Life is hard for the Canterlot elite, particularly for those in high places.
Hoity Toity is a stallion of few words, save for those that he uses to criticize his workers with. He designs custom outfits for his models, keeps a trained eye on them and holds his emotions rightfully hidden. He's seen his fair share of beauty, of stallions and mares constantly competing to strive to the limit of their pretty looks and youthful faces. Control is key if he wants to thrive in the business that he's ensnared in. "Never fall for the models that you design for", as the saying goes. It's his mantra, the only philosophy that keeps his lonely heart far away from his work.
"So, your name?" Hoity asked, loudly and professionally, like the sort who just wanted this whole business to be over with.
Silence reigned, save for the dull scratching of a quill's tip against parchment. The noise echoed within the vast confines of the office, needling against the stallion's ears as he peeked up from his respective papers.
The unicorn that sat across from his wide desk raised a groomed eyebrow, his dainty lips twisted into an annoyed frown."Is that a joke?" he scoffed.
Hoity raised an eyebrow and blindly set his quill to the side, nearly knocking over the brass-ware inkwell in the process. "No, Mister Blueblood, it's an interview," he duly replied, reaching up to brush away a bothersome lock of snowy white hair. "It's a mandatory procedure in this business, nothing more."
He kept his face relatively low, his pointed chin turned more to his scruffy desktop than to the alabaster stallion that was lounging across from him, his broad shoulders bunched up as he slid down the length of his chair, like a little child.
"More like a waste of time, Mister Toity."
Hoity cringed inwardly, though kept himself stoic. He was in his kingdom, his own little niche, Many a troublesome pony had met him within these very walls, and he had always managed to keep his own rump out of the hot seat. Potential models had a way with trying to be manipulative, whether by using their crisp features or a purr of the tongue.
However, the stallion in front of him was none of those things. He was relaxed, slumped in his cherry wood chair as if it were an extension of himself. His pale, flossy mane carelessly hung over his eyes, giving him a slightly disheveled look. His lips were pursed, betraying boredom, quite unlike any other potential model that he had interviewed.
The cobalt stallion wordlessly picked up his quill and set the end to the parchment. "You entered my office wanting an interview, Mister Blueblood, and an interview is what you're going to get," he muttered curtly.
Blueblood rolled his eyes and turned his face away, waving a hoof in capitulation. "Prince Blueblood," he answered.
"Good." Hoity looked back down to his papers, reaching up his hoof to tap up his tinted glasses that had begun to sidle down the bridge of his snout. "Now then, what brings you here?”
“Ah! Recreation, of course!” the unicorn exclaimed, though not without the hint of a nervous chuckle. “I’ve always fancied myself to be a good model, certainly much better than any of those greased up ruffians you see on the runway nowadays.”
Hoity glanced back at Blueblood, scrutinizing him with a trained eye. Frankly, the stallion was about average at best, below even considering the field that he was so keen on hopping into. Slim, but very obviously out of shape. Any stallion who wanted to enter the industry needed at least a little muscle, not soft, roundish features.
If Blueblood had been in any lower position, then Hoity would have already gotten him shoved out of his little office-palace. But, as always, one had to be careful in dealing with the snobbish royal family brigade. Aristocrats had a way with lawsuits when things didn’t go their way.
Sighing, the Earth pony scribbled down a few choice words onto his parchment, namely some that wouldn’t have been fit for speaking. “You realize that you’re applying for a job, aren’t you?” he asked cautiously.
“Father always told me that it isn’t a ‘job’ if you’re having fun, Mister Toity,” Blueblood retorted, leaning forward as if eager to share some great source of wisdom. “You like doing... whatever it is that you do, right?”
Hoity kept himself cool, despite the distinct twitch that his tail that had started to develop. “Well, regardless, you answered the question.” He paused to reach over and dip the tip of his quill in the brass inkwell, tapping it lightly against the bulbous rim as he gathered his thoughts. “Do you have any prior experience?”
The unicorn placed the flat of his hoof against his chin. “Hm, well, I once had to pose for a good half day to get my portrait done. Does that count?” His horn burst into a soft yellow, its droning pulse echoing as he levitated a random unused quill from the oaken desk. He drew it towards him and rotated it about. “I think that’s it, but more than enough, right?”
Hoity bit down on his lower lip. If anything he and Photo went out of their way to avoid hiring amateurs, especially the cocky ones.
Still, it could have been worse. Blueblood could have been absolutely hideous, the kind of pony that no fashion design could really save. At least he carried a certain poise about his soft affinity, something that could be molded in his hooves, or at least polished.
There was, at least, some potential.
With that in mind, Hoity went back to his notes and crossed out some of his more callous phrases. “I suppose that might let you scrape along by,” he finally answered. “Still, I have to warn you that this isn’t really a game...”
“Oh, I know that.” Blueblood huffed, the tip of his nose scrunching up in distaste. “Really, Father just thought that it’d be, ah. wise to start on a career path.” He twirled the quill around in his magical grasp, bringing up the sharp end to scratch his chin.
Hoity had to resist smirking at that little gem of a comment. It was near glaringly obvious that the posh unicorn had been cut off from his daddy’s money, or at least had to ration what little that he had been given. “Good choice, then, Mister Blueblood,” he mumbled flatly, careful to hide away any trace of glee. "I'm sure you'll do well with me and Photo working on you."
"I should hope so!" Blueblood levitated the quill back to the desk, setting it down with a gentle 'clink'. "You and your sister are quite possibly some of the only successful Earth ponies in this silly city. Believe me, I would know," he rattled off.
"Our race has nothing to do with our success in the industry, Mister Blueblood," Hoity stated bluntly. He swiveled around in his little chair and reached out a hoof to open a drawer filled with rolled up scrolls. "Me and Photo have been doing this brother-sister duo for years now..."
