“Don Canter is a busy stallion, as you can imagine,” a scarred pony in a suit said, his narrow eyes reflecting Photo's face and shades. “Otherwise, he would have gladly paid you a visit here personally. I assure you, it has nothing to do with the blatant disrespect that you have shown him over the past two months.”
Photo gulped, feeling crowded in by the group of darkly-dressed stallions gathered around her. “Disrespekt? Vat do you mean by zat?”
“Please, Ms. Finish,” another stallion spoke up. “We know all about your supposed illness. We know that it has no bearing whatsoever on your head. You should have the good sense to know which is the wrong tree to bark up.”
“If you would like to end your career on a positive note, than I suspect you give up that which doesn't belong to you,” the first added.
“But... eferysink zat I hafe, I own!”
“Hmmm...” One of them smirked. “Is that a fact?” He took a shuffling step forward, his brow furrowed. “I know that we weren't exactly... on the guest list for tonight. But a lot of things can change in a short amount of time, Ms. Finish—such as your agent's sense of loyalty when the world freely knows where exactly her foals attend school. Manehattan Central, if I'm not mistaken.”
Photo chewed on her lip.
The stallion made note of that. “Do you recognize the name? If I'm not mistaken, it shows up on every report card that your colts bring home. What were their names again...? 'Hans Gustav' and 'Hans Jaegar?' Did you know that they have the most beautiful apple tree growing outside their homeroom window? You can see it from across the street...”
Photo's teeth grit. “You come into meine fery own home and try sreatenink me?”
“There are many things that our organization does, Ms. Finish. But the one thing we never do is try. You threatened yourself the very moment you decided to outbid Don Canter in the Underground Auction.”
“I'm surprised he didn't hafe ze bits to afford his own treasure.”
“The fact that you won the bidding makes no difference.” The stallion pointed. “You... made your first mistake the moment you entered for the prize. And unless you want your next art piece to be two tiny grave stones, then I suggest you hand over that which belongs to Don Canter... now. As in tonight.”
Photo fidgeted where she stood.
“And if you're contemplating a way to sick your bodyguards on us, think again. As long as they work in this city, we own them. The same goes for whatever blue collar donkey they reel in to clean your insides from your bathroom tile.” He brushed past her, shoving his shoulder into the mare for good measure. “You have one hour, Miss Photo. I know you'll make Don Canter proud. We all do... eventually.”
The other stallions took turns glaring at her as they trotted towards the other side of the apartment, congregating near all of the exits.
Photo took a long breath. Her ears folded. In a limp gait, she trotted slowly towards the far end of the apartment. Along the way, she snatched no less than three champagne glasses from the trays of passing waiters.
From across the sea of laughing and chatting guests, a particular griffon saw her. His eyes narrowed while he tapped the floor with his talons. He watched Photo as she trotted towards a series of partitions that blinded his view of the far wall, where several portraits hung.
“Hrmmm...” He hissed under his beak. “Frickin' finally.”
With a flash of feathers, he prepared to dash across the apartment and intercept Photo—when a clattering suit of living armor suddenly thrust itself in his way.
“Ahem! Good sir, I do believe fate has destined for us to meet one another upon this social dueling ground.”
“Nnngh!” The griffon snarled, skidding to a stop and nearly bumping into Trenderhoof. “Oh, for the love of ground rat bones...” Clearing his throat, Baron von Claw put on royal airs and spoke elegantly, “How can I help you, my little pony?”
“'Little' being the operative term,” Trenderhoof said. He bowed, which forced his helmet to shut on its own. Grunting, he lifted the thing up and glared at the griffon with unabashed machismo. “I'm here on a graceful mission, albeit one forged by righteous fury. For as of right now, you occupy the same building space as a fair creature who was once your former lover. I am courteously informing you that whatever weight you may be tied to in the past, you must let it go like a mother bird bids farewell to its winged offspring.”
“Nnnngh...” The griffon lifted his feathery head to peer over Trenderhoof's shoulders. Photo Finish was barely visible at this point. “What in the hell are you even talking about?”
“Be as vulgar as you like!” Trenderhoof's head raised, blocking the “Baron's” view. “I too am ardent about this matter! Perhaps the reason Madame Firefly left you is because of your minimal respect for pegasus culture.”
“Madame Who?” The griffon blinked, then shook his lion's paw. “Er... right. Her. But of course. Ahem. Look... I'm... uh... kinda busy here. Royal matters?”
