//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 – O Come, All Ye Charitable // Story: Merry Chestnuts and a Happy New Fleur // by Prane //------------------------------// Merry Hearth’s Warming? Where’s the catch? Upper Crust was wearing the same unapologetic snobbish face she always did, so her greetings were best taken with a grain of salt. Belay that—with a whole packet of salt. In fact, it would be best to not take her greetings at all. “Goodbye.” Fleur headed towards the door. “Wait!” Upper Crust stepped before her. “I wish only to talk.” Now that was unexpected—but was it really, though? She wasn’t there to make a scene, not without a proper audience, so whatever she was up to must have been personal. “Talk?” “I admit, I haven’t prepared an opening line, so I’ll ask straight: how is your daughter?” “Then you do recognize Chestnut as my daughter?” Fleur asked inquisitively. “Not a maid, not a thestral who got lost and just accidentally landed in my living room? Not a jewelry thief?” To Fleur’s surprise, the other mare did not lash out at her. “Regardless of my personal feelings concerning bat—thestrals, I should have been more supportive of your decision. Considering our years of acquaintanceship if nothing else.” She rested against the wall and looked up. “I’ll be honest with you. Be a dear and spare me the look, I can be an honest pony if I want to.” “And I thought those to be rumors...” Upper Crust did not take that bait. “You see, I really put myself in a no-win scenario that night. When the faux pas I committed became clear to me, I had a choice: either admit my mistake, apologize and plead for mercy, which would put me on the losing side automatically… or throw a tantrum and leave the party goodbye.” “How did that work out for you?” “As you can see I’m still in this game”—she waved her hoof around, her voice echoing across the spacious room—“still getting invited into places, for which I suppose I should thank you. You could have used my slip to ruin me completely but you didn’t, while there’s a number of ponies in and outside of the Canterlot Elite who would love to see me fail. That Hyacinth being one of them,” she drawled. “She thinks she’s so smart, scoring points because she now speaks highly of thestrals.” “Is that gossiping I hear?” “Just watching your back out there. I hope you do realize her change of heart wasn’t sincere. It was but a move.” What a strange conversation they were having. There was an actual apology missing from the mare’s words, but Fleur didn’t feel malice behind any of them. Neither Fancy Pants nor her were vengeful ponies and they would have never thought of sacrificing another socialite to move up higher in the social ladder. The truth was they had a lot on their minds with the adoption formalities, so the character of Upper Crust and her outburst had been completely marginalized. Not mentioning it to the pony in question was probably for the best. But what was her game now? Was she genuinely reaching out, or was it but an attempt to salvage their, as she put it, acquaintanceship? Vengeful or not, it usually paid off to be in good standings with Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis, so it made sense she’d come around eventually, “I suppose it fits her personal agenda for the moment. But yes, I know how the game works. Constantly minding yourself during those over-the-top parties, all that insincerity and plotting, it’s all so straining…” “Is that complaining I hear? Be honest with me.” “What if I don’t feel like sharing?” “Then it is a choice you can make.” Upper Crust shrugged. “I didn’t drag you here to plead for mercy, but to show gratitude for not ruining my reputation. With that said, I’m pretty much done. Just know that I was being honest with you today.” A strange, strange conversation indeed. Fleur figured she could as well go all the way in. “Honesty for honesty, then,” Fleur joined the other mare at the wall. “Having a foal was going to be my vacation, but of course it ended up opposite,” she admitted. “Fancy Pants and I have brought Chestnut into this crazy world of ours sooner than it would normally take, so now we have to watch her back if she gets involved.” “Does that trouble you?” “Not at all, we’ll do it gladly, because, you know—parents. But I’d like to think that ponies with whom we’ve shared years of acquaintanceship will not make it any harder for us or Chestnut.” “Like I have a choice.” She gave Fleur a cautious look. “I understand you didn’t have it either.” “What do you mean?” A bell resounded outside, signaling that the auction was about to begin, but neither mare moved. “I put the two and two together. You chose to adopt… for a reason, didn’t you?” It was what poems described as a Hearth’s