The TARDIS materialized with a faint roaring wheeze in a corner of a lovely garden, filled with beautiful roses and violets and other sundry flora. As soon as it landed, a white unicorn burst out of the doors and retched into a bed of tulips. The Doctor followed behind, looking unimpressed. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he said. “These are nice flowers, and you’re just… fertilizing them.”
Blueblood spun around eyes twitching. “You are a terrible pilot,” he spat. “I demand you return me to the castle this instant!”
The Doctor gave him a long, searching look. “There’s a word I know that might just help you get what you want,” he replied.
Blueblood ground his teeth. “Pleeeeease?” he said.
The Doctor grinned. “Good try, but the word I was going for was ‘rhubarb.’ Better luck next time!” He trotted off down the garden path. Blueblood could almost smell the cheeky grin.
Fine. He would just stay in the TARDIS. The Doctor could fly off wherever the Tartarus he wanted, but he wouldn’t go dragging Blueblood along, oh no. The prince jiggled the door handle. It refused to open. Frowning, he tugged at the door. It remained stubbornly shut. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he yanked back on the door, tipping over backwards and crashing to the ground with a thump. Opening his eyes once more, he found the Doctor staring down at him. “It’s locked,” he said flatly. “Come on, it’s a garden party. Even you can handle a garden party. I think.”
Blueblood sat up, scowling. “Oh, very well,” he grumbled.
“That’s the spirit!”
As the two stallions walked away from the TARDIS, neither noticed their hidden observer in the topiaries. Things had moved along much faster than anticipated. It would need to strike soon.
***
“Excuse me!” a voice shouted as the Doctor and Blueblood left the maze of flowers. A portly grey pegasus in a tuxedo stormed up to them. “Who are you?” he demanded, “And what are you doing here?”
Blueblood opened his mouth to retort, but the Doctor beat him to it. “D’you mean you really don’t know who we are?” He looked at Blueblood. “‘E doesn’t! This is Prince Blueblood, Celestia’s nephew, is who ‘e is.”
The pegasus paused for a moment, appraising the unicorn. “Ah. My apologies, sir. But who might you be?”
“‘I’m ‘is plus-one. We’re here for the party? Look, we’ve got invites and everything.” The Doctor hoofed over a piece of paper in a wallet of some sort. The pegasus glanced over it and his eyes glazed over for a moment. “I see,” he said. “You seem to have your dates mixed up, sirs. The party will not be until tomorrow.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry about the mix-up.”
“Of course, sir. If you wish to visit with Master Set today, I believe he and several friends of his are at the derby.”
It was an obvious brushoff, and the Doctor was worldly enough to take it. “Right. Let’s be off, then.”
Blueblood grinned triumphantly, turning back toward the trellis that led back down the garden path, but the servant cleared his throat. “Sir will find the exit this way,” he said, pointing with a wing to the garden gates.
“Of course,” the Doctor said. “Thanks much. Have a nice day.”
“And to you, sir,” the pegasus said, inclining his head.
***
“What did you do that for?” Blueblood hissed. “We could have just left.”
The Doctor shrugged. “P’rhaps I fancied a day at the races. I don’t see what you’re griping about, this is your ‘ome turf.”
“I thought it was,” the prince said icily. “Yet, somehow, a time-travelling earth pony gets more social invitations than I do.”
“What, that? Nah, that’s psychic paper. Shows whatever I want it to. ‘Ere, look.”
Blueblood took the proffered paper. “The reader of this message is a nitwit,” he read aloud, then cut himself off. “Very mature,” he sneered, hoofing the wallet back.
The Doctor glanced at it and raised an eyebrow. “Huh. That’s a bit much isn’t it?”
“Hm?”
“You seem to ‘ave given me a very lengthy, angry rant about my accent, manner, hygiene, and parentage.” He pocketed the paper and glanced at a very red Blueblood. “Tricky thing, psychic paper.”
The stallion grumbled something unflattering under his breath. “No need trying to hide it now, you’ve already made your views on me quite clear,” the Doctor said.
“Look,” Blueblood said plaintively, “You don’t like me. I don’t like you. The castle is right up there, so why don’t you just take me home so we never have to see each other again?”
“First off, your aunt would never forgive me. Second, she had a point. Disturbing as it may be, we both need somepony, and at the moment, it’s each other. Third, it would upset the timelines if you tried to go home now, and finally, I enjoy watching you squirm.”
“You’ve just added another paragraph to my diatribe,” Blueblood replied.
“Imagine my disappointment. Oh, look, there’s the racetrack!”
***
Blueblood was quietly fuming. He was stuck down here with the commoners, and worse still, with the Doctor. Worse still, he could see several of his closest acquaintances up in the stands— a much more cultured affair. He squinted for a moment. Was that— it was. He growled a little. She had replaced him! That purple-maned hussy was up among the nobles. He started to rise, and the Doctor turned to look at him sharply. “Er, I need to use the colt’s room,” he murmured hastily.
The Doctor held his gaze a moment longer. “Right. Hurry back,” he said, turning back to the race.
Blueblood breathed out. He couldn’t believe that had actually worked! He trotted off quickly, stumbling over and around the other patrons. Soon, he would be right back where he belonged, and that— what was her name? Charity? Austerity? No matter. She would be right back where she belonged, as well. He grinned vindictively. Let her travel with that unmannerly Doctor, if she so chose. He hurried to the stairwell. Now, which one was it? He hesitated for but a moment, then charged up the stairs to his left. That was why his cutie mark was a compass, after all— he had the remarkable ability to wind up just where he needed to go.
He arrived at a doorway and threw it open. “Well hello there,” he began, but stopped, cursing inwardly. He had chosen the wrong staircase for once in his life— this box seat was clearly empty, aside from one stallion leaning over the side, ostensibly to get a better view of the race below. The whole place was filled with shadows, giving it an air that sent cold shivers down the prince's spine. Blueblood coughed. “Beg pardon,” he said, turning to go.
He stopped. There was something wrong here. He looked back at the stallion. He hadn’t moved. Blueblood cleared his throat. “I say, are you alright?”
No response. Slowly, carefully, the prince reached out a hoof to tap the pony on the shoulder. He shrieked as the stallion fell to one side, revealing staring, unseeing eyes, a deep slash in the throat, and a mouth that dribbled blood from one corner. Blueblood stared at the dead body. The corpse seemed to stare back. The prince’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted clean away.