“And this is romantic matters!” Trenderhoof said boldly, causing a few blinking patrons to turn their heads. “And matters of the heart trump all thrones and kingdoms and serfdoms! Or were you simply born in a kennel, good sir?”
“Nnnnngh...” The griffon rolled his eyes. “I don't have time for this...”
“It is not our time to be bargained with! But with Madame Firefly's! And never a finer jewel was time and space ever sculpted to perfect! Why, her eyes alone are—”
“...and when you deal with as many financial partners as I do, you occasionally make mistakes, carrying yourself down avenues you'd later wish you hadn't,” Filthy Rich said. “And though it may be too late for you to back out, you realize that there's still hope for the associates you care about. So...” The aging stallion gulped. “Long story short, my dear mare, I had no choice but to cut the Apple Family off. I wasn't all that proud of the manner in which I did it, but—I assure you—it was for their own good.”
“Uh huh.” Rainbow glared, her ears pointed back like an angry cat's. “So, what you're telling me is that the Apples deserved to be tossed out like dirty apple peels, their whole future thrown into chaos, just because you had a bad conscience?”
“No... no! Of course not!” Filthy Rich glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in to say, “Abandoning the Apples is the most regretful thing I've had to do in my whole adult career.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because...” Filthy bit his lip, then glanced over his shoulder once more. “Because business is hardly ever pretty. I don't know how Fancy Pants does it, but to get as far as I have, I've needed to make some impulsive choices that have come back to bit me. In a world like that, the Apples simply wouldn't thrive. They're too honest... too sincere.”
“Then you should have told them the truth and let them decide on their own!”
“I'm trying to tell you that it's more complicated than that!” Filthy's voice had taken on a whispery tone. He sighed, then leaned forward to mutter: “One does not do business in Manehattan without crossing path with a few unsavory characters. Once I had come to realize that, it was too late for me. The reach of the less than reputable Manehattanites is long and shady. I didn't want the Apples getting caught up in their web. At the time, the only way to sever them safely was to do so without any prior warning or explanation.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to be a good friend to the ponies in Ponyville who have better things to do than be caught up in this kind of a mess.”
“Just what kind of 'unsavory characters' are we talking about?” Rainbow slapped one hoof against another, frowning. “Cuz I've been known to kick the flank of a few hundred of them single-hoofedly.”
“Not these ponies, you can't, Miss Dash,” Filthy Rich said. “My concern for you is the same as that which I reserve for Applejack's family. You're all one in the same. Don't dirty your hooves in this.”
“You didn't answer my question, Filthy.”
Filthy sighed, his ears folded. He lowered his head—as well as the tone of his voice. “I speak of the same kind of unsavory characters who presently have a henchstallion posted at every door.”
Rainbow Dash blinked. Her ruby eyes darted between walls and windows, spotting a dark-suited stallion stationed at each. Between them, she counted a good number of scars and grizzled chins. No smiles.
“You've gotta be friggin' kidding me,” Rainbow grunted. “We just stumbled upon the set of The Gallopfather.”
“You may think me as a villain, Miss Dash,” Filthy said. “And I don't blame you. But, all things considered, my history with the Apples goes further back than you could possibly know. That being said, there's a reason the Oranges' daughter married into the farm family of Sweet Apple Acres.” He gulped, then motioned at the walls with his head. “It was to escape things like this.”
“You're in it deep...” Rainbow's eyes narrowed. “Aren't you?”
“Don't worry about me,” Filthy said. “If anything, now that we've met under these unexpected circumstances, there's still a chance you can alert the Apple Family and their connections back home.”
“What good will that do?”
“You're empowered by the Elements of Harmony.” Filthy's eyes narrowed. “You tell me.”
Rainbow took a deep breath. “How can I expect to tackle an underground crime group if even Celestia's sunlight doesn't shine on all they operate?”
“Sadly, that is not my area of expertise.”
“And neither is it mine.” Rainbow rubbed her chin in thought. “Though, it may be somepony else's... or somebatpony else's...” Suddenly she blinked, looking all around. “Wait a minute... where the buck is Photo?”
Filthy winced. “Oh dear...”
Rainbow glanced at him. “What?”
“That must be why they're here...”
“For her?”
Filthy nodded. “Photo has been known to attend some of the same underground circles as Don Canter.”
“Don who?”
“Let's just say that she's partnered with the wrong crowd on occasion,” he said. “And now, not even Tartarus can house the sort of misery they'll have in store for her...”