Blueblood held out a well-polished hoof to silence the other stallion. "No, it's just that ponies here like the exotic, and you and Miss Finish are exotic." He slid back his chair to stand up, it's pointed legs squeaking loudly on the waxed marble. "Exotic in that you're handicapped, in a society entirely run by mana, how is a duo of hornless ponies to thrive?"
Hoity said nothing. The tip of his quill was hovering over the thick mustard parchment, though his eyes were locked to the snowy white aristocrat, flat and unreadable. With a quick gesture he readjusted his glasses.
"Hard work, Mister Toity!" Blueblood exclaimed "That's what you Earth ponies are good at! Unicorns, though... I suppose even I can admit that we tend to be a little fickle, fleeting in our interests and hobbies." He face took on a blank, dreamy look, his eyes clouding before he snapped his head back up. "Oh, I'm rambling again. Aren't I silly?" he laughed softly, bringing a hoof to his mouth in an girlish manner.
Hoity raised an eyebrow, unmoved. "Hm. Well. Either way, your evaluation appointment... We'll need to see you by the end of the week to take some measurements. Photo will have to take some experimental shots too... see what lighting works best with your pelt color and all that" He turned to his wrinkled parchment. "How does the day after tomorrow work for you?"
"Oh, you can't get me in earlier?" Blueblood pursed his lips in childish annoyance. "Well, fine. I suppose I can live with that. Afternoon?"
"Two PM, if you want to be exact," Hoity murmured over his papers, his hooves shuffling about to find the one with his schedule. "Expect to stay until late evening." He smiled to himself upon finding the right sheet, and promptly dipped his quill to pencil in the time in the one empty slot that was left. "There. All done."
"Good!" Blueblood turned around and cantered towards the office door, his long tail billowing behind him. As his golden aura grasped at the brass knob, he turned towards the stallion a final time. "I have a habit of being fashionably late, just so you know. No need to slap me on the hoof on the first day, yes?"
And with that, he promptly opened the door and slammed it behind him, without even bothering to wait for a reply.
Hoity sat in silence, jaw slightly unhinged. How dare he! The royal family had always been pompous, but to see one so blatant about their job security nearly brought bile to the stallion's mouth. He had no choice but to deal with Blueblood's inherently 'fickle' nature. It was either that or lose the position that he had so carefully grown in Canterlot's elite.
He still held the quill in his hoof, but it was shaking. The ink on the sharp tip bled into the parchment, melting into a large, unsightly blemish.
"'I can admit that we tend to be a little fickle', pah!" Hoity threw down the ravaged feather and turned to his schedule paper, floating above all the others in a sea of unorganized flotsam. He picked it up and brought it close to his muzzle, his eyes racing over every little detail of what his life was to be for the week.
Having organization made him calmer, at least by a little. The crisp, smooth sensation of paper being held tightly in his hooves and illegible scribbles of appointments did well in giving him a sense of pace, a sense of orderly existence.
With a soft sigh, he let his gaze wander down to the time slots for the next day. Most of them were empty, save for a two hour outing in the morning.
"Breakfast with Fancy and Fleur at The Dancing Hooves again?" he murmured to himself, a little grin tugging his lips. "That should help..."
If there was one thing that Hoity really, truly enjoyed in his life, it was restaurants. Eateries in general always elicited such an air of chaotic grace about them, from their dancing waiters to the dull, symphonic murmur of the fellow patrons. He loved everything about them, provided that the food was good.
The Dancing Hooves in particular had always been a favorite of his, ever since Fancy had introduced him a few months back. There was something about the atmosphere of the place that had always clicked with him. It could have been the soft, moody lighting, or it could have been the simplistic grace of the meals themselves. Salads and delicacies from across the country graced the thick, fat menus that were so ceremoniously laid on their tables, and not one of them had a bad thing about them.
He was looking over this menu now, salivating as his eyes trailed over the breakfast choices. With so many options, indecisiveness was just inevitable. Humming to himself, he unthinkingly chewed on his lower lip in thought.
"Having trouble in picking something out, Hoity?" Fancy asked, smirking.
"Hm?" Hoity looked up from his menu at the two unicorns seated across from him, blinking as if ripped into a daze. "Oh... no. I'll probably get the usual," he murmured. "What about you?"
Fancy rolled back his broad shoulders in a careless shrug. "I'll pick something at random, like always. Won't I, love?" He turned to the spindly mare lounged against his side and moved to peck her cheek, at which she giggled airily in reply.
"Public, dear," she chided gently, raising a tiny hoof to push him away. Her light pink mane fell in front of her painted eyelids, and she gracefully blew the lock away. "No need to get crass, hm?"
The older male sniffed and turned away, his horn lighting up to meditatively twirl at the end of his mustache. "I suppose not," He capitulated, turning to Hoity with little smile. "Back on topic, though. What did he call unicorns again? Fickle?"
"Fickle." Hoity snorted and drew his hooves into his lap, sitting up stiffly. "It's almost like he tried to make an excuse with it, too. And then he tells me right before he leaves that he has a 'habit of being fashionably late'. As if there was anything 'fashionable' about missing your first appointment!" he exclaimed, nearly sputtering by the end of his rant. "The nerve!"
"Hm. This can't be good for that high blood pressure of yours, can it?" Fancy joked, grinning widely. As if on some sort of rehearsed cue, the mare placed a hoof to her mouth and laughed.
The distraught Earth pony slumped back into his chair with a scowl. "Is this funny to you?" he muttered.
Before the alabaster unicorn could issue a proper apology, a suited waiter cantered up to their lone table, a notepad floating at his side. "Do you have your orders ready, Sirs and Madame?"
"I'll have the scrambled tofu," Hoity rattled off, his eyes locked to the window at the table's side. The sky was still tinted a light pink, betraying the last bit of sunrise. Evidently the Princess must have stayed up later than usual. Then again, it was still the tail-end of summer. All that roamed about the normally packed streets were a few young ruffians, their tattered manes and dirt coats visible even from their vast distance.
