//------------------------------//
// Compensation 
// Story: How to Disappear Completely 
// by shortskirtsandexplosions 
//------------------------------//

"And ssssssssssso..."  An elder canine leaned on a walking stick, staring through the lanternlight at the ponies gathered on the opposite end of a negotiating table.  "It would ssssssseem that the illusssstriousss memberssss of the Hawkeye Pack have formulated their requessssst..."

Soarin, Spitfire, and Flash Sentry crept upon the fringes of the star-bathed tents.  Watching the scene with tense eyes, Flash silently craned his neck, waiting for a response from his fellow acquaintances at the meeting.

Fancy Pants and Filthy Rich suddenly stirred, as if roused from near-sleep at this point during the proceedings.  Prince Blueblood—however—remained standing tall and stately as ever.  "Very well..."  The stallion gestured with a regal hoof.  "What is your proposal?"

"Not a proposssssal, ssssshiny pony!"  Rover slapped his paw—whap!—across a stretch of maps and glared across the table through his slitted eyes.  "It'sssssss a demand!"

The Wonderbolt members shifted cautiously while on guard.

Blueblood rolled his eyes, sighed, and spoke through a tired smile.  "Call it what you like.  I'm all ears."

"OooOOooOOoooh!"  Spot climbed up Fido's shoulders so he could reach over and scratch the back of Rover's neck.  "That'ssssssssss our Alpha!  Sssssssssshow them a pup'ssss place!"

"Pony," Fido belched.

"Er!  Right!  I meant 'pony's place'!"

"AHEM!"  Rover coughed loudly, making the other two Hakweyes flinch.  Then—with a fanged grin—he folded his beefy forelimbs and squinted at his equine familiars.  "The Hawkeye Pack issssss in dire need of new digging groundsssss to make homessss in.  We've had our eyessssssss on Sssssssweet Pine Ssssssniff Valley for quite ssssome time now!"

Filthy Rich cocked his head aside.  "Sweet Pine... Sn-sniff what now?"

"Ssssssssssssweet Pine Sssssssssniff Valley!"  Spot hopped up and down, squeaking.  "Don't you ssssssmarty sssssmart poniessss speak caninese?!?"

"Rrrrgh!"  Rover shoved Spot away, not once wrenching his angry glare from the three pony spokestallions.  "The only reasssssson the Hawkeye Pack hasssssn't already dug our way into Sssssssweet Pine Ssssssniff Valley issss becaussssse a bunch of foolisssssh poniesss have made their homessss there!  Digging there would mean butting headsssss with your kind and that would make thingssssss very ssssstresssssfull for High Paw!"

"Yeah!"  Fido raised a claw, grinning wetly.  "And alsssssso we didn't want to hear the poniesssss' awful whining by kicking them out on our own!"

"Guhhhh..."  Rover groaned into his own paw.  "I ssssssswear... the doctorssss fixed the wrong endssss on the both of you!"

Spot blinked.  "She did?!"

"I'm... afraid you have us at a disadvantage," Blueblood stammered.

"Yes, my fine hairy chap.  Would you care to explain?"  Fancy Pants leaned forward, adjusting his monocle.  "Just... where exactly is this 'Sweet Pine Sniff Valley?'"

"Sssssoutheasssst of here!"

Filthy Rich sighed.  "Care to be specific?"  He pointed at the table.  "The map, for instance..."

"Bah!"  Rover tossed his arms and spat at the parchment.  "Like you can expect a dog to undersssssstand a prissssssy pony map!"

"Ahem..."  An elder canine leaned in and tapped a particular spot on the map with his cane-tip.  "About hereaboutssssss... two dirt moundsss south of the wessssternmossssst edge of what you ponies call the 'Scorpan Mountain Range.'"

"Oh... uhhhh..."  The alpha Hawkeye rubbed the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly.  "I knew th-that!"

"Ah.  Let's see here..."  Fancy Pants leaned over, studying the spot on the map.  "Scorpan Mountain Range... two clicks south... forest... forest... an open valley—Ah!  There it is!"  Just then, Fancy Pants gasped dramatically, his monocle flying right off.  "Good heavens!  Galloping Green?!  Princess Celestia in the shower!!!"  Suddenly, Fancy Pants was brandishing the first frown Flash had ever seen on the otherwise gentlemanly stallion.  "OUT OF THE QUESTION!!!"

