Ants, Fortune and Striped Pants

by RanOutOfIdeas

Epilogue

“And that was that.”

I finished with a quiet breath as I signed the last of the papers before me — though if you pressured me, I’d admit to having a small frown on my muzzle.

Cherrywood was looking at my form with a head turned slightly sideways, lips pressed together. She was sitting patiently on the table we were sharing, in her office.

The smart mare had taken care so this office wouldn’t turn into an everyroom, like mine had. There were no beds or bathrooms here. I pray she doesn’t fall for the temptation of optimization.

I was glad she — the definitive warden of Canterlot Correctional — had judged me and my story worthy of personally attending to. I’d still file complaints every once in a while about this itchy pair of striped black-and-white pants just to annoy her, but she chose to listen nevertheless.

I had conjoined the little dots spread before me on the first day and came to the conclusion that if I ever were to leave Canterlot Correctional, then there would be nothing waiting for me beyond those bars. All the things I had, all the businesses I owned, all the contacts I made, would wither away to flutter in a different wind.

I managed to beat time itself in the race to erase my legacy.

So my path was clear: I would thrive in my blocky cell of designation B47. A lump of nothing where my only property was a wiry bed that hurt my back whenever I lay on it, and a clean mirror with a dirty faucet — to freshen up my looks.

I refused to use that faucet every day that I woke. One of my old businesses had a hoof in the supply of North Canterlot with water and waste treatment, you see.

Thus I made it clear to Cherrywood that, as long as the North Water Treatment Plant still had the name Fancy Pants as one of their benefactors, I wouldn’t be using the cursed faucet. Let my physical self become dirty and smell. It was never the self I cared most for, anyway, and the grime was a good reminder.

Cherrywood always chuckled at my objections, turning another page on the hefty folder in her hooves and checking all my signatures.

“How do I know what you told me isn’t embellished in some way that favors you?” she asked.

“Ah, a very apt accusation. But one with a simple answer: I am imprisoned. Life, fame and wife torn to shreds. I have nothing to hide or protect about myself. It was all donated away when I threw that punch.”

She shrugged, putting her hooves up on the wooden table. “I don’t get you. How could you care so little about your life? Ponies would do anything to have half what you did.”

“I value my life and what it entailed merely two spaces above my money. Which is to say, not very much.” I pointed at the magic nullifying ring on my horn. “As clearly evidenced.”

“Huh.” She blinked, looking curious. “What's in the middle space?”

“My wife.” I nodded, shifting my eyes away from the folder in Cherrywood’s magic. “Formerly.”

“... Well, I appreciate your honesty.” She looked out the window of her office, to the yard below. “Most ponies want to think they’re selfless, and that their selfishness was a momentary mistake.”

“You don’t agree?”

“Not when they’re the ones sitting behind these bars.”

“Hah. A rogue thought… not to say I haven’t done my share of charity. Do you know of Rarity? She came to Canterlot thinking a change of geography would net her the happiness the rural scenery never could.” My eyes lost themselves in the memory, a quiet smile on my muzzle. “Her innocence won me over, if at least to just watch it be inevitably crushed. I even helped her where I could.”

“Did you…?” Cherrywood raised an eyebrow at me.

“No, I didn't sabotage her. I fully trust Canterlot to destroy dreams without my help.” I took a sip of the coffee she had sitting on her side of the table. “If nopony is equal in the eyes of Celestia, why would her city see any different?”

“Her Highness would disagree with that.”

“The fact her Royal Guard detained me peacefully, rather than being dragged along, like most others here? Great coffee, by the way.” I handed her the coffee cup back, smirking as she picked it up mindlessly, then looked surprised at her own aura.

“Point taken.” She threw the cup in the bin with a huff.

“I’ve shared more drinks with her than you, Ms. Cherrywood,” I continued, “Even thought about spiking it, once or twice.”

“You want me to put in treason alongside your list of ‘oopsies’?” she said, without any real threat in her voice.

I raised the teacup — much better than her coffee — to my lips, hiding a small grin. “Go ahead. Celestia and I might just envision that list as a proud achievement.”

“You’re odder than I figured. My father praised you everyday, he did, for giving him a job.” She looked over to the wall, a photo of her and her family there. “I told him he had the wrong picture.”

“Ah, he must not have been a Canterlot native then. Ponies like him and Rarity are too quick to assume goodness in one’s heart, rather than the simpler explanation.”