Fancy observed the cobalt stallion with a worried frown before turning to the waiter. "Oh, hold on a moment." He had been caught off-guard, and turned to the menu as the mare at his side rolled her eyes.
"Black coffee for me, small," she ordered, turning to her companion with a tiny smile. "Dear?"
"Ah, well." Fancy threw up his hooves and levitated the menu to the waiter. "Surprise me. I'll eat anything." he dismissed the waiter with a wave of his hoof.
“Very good, Sir.” The peppercorn black unicorn magically lifted all three menus and trotted away, his head held high.
As he left, Hoity shook his head and wrenched himself away from the window’s view. “I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad it he weren’t a member of the royal family,” he mused, tilting his head down to gently rub the bases of his hooves together. “At least then I wouldn’t be so afraid of getting a lawsuit.”
“Lawsuit?” Fancy raised an eyebrow. “Blueblood doesn’t seem like the type to needlessly press charges. He isn’t quite smart enough for that.” He turned to the snow-white mare nestled against his side. “What do you think, Fleur?”
The mare puckered her lips in distaste. “He’s quite stupid, Prince Blueblood. Especially stupid if he managed to get cut off from his family’s money,” she stated bluntly.
“Oh, I know that he’s stupid.” Hoity scowled. “That’s what makes me so nervous... you can’t afford to be stupid in this business.”
Fancy cocked his head to the side, his expression oddly blank. “Hoity?”
“Mm.” the stallion’s gaze was locked to the table, counting out every thread that made up the white cotton cloth that was draped over it. The sheer amount of white nearly made his head spin, from the white cloth, to his white mane to even his white companions.
Even their subject of conversation was white. The thought made his brow furrow in distaste.
While Fancy Pants could not read Hoity’s mind, the cobalt stallion’s face was quite readable in its sheer internal conflict. Cautiously, he reached out a hoof to gently tap against the table. “Oi, Hoity!”
“What?” The stallion looked up at the two, and immediately blushed in embarrassment. “Ah, sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, bringing up a hoof to wring his ponytail.
“Quite alright.” Fancy cleared his throat awkwardly and moved to place his napkin on his lap. “I was just wondering, and forgive me if I’ve delving a bit deep here, but have you considered getting yourself a companion?” he asked, hesitantly.
Hoity stiffened and pressed his back against the cushioned back of his chair, as if driven into a corner. “Ah, no. Not really.” He bit his lip, eyes darting to and fro, anywhere but Fancy’s face. “I consider myself married to my work, you see.”
“So am I, but that doesn’t keep me from Fleur,” Fancy replied coyly, turning to the spindly mare with a devilish grin. “Right, love?”
“Oh, I suppose.” Fleur smiled back and leaned over to quickly lick the stallion’s cheek.
Hoity shook his head, his bundled up mane bouncing slightly at the sudden whip of his neck. “I don’t have time for it, the maintenance of a relationship... you know?” he reasoned simply.
“Oh, please! That’s just an excuse,” Fancy waved a hoof. As he opened his mouth to say something more, the waiter had cantered to their table’s side, a couple of dishes floating above him with a little cup of coffee at the side.
The three were silent as he placed the dishes at their respective places, save for a few murmurs of ‘thanks’ before he walked off, leaving them alone once more.
Hoity stared at his mound of scrambled tofu with a sour frown. He had lost his appetite all of a sudden, but he reluctantly picked up his fork all the same. He glanced at Fancy’s dish, and found it to be the same as his own. Apparently the waiter didn’t have much of an imagination for surprises.
Fleur lifted her coffee, the pinkish glow of her magic lightly enveloping the whole of the mug as she brought it to her lips, her eyes closing in contentment.
Fancy merely ignored his own food and focused his attention on Hoity, his own fork lying untouched. “I could try and find somepony for you, you know. Going to drab social events does have it’s advantages,” he proposed seriously. “Which do you prefer? Mares or colts?” He leaned back and let his magic take hold of his fork.
“Honestly, Fancy, I really don’t have time for anything like that, especially blind dates.” Hoity stirred his fork about the contents on his plate, mixing them into a mushy, tasteless mass. “I wouldn’t want you to waste your time on me...”
“Nonsense!” The stallion gesticulated wildly, waving his magicked fork about in his own enthusiasm before the mare gently took it from him and set it down. He didn’t even seem to notice. “I have nothing better to do with my time, anyway! Blasted retirement makes me sour, you know? Now, mares or colts?”
The distraught earth pony set down his fork and shrugged. “I don’t know... Um...” He scratched his head and adjusted the clips that held his snowy white mane together. “Colts, I guess,” he finally murmured.
“Alright, alright!” Fancy nodded approvingly and smacked his lips in thought. “We’re getting somewhere already, then. Now, what about the personality?”
“Look, Fancy,” Hoity pushed back his chair and helplessly looked back to the window. The pinkish aura about the rising sun had melted into a bright marigold, its rays transcending upon all of the little ruffian colts and fillies that scurried into the alley-ways upon its arrival. “I really appreciate it, I really do, but it just isn’t practical.”
In an absentminded gesture, he reached up and pulled down his sunglasses, which had been resting upon the top of his forehead, like any fashion accessory. Wearing them had always acted as a sort of childish pacifier for him, a way to shield his eyes and expression from being observed.
Fancy pouted, and immediately grabbed at the glasses with a touch of magic, slipping them away from the stallion’s snout. “Come, now, don’t be shy! You’re a nice looking fellow. A well-groomed coat, good fashion sense... I’m actually quite surprised that you don’t have that 'special somepony'!” he complimented, the sunglasses hovering teasingly above the table.
The mare at his side rolled her eyes, her horn taking on a pinkish glow as she yanked the glasses away and gently set them back upon Hoity’s nose. “Here, you go, Mister Toity,” she murmured.