Warming miracle. The moment Fleur nodded she had a friendly hoof on her own, a fleeting gesture that nonetheless spoke more than any of them could put into words. At the end of the day, Upper Crust was a mare. She understood the one reason Fleur took a stroll to the Orphanarium instead of taking Fancy Pants for a picnic with a bottle of wine and a basket full of rose petals. At that moment, it turned out there was an actual pony being under the perfected demeanor of a stuck-up snob. It shouldn’t be so surprising to Fleur, but it was, almost as much as discovering that she wasn’t angry at Upper Crust. What happened during the party wasn’t the biggest bomb dropped in the history of the Canterlot Elite, and even those kept the attention for several weeks at best. If Upper Crust intended to be fair with Fleur, then she was going to do the same. No one should feel uncared for on Hearth’s Warming Eve, not even the mare who almost broke Fleur’s family before it was fully formed. In a way… that experience brought them closer, too. “One thing puzzles me, though,” Upper Crust said. “Why would you need a break when you two always seem to stay at the top of your game? It can’t be that bad. What you call over-the-top parties I call living the dream, and insincerity and plotting are only some of the many tools we use to stay ahead of the competition.” She livened up. “And we’re winning! Just look at us, Fleur—we have good jobs, excellent contacts, we travel, we wear the best dresses and jewelry, meet celebrities… not to mention the excitement it brings!” “I’m good at it when I need to. Perhaps I want to see if I’m half as good at playing the family game as well. New horizons, new challenges, that sort of things.” “Well, that means someone will have to check on your dodgeball skills every now and then, lest they deteriorate. It wouldn’t do you or your family any good if you lost your edge, don’t you think?” “Actually, I was hoping to avoid unnecessary conflict.” Upper Crust snorted. “Please. You’re making it sound like conflict was a bad thing. But conflict is good! Drama is good.” She trotted to the nearest mirror and brought up her lipstick. “I try not to be the central characters in those, nevertheless there is some perverse pleasure in stealing the spotlight by failing spectacularly. Bottom line, dear: without drama, your life is just a series of mundane and dull. Take this auction, for example.” “No argument here,” Fleur agreed sourly. “Gavel asked me if I could do something to liven up the mood, but so far I’ve come up with nothing. The cause is just, but it’s total stagnation here today!” Upper Crust was done fixing her mane back into an impeccable coiffure. “I may have an idea. A little exercise in conflict since we’re at it,” she replied with a polite, but ever-so-devious face. “But if we’re going through with that, I better promptly wish you and your entire family, your daughter included, merry Hearth’s Warming from myself and Jet Set. Happy new year, too! Also, if I turn down the next two or three of your invitations to whatever event, please don’t hold it against me. I plan to capitalize on my mistake… in a way that will cause no trouble to you, obviously,” she added. “I’m just saying it all now because I won’t have a chance later, you understand.” “What are you playing, Upper?” “The only game I’m good at.” She grinned sardonically. “The only game worth playing!” * * * The Valenmane Estate’s dining room wasn’t filled to the brim, but thankfully the number of hooves present wasn’t insignificant either. “Fillies and gentlecolts!” Golden Gavel shushed the murmurs. “I am pleased to see—or rather, to hear such a sonorous response to the call, by which I of course mean your, ah, generous attendance here, and on such a special to us ponies day. Thank you all for coming! I’d like to also thank Lady Hoof for being such a welcoming hostess and inviting us into her beautiful home, let’s have a round of applause for her!” “Rule of Success No. 25,” the mare in question said, “Don’t get a mansion if you can’t invite enough guests.” “Yes, well put, thank you! Dear ponies, much like Hearth’s Warming itself, fundraisers are about charity. About looking past the luxuries that surround us and opening ourselves to others who may be less fortunate, who need brave ponies to give them a nudge of kindness straight from the bottom of their hearts!” he said ardently. “I look around, and you know what I see? I see that those ponies, the ponies who have that kindness in their hearts, are you. Because you’re not here to participate in another auction of shiny trinkets, not at all. You are here to join a mission of mercy, to support a noble cause of rebuilding a Yakyakistanian school.” His tone turned