"Guh!"  Blueblood legitimately shook, inching a bit away from his business partner.  "Mr. Pants!  What in Tartarus is the matter—?!"

"These slobbering ingrates want to take away my Galloping Green!  That's what's the bloody matter!"

Filthy Rich blinked crookedly.  "Do ya mean your fancy schmancy golf resort?"

Blueblood grimaced.  "Golf Resort?!"

"It's more than that!"  Fancy Pants' nostrils flared... then flared again.  "It's a retreat for lucrative business partners coming from far and wide!  Not to mention it has the second largest convention hall situated in all of my Equestrian properties!  And I happen to like the view from the third story western balcony there!"  He slapped a hoof down, his collar shuffling off-balance.  "I've invested far too many bits into that luxurious property over the years to... to... mrmmm shovel it off to tail-chasing brutes!"

"Hrmmmfff!"  Rover folded his forelimbs again, then tilted his hairy neck up with an indignant frown.  "Well—the Hawkeye Pack wantssssss thossssse digging groundssss!  If you can't give them up, then you'll not get any of our cryssssstalline jewellssss!  Your imperialissst pony friendssss will jusssst have to dig up ssssssome of their own!"  His slitted eyes casually scraped the canvas of the tent directly above, and he lost a smidgen of his surly resolve.  "Oh!  Ssssay!  I can look up!"

"Woof?"  Fido followed his eyes.

"Ruff!"  Spot too.

"Grrrrrrrgh!  This is ridiculous!"  Fancy Pants huffed and puffed.  "As if I haven't suffered enough expense in coming here—only to be rebuffed by these mangy Hawkeyes' anarchist stubbornness—just to be yanked by the proverbial junkyard chain yet again!"

"Hah!  Typical pony ssssself-centerednesssss!"  Rover smirked bitterly at the unicorn.  "You do realize that—in the eyessssssss of usssss diamond dogssssss—the Ssssssweet Pine Sssssssniff Valley hasssss alwayssssss belonged to ussss!  And yet we chossssse not to take issssssue with the poniessss who built their junk there until now!  If we can sssssslink so low to actually assssssssssk you poniesssssss to make room, then sssssssssurely you poniessss can ssssslink too!"

"He has a point there, Fancy, pard'ner," Filthy Rich muttered out the side of his muzzle.

"Why of all the—?!"  Fancy Pants threw him a wild look.  "I beg your pardon?!"

"Mr. Pants..."  Blueblood placed a heavy hoof on Fancy Pant's shoulder and pulled him closer.  He leaned in with a calm smile.  "...you thought you had all this in the bag, didn't you?"

"With a glittering bow on top!" Fancy Pants stammered.

"How long have you been in business?  Twenty years?  Thirty?"  Blueblood straightened Fancy's collar for him.  "I'm the seventy-eighth Blueblood in my family line.  If you haven't learned by now, then let me teach you what I grew up learning:  the concessions you make in life to forge progress cannot be always afforable.  As if that's even a concern for you..."

"Uhhhhh..."

"A golf course?  Really?"  Blueblood raised an eyebrow.  "If I knew such a paltry thing could get you in such a tussel, I'd have teased you about it minutes after we took off on the Midnight Oil."

"But you don't understand—"

"Oh, but I do understand."  Blueblood picked Fancy Pants' monocle back up and placed it on the mustache'd stallion's face.  "Trust me.  Give it up, friend.  In exchange... we gain an opportunity to win the favor of these would-be canine capitalists... not to mention the trust and faith of the Crystal Empire in turn.  You said it yourself!  The possiblity for financial and cultural gain here is endless!"

"I... I know..."  Fancy Pants gulped.  "But... but... Galloping Greens!  Everypony who is everypony goes there to golf!"

"Fancy..."  Filthy Rich leaned in with bored eyes.  "I don't golf at any of your places."

Fancy blinked at the other entrepeneur with hurt eyes.  "You don't?"

Filthy shook his head.  "No.  The grass on your grounds is... far too bitter for my taste."

