Luna drinks her coffee with a scowl.
She sits across from Anon, silently judging as he picks at a dry bowl of Celesti-O's. An odd branding decision, naming a cereal after an immortal demigod, but one that's worked surprisingly well. He sips a glass of water, rubbing his eyes and suppressing a yawn.
"You are quite the philistine."
Anon gives Luna a blank stare.
"How so?"
"Dry cereal and water. For breakfast. You've objectively horrible taste."
"Says the one who just swallowed three unpeeled oranges whole."
"My breakfast is healthy and invigorating, yours is literal prison food."
The clacking of utensils accentuates a pause.
“You know what, sure. I can accept that.”
Blueblood turns to him.
"Uncle Anonymous, why don't you go and get something else?"
"Because breakfast food is just grease and fat, it goes straight through me."
Luna agrees, but doesn't dare to let him know.
"Pish posh, you really must branch out a bit. Ask Chef Flake to make you a Sunnyside, her eggs are absolutely delectable!"
"Don't say it like that."
Chuckling, Blueblood returns to his pancakes.
Odd fellow, really. His personality rests somewhere between Ernest Shackleton and Beau Brummell, an explorer with the heart of an utter ponce. For as much as he despises high society, he can't help but revel in it, diving deep into all the bullshit drama and decorum. He has half a mind to just drop it all and go on a lifelong safari, but cares far too much about his mane to even risk it. As head of the Royal Geographic Society, he stays content, just barely fulfilling the contradictory halves of his being.
"You're pretty calm about this, calling me 'uncle' and stuff."
"The Royal Family isn't known for its normalcy. Besides, I'm thrilled that Aunt Luna has finally found somepony."
Anon raises an eyebrow and Luna scoffs. Blueblood, for his part, sports a smug grin, looking between the two with narrowed eyes.
What an insufferable little faggot.
"Nephew, if you know what's good for you, the circumstances of our courtship will remain private."
"Of course, Auntie. It's always fun to have an inside joke between family members, especially one this milkable. I'd make a pun about one night stands, but that seems too easy."
Anon tightens the grip on his spoon.
"Blueblood…"
"Calm down Uncle, I'm only joking. That being said, I do have to ask: how was she?"
He begins cackling, hooves slapping against the table. His laugh is this horrible, high-pitched screech that pierces through the air and reverberates within the brain. It's something you'd expect to hear from a mortally wounded six-year old.
"Well, this has been horrible."
Anon slinks off, not really knowing, or caring, where he ends up.
Blueblood slowly returns to normal, wiping tears from his eyes and straightening his bow tie. He steadies his breathing as he takes a sip of orange juice.
"You two are a good fit."
"Please, shut up Nephew."
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Converting King Sombra's Sex Locomotive into the Crystal Express was a simple matter of paint, magic, and bleach. The new administration, in order to distance itself from the dread tyrant, and for fear of accidentally summoning some gross rape poltergeist, avoids all relations whilst in the Royal Sleeper Car, which had been cleaned very, very thoroughly during the refit.
The train stops at Canterlot Central with a low hiss, thin trails of smoke joining the vapory breath of passing pedestrians. Though it's morning, there's an undeniable darkness about the place, thick cloud cover blanketing the city in comfortable shadows. Candles and streetlights take on a soft glow, and lazy snowflakes shimmer in the sky. The Prince and Princess depart, followed by secretaries and baggage carriers, taking in the nippy mountain air and vague scent of perfume.
Raven Inkwell trots up to greet them.
"Cadence! It's so good to see you again!"
"It's nice to see you too, Ms. Raven."
They do that weird horse neck-hug thing.
"Just Raven, dear, you're making me sound old."
Cadence giggles.
"Sorry, old habits and all that."
She motions for the attendants to follow.
"How's little Flurry doing?"
"Good, good. She's growing faster than we can parent—just discovered teleportation the other day."
Flurry announced this development by warping into the Yak ambassador's stomach and clambering out through his mouth, a display that sufficiently terrified him into signing a new trade agreement.
"Smart filly, isn't she? If I recall, she's pretty good at those transformation spells too."
The last Grand Galloping Gala ended early when Flurry decided to turn herself inside-out.
"... yes, she … certainly is."
There's a reason Flurry was left with Sunburst.
"So, anyways, down to business."
"Please."
"I'm sure you had … trouble reading Princess Celestia's letter."
"A little, yes."
It was incomprehensible.
"I had just as hard a time transcribing it. Her Majesty has been, well, very happy since yesterday morning. I couldn't gleam any specifics, but it seems that Princess Luna's getting married."
Cadence stops.
"What?"
"I think that Princess Luna's getting married."
"That's quite a bombshell to just drop on somepony. She's never even been on a date with anypony, how in Tartarus did this happen?"
"I have my theories, but I believe it's the result of an … unfortunate legal technicality."
"The Law for the Purity and Virtue of Equestrian Royalty?"
"Most likely, yes."
"Shit."
Onlookers murmur, rumors confirmed and denied by the exchange. The usual parasites, nobles and journalists, begin their advance, hunting for some gossip to absorb and spread. Canterlot is taken by a cloud of speculation, a miasma of half-truths and speculation that grows more potent as it enters more minds.
"Are you absolutely sure this isn't a prank or something?"
"It certainly doesn't look like one to me. I've never seen Princess Celestia this happy, and Princess Luna spent last night with an 'honored guest.' I have no solid grasp on what's actually going on, but I know that you're the best person to figure it out."
"So you want me to play love detective?"
"Yes."