somber. “Classrooms have been destroyed. Almost all teaching aids have been lost. Close to a hundred young yaks is unable to carry on with their education. Together with me is Headmaster Ostwald, who would like to say a few inspiring words on behalf of those children. Headmaster?” The hulking yak, hitherto occupying a cozy spot by the fireplace—where he could have been easily mistaken for a piece of decoration—walked up the platform. “Our school lost in a fire. Yak need school to teach future generations,” Headmaster Ostwald said. Perhaps it was his broken Equestrian, but he wasn’t very inspiring. “Many subjects can’t be provided: language, numbers, art, smashing, all equally important. Yak not like talking long, so will only say this: school is school. Good school make smarter yak, and smarter yak make stronger herd. That’s why yak bring shiny trinkets for trade.” “Ahem, those are in fact unique objects of exquisite cultural value!” Golden Gavel hastily corrected. “Calling them ‘trinkets’ wouldn’t do them due justice.” “No difference really. We need gold to make repairs, so ponies need to open their—” “Hearts, hearts! Ah, thank you for giving us insight into your perilous situation, headmaster! A round of applause for Headmaster Ostwald, everyone! I’m sure there’s nothing more he could say now to bring us closer to the subject at hoof. Which is, of course, partaking in the spirit of Hearth’s Warming by helping those in need. So, without further ado, we now commence with the auction! Please turn your attention to our first object of desire, which is”—he glanced into his notes—“a traditional yak wedding headdress, how quaint…” The auction had begun. For antiquity-slash-oddity collectors it was a candy land. There was almost no competition over the various goods, which in themselves weren’t half bad, so whichever pony met the opening offer would eventually become the winner—no, not winner, simply the new owner. It was hardly a win if there was nobody opposing you. Despite Golden Gavel’s best efforts, the biding game was monotonous, and Fleur would be bored to death after the first few things if the devious plan she was about to execute wasn’t keeping her awake. “…we are in for a treat, ladies and gentlecolts,” Golden Gavel announced. “We have a hoofcrafted chess set with a hexagonal board—may I say, this is not something you see every day, and something you definitely can’t get anywhere on the Promenade! Thirty-six pieces resembling yaks, carved of wood and impregnated with no additional coloring that would wear off. Just like in regular chess you have the rooks, here represented by those big and formidable yaks, the three bishops on each side are, ah, slightly taller yaks, and the pawns appear to be calf.. for some inexplicable reason. I say, this is an excellent Hearth’s Warming present for any board game enthusiast! We will start with the initial bid of twenty bits.” If she hadn’t already bought Fancy Pants a little something, Fleur would regret having to give up on that set. He enjoyed playing chess—with ponies other than Fleur, naturally. She wasn’t much of a challenge for him. A slight frown crept on the mare’s forehead. He was, in fact, better at darts and chess. And most card games they’d played. She should find a suitable game in which she could rule. Preferably a one they could also play with Chestnut to catch two apples with one basket. Maybe one of those involving made-up characters in a fantasy world. That sounded like something along Daring Do, Power Ponies and other of Chestnut’s interests, didn’t it? As she mused, no one had started the auction yet. She raised her hoof lazily. It was time to stir up some drama. “Twenty bits.” “Thank you, ma’am! Twenty bits from the lovely lady in pink,” Golden Gavel replied. Fleur wasn’t sure if he’d noticed it was her—his auctioneer mode was making him quite oblivious to the ponies around him. “Do I hear twenty-five? Twenty-five bits, fillies and gentlecolts, and this refined piece of decorative arts can be yours.” “Twenty-five!” “Twenty-five from the lady with fantastic mane,” Golden Gavel called, pointing to the other end of the row. Fleur looked over the crowd with all the fake pretense she could muster. All the ingredients were there: a slight scowl of discontent that somepony dared to outbid her, her neck stretched so she could spot the culprit, a nervous shuffle of hooves as she wriggled in her chair. Finally, a casual murmur that was loud enough for the ponies around her to hear. “That Upper Crust,” she drawled. “This cannot stand. Thirty bits!” “Thirty-five!” Upper Crust shouted back. “Give it up, dear. You have enough exotic things under your roof.” A dozen heads between the mares turned to Fleur. Good, they were hooked. “You