Fancy sighed inwardly.  "Well, my good fellow, if perhaps you spent less time grazing and more time practicing your driving neck—"

"AHEM..."  Blueblood patted Fancy Pants' shoulder even harde.r  "Mr. Pants, I do believe you are missing Mr. Rich's point.  It may seem like a heavy price now, but I do believe you're the only creature on this mesa—or in all of Equestria—who seems to care so badly about it."

"You're the one who's always barkin' at us to keep a level-head," Filthy said.  He briefly winced, then smiled at the canine pack leaders.  "No offense intended, y'all."

Rover shrugged.  "Yiff."

"So... how about it?" Blueblood asked one last time.

Fancy Pants weathered a long, exasperated sigh.  He straightened his mane while glancing aside.  "I... could very easily redistribute most of my assets.  The only remaining problem is... what to do with the resort clientele."

"You'll find out a way to keep them employed," Blueblood said.  "You're a considerate stallion like that."

"Hrmmmmmm..."  Fancy Pants rubbed his white chin, slowly forming a smile.  "I suppose I could buy out that resort in Fillyda that I had my heart set on."  He blinked at the others.  "Have you chaps ever heard of 'Mare-a-Largo?'"

Filthy Rich coughed.  "Caaaaaaaan we talk to them slobberin' dogs again?"

"Yes.  Although..."  Prince Blueblood winked at Fancy Pants.  "Perhaps it would be for the best if I did the talking."

"Yes."  Fancy Pants leaned back with a humble breath and an even humbler smile.  "That it would."

"Right."  Blueblood turned, cleared his throat, and approached the Hawkeyes across the bargaining table.  "After speaking closely with my associates, we have agreed..."  He stood tall and resolute.  "...that your proposal—"

"Demand!"

"Yes, that."  Blueblood looked at Rover specifically.  "It is most satisfactory."

"You mean..."  Rover leaned forward with beaming eyeslits.  "...you'll let usssssss dig up Sssssssweet Pine Sssssssssniff Valley?!"

"In exchange..."  Blueblood leaned his head forward, adding an assertive glare.  "...for the crystalline jewels.  Is that understood?  You'll get land for the precious gems that will assist the crystal ponies to the north.  For the love of diplomacy, let us not complicate things any further, yes?"

Rover, Spot, and Fido exchanged glances.

Flash Sentry, Soarin, and Spitfire craned their necks, watching in tense silence.

At long last, Rover formed a fist and punched the tabletop.  "It isssss a deal, sssssshiny pony!"  Several of the canines behind him yipped and howled.

Fancy Pants and Filthy Rich exhaled with relief.

"Your chatty friend who foiled our catapult plan wassssss right!"  Rover grinned, dirty teeth showing.  "We can get thingsssss done by talking!"

"Yeah!"  Spot climbed halfway up Rover's body to be seen by the other negotiators.  "And we promisssse not to give you the crysssstalline jewellsssss we wiped our buttssss with—Whoah!"

Rover finished tossing Spot to the mesa's surface.  Th-Thud!  "Pay no attention to hisssss talk though!"  Rover tittered nervously.  "He'sssss not alpha Hawkeye!"

"I can tell."  Smiling, Blueblood held his hoof out straight before the canine.  "A pleasure doing business, friend."

Rover blinked at the Prince's fetlock.  He scratched his head, shrugged at his familiars, then leaned in to give the hoof a longgggggggggg slobbbbbbering lickkkkkkkkkk.

Blueblood winced heavily.

Almost immediately, Spot and Fido leaned in to mimic their leader's gesture, quadrupling the layers of drool coating Blueblood's trembling leg.

"Grmmm... gnnnghhh... hhhhhtttt..."  Blueblood struggled to cork in an effeminate whimper.

Filthy Rich leaned in with a smirk.  "Way to bridge cultural gaps there, buddy."

Fancy Pants leaned in with a smirkier smirk.  "Bet you're quite happy to be doing the talking, hmmm?"

"Hmmmmmmmmm..."  Prince Blueblood leaned back from the table, cradling his soiled limb.  He looked up, smiling awkwardly at the canine packs gathered in the lanternlight.  "Would it be too much trouble to ask if your civilization has invented a vomit bag yet?"