A Charmed Life

by BlazzingInferno


High Society

Monday’s afternoon tea dragged by as it always did, with a half-dozen of Charm’s social ilk seated around one of her parlors, steaming tea cups floating in magic auras, half-eaten miniature sandwiches resting on saucers, and the all-important exchange of uninteresting chitchat.

Uninteresting to Charm, at least.

“That’s exactly my point,” Royal Ribbon, the mare nearest to her said, “exactly. Truly appreciating Lime Garden’s latest piece requires more time and abstract thought than that art critic could possibly manage. The nerve of him, pronouncing his judgement after barely a glance!”

Life wouldn’t be nearly as dull if she could get behind some of these ‘causes’ the others held so dear. Today it was appreciating the art world’s newest darling, in a month it might be collecting antiques or attending a new theater production. The only thing these causes held in common, besides the momentary attention of the well-to-do, was their exorbitant cost. Squandering the family fortune would be so much easier if she could get passionate about this artist fellow everypony was prattling on about.

“And I hear,” Sweet Dreams whispered in her most gossip-mongering tone, “that the two of them actually live in a Manehattan penthouse! So much for his ‘starving artist’ mystique!”

Swan Song frowned and sniffed in socially appropriate disgust. “I knew it. I knew the moment I laid eyes on that pony—”

So much for supporting the arts, then. The rich and famous were rich and famous enough. Charm took another sip of her tea, which had been tepid for at least a half hour, and dared to look at the clock on the mantle and its slow progression towards three. That miserable polo game they were all headed to then couldn’t start soon enough. At least there she’d have something in motion to watch besides the clock hands.

Why was she going, anyway? Why did she even host this weekly afternoon tea? Was the idea of pulling the rug out from her peers reason enough to keep up this pretense? Why not become a laughingstock and a scandal now instead of later? Why not simply burn the whole mansion to the ground?

Her late mother glared at her from a small portrait by the clock, smiling with her mouth but scorching the very air with her eyes as her oft repeated words echoed through Charm’s mind: if you cannot leave things better than when you are given them, you have failed.

That advice was chiefly aimed at Charm’s then-small share of the family stock portfolio, but it rang true in the general sense too, one of the few bits of her motherly advice that did. Charm wouldn’t set fire to her inherited possessions, but she would, in a way, make them better. Getting them out of Canterlot’s upper echelons would make them better, where they could be owned and perhaps even enjoyed by those with no prior emotional attachment to them or preoccupation with which of Equestria’s founders had bequeathed them to history. The family possessions would be free then, and freedom sounded like a tremendous improvement over captivity.

Fleur de Lis rapped the side of her teacup with a spoon. “Come now, ladies. While the rumors are indeed troublesome, I for one choose to treat the artwork and artist as separate entities to be judged on their own merits. Wouldn’t you agree, Charm?”

Charm silently groaned. Fleur was at it again, attempting to draw her into the conversation. What was her game? Did she hope to curry favor, or secure money for a pet project? She had plenty of both already thanks to her well-connected husband, but for some reason she kept at it, complimenting Charm’s reorganization of the parlor one day—she’d donated one of the more garnish china sets and its mahogany cabinet—and regaling her with stories about her own nervous first steps onto the social stage the next. Why did she insist on talking to her? Wasn’t being invited to tea on a regular basis enough?

“I… well—” Charm took a long sip of tea “—I can’t claim to be an expert on the arts.”

Fleur’s smile didn’t waver, nor did her gaze. “All the better, I say. Whom can better say if the critic or the artist is more in the right than those who haven’t gotten too close to the subject for full objectivity, those who can offer a fresh perspective on the whole affair.”

“I… suppose.”

“Splendid. Charm darling, you simply must join the private art function happening at my humble home the day after next. All here are invited of course, but I for one would love to hear your personal take on Lime Garden and a few of the other artistes du jour we’ll have in attendance.”

The day after next. Two days after Monday. “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement.”

Such was her usual excuse for anything that dared encroach on her one day of freedom.

Fleur batted her hoof. “Oh, surely you can find a moment to drop by at some hour or other. We’ll carry on as late as we need to to accomodate you. Won’t we, ladies?”

The others raised their tea cups and nodded.

Charm did not. “While I appreciate your invitation, I just can’t attend.”

“Would you change your mind if—”

“No.” Such much for decorum.

Fleur’s smile faded as slowly and steadily as an evening sunset, until she seemed devoid of any emotion at all. “Well, let it never be said that I didn’t try, Charm. Let it never be said that I haven’t done my best to be gracious and accommodating to your busy schedule and clear disinterest in anything any of us has to offer, friendship included.”

Fleur’s cup settled itself on the nearest saucer, and her hat took its place in her magic aura.

“I believe I’ll meet the rest of you at our usual box at the polo game. Good day.”

Charm knew she should feel something as Fluer and then the rest of her guests silently filed out, something other than relief. For some reason she felt as empty inside as her parlor.