Derpy Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap!)

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 7: Applesauce

The floor was expensive; the wood was technically antique, and the rugs that covered it were of a fine wool spun from the coat of some sentient furry species or another. Shaved against their will, Spoiled hoped. Regardless, she stomped on it, walking hard over the sort of precious carpets that ponies normally hung on their walls.

She was angry. Which, of course, was not unusual for her. This type of anger, though, was. Normally she was just constantly annoyed with everything. Moments before she had been furious. Now she was just hateful, and would stew like this in her own various juices for perhaps several weeks, festering more and more as she did. Like old milk that had soaked a mattress and been left to ferment. And, like a rotting mattress, the only way to deal with this problem would involve purifying fire. Physical or metaphorical- -or both.

Spoiled Rich was, to put it simply, not in the mood to be spoken to. It was under these very conditions that Diamond Tiara poked her head out of one of the parallel hallways.

“Mommy,” she said, “I- -”

“EXCUSE ME?!” spat Spoiled, causing the girl to recoil. “WHAT did you just address me as?”

Diamond Tiara stiffened, but any expression faded from her face. “My apologies, mother. I was only wondering- -”

“Can’t you see I’m BUSY?”

Diamond Tiara blinked. Although she could assume a blank expression, she was not very good at it. Spoiled found it disappointing. She would never get far if she could not suppress any and all of her emotions and let them be subsumed by what was correct. “I- -it will only take- -”

“And WHERE is your tiara?! You realize it’s the only thing that keeps you from looking like a pig, right?”

Diamond Tiara began to tear up. “I- -I didn’t know I needed to wear it in- -in the house- -”

“You need to wear it AT. ALL. TIMES! We have standards, Diamond Tiara, STANDARDS! And if you don’t like that you can go live in the dirt like the rest of the yokels in this idiotic town!”

She then promptly shoved Diamond Tiara out of the way and continued walking. Perhaps Diamond Tiara would cry, or perhaps not. Spoiled did not care. The girl needed to learn. Life was not easy, especially for the wealthy.

Except it was not supposed to feel like this. Spoiled was SUPPOSED to be on the cusp of victory. After a great deal of work, she had finally acquired her assassin. Her assassin was, granted, an impoverished pregnant derp, but a derp for an hit mare was better than no hit mare at all. Probably. Either way, it was supposed to give Spoiled power, which was something she desired endlessly and desperately. Had she the capacity to grow both a horn and wings, she would have become an alicorn long ago. Except that doing so was impossible; it was well known that there was only one alicorn- -despite rumors to the contrary.

Then, of course, the assassin part might not work. Derpy was an ideal candidate for motivation, but not for skill. She could barely make a muffin without burning down half the town and causing an outbreak of scabies; Spoiled had begun to doubt that she would be able to actually kill anypony. And, most importantly, she would probably never be able to take down as secure a target as Wun Perr-Synt.

Randolph appeared beside her, almost silently.

“Randolph,” she said, “I am NOT in the mood for it, whatever it is. Go comfort the girl. She’s probably crying.”

“She is, madam,” said Randolph, his tone practiced and precise. “However, I have prepared the News.”

Spoiled stopped walking and put her hoof on her head, moaning angrily. “Do we have to do it now? I’m not in the mood.”

“Whether you are in the mood or not, madam, every time you have avoided the News you have regretted it later. And that is when vases get broken. Very expensive vases, I might add.”

“And I have the money to break them if I want to.” She took a deep breath and inhaled the mansion air. Million-air, as Filthy called it. It calmed her well enough- -or, rather, the thought that Wun Perr-Synt never broke vases, and that she never became angry enough not to hear important information (she could not have known, of course, that when Wun Perr-Synt got this angry, ponies got hung. Usually by their wings, or horns…or in the case of earth-ponies, something else entirely).

“Study. Now.”

“Of course, madam,” replied Randolph, bowing.

Filthy Rich had a study. Not that he had ever really used it. Perhaps, for all Spoiled knew, he did not even know it was there. It had belonged to his father, Stinking Rich, and the odor still lingered. Perhaps that was why Filthy avoided it.

Spoiled, therefore, had adopted it as her own. The smell had been troubling at first, but it had quickly been replaced with the sour, milky smell that had dogged Spoiled for her entire life. No matter how many times Spoiled bathed, it never left her. She supposed Stinky must have understood the feeling.

She closed the door behind her and sat down at what she now considered her desk. She paused for a moment, leaning forward on her hooves. “Is it good news at least?”

“Madam, I am far too old to believe in ‘good’ news.”

Spoiled shook her head. “What is it, then?”

Randolph did not even reach for notes. He had already memorized the necessary data and compiled the report. “Our newly elected mare is due to return from her meeting with regional and provincial leaders. Although the proceedings are of course confidential, our contact has indicated that our mayor is spearheading a bill that will restructure income and sales tax. Here are the rates.”

This time he did produce a piece of paper, and gave it directly to Spoiled. She put on her glasses- -something that no pony other than Randolph knew she owned- -and scanned quickly through the document. He eyes widened.

“You have to be joking.”

“I never joke, madam,” sighed Randolph.

“Do you know what this will do to our profit margin?” She slapped the papers. “It torpedoes our five year growth plan! We won’t have the assets to have a controlling share during the incorporation!”

Randolph raised an eyebrow. “So, madam, you have spoken with master Filthy about transitioning out of private ownership?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I don’t intend to let my son inherit a chain of run-down Podunk farm supply shops. I expect a NATIONAL chain!”

“Of Podunk farm supply shops?”

“Don’t do that,” she said, pointing at him. “I want an empire.”

“There is something else concerning the mayor.”

“Something to leverage? Deleted letters, collusion with the Horrsians? Even dying her mane would be enough!”

