Huh?
What does it look like I’m doing? I’m sleeping. Well, I was until you all started jumping on me.
Because it’s a comfy couch, that’s why.
Okay, I’ll level with ya; your uncle is playing hide-and-go-seek with some friends of his, and he takes his hide-and-go-seek real serious.
Well, you weren’t supposed to be looking for me. But any if any of the fuzz ask ya, you ain’t seen me since Hearth’s Warming Eve.
The Royal Guard, that’s who.
I dunno, probably because they don’t shave their fetlocks or somethin’.
Yeah, well at least it looks good on me. No, I’m not going to join the Royal Guard because I've got unshorn fetlocks; not with my record. Besides, I've got more self respect than that.
Yeah, that’s the one; with all the bad words, that I only play when your mother is out of the house. Don’t tell her about it, and I’ll teach you a couple’a new ones... deal? Just remember to steer clear of any coppers, okay?
Because they like to cheat at hide-and-go-seek, that’s why. Now buzz off.
You dirty little rats. That’s blackmail, that is.
Okay, okay, fine. How about I tell you a story, and you leave me in peace? How about… the story of Canterella?
Waddya mean you already know that one? I’m talking about the real story of Canterella, not the daft Disneigh version. What, some dame gets dolled up, goes to a fancy shindig, hooks herself some royal chucklehead, pops out a couple of foals, then a few years later gets divorced and takes him to the cleaners? Where’s the lesson in that?
What? Sure it is. It’s the special edition extended version. You just ask your mother - she's probably been hiding it from you. Would your uncle lie to you?
Okay, maybe that one time.
Well, serves you right for believing something that stupid. Valuable lesson learned, right there. Don't say I don't do anything for ya, kid.
Okay, so once upon a time there’s this young mare named Canterella. A real pretty filly; nice eyes, long legs, probably could’ve been a fashion model if things worked out differently. Anyway, Canterella used to work the city markets; hustling the rubes, a bit of grifting here and there, maybe some shoplifting or pickpocketing if things got tight. But she’s tired of working for chump change and keeps dreaming of the the big score--
What? I dunno, who cares about them? They’re not important to the story anyway. Maybe they got eaten by bears.
Well, they’re not important to this story. Maybe they interrupted the wrong pony at the wrong time and they were never seen again, even after the Royal Guard searched the garbage dumps and dredged the harbour.
So, as I was saying, Canterella is dreaming of the big score, when one day the perfect opportunity falls into her hooves. Well, more likely she lifted it from some rich putz’s saddlebags, but that’s not important. What is important is that she’s scored herself a ticket to the Prince’s big birthday bash. Seems the Prince, let's call him Blueblood--
What? No, this is a different Prince Blueblood. Blueblood the Fourth, or something. Nobby types do that, they ain’t real creative with naming their brats. Probably because they're all inbred.
No, they're not sandwiches. Well, except for Earl Sandwich, but that's not what I'm talking about. It's like, there's only so many nobles to go around, so they have to marry close to home, understand?
Yeah, exactly like that trot-through wedding chapel at the end of the street. No, I'm not laughing at you; totally serious, me. Look, just ask your mother about it, see what she says.
Anyway, the Prince is throwing this birthday party for himself. Dancing, fireworks, fancy food, the whole nine yards; and Canterella thinks to herself ‘this is the big score I’ve been dreaming of; with this ticket I can con my way in there”. Which is not a bad thought, actually; crowded, lots of noise, a bunch of plastered nobles with lots of easily lifted jewelry, maybe try your hoof at a few scams.
The only problem is, she looks likes she been sleeping in an alleyway, which probably ain’t far from the truth. She figures that while she can act the part, she still needs to look the part. So she decides to go visit her fairy god-fence for some help--
Look, if you keep interrupting me all the time, you’re never gonna get to hear this story. Is that what you want?
Okay, fine, look at it this way; say you’re up to something at school, something you don’t want nopony to know about, not the other kids, not your sister, and especially not the teacher. What do you hide behind?
With smart-alec answers like that it’s no wonder you keep getting in trouble. Cherry! What the hay have you been teaching these kids of yours?! Okay, yes, mister wiseguy, you could hide behind a lawyer, but lawyers are expensive and you can’t always trust ‘em. So, if you’re up to something at school, you hide behind - that’s right, a fence. Listen to your sister, kid; she knows where it’s at. Can we get on with the story now?