Hoity kept his face blank. He was far too used to Fancy’s silly antics to really be irked by him, though Fleur’s kindness elicited a small smile from him. “Always my best employee, Miss De Lis.” He offered her a mock-bow of the head. “At least you understand my little idiosyncrasies.”
Fleur merely smiled and looked back to her coffee.
“Either way, Hoity, I think the companionship would help your stress some. Why not think it over a bit?” Fancy insisted, and took hold of his fork once more. “I’ll start compiling a roster for you to pick and choose from, in the meantime.” He nodded to himself, taking a bite of his scrambled tofu. “Mm... A good batch of boys, variations in color, muscle build and the like. You’ll need a good variety, after all,” he mumbled as he chewed, his brow bunched up in thought.
Hoity frowned, his hooves nervously fidgeting about to smooth his modest waistcoat. “Well, that bill should be coming along soon, don’t you all think?” He jerked his head up and scanned the dimly lit room, searching for some sign of their waiter. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The other tables all stood empty, their vacant nature only added to what had become a lonely, almost oppressive atmosphere.
It was Fleur who broke him out his flurry of thoughts, her own calm contralto voice seeping into his ears. “We have an appointment the day after tomorrow, don’t we, Mister Toity?” she asked innocently.
Fancy grinned and placed a hoof to his cheek. “Oho! That’s a day after your appointment with Blueblood, isn’t it? Good!” On an impulse, he snaked his foreleg about his partner’s slender shoulders. “You tell Fleur what happened, alright? I’m quite curious when it comes to the royal family. Such an eccentric lot!”
“Fine, fine.” Hoity impatiently adjusted his glasses, his long tail swishing back and forth from underneath the chair’s frame as the waiter hustled forward with their check. As soon as the booklet touched the table's surface, he snatched it up. "Well, I should probably get back to Photo, you know," he murmured as he hastily fished about in his pockets, unearthing a choice number of bits to lay on the table. His hoof quivered as it placed the coins down
The couple glanced at one another worriedly, and Fleur allowed for a flash of her magic to gently take a lock of Hoity's mane and brush it aside, if only to get his attention. "Mister Toity? Are you alright, dear?"
Fancy nodded, though the arm that he held about the mare drew her closer so that she nestled against his side, despite the gap in-between their chairs. "Did I go too far, Hoity? I apologize if I did. It's all in a bit of fun, right?"
"Apology accepted." Hoity scraped back his chair, the ends of the wooden legs squeaking terribly against the marble floor. "In all honesty, though, I really should get going. It was a pleasure, though." He tilted his head down in a little polite bow. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, Miss De Lis."
The mare simply nodded, the side of her face pressed against her partner's broad chest.
Fancy rubbed at her shoulder and eyed the other stallion with a concerned frown. "Well, alright then, but do send us a scroll if you feel the need, won't you?" he begged.
Wordlessly, Hoity nodded. There wasn't much else to say apart from a mumbled goodbye, and with that he scurried away, losing himself amongst the empty tables to obscure himself in the shadows.
The couple watched as he vanished from their sight, and Fleur turned to the stallion at her side with a pouting frown. "I'm worried about him." she mumbled simply.
Fancy bent down to press a practiced kiss to the corner of her lips. "So am I, dear."
All of the forsaken fillies and colts had long since departed to their alleyway havens, leaving naught but a cluster of empty streets in their wake. As Hoity trotted down a maze of carefully picked intersections and roundabouts, he kept his eyes peeled. Occasionally he’d lay his gaze upon a knot or two of unicorns, all pampered up and loitering about the walkways, though it was very rare that he would find an Earth pony like himself.
It had always been a bit of a game between him and his sister, to see how many of their own race that they could find in a day. In a peculiar, egotistical way, it made them feel somewhat special compared to all the other pompous horned equines.
His cuffed hooves were slightly streaked with dirt, an inevitable occurrence when it came to traveling the trampled clay roads. Still, the unclean sensation didn’t help the stress that was stewing in his chest.
The worst part was that he didn’t even know why he felt so agitated. Granted, Fancy Pants had a way with needling into his head, despite their friendly terms, but certainly at never such a negative level. It almost hurt to try and keep his breathing at a steady rhythm as he walked, his chest nearly knotting in on itself.
He looked up from his hooves, watching as buildings passed by his path. They all looked the same, cookie-cutter shells with unpredictable guts to them, just like his studio. Underneath his glasses, the world was tinted a deep purple, with varying shades of violet and indigo depending on the harsh light of the rising sun.
The simplicity of the lack of color had a soothing effect on him, even more so as the unmistakable form of his building slowly faded into view. The sight of it made his pace quicken to a fast canter. Work would make him feel better, as always. Sketching designs and coloring in potential dresses always had a way with clearing all the unneeded smog in his head, especially if he happened to be alone, too.
With the thought of a quill in his hoof and the quiet in his ears, Hoity paused at the door to fish for his keys in the niche of his collar.
As he searched, there was a loud clatter from inside. The sudden noise caused the stallion to jerk up in surprise, just as a familiar ice-blue mare slammed open the door.
Normally, such an occurrence wouldn't have phased Hoity. His sister had always been rather eccentric in her behavior, but one look at her frazzled, unkempt appearance told him that something was quite different.
"The nerve!" she breathed, hissing between her teeth. She looked down at Hoity and quickly adjusted her glasses. "The absolute nerve!"
"Photo?" Hoity cocked his head to the side. "Are you alright?"
"Alright? Alright?! Pah!" Photo stamped her hoof dramatically, "It's that client! The snobby one! He came in just as you left, und he von't leave!" she cried, her pseudo accent thickening with each strangled breath,
Hoity winced, his ears reeling back to press themselves against his scalp. "You mean Blueblood, don't you?" he asked reluctantly. He kept his shaded eyes locked to his hooves.
"Ja! He's snooping all over und von't shut that pretty mouth of his." She took a deep breath and straightened up her posture, the fabric of her dress rustling in protest. "I go out for coffee now," she announced formally, holding her head high as she cantered past her brother toward the streets.
