Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part I – Chapter I – A Scandalous Auction

PART I

PONIES BUSTLE ABOUT

* * *

It was a distinctly cloudy day. This weather schedule was quite bizarre for a place such as Ponyville, a town often characterized by its warm, bright, and even placid configuration. Most ponies were familiar with Ponyville—or at least, they knew of its existence. Perhaps the insignificance of the town, when put up against the backdrop of gigantic hot spots like Canterlot, Manehattan, and Cloudsdale, tended to invite ponies' sympathies; or if that sounds too absurd, it at least invited their good will. That accounts for something.

Yes, yes, at the present moment we will start our story in Ponyville.

A carriage drove up in front of Town Hall: nothing too expensive, only a jaunty barouche pulled by a pair of servants. Inside sat two stallions: Bronze Pocket, of whom you know the details, and Maxim Wingus. The latter was quite the young pony, about twenty-nine years old, educated and old fashioned in his approach to life. Maxim was preparing to head to either Canterlot or to Cloudsdale to finish his studies there in university. The young pony was still undecided. He was thoughtful and, as it were, distracted, but possessed a nice and agreeable face. He had a habit of becoming terribly talkative and impulsive whenever a topic which interested him was brought up, or sometimes for no reason other than to show off.

(Forgive the interruption. Allow me to add, in parentheses: Maxim Wingus, the cousin of Petal Breeze, Bronze Pocket's second wife, happened to be in the neighbourhood again on a visit to his estate as an accountant. He had come from Manehattan, which was where his permanent home was located. I remember that he was more surprised than anypony when he made the acquaintance of the relatively young Cluster Tale, who interested him extremely, with whom he sometimes argued, and with an inner pang compared himself in acquirements. At the moment he was staying in Ponyville to help out Bronze Pocket in his own business.)

Ah, you see, dear reader, what ugly muddleheadedness can escape from me? I am not a particularly good narrator—that, I suppose, is because I happen to be an amateur writer. But anyway, anyway...

Awaiting them there was our Cluster Tale. He happened to be elegantly dressed, but a look of gloomy impatience highlighted his countenance. He had been informed to meet them at Town Hall at half past eleven, but right now it was close to midday, and he truly hated tardiness of all sorts.

The carriage came to an all too abrupt halt and the visitors stepped off. As for Maxim, he looked around with a sort of curiosity that was not without a certain familiarity. He had very little, if any, time to explore Ponyville, but he was forever inclined to display the air of an educated pony who knew what needed to be known at any given scenario. In other words: a wannabe Mr. Know-it-All.

"You're here," said Cluster, with notes of dry irony ringing in his voice.

"Ah, Cluster, you wouldn't believe what a confusion there was!" said Bronze all of a sudden. "Imagine, this old friend of yours just willy-nilly decided to stop for a bite to eat. Then after we took off again, we ended up heading the wrong way!"

"Liar!" cried Maxim, and he instantly flashed his eyes. "I only wanted to get a coffee—to go. You had skipped breakfast. It was your idea."

"Pah, it's all the same to me. Listen, Cluster, we really did get confused on our way, but then again, how's an old stallion like me not going to muck things up, eh? I live far too off from the real Ponyville."

"Ponyville is Ponyville, old-timer," said Cluster, gazing distractedly at Maxim for a second. "Nova didn't come?"

"Oh, I invited him to come alright, but he refused," said Maxim, squinting his eyes at Bronze. "Your dad wants only what's his the day after tomorrow."

"I don't associate with scoundrels," guffawed Bronze, becoming strangely satisfied with himself.

"Except when it's on business!"

"Pah! Don't get business confused with family, you. Ha, ha!"

"Let's get a move on," cut in Cluster. He shook his head, as though attacking Bronze's dignity, and started walking.

"Wait, wait," Bronze hurried to say, "what about an escort?"

"A... what?"

"Sorry, not an escort, but a guide, let's say. Somepony to show us what there is to see in the auction. Don't they, you know, don't they do that?" He stared with a puzzled expression at both Cluster and Maxim.