Randolph shook his head. “She has proposed a property tax in Ponyville.”

Spoiled froze, and her teeth gritted so hard that this time she really did shatter a tooth. She barely even noticed the pain.

Randolph sighed. “I’ll send a messenger to the dentist,” he said. “But madam, please. Your blood pressure.”

Spoiled held out her hoof. Randolph knew exactly what to do. He stepped gracefully over to the bar where Stinking had kept various forms of pony beverage (cider, pony wine, scootch, distilled rainbow, and so forth) and produced a tray with a glass and, instead of an exotic drink, a bottle of Pony-Bismol.

He brought it over. Spoiled did not even bother with the glass. She took the Pony-Bismol and chugged the entire bottle of pink fluid. It tasted like drinking a unicorn, but she withstood it.

“A property tax?” she said, sounding deceptively calm as she threw the empty bottle into the waste bin with the others. “So she doesn’t just want to steal from our company, she wants to steal from US. The money that WE made that I DESERVE.” She looked up at Randolph. “Why do we even need taxes anyway?”

“For the school, madam. It is currently…small.”

“What do I care about the school?!” spat Spoiled. “What do I need a school for?”

“You do have a daughter.”

“A daughter who will be shipped out to whatever private school I can find that will take money instead of grades. Not that I expect her to finish, she just needs to be there long enough to find a husband.”

Randolph looked over his shoulder at the door. It was cracked. Diamond Tiara was staring in.

“The young miss is listening, madam.”

“Of course she is, I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” She pointed at Diamond Tiara. “YOU. Don’t be a disappointment! At least TRY to get Ds! And make sure your husband is RICH! And NOT a filthy UNICORN!”

The door slammed as Diamond Tiara ran away. Quietly, at least.

“Perhaps you are too hard on her, madam?”

Spoiled looked up. “My mother loved, tolerated, and cared for me deeply. And what did that get me? Seven deadbeat, entitled donkeys of siblings. I’m not going to make the same mistake.” She leaned back, thinking back with intense hatred about her own mother, who she considered a profound failure.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Just this.” Randolph placed a sealed folder on Spoiler’s desk. “From your journalist friend.” His expression grew grave. “It seems there has been an...incident…at Sweet Apple Acres.”

Spoiled shot forward and tore the envelope open greedily. She knew exactly what Randolph had meant, and her mind connected the ideas together: that if these pictures were happy news, then it meant she had a mechanism to solve her tax problem very neatly.

When she saw the photographs, though, all the color drained not just from her face but from her entire body. For a moment, her mind did not allow her to comprehend what she was seeing. She was only able to force it to understand through sheer force of will.

Spoiled was, despite her lifestyle, something of a hardened pony. She prided herself on her coldness, as well as the fact that she had not a single scruple or ruth. She was ruthless. It had been her, after all, who had been standing at the top of the stairs in her father’s house while Spoiled Milk lay very, very still at the bottom in the seconds just after her unfortunate accident.

This, though, was an entirely different level.

“Celestia’s cellulite,” she whispered. Then, immediately, she turned and released pink, flavored vomit into her trash can.

The pages fell onto the desk, and Randolph was able to see them. In his many years, he had seen far, FAR more than Spoiled ever would. In his long military career, he had spent years on end hunting furries in the badlands, and served two tours of duty during the war in YakYakistan- -the latter of which he had been captured in and only narrowly managed to escape the goulash. He had seen many, many horrible things, but the images before him made even him swoon.

“Don’t pass out on me, Randolph,” said Spoiled, pulling her head up and wiping her mouth on her hoof.

“Was that…is that…is that a hay bailer?”

Spoiled nodded grimly.

“Oh Celestia, the fence, it’s…no, no, I can’t, I- -”

“In the trees too.” Spoiled pointed with a shaking hoof. The trees were ripe with bright red fruit. Which was why it had been hard to notice, at first.

Randolph took a step back. “That…that…”

Spoiled nodded, and picked up some notes attached. “Well,” she said, her voice dry, “the fetus survived but…but…” She dropped the pictures. They were too gruesome and horrid to look at. This was a thing that no pony was meant to see.

Randolph tried to regain his composure, but found that he could not. “What- -what kind of pony did you manage to hire, Spoiled?” he choked, holding his hoof to his mouth.

Spoiled spread out the pictures- -there were many of them, because of the size of the mess- -and shook her head. She had no idea. But what she did know was that the job had been completed.

Applejack’s parents were dead.
 

Comments

[rip4thwall]

Even your chapter numbers are derped.

[superfun]

How many chapters overall do you think this is going to be?

[Ri2]

First off, holy crap Spoiled's horrible.

Second, HOLY CRAP DERPY WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

unless that's not actually their bailed remains and it's just a misinterpretation JESUS CHRIST DERPY

[WanderingPony]

The most horrible thing is that whatever happened, it will end up being a Derpy-triggered (accidentally) horrible accident.

Deliberately Derping someone should at least be considered a war crime, though.

[FanOfMostEverything]

If you've got a muffin and you want it gone
But you ain't got the guts.
You think raisins are the spawn of Hell
You've allergies to nuts.
Well, send me a card, I'm never far
You'll find my rates are fair.
For a fee, I'm happy to be
Your muffin mare, yeah.

Derpy deeds (Done derp cheap!)
Derpy deeds (Done derp cheap!)
Derpy deeds (Done derp cheap!)
Derpy deeds and they're done derp cheap.
Derpy deeds and they're done derp cheap.

And now that that's out of my system, I have to say that this is wonderfully horrible in all the right ways. Eagerly looking forward to more.

[superfun]

It's a good thing this fic doesn't have the dark tag.

[Unwhole Hole]

9110011
This story is 25 chapters long.

[superfun]

9110474
I see.

[Wydril]

Best pony already making a reputation, I see.