//------------------------------//
// Black and White and Read All Over 
// Story: Black and Blue and Bloodied 
// by Sixes_And_Sevens 
//------------------------------//

Blueblood was awoken the next morning by an intrusive ray of sunlight shining against his eyelids. He flinched away, and tried to bury himself under the covers, but to no avail. He was thoroughly awake. He stared up at the ceiling, unwilling either to rise or to shine. That was his aunt’s job. 
This proved to be a regrettable option, as it soon trickled into his mind that this ceiling was not that of his room. Not long after that, it sunk in that this might be something of a problem. He glanced at the walls. Tacky wallpaper? Check. Shag carpet (seen better days)? Check. Lousy view? Also check. The prince groaned and slumped back. So it hadn’t all been a dream. He supposed that should have been obvious, but then, yesterday he’d thought that the nonexistence of time travelers and aliens was just as blatantly clear.
Thinking of which, where was the Doctor? With no small amount of regret, he pulled himself out of the cocoon of blankets and pillows which really had been rather comfy, even though he would never admit as much, not even to himself. What sodding time was it, anyway? He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and his eyes bulged. Eight in the morning? That was some sort of— some sort of made up time, surely? At the very least, it should still be dark out. No civilized pony would willingly start the day any earlier than noon! On the other hoof, he didn’t think the Doctor was entirely civilized. He stormed into the bathroom. It was ridiculous how untidy it was. The maids and housekeeping must have been slacking dreadfully. He would have to report it to the management. Then, his eyes fell on a slip of paper leaning against the mirror, written in some almost-illegible scrawl. The Doctor’s writing, the prince presumed. He picked it up and squinted at it minutely.
	Blueblood,
Gone to breakfast. If you're reading this before 10, you can go down & have some, too. If I'm not back, I'm out on a walk. I’ll be back round 11. Try not to get yourself killed.

~Doctor

Blueblood scowled, unsure how to feel about all this. On the one hoof, he was glad the Doctor hadn't woken him. On the other hoof, he felt vaguely hurt at being excluded from the day’s plans. In the end, he decided to be annoyed, simply out of principle. Quickly grabbing a change of clothes laid out on the other bed, he dressed and descended to break his fast.


***

The dining room was fairly quiet that morning. Only a few ponies, late risers like Blueblood, sat at the tables scattered around the room, vague and groggy eyes staring at nothing in particular. It was rather unpleasant, to say the least. The unicorn fastidiously avoided making eye contact with any of the assembled, particularly not that unpleasant-looking yellow earth pony that didn’t so much seem to be masticating his omelet as he was molesting it, never removing his eyes from an increasingly uncomfortable zebra mare on the opposite side of the room. Blueblood subtly glanced at the stallion’s flank to check that he didn’t have a cutie mark for, for instance, gawking. No, only a rather scraggy-looking flower. The unicorn shrugged. None of his business.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a sub-par danish and a copy of the Canterlot Herald to peruse. He glanced at the headline and nearly choked on his pastry. There, on the front page, was the ruined RocRoll building, under the headline “Collapse of Industry”.
The unicorn quickly scanned the article and let out a faint sigh of relief when he found no mention of current suspects or any suspicion of outside activity at all. Nevertheless, it was altogether rather unnerving to see last night’s little misadventure laid out in bold print and paper. He read through the piece with greater care once his heart had stopped pounding out a drum tattoo against his chest. There was nothing in it that he didn’t already know, though he was slightly nonplussed that the whole matter had apparently been put down to seismic shifts. “Why didn’t affect any other buildings, then?” he muttered in an undertone. “Why didn’t they fall down, eh? Bloody patronizing journalist.”
Having assured himself that there was no risk of being connected with the building’s collapse, Blueblood flipped to the only part of the newspaper that had really interested him: the society pages. Affair, boring. Probably made up anyway, both of the stallions in question were, as he had personally discovered, regrettably straight. Blueblood gave it a week at the outside. Wedding, also boring. He gave that a month. Funeral? Promising. Death seemed to be the only thing in this section that really stuck. A cursory examination of the article, however, revealed that it was due to natural causes and therefore not likely to be related to the investigation at hoof. Death came for everypony after all. Even the wealthy.
Blueblood pursed his lips tightly and shook the paper violently. He would not think about that now. Instead, he flipped over to the next page. Oh look, there was that purple-maned harlot again. Joy of joys. Oh look, she’s sitting next to Jet Set. And Upper Crust. And Sir Fancy Pants. The faint growl that escaped the back of his throat was inequine. He turned the page with force. Different photograph, same ponies. The same held true for the page after that. By this point, the prince was practically frothing. He glared at the purple mane and white coat as though they were an offense to all equinity. The caption; Sir Fancy Pants and entourage have a day at the National Gallery.
Another turn of the page featured no pictures whatsoever, and Blueblood sighed in relief. Apparently, a garden party was planned for this afternoon. Why, that must be the garden party that the Doctor had intended for them to visit. Intrigued, Blueblood read on…



Elite Canterlot Garden Party Held by Jet Set at Baker Hall




Byline: Sea-salt Palmtree



The wealthy philanthropist and patron of of industry, Mr. Jet Set will be attending the annual Canterlot Garden Party in honor of the first day of summer. Mr. Set is quoted as stating that many others of the favored and wealthy ponies of Canterlot will be in attendance, including recent arrival Ms. Rarity Belle. “She’s the goods!” Mr. Set did not say. “She knows the Wonderbolts’ trainer personally,” he failed to mention. “She sure knows her way around a pretentiously small cucumber sandwich, that’s for sure,” he may have thought, but did not say.

Everypony who is anypony is expected to be in attendance. Some ponies who are not anypony may also seek to attend. However, due to their lack of social standing (and/or physical forms), it is unlikely that they will be acknowledged or even noticed. Remember, poor ponies do not exist in Canterlot, by order of the Neighborhood Watch. The Neighborhood Watch sees everything. They do not sleep. They do not rest. They do not blink. They are watching you right now.

The party will be held at 427 East Egg Street, and will run from 6:00 to 9:30 this evening. Here’s hoping for a great turnout!
“...Hey,” a voice whispered. Blueblood glanced up. The yellow pony from before was leering down at him. “Wanna see something fun?”
Some sort of predator, Blueblood concluded. It had been his initial assumption all along. “I’d sooner not, thank you,” he replied, warily leaning back in his seat.
“Aw, come on,” the stallion wheedled. “It’s funny, I promise.”
Blueblood breathed out slowly. Something about this pony made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. Yet, even now, he had to maintain his respectability. “No,” he said flatly. “I’m afraid I’m busy. Perhaps later.”
The stallion’s smile grew even larger, larger than Blueblood felt that any smile should be. “Later,” he agreed, bowing out.
With a slight shudder, Blueblood turned back to the article, but for some unknown reason, the rest of the piece was apparently concerned with another recent arrival in Canterlot, a scientist of some renown who claimed to be from a town called Obsidian Creek. Apparently, his teeth were as straight and square as tombstones, and his mane was perfect. However, there was no photograph. The space where a photograph should have been was covered in thick black fluid that seemed to swirl and twist when the unicorn wasn’t looking.
With a sigh, the prince set the paper aside. Something was nagging at him, some small fiddly detail. Everypony who is anypony is expected to be in attendance… Blueblood’s eyes widened. “Oh dear,” he muttered, rising from his chair, breakfast half-eaten. He needed to find the Doctor. Now.