"We're heading to an auction," reproached Maxim. He gave the old stallion a strange look.

"Yes, yes, but in the magazines they have those auction guides, you know, to meet the new ponies, and... and... right, Cluster, my boy?"

Cluster rolled his eyes. "I know my way around Town Hall, old-timer. Come on."

Bronze simply shrugged.

The three ponies entered through the large double-door entrance. What immediately made itself known indoors was the contrast of noise: a whole lot of clattering and chattering was brewing up in Town Hall. The main room was large and circular; the ceiling looked small from down there. Many rows of benches were set up looking towards the stage, where a solitary podium stood. One could observe all sorts of ornaments, trinkets, vases, ancient books, and so on—all presented within fashionable glass cases.

About half the benches seated ponies, either local or from out of town. Every minute one or two more came in the room, all very well dressed and carrying the air which resembled the propensity for spending money.

Cluster was in a state of two minds, or so it looked. He would invariably have this grey shadow come over his face whenever he engaged in conversation with somepony, but today he looked especially melancholy, even by his standards. When reaching the first bench he gave a terse nod to Bronze and Maxim to follow him up the aisle.

"You know, you really do look like Nightmare Moon," Bronze remarked to Maxim all of a sudden.

"Wh-at?" Maxim babbled in response.

"Your coat is dark," said Bronze with an intelligent face, "and you have this 'I live in the darkness' aura about you. Heh, heh!"

"Do you even know what Nightmare Moon looks like? In what way do I look like her? Have you even seen her?"

"Sure! She was Princess Celestia's sister, but the ponies slept through the night time, much to her chagrin. And much to your chagrin, your face happens to resemble hers. Say, if you could meet Nightmare Moon, what would you tell her?"

"Nothing, damn it. Nightmare Moon is an old filly's tale; she doesn't exist."

"But what if she did? Eh? Eh?"

But Bronze's incoherent remarks were cut short by a very pale, slender-looking stallion of medium height, wearing a light cap and a blue vest. Bronze and Maxim stopped for a moment. Cluster was beside him, apparently having fetched the pale stallion from some nearby corner to introduce them.

This stallion, with an extremely courteous, profound bow, announced in a funny little accent, "Monsieur Spender Spent invites the gentlecolts to dine with the other guests at the dinner room, once auction proceedings are finished."

"The maestro of the family who set up this Ponyville auction was informed of our arrival," added Cluster. "He's curious, and wants very much to make the, you can say, dignified acquaintance of Ponyville's top business-ponies."

"Rapière is my name," said the stallion, bowing once again.

"What are you?" asked Bronze, eyeing Rapière curiously.

"I'm Prench."

"Prench?"

"Oui."

"To the letter?"

"Oui. Will you be joining us, Monsieur Pocket?"

"That I certainly will, without fail," cried Bronze Pocket, overjoyed at the invitation. "And, believe me, we've all given our word to impress everypony. And you, Maxim, will you go, too?"

"Obviously I'll go," said Maxim, nodding. "What else have I come here for? To study the customs, that's what. The only obstacle is... eh, your company."

"Just what Nightmare Moon would say!" laughed Bronze.

"Impertinent old fool!" Maxim observed aloud while Rapière ran back through a door into another room, presumably to carry out another task.

Things were beginning to get set into motion. Most ponies had taken their seats, many showcasing cautious anticipation so common in auction-goers; one of the several glass cases was brought to the forefront of the stage. There were several ponies Bronze was meant to meet, but due to his tardiness this would be delayed to the intermission.

The preparations, while perfectly adequate, testified to the haphazardness of the current setting. The benches were creaky and old. Most ponies present dressed casually for the event, which was quite at odds with how the presenters fashioned themselves.