dare? Why, I’m surprised you’re here, to be honest. During our last you made it clear that you have no taste for the exotic,” she hissed. “How fitting for an upstart among the Elite. Forty bits!” Concerned whispers slithered across the room. Strains of conversations, questions, demands of explanation what those two self-centered mares were prattling about. Luckily, there were enough informed ponies around, and soon, everyone had either said or heard the words adoption, thestral, racist bigot and a couple of others spoken in favor of Fleur, or against her. “Forty-five bits!” Upper Crust countered. “Look who’s talking! An exile from Prance who bought herself the way into the Canterlot Elite with nothing but the shape of her derriere!” “At least my derriere has a shape!” “A square is a shape, true!” “Ladies, please! On Hearth’s Warming?” some well-clothed stallion in the front said. “This event is to support our friends in Yakyakistan, not to bring out your personal vendettas. Please take them outside. In the meantime”—he raised his hoof—“let’s make that fifty bits from an actual enthusiast.” “Fifty bits from the gentlecolt in the front row!” Golden Gavel exclaimed. “Will there be fifty-five? Going fifty once…” “Fifty-five,” a mare in the back joined, immediately turning to her circle of friends. “I’ll show him a vendetta. He didn’t come to see my relief collection, and now he’s into woodwork? Not a chance!” “Sixty!” Fleur shouted. “Seventy!” “Eighty!” the stallion in the front cried out. “One hundred bits,” came a new, calm but audible statement from the audience. “One hundred bits from the unicorn wearing a black cape!” Golden Gavel shrieked a high-pitched cry. “Fillies and gentlecolts, I think we have a real lover of chess and art among ourselves, big applause for reaching the hundred bits line for the first time today!” He started clapping himself, infecting the crowd with the idea that spending money was a good thing. He raised his hammer, ready to finalize the deal. “Going one hundred once, going one hundred twice… and… the Yakyakistanian chess set is SOLD to the gentlecolt in the sixth row for one hundred bits!” After that, the event really picked up the pace. None of the following auctions were boring. The ponies were participating, switching seats to be closer to those who bid the most—naturally, if they had money to spend on shiny trinkets just because, they were worth acquainting. To make big in Canterlot, you had to surround yourself with such individuals, and then exploit those connections to go even higher. All around the room, such exploits were taking place. “Well, at least she didn’t win. We can’t…” A classical two-horn helmet with authentic battle damage from the battle of Laeri Peak, sold for sixty bits! “…allow such ponies to shape our society. We have…” A hoof-woven wall rug depicting yaks at work, sold for ninety bits! “…standards to uphold, exactly what I’m talking about. Thankfully it’s not over yet, so I’ll still have a chance…” A set of goblets engraved with the names of yak princes, sold for a hundred and forty-five bits! “…to show her…” “…where…” “…her place…” “…is.” Finally, Golden Gavel put the hammer down for the last time. “...and SOLD for the amazing three hundred bits! What a finale, everypony! A round of applause to our happy buyer, and to all of you who joined us today! With your help, the Yakyakistan primary school will be rebuild, refurbished, and the young yak will have a chance to grow up big and strong, ah, I mean smart because they’re already big and strong. Isn’t that right, headmaster?” Headmaster Ostwald and his entourage had already melted several times over, overwhelmed by pony charity. He was crying, shouting incoherently how ponies were the best yaks there ever were. Fleur exhaled and sunk in her chair, holding a bundle she bought when the bids hadn’t skyrocketed yet. Phew! She wasn’t even sure what it was, but she was too tired to unwrap it. That was not a boring fundraiser, and the bits gathered were counted in thousands. She noticed Upper Crust leaving, and for a moment their eyes met. The other mare’s muzzle shot to the ceiling as she harrumphed in the most ostentatious way possible. Fleur wanted to giggle, to smile at her and congratulate on the job well done, but Upper Crust didn’t even flinch. She was an excellent actress and a masterful manipulator who thrived in arising drama. They might have never been close friends, and seeing how they differed in their approach to the great socialite game, they probably never would. But did it mean they had to be enemies? Realizing the late hour, Fleur wrapped up her musings with an old Istallian proverb. Look your friend in the face, but your enemy in the eyes. Truly, words to live by.