Hoity helplessly watched as Photo eventually dissolved amongst the gathering crowds, his teeth meditatively chewing on his lower lip as he looked back at the solid oak door.
It had never looked more intimidating, let alone unwelcoming. The shiny brass knob seemed to carry new specks of rust, and the door looked to be rotting at the edges.
The stallion took a deep breath through his nose and paused to lift a hoof to his long mane, neatening it along with his ruffled waistcoat.
As he smoothed out the wrinkles with the base of his hoof, he paused. Why should he bother making himself look presentable? If anything looking somewhat tattered might have sent Blueblood the right message, that he was unwelcome and unwanted in favor of individualized work.
The thought of confronting the stallion only made Hoity feel even more frazzled than he already did, but he soon found himself opening the front door regardless.
The lights were still on in the main waiting room, industrialized florescent bulbs that cast a sickly white all over the marble tile and vacant chairs. Hoity reluctantly stepped inside and shut the door behind him, softly.
His hooves clacked quietly against the flooring as he moved to the office doors, placed side by side at the end of the room. A simple set of stairs led up to the actual studio, chock full of lighting equipment and props.
Hoity didn't even consider going up there first. Why would he? He already knew where Blueblood was. Holding his breath, he cracked open the door to his office.
It was in its usual state, what with the bits of fabric strewn about and his wide desk situated across from the door.
What was different was that Blueblood was sitting at that very desk, his horn aglow as he curiously sifted through the unorganized mass of papers that lay upon it. As Hoity stared at him in shock, he looked up with a cheery smile. "Oh, you're back! Good, I've been waiting for you," he chirped pleasantly, and promptly continued to shuffle through the parchment.
Hoity had not been sure of what he had been expecting, and it took him a moment to regain his composure, his words spilling out of his mouth. "Wh-What in Equestria do you think you're doing?" he sputtered, his movements stiff as he stormed up to the desk. "Get away from my things!"
Blueblood merely raised an eyebrow and stared back at him. "No need to get angry, you know. I wasn't even reading them." He cast his eyes down to fish for one paper in particular and let it float upwards. "I only read this one, your schedule for today." He placed it back on the table and shuffled the papers some more, placing them into three little neat piles. "There, see? You're all organized now."
"So you expect me to compliment you for rummaging with my papers?" Hoity stormed around the desk and waved a hoof at the unicorn. "Out, out of my chair!"
"Alright, alright!" Blueblood laughed and raised up his manicured hooves in a defensive gesture as he backed off. "I'll just go over to my seat here." He backed off and strolled over to plop into the opposite chair, his shoulders slumping forward in a casual manner.
Hoity eyed him suspiciously as he took his own seat, his sunglasses still resting upon the bridge of his snout. By his own perspective, Blueblood wasn’t a snowy shade of white, but a light teal. It only made his name all the more fitting. For a few moments, the stallion couldn’t really find any proper words to say, in fear making himself look foolish. Instead, he looked down at the three piles of papers. “Why did you-?”
“I was bored,” Blueblood interrupted. He held up a hoof to his face to scrutinize the shine of the clear polish that had been smothered onto it. “That so-called ‘waiting room’ out there didn’t have any magazines that struck my fancy, so I came in here to pass the time.” Sighing, he looked up and raised his eyebrow. “Why do you and your sister wear sunglasses indoors? It’s weird.”
“Thank you for your opinion, but it’s not needed,” the cobalt stallion curtly replied, his hooves dancing over the neatened sheets of paper. He spread them all around to count them, if only to make sure that Blueblood hadn’t stolen anything. “You’re not needed either, you know. The appointment was for tomorrow. Did you forget that?”
Blueblood pouted and pointed at the papers. “You have a huge gap right now though,” he protested. “Why not move it up a day?”
“Because I still haven’t designed anything that I can measure you for,” Hoity replied flatly. His own expression was blank, assisted by the sunglasses that protectively shielded his face. “It’s easier for me if I have an idea of what I want to make for you before I do measurements.”
“Oh, really?” The unicorn sat up and leaned forward to get a better look at the desk. “Well, that’s your fault for being lazy, then,” he accused simply.
The quill that Hoity had picked up in his hoof nearly snapped into pieces at that little remark, and the stallion found himself taking a harsh, deep breath from his nostrils. “I was just going to take a few hours to do some sketches today, if you must know,” he muttered.
“Oh.” Blueblood blinked and moved to brush away a lock of his dirty blonde mane. “Can I watch?”
A sudden crunch echoed through the modest chamber, and Hoity glanced down to find that the quill was crushed in his grasp. The brittle metal stem had cut his hoof, just enough to where a trickle of glistening blood had begun to seep.
Just like that, his own blind frustration and anger turned to dull confusion as he stared at his bleeding hoof.
Suddenly, a glowing tissue floated up towards him and pressed itself against the base of his hoof. The blood soaked into the thin fabric in a large, blossomy shape, and Hoity looked up to find Blueblood regarding him with a smirk.
“You don’t really know how to control yourself, do you?” he chided. “That’s okay. I don’t either.”
Hoity didn’t say anything. He merely held up his hoof as Blueblood manipulated the tissue to wipe away the blood that still yet lingered. It was when the unicorn had placed the soiled thing in the wastebin that he was able to mutter an embarrassed thanks, hoping to death that the stallion wouldn’t be able to see the humiliated flush on his cheeks.
If the prince had noticed, he didn’t really show it. “I do hope that isn’t your writing hoof, is it?” he asked, his voice laced with faux concern as he pressed a hoof to his mouth. “I would hate for my appointment to be delayed.”
A little spark of anger reignited in Hoity’s blood, but he kept himself calm as he cradled his cut hoof. The seeping blood had already begun to clot. “Hm, no, it isn’t. Nothing that a good bandage won’t solve.”