So she goes to visit her incredibly handsome fairy god-fence, explains the plan, and he says sure, he’ll help her out; make her look the part, move the goods on for a cut of the action, all that sort of thing. The fairy god-fence waves his magic wand and contacts the right ponies, and Canterella gets herself all tarted up--
Do you kids do all your thinking with your stomachs? First sandwiches, now this.
Fine, I've got an oat bar around here somewhere.
So it's all squishy. Quit your whining; it's that or nothin'.
Anyways, Canterella gets herself made up all pretty - isn’t that what I said? Stop interrupting. Where were we? Oh yeah, all pretty; mane and tail done all curly-wavy-like, nice make-up, big frilly dress with lots of space to conceal stuff in, that sort of thing. And the fairy god-fence starts thinking to himself that she scrubs up real nice and maybe he should start waving his magic wand in her direction more often--
Yeah, you would pick right now to come listen in, wouldn’t you Cherry? What? It’s not like they don’t hear worse in the playground.
Fine. Shoes; Canterella has her eyes on these Crystal Empire-inspired Coco Pommel originals; real flashy numbers, expensive. The fairy god-fence, he ain’t so sure; you need to have hoofwear you can really move in, in case you ever need to cheese it. But Cantella insists, and the fairy god-fence has trouble saying ‘no’ to a pretty face, so he gives her the shoes.
So Canterella rocks up at the Prince’s big shindig at the castle, and uses her ticket to bluff her way in. She waits until the party’s really swinging and the nobles are half-sozzled, then starts workin’ the room like a pro.
Don’t look at me like that, Cherry; you know I don’t mean that kind of pro.
Anyways, Canterella lifted herself some real nice pieces of jewelry, even helped herself to a couple of the smaller gifts from the Prince’s present table. It’s getting late, she’s loaded with swag, and she’s thinking it’s time to make for the exit before somepony sobers up a bit and tumbles to the missing shinies. That’s when Prince Blueblood spots her and asks her to dance.
A smarter pony would’ve made some lame excuse and legged it. But Canterella, she’s having the time of her life, see? So she starts dancing with the Prince, and everypony’s watching them going ‘who’s that charming young filly?’, and the Prince is telling her how attractive she is, though he’s pretty plastered by this point and is probably talking to his own reflection in her shoes.
Anyway, the Prince does one of those fancy dance moves where you spin the dame around and dip her over your fetlock, and one the necklaces she’s lifted goes flying out of Canterella’s frilly dress, right in front of everypony.
See, normally when you’re working this kind of job you have an offsider or several, so’s you can hoof the goods over as quick as possible. This is the risk you take if you’re working solo. You paying attention, kids? I hope so.
Back to the story. Some old broad out in the crowd recognizes the necklace, calls out ‘thief!’, and soon the whole place is going ass-, er, tails-up; yellin’, screamin’, angry Guards, the whole nine yards. Canterella manages to scarper, and bolts back to her fairy god-fence with the loot--
What? Nah. Maybe in your version; but in the real story she loses the Guards, not her shoe.
Anyway, she dumps the loot and the fancy get-up with her fairy god-fence, who says some very bad words that I’ll teach you when you’re a little older, and tries to sneak Canterella out of town. Thing is, all the ponies at the Prince’s party got a real good look at her and so the cops nab her on the way out. The fairy god-fence uses some of his fairy god-fence magic to get away, and has to go lay low until the heat dies down.
Canterella? Yeah, she gets chucked in the Royal Dungeons. And the moral of the story is that if you don’t act like a stoolie you can be out in five years with good behaviour, and have a nice little nest egg at the end of it. But if you do sing like a canary, well, the fairy god-fence knows some magic and some ponies on the inside what can turn that easy nickel into a real uncomfortable dime.
Okay, storytime’s over ya little rugrats. Now, scram; I need to talk to your mother.
Hey, Cherry, I got a little present for ya. Just a little something to say thanks for letting me lay low at your pad for a while. Here.
Coco Pommel originals? Don’t be dippy; those’re about a 800 bits a pair. More, for the right buyer. Nah, these are just some cheap Chineighese knock-offs; you can get ‘em for about forty bits on any street corner. Go on, try ‘em on.
Lookit that - a perfect fit!
Tell you what; how about I look after the ankle biters tonight, and you get yourself all done up nice and take yourself somewhere special? I dunno, maybe somewhere you can go dancing?
Y’never know, you just might catch yourself a Prince.