"Which is?"

"We're all pricks." I smiled.

Cherrywood just quirked her eyebrow, picking up my folder and gazing at it one last time.

“So... we’re pretty much done. Anypony you’d like to dedicate it to?” She waved the files in front of me with a smirk. “Can’t promise anypony other than Golden Gavel and the Family Court will read it, though.”

I rubbed my chin for a moment, remembering my quaint cell. There had been one specific corner that had caught my attention, when I was first introduced to my living space.

Dirtier and damper than the others, with a small hole where the wall met the floor. And the hole wasn’t vacant.

“Dedicate it to the rats in my cell.” I nodded. “All three of them.”

Cherrywood’s face soured in an instant, as I expected it would. “Don’t push it, inmate. You want your cell cleaned, ask directly. Otherwise, don’t waste my time with cheeky chaff and passive-aggressiveness.”

“Hah! You're a true breath of fresh air, Ms. Wood.” I smiled warmly at her. “Alas, I don't want my cell cleaned in any way. I did just dedicate an important chunk of my life to those rats, after all. It wouldn’t do to rob them of their home.”

She shook her head and blew some air out, quickly scribbling something down on the face of the folder with a quill.

I tried resisting the urge to let out a satisfied sigh. Of course, I failed that as well.

So many times, so many invites to a fruitful conversation. None were ever met with acceptance. Just a hoof waving the topic away as an eccentricity of a rich stallion who had too much time on his hooves. My very existence denied me what I sought most.

But not Cherrywood. At least my jailor ventured against the flow. She engaged, and left no trace of mental numbness behind her actions and words. Just her own humble take on what she witnessed with her two azure eyes.

She, unlike Fleur and much unlike the entirety of Canterlot — as I was quickly surmising — was not victim to the banality of expected responses and lack of original thought. She had the primordial mindset, full of novelty and authenticity.

Turns out maybe I was wrong. The ant is meant for the dark and damp corners of its colony. It would never be better off flying in the wind. Now I wish I could ask that ant forgiveness for assuming improperly.

And flicking it off my balcony. I suppose that's something to apologize for as well.

“Now, off you go.” Cherrywood tapped the table, pointing to the door where a Guard was waiting to take me back to my cell.

Comments

[RDT]

Had to go give the entire thing another read, because it's that good. A very thought-provoking story on perceived wealth and achievement.

[Starlight Nova]

A humble pony he is not.

Really? He didn't seem particularly arrogant in either of his appearances.

[RanOutOfIdeas]

10722687
Thanks again for the editing! I would've let a lot slip otherwise. And yeah, you got the bullseye on the themes.

[RanOutOfIdeas]

10722714
Social masks are powerful tools .

Heh, in a more serious note, I figured, well, what if it had been a mask indeed? Pleasantry for pleasantry's sake, almost a must in a life such as I portrayed here. If you get to the epilogue, there is some shading on that note, with Rarity and all her business.

[FloydienSlip]

Found this in the New Stories column and checked it out on a whim.

I'm of two minds; the brevity makes the story more impactful, but I would also love to see this expanded in some fashion to continue reading about this iteration of Fancy Pants. He is fascinating in his oddities, here.

Either way, really well done.

[msgunner501]

It's strange to see someone lose everything but be happy about it. Very interesting story you have written here and I have to say that I rather enjoyed it. I also appreciate the fact that blueblood has an interesting personality, I always love stories that give him some love.

[fanreader999999]

This reads like a dime novel.

[BleuBlooms]

10722877
I dared not speak your words back to you dear pony!
But!
I agree it...is rather drawl...that Blueblood is...always the villian...the pod-pony. (sighs dramatically into pillow)...
...runs to get pillow. Lol

[Sozmioi]

If he's really talked that much with Celestia, it occurs to one that doing so again would be more effective than a punch in dealing with Golden Gavel.

[RanOutOfIdeas]

10740141
Dealing with Golden Gavel was but one of the possible rationales

In fact, it might've been the least persuasive one to Fancy. That was not a completely selfless act by him.

[Sozmioi]

10740399
Yeah, he was really just out to throw it all away, not so much get justice. That just helped him choose the target.

I have amazingly little sympathy for this guy.

[Jarvy Jared]

Hello, a review to your story has been posted. I hope you find it helpful.