good Mr Runcible to grace our festive board.”
His solicitor, a gaunt but trim earth pony with a silver coat and mane, adjusted his spectacles and nodded respectfully as Herod continued, his voice growing louder and more accusing.
“Of late, I have been treated with disrespect, nay with contumely.” An icy chill gripped the room at his words “My goodness has been repaid with the basest insult! All of you here do know me. All of you here do know that those who love me not, I do not love.”
Several small gulps were heard in the moment’s silence as the crown gave several uncomfortable pauses.
“It was my intention to request Mr Runcible to draw up anew my last will and testament...And yet my having won the heart of Miss Honeysuckle has caused resurgence within this bosom of the milk of divine forgiveness...I have been merciful.”
He smiled haughtily and gestured to the silver stallion.
“I will now ask Mr Runcible to read the terms of my new will.” And with that, he at last sat down.


Mr Runcible Spoon stood, held up a set of sheets and began his own prose.
“With your kind permission.” his voice largely lacked humour and gentleness but not politeness by any means “I, Herod Bludric Sanguine, Prince of Marchion and all under its most ancient domain, being of sound mind do declare this to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking all wills drawn and declared prior...”
If the will had been a Theatrical Play, it would have run forever but it received warm reviews. It provided for handsome bit legacies for Gwendolyn and Herod’s three daughters, allowed Rowena and Bayard to pursue careers, investments and relationships of their own choosing, funded the remainder of Babette’s upbringing and education and the residue of the Sanguine estate divided equally among the Prince’s nephew Persnickety, his grandson Blueblood (Named as such in the will to his surprise) and his wife Honeysuckle.
Nopony had cause for complaint and each one breathed grateful sighs of relief after hearing their names read out one by one.
Finally, once the will had been read and signed for all to see, the family trooped in unison to the theatre for the unveiling.
“For you, Miss Rose, the place of honour.” Prince Herod announced, smiling brighter than ever, gesturing to the front row seat as the Sanguines funnelled in one by one. He gestured across the corner of the room.
“Blueblood, my boy, if you would be so kind.”
“Absolutely, Papa, I’m ready on your command!” the young stallion said joyfully, shivering with anticipation as he pawed at the curtain switch.
Herod chuckled and stood before his kin like the old actor he was.
“The moment...is nigh...” he baited them, prompting hearty laughter as he begun yet another speech.
“An actor may move his audience to laughter or to tears, to terror or to anger. What he must not do is tantalize them!”
“Hear-hear!” Blueblood called out.
“So let it be now, the readiness is all. House-lights please, Blueblood!”
His grandson switched them, the room dimming, the excitement near to burst through the roof.
“And curtain!”
It rose on the Prince’s command, the portrait unveiled inch by inch.
As it finally displayed itself at its full length and height, the curtain disappearing into the canopy above, an almighty gasp filled the ears of all those seated, many indeed now standing.
Prince Herod let out something between a gasp and a groan and doubled-up, falling on his knees and panting, his face slowly turning puce, looking older and less healthy than ever before.
Painted crudely above MacHeath’s head was a big red flying cow in the process of defecation.
“Oh my...Miss Rose, I am so sorry.” Gwendolyn began, her face white.
“Don’t worry, if everypony can stay calm, let me just check.” Alma got up, removing a painting sponge from underneath her shawl “The paint should still be wet, if you just give me a moment, it’ll come straight off.”
It was the work of a moment to wipe it away. It was indeed still wet and very thinly spread.
Had it been oil paint as had been used on the mirror, it would be a very different story.
Persnickety came up and helped her, drying it off with a handkerchief. Once it was done, there was little to nothing that suggested anything had been out of order.
“There we go, everypony.” Alma declared “Panic averted. Good as new. Just a mild inconvenience.”
There was a collection of relieved sighs from several Sanguines. Prince Herod however, was not in any way relieved.
“Mild...MILD I HEAR?!” he roared, before wheezing hoarsely, Honeysuckle pawing at his shoulder with care “I demand to know the author of his outrage!”
“Well it wasn’t Babette!” Ninienne cried before the hoof could be pointed, standing up and demanding the attention of the crowd “She’s been in bed since seven! The medicine she takes makes her sleep like a log! I put her to bed myself! Bayard was there, Dr Caraway was there, no fewer than three servants were there, the foal could not possibly have done it!”
“She’th been painting cows for dayth, I’ve theen her. We’ve all theen her” Honeysuckle countered snidely.
Glaring at her new mother-in-law with abject loathing, Ninienne bellowed back, fire in her eyes.
“Then she must have doing your portrait!!!”


Honeysuckle shot out of her seat, speechless for a moment, then squawked at full volume.
“R-R-Roddy, d-did you hear that?! Did you?! That nag just called me a cow! She called me a cow!”
Herod seemed to have no more thirst for melodramatics. He rose unsteadily to his hooves, hung his head and spoke almost sulkily.
“I believe I shall go to bed.”
Honeysuckle stared, startled.
“You mean you’re just going to stand there and let me be insul-”
“Enough! I am incensed!” he hollered, snuffing the ire straight out of his new wife who shrunk back, near terrified. The old stallion caught his breath, his gaze meeting nopony.
“Indeed I am unwell...Leave me...I am going alone...”
And without another word, he trudged out of the theatre doors, leaving the stunned family in silence.
With tears in her eyes, Honeysuckle looked about, finding only looks of disdain or discomfort and fled in turn, the beginnings of sobs escaping her.
Out the corner of her eye, Alma Rose caught sight of Blueblood, a victorious smirk on his face.


“We went to bed soon after, barely a word between each other...Then the next morning, Aeschylus summoned the household and regretfully announced he’d found the old stallion dead, lurched over the bed, having failed to summon the servants for aid. The stress of the night’s ordeals finally finished him off.”
Alma finally finished her drink, sighed and sat back in her chair, Shining and Cadence’s looks of shock slowly settling upon their visages.
“I didn’t stay long after that. My work was done...and I’d have gone either way. Also, I was an outsider in a house of mourning, by definition at any rate. The hearse came for him as I left. A service of undertakers...and embalmers”
Cadence sat back in turn, her hoof stroking her lip in thought.
“Sounds like a MacHeath quote is called for.” she said grimly.
“Can’t bring us any more bad luck than we already have.” Shining said shrugging.
The alicorn looked down and quoted Lady MacHeath’s famous show of regret.
“Who would have thought the old steed to have so much blood in him...”