All the while Cluster was looking down at a checklist he had brought in with him, eyes weary yet focused, crossing out various items he had written for himself. Earlier that day he had been approached by a royal guard—nothing necessarily official—to discuss his progress on the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. As expected, things were going smoothly. He scheduled everything perfectly for today—go check up on the food, then the weather patrol, and finally the fashion wear, after the auction—but now he had a bit of reshuffling to get done.

Even when taking this into account, Cluster glanced at his father with unending dubiety, like he wanted to get this over with but was bound by his responsibilities.

Eventually Maxim nudged him. "Hey, so how does this auction work?"

Cluster sighed long but quietly, which left Maxim feeling quite indignant, and replied in an even, apathetic voice, "They'll bring out three lots to start with. Once sold—or not—we'll move into the intermission. Spender Spent will probably appear then, and that's when the old-timer can go negotiate the woodlot."

"The woodlot your father's trying to sell, right? He thinks this Spender guy can help him out against some competitor?"

"Yeah, I guess." Cluster's voice was drenched in even more apathy. "In the meantime, have you got a budget? Are you prepared to bid?"

"I, uh, no, not now," said Maxim, wringing his hoof dismissively. "Maybe later. I'm just here because of him," he finished in a sort of half-whisper, pointing at Bronze; but, noticing Cluster's lack of reaction and the total pointlessness of him whispering, he at once blushed in embarrassment.

"Hey, son"— Bronze cut in —"think you could spot me a couple tens? Heh, heh."

Cluster did not deign to reply, instead paying attention to the announcer pony who took to the podium. He was a large stallion, portly, of spectacular physical health with a soft-looking demeanor. His mane, expertly combed back, gleamed every once in a while in response to the sun rays shining through the window. From the pocket of his suit hung out a little golden chain, adorning his left eye with a shiny monocle.

"Mares and gentlecolts!" said the announcer readily. He immediately gestured to the glass case by his side, containing a statue of what looked like an eagle. "Lot number one is a brass figurine from the famous collection of the Spender family. Rumour has it the statue harbours a treasure inside. Should you destroy the beautiful bauble itself, you can easily prove, or tragically disprove, the rumour. Starting price is fifty bits—a total bargain!"

A mare raised her hoof.

"The blue-maned lady takes it. Any advance?" said the announcer.

A stallion two rows down did the same, saying in a clear voice, "Seventy-five."

"There he goes!" sang the announcer. "Any takers? No? Going once, going twice, going—"

"One fifty," interjected Bronze.

A barely audible rustle shifted among the crowd. Some looked at him in surprise.

"My, my, one fifty it is! Will anypony be challenging that? Going once, go—"

The same mare raised her hoof again, flashing Bronze a toothy grin. "Two hundred."

"My, my, my, such liveliness! Any takers?"

"As if I'm gonna lose to you!" cried Bronze heatedly, carried away in a sort of rapture.

"May I ask the gentlecolt to compose himself," said the announcer calmly yet sternly. "Shall you advance?"

"Two fifty!" cried Bronze again.

"Keep your voice down, you damn buffoon," said Maxim in a barely-contained whisper, glaring daggers at Bronze.

But it was too late. Annoyance became etched into everypony's faces.

"Two fifty," the announcer carried on. "Going once, going twice, going thrice. Lot number one, the mysterious brass statue, sold to Mr. Pocket!"

Unenthusiastic clapping arose. Bronze was now all giddy, feeling his unconfined greed was now at hand. Now the next glass case was carried to the front.

This one was an oil painting depicting Canterlot City from a distance, together with the mountains and splashes of blue for a waterfall. All in all, a pleasant piece, but nothing too impressive.

"Now on to lot number two. A canvas by the royal Blue Blood family, 'A Beautiful Vision of Canterlot.' Hmm, charming. Starting at three hundred bits."

"Three hundred? For that ugly thing?" remarked Maxim to Cluster, giving the announcer a quick, cursory glance.

"A painting from a royal family!" Bronze nearly sputtered, ogling the canvas with his small, sneering eyes. "Four hundred!"