“Oh, good!” Blueblood’s face brightened a little. “Draw something nice, then. I don’t care what you put me in, so long as it isn’t boring or scratchy,” he demanded.
“As my employee, I can assure you that I won’t design outfits that will make you uncomfortable,” Hoity dumbly replied, as if in shock of the whole audacity of the conversation. His brain felt hazy, and his instincts told him that he was being backed into a corner once again. Still, what harm was there to humor the snobbish unicorn a bit?
With his clean hoof, he picked up another spare quill and plucked up a blank sheet of paper from a separate pile of junk off to the side. He glanced over at his brass inkwell, then up to Blueblood.
The unicorn was regarding him with an impatient frown. “Well?” he asked. His tail was swishing from side to side, like a cat ready to pounce. “Are you going to draw or not? I’m curious.”
That was the final straw. Hoity unceremoniously dropped the quill and pointed to the door. “That’s the way out. You know by now, I’m sure.” His voice was quiet, but commanding. “I don’t like it when ponies watch me work,” he added in awkwardly, but with just as much force.
“Please, you just don’t want to take off those silly glasses of yours,” Blueblood hopped from his chair and smiled. “What’s the matter? You had them on during that silly interview, too.”
Hoity bit his lip and unthinkingly tilted his head downwards. “Well, ah...”
“Your sister wears hers all the time, too. What, is it some kind of Earth pony idiosyncrasy? Some sort of primitive superstition? Or do you have some kind of hideous birth defect?” he asked, quite seriously considering the insulting absurdity of his questions.
Before the other stallion could even reply, Blueblood allowed for his magic to gently lift the glasses away. “Only old, senile oafs wear their sunglasses inside, you know? Are you senile, Hoity?” he placed the offending object on the desk and grinned.
Hoity didn’t once budge or say anything in protest. He merely watched as Blueblood slid the glasses away, his eyes instinctively shutting as the fluorescent light pierced at them. “It’s a habit,” he answered simply.
“Well, it’s a stupid habit.” Blueblood sniffed. “Are you going to open them now?”
Hoity tensed and reached out a hoof to blindly pat around the whole of his desk. “Oh, my eyes are a bit sensitive in this light. I don’t think that I can, sorry,” he lamely explained.
Still, lacking sight and being in a closed room with a strange stallion was more than enough to make him rethink such a preposterous argument, and nervous paranoia was more than enough to convince him otherwise. Slowly, Hoity allowed for his eyes crack open a little, just a little.
Blueblood’s grin curled up even wider. “There you go! Good to know that you aren’t some vampire or the like. Come on, then, all the way,” he urged.
Cringing, Hoity opened his eyes.
They weren’t particularly special, his eyes. If anything they might have been a bit of a letdown to someone expecting something grand. They were a predictable shade of teal, matching near perfectly to the hue of his pelt.
Hoity had never felt more helpless and naked as Blueblood very obviously observed his face.
Finally, the prince reeled back and nodded his head in approval. “Blue, just like mine. I quite like them.” he complimented. “They’re pretty! Why, it’s almost a crime to hide them away!”
“P-Pretty!?” Hoity immediately dove for his desk and snatched up his glasses to paste back on his face. With one hoof holding them to his snout, the other pointed sharply towards the door, shaking.
Blueblood seemed to take the hint, and he sighed in defeat as he started for the door. “Alright, fine. I suppose I’ll drop by tomorrow, then?” he asked.
Hoity just nodded his head.
“Very well then!” The prince grabbed hold of the doorknob and promptly thrust it open. "I'll be there, maybe late, maybe early. It'll be a surprise for the both of us!" And with that he left, with not even a 'goodbye' to spare.
Hoity stared at the closed door for some time before realizing that his hoof was still resting upon his face. Silently, he let it drop and turned to examine his cut hoof.
It was a good distraction to keep the sensation of his flushed cheeks at the back of his head, and the ever-nagging fact that Blueblood wasn’t calling him by ‘Mister’ anymore.
The next few hours were all a blur to Hoity as he hastily wove a strip of cloth about his injured hoof and pressed on to work. His glasses were shoved up to rest atop his head, pressing down on his scalp as he went to sketching and scribbling.
His quill raced across blank parchment, twisting and twirling in a graceful dance, pausing only when the stallion jerked his foreleg over to dip the pointed edge into his trusty inkwell.
In his own blind concentration, his tongue poked out from the corner of his lips in a childishly determined expression, curling up at the tip like the stem of a pumpkin. His brow was perpetually furrowed, ever solemn.
Upon the paper was a simplistic sort of drawing, with soft, roundish lines and curves. Creating a likeness of Blueblood had been surprisingly easy, if a bit uncomfortable to transfer onto paper. Most of the stallion models that Hoity designed for were broad, muscular beasts, with lumpy bulges for arms and unsteady, bulbous backs.
Blueblood was different than that. He was softer, less muscular in favor of girlish curves and a slim torso. His mane and tail were longer, too, trailing down to the end of his neck and the backs of his hind legs.
The cutie mark was more difficult, the customary compass sign that many individuals of the royal family seemed to carry. Hoity had never quite understood how cutie marks and special talents could be hereditary, especially when said marks were near identical to each other like the royal families'
With as much precision as he could muster, the stallion drew a rather crude representation of the symbol upon the sketch's empty flank, the lines slightly shaky compared to the natural neatness of the actual mark.
Such pointless details didn't quite matter in the long run, though. What mattered was the actual outfit.
"'Nothing too boring or scratchy', eh?" Hoity murmured to himself. In a way, he wanted to make something dull and contrived, perhaps constructed out of cheap velvet to try and spite the pompous prince. Sadly, though, he had a reputation to uphold, like it or not.
Humming in thought, he lifted the feathery tip of his quill and brushed it against his furred cheek. Coming up with something was certainly going to be harder than he thought, unless he chose to go the natural route and make something simple and formal.
His train of thought was sharply broken off as his office door slammed open. Ears perked up, he casually looked up from his work to find Photo staring right back at him.
"Wunderbar!" she cried. "You got rid of him, ja?"
Hoity forced a little smile. "Oh, no. We had a little chat and he just left on his own. Not that big of a deal, really," he assured her, turning back to his paper. "No screaming brawl or anything.”
The mare raised an eyebrow. “You? Fighting? Don’t make me laugh.” She snorted. “I vouldn’t have believed you.”
“Really?” Hoity sighed, though kept his eyes locked to the sketch before him. “You wound me, Photo.”
“Your mane is twice as long as mine,” Photo retorted. “Und you put clips in it, too.”
Unthinkingly, the stallion reached up to smooth his bundled mane. “Yes, but at least I don’t wear a foppish dress every day of the week.” He chuckled softly and took up his quill.
“Pah!” Photo spat, her arched tail whipping to the side in her own little sense of spitfire anger. “You vere alveys a sissy-boy,” she muttered, lips pursed as she glanced down at her brother’s desktop. “You’re sketching clothes for him?”
Hoity nodded and freshened the tip of his quill with a splash of ink, tapping it lightly against the inkwell's rim before hovering it over the paper. “I’m in a bit of a slump, I suppose you could say,” he admitted, gingerly pressing the quill’s tip against the arch of the likeness’ back. “Did you have any thing in mind?”
“Mm... Something ‘princey’.” The mare rolled back her shoulders in a careless shrug. “How should I know? I don’t design! I capture faces, pony faces und their magicks!” She threw her forelegs up in a theatrical gesture, her chin snapped heavenwards.
Hoity was hardly moved. “'Princey', eh?" he murmured to himself. The tip of the quill was still resting upon the drawing, with the ink slowly bleeding through the thick paper. The arch of Blueblood's back almost looked as if it had grown a tumor of sorts. "So I should go with the cliche formal route, then?"
He looked up, eyes widening when he found that Photo was no longer there. What lay was simply empty space, the only trace of her presence being a carelessly left open door and the fading click-clack of her hooves racing up the stairs.
"Well alright then." The stallion sighed. "Ignore me. See if I care." He turned back to his work and sketched an outline of a dress coat about the model, with the sleeves barely touching the backs of its knees.
Satisfied, Hoity dotted in details as they popped into his head. A few ruffles in the back, and a cufflink or two were all shaded in generously, coupled with a simplistic ascot and a modest top-hat.
It certainly wasn't the most original thing that he had designed, but it was passable all the same. The colors would be the hardest to pick and choose, but he didn't need to worry about the gritty details right then.
"Torso, upper forelegs, neck..." Hoity grumbled to himself as he rattled off the basic list of measurements that he would have to take for such an outfit.
Unlike most other designers, Hoity went out of his way to keep the professional ties with his models just that, professional. Being an Earth pony meant that he had to do all of his measurements by hoof, and that often led to more than one awkward occurrence when it came to models more used to a unicorn's magic brushing up against their fur, rather than a pair of intrusive hooves.
It was those little things, those little cruxes that often made Hoity wonder how he and Photo had managed to thrive in the business as well as they had, especially in a city that seemed so powered by the fashion industry.
"That should do it!" Without even offering it a second glance, Hoity took up the wet parchment and gently waved it about in the air for the ink to dry. "Not too scratchy, and hopefully not too boring, either."
And even if it was 'boring', Hoity couldn't care less. What else was he supposed to make for a well-known figurehead? Lingerie? The thought brought a stressed chuckle to the stallion's lips, despite the alarming images that flashed through his brain.
With the ink dried, Hoity rolled up the parchment and clumsily pulled a rubber band around it. Menial tasks kept his mind from the greater (namely, uncomfortable) conflicts that he often found himself struggling through.
Despite his own personal aversion to it, Hoity was no stranger to romance. Many a potential model had often tried to needle their ways onto his appointment sheet with their dolled up faces and honeyed words. Unlike Blueblood, however, they had kept themselves under his word, coming only when they were needed, whereas the prince had merely waltzed in as he pleased, when he pleased.
And that was what annoyed Hoity so much. It wasn't the blatant flirting, that could be ignored easily enough, but rather it was the fact that his own authority was being brushed off. He was dealing with a the equivalent of a spoiled child, something as unpredictable as a thrashing animal.
Grunting, the stallion shook his head and placed the scroll in the the fold of his waistcoat. Perhaps he'd have an epiphany for a better suit idea later on, but it wasn't likely considering his bothersome subject.
He glanced over at the circular clock mounted upon the wall, grimacing when he saw the time, only three P.M.
Was there anything else worth doing? Hoity scanned his work area, glancing over the general mess of things. It certainly didn't seem like it, in any case.
"There's no harm in taking the rest of the day off," he mumbled to himself, as if some part of him could convince him otherwise. Truthfully, he was never all that keen on abandoning precious work hours; it made him feel guilty to waste such time.
With some reluctance, he slid out of his chair and gently placed his bandaged hoof on the ground, careful to not put too much weight on it. The base was still sore, but tolerable enough. At least he wouldn't have an embarrassing limp to deal with.
Well, where he was going, limping wouldn't have been all that unnatural anyway.
At that thought, Hoity smiled to himself and strolled over to his office door. "Photo?!" he called, turning to the stairway. "I'm going out!"
There was no answer, not even a bitter mutter or a crash of a toppled over stage light. The stallion waited for a few seconds before sighing in relief. For once, he was glad that his sister wasn't around. She always had a thing for chastising him for his usual quest for bourbon and gin.
Once it was apparent that Photo had indeed gone out, Hoity cantered across the small waiting-room and paused to slide his glasses back down above his eyes before he opened the door.
A bright, purple tinted world greeted him, with the afternoon in full swing. Unicorns of all colors had flooded the streets, with one or two pegasi gliding about the open air. Little kiosks had been risen up, with their vendors trying ever so hard to squall out the names of their wares above the general clattering cacophony.