The announcer acknowledged his bid, but his impatience with the old pony was becoming self-evident. "Yes, well, may I remind the gentlecolt that yelling is strictly inappropriate. I ask the gentlecolt to speak with his indoor voice."

More murmuring and shifting glares came from ponies behind them. Cluster looked to be ignoring all of them.

"The offered bid is four hundred. Going once—"

"Five hundred," said another mare from the back of the room.

"We are getting livelier and livelier," said the announcer. "Can I get a six hundred? Any takers?"

"Six, plus interest!" Bronze got fluttered up, even frightened the painting would be taken from him.

"Eh, no interest, but six hundred it is! Anypony? No? Going once, going twice, going thr—oh! The gentlecolt butts in."

"Seven hundred."

"Wha—?" Bronze looked around wildly for whoever had outdone him. He set his sights squarely on the Prench stallion from earlier. "Why you..." He ground his teeth, and flung his hoof in the air. "Nine hundred!"

Two of three gasps came out. The announcer nearly lost his composure, but held himself and said in a clear voice, "My word! Nine hundred. Can I get an advance on that? Going once, going twice, going thrice. Sold to Mr. Pocket!"

The next piece was rather simple-looking. On a small mantle was placed a pair of sunglasses.

"Lot number three, mares and gentlecolts—the rarest of all rarities. At first glance you observe an ordinary pair of lenses for the summer, yet look closer. A frame of gold, flawless polishing, and carved into the sides are enchantments to allow the wearer to not only stare directly into the sun without any retina damage, but to see in the dark as well. Only one hundred of these were ever produced. Once the property of Princess Celestia herself when she went on vacation. Starting price is one thousand. Anypony tempted?"

Hooves started raising.

"Mr. Black Boot offers eleven hundred. Do I have—twelve hundred from Mrs. Biscuit it is. Any takers? My, haven't we livened up. Thirteen hundred from Mr. Pocket. Can I get fourteen hundred? What's this? Two thousand from—"

"Fancy Pants, at your service," said a young, white stallion. He spoke quickly and effusively. He was elaborately dressed, and made his implications clear by standing as straight as possible.

Bronze was dumbfounded. He instantly saw that everypony recognized this Fancy Pants character. But the effect was temporary; with vigour in his eyes he declared, "Twenty-five!"

"Excellent, old chap," said Fancy Pants, chuckling in a friendly way, "but I can do this all day. Three thousand."

"Thirty-five hundred!" said Bronze vindictively.

Fancy Pants shrugged. "Four."

Bronze was struck and, so to speak, in extreme agitation. "F-f-four thousand... and one."

"Aiming low, are we?" chuckled Fancy Pants. "I do so enjoy the everyday pleasantries of strategized competition. I offer five thousand."

"But can it be?" the announcer went on, looking at Fancy Pants with an inexplicable smile. "My word, such liveliness! Can I get fifty-five hundred? No?"

Bronze was seething; he even managed to squeeze out a tear. Maxim observed all this and could hardly contain his laughter. He nudged Cluster once again. "Looks like your dad reached his limit, huh?"

"The sooner we finish this the better," replied Cluster sullenly. He had stored away his checklist and now waited, with boundless resolution on his face.

Maxim looked askance at him. An idea came to him. "Say, you wanna go to the tavern once this is over?"

But Cluster was silent.

"Let us wrap things up then," said the announcer. "The current bid is five thousand. Going once, going twice, going thrice. Sold to—"

"Shameless scoundrel!" exclaimed Bronze furiously, spraying saliva from his mouth. "You, Fancy Pants, are in the possession of too much. Think about the common pony, the common pony!"

"My word, Mr. Pocket, I demand your obedience or I will be forced to escort you from the vicinity," said the announcer in tones of reproach.

"You call me such things?" replied Fancy Pants, straining to understand Bronze. "This is all in the spirit of sport, good chap. Who's to say us ponies can't indulge in the sweetness of spending money? I can assure you there's still much more to come, if you could only—"

"It's a lie, a bold-faced lie!"

Exclamations arose on all sides. Nopony knew what was going on.

Bronze was trembling, though his face, instead of going red, became deathly pale; his left eye twitched involuntarily. He nearly choked, looking for some calculation, the right thing to say.

"I knew this would transpire!" yelled Maxim in a sort of righteous indignation. "Look at how this brute completely and indispensably humiliates and disgraces his family. Right from the start he had some design in mind, a singular plan to brew up a scandal, you can tell just by the way he moves his mouth. He loves his scandals. He keeps track of them, the buffoon! And now, now of all places, here, in this auction, he behaves like such a classless brute... how can it go on like this!"

"Ah, no, it's not like that!" Bronze had become breathless in his excitement, so taken aback was he by Maxim's tirade. "Yes, I confess it publicly, I behave like a brute on purpose, and I regret it. I'm disgusted with myself for my, as was put, 'classless' rage. But you leave much out, Maxim, you deceiver!"

"Me? A deceiver!" Maxim intentionally cried at the top of his lungs, so as to feel as self-righteous as possible.

"This is unendurable!" cried Rapière.

"Hear me, mares and gentlecolts!" said Bronze to the whole audience this time. "I've shed many tears in the name of this establishment. I've lied. I've swindled. I've put on such depraved acts it could make the strongest of mares faint on the spot! But it was all noble in spirit. I bow to my depravity, because only through it can I spread whatever modicum of generosity I can muster. I've donated to many charities. I support the royal guards. But everypony has a limit to his altruism. With altruism comes the other side of our nature: we must take care of ourselves, mustn't we? It's all a stick with two ends: to behave nobly one must wear their depravity on their sleeves. It's a basic law of science, mares and gentlecolts. The more depraved a stallion is, the greater his will to save the world from the modern day troubles of the economy."

But Bronze could not go on. His eyes were glittering and he was breathing with difficulty. But everypony in the room was stirred. The announcer looked austere at the two guards by the front door, made a gesture, and they moved smartly down the aisle.

"Cluster, my boy," yelled Bronze suddenly, in an unnatural voice, as the guards flanked him on both sides and forced him to get up, "how can you just stand there and let them do this to your father? I've acted nobly. I'm the soul of honour, I stand against all this so-called vanity. Please remember me!" he ended dramatically, stamping with both his legs.

With old liars who have been acting all their lives, there are moments when they enter so completely into their part that they tremble or shed tears of emotion in earnest, although at that very moment, or a second later, they are able to whisper to themselves, "You know you are lying, you shameless old sinner!"

For a moment everypony gazed with wonder at Cluster. But he only frowned painfully, and looked with detached displeasure at his father; but almost immediately after the habitual passivity of his expression returned.

"I think we're done here," he said in a soft and, as it were, controlled voice. "The intermission, remember?"

"Of course, of course," the announcer resumed. "And so, the splendid lenses. Going once, twice, thrice. Sold to Fancy Pants!"

Maxim was still in a state of amazement, even after Bronze left the building. He cleared his throat rather loudly, as to draw attention.

"I myself am to blame for that scandalous scene," he said hotly, lowering his eyes. "But I didn't foresee it when I came, though I knew with whom I had to deal. This must be stopped at once! Believe me, everypony, I had no precise knowledge of the details of Bronze Pocket's plan to start a scandal, only intimations. I was unwilling to believe them, and I learn for the first time." Everypony was listening, just what he wanted. He continued in a clearer voice, "A father wants to rob his son's inheritance, not Cluster here, but another. He'd even go as far as to send him to the dungeon, but beneath that, he came to this auction for the sole purpose of a private business matter, and had no obligation in anything else. This is the company in which I had been forced to be present. I was deceived, as were all of you."

But before he could get the reactions he wanted, the door to the dining room opened up. In stepped another stallion, tall and muscular, with a protruding chest and a thick set of eyebrows. It was Spender Spent, the maestro of the auction house.