The sight was one that never failed to comfort Hoity; for him to be able to watch the normal, mundane lives of ponies that he would likely never learn the names of. They were all blur, a sea of pastel bodies that looked as if they could just suck him up at any moment in their void of normalcy.
Out of nowhere, a distinctively white unicorn faded into the stallion's view from across the trampled road. While hard to make out from the distance, it was quite obvious to see who it was.
Lounging upon a bench on the opposite side of the street was Blueblood, his back stretched out on the entirety of the seat as he stared up into the cloudless sky. His blonde mane and tail were carelessly strewn over the seat's edge, the tips of hair catching up the dust and grime from the ground.
Hoity felt his blood run cold at the sight of him, and he quickly ducked back into the safe confines of the studio, keeping the door open as to maintain a close watch.
While the prince's earlier intrusion might have been excusable (though not by much), the fact that he seemed to be outside waiting for him to leave work sent paranoid shivers down the stallion's spine.
A flurry of random choices popped through his head, and all of them were unfavorable. He could either confront the stallion head-on, or attempt to slink away unnoticed and pretend that he hadn't seen anything.
While the latter option sounded much nicer to him, being the non-confrontational pony that he was, the lingering thought that Blueblood might follow him all the way to the bar was simply nightmarish to think about.
Blueblood certainly didn't seem like a stalking serial killer, but Hoity would certainly take no chances when it came to his petty, fashion-filled existence.
Taking a deep breath, Hoity stepped back into the sunlight and promptly marched down the doorstep and into the crowds. It was easy enough to weave through individual ponies left and right, particularly when his goal was so easy to pick out from the all the dark lavenders and pinkish tints that clouded his view.
As he got closer, Hoity could see that Blueblood wasn't even looking at the sky at all, as his eyes were closed. His breath was slow and steady, and his lips were slightly parted.
Needless to say, Hoity was quite puzzled. Here was Prince Blueblood, a rather well-known (albeit not well-liked) figurehead sleeping on a bench in the heart of Canterlot. What was even stranger was that nopony seemed to even take care or notice. As far as the cobalt stallion could see, there were only a few individuals daring to toss him some glances, but that was about it.
Against his own better judgement, Hoity reached out his bare hoof and lightly prodded the stallion's shoulder. "Mister Blueblood?"
"Mn?" Blueblood flinched away and cracked open an eye. "Oh, hello, Hoity." Wincing, he forced himself to sit up. He arched his back and yawned. "Aren't you doing work? It seems awfully early to quit now, don't you think?" he asked pleasantly, despite the groggy tone of his voice.
"Pardon, I wasn't aware that you were going to wait for me to quit," Hoity retorted. "Were you intent on following me home, Mister Blueblood?"
Blueblood rubbed a hoof against his eyes, his face comically scrunched up as he did so. Even after all the accusations that Hoity had piled onto him, he seemed completely calm. "The world doesn't revolve around you, you know," he merely replied. "Why would I bother following you, anyway?"
"Uh..." Hoity was lost for words. He hadn't been expecting such a casual, innocent reaction. "I... You... What else was I supposed to think?" he babbled, stamping his good hoof on the ground. "First you come to my studio uninvited and now you're sitting across the street from me. Any rational pony would assume the same thing!"
"Then all of those 'rational' ponies are pretty stupid, if you ask me." The prince shrugged and raised up his forelegs to stretch his back before he reached down to pat the seat next to him. "You wanna sit down?" he asked.
"No, I don't."
"You sure?" Blueblood smiled. "It's still warm from when I was laying on it. Everypony likes a warm seat, as far as I know."
Hoity opened his mouth to say something particularly ungentlemanly, only to clamp it shut and take a few deep, practiced breaths. "Look, I just want to know why you, of all ponies, are out sleeping on a bench in the middle of Canterlot." He spoke slowly and evenly, taking good care to keep his anger in check.
"Frankly, that's none of your business," Blueblood replied. "Honestly, it's a little rude of you to ask that."
If Hoity had been holding another quill in his hoof, he probably would have crushed it into splinters. He wasn't aware that he was, quite literally, beet red from all of his frustration and pent-up anger, nor was he aware that his nostrils were flaring in a most unsightly fashion. "Rude of me?!" he growled, the nail of his hooves scraping against the ruddy ground.
Blueblood's horn lit up with a soft hum as he lifted his own long tail into his forelegs. As he stroked at it to clean all the dust and grime away, he turned to Hoity with an amused grin. "Do you happen to have a blood pressure problem?" he asked casually.
"And asking that isn't rude?!" Throwing up his forelegs in frustration, Hoity promptly turned tail and stormed away. "Forget that I asked, then!" he cried, his voice nearly cracking to a high falsetto.
By now, several ponies had stopped to stare, and a collective knot of them had formed to gawk. Hoity couldn't blame them. It wasn't often that you could witness a couple of fairly well-known ponies shouting at one another.
Well, one of them shouting, at least.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hoity glimpsed a rather tall unicorn pausing at the doorstep to his studio. From the satchels and the plain stamp for her cutie mark, he could only assume that it was the mailmare. As he looked over at her, her face brightened and she waved him over.
As badly as he wanted a drink, and as humiliating as it was to dawdle in a crowd of onlookers (including Blueblood himself), Hoity quickly galloped over to the studio door, much to the mailmare's delight.
"Looks like I caught you just in time!" she chirped, clearly oblivious to all the going-ons. "I've got a telegram for you." With a flash of magic, she rummaged through her satchel.
Her friendly demeanor was like a lullaby to Hoity, and for a few seconds he didn't even feel angry. Stressed, but not really angry. What else could he expect from Blueblood's mouth? At the thought of him, the stallion cautiously glanced around to find the prince still sitting on the bench, carelessly inspecting his hooves.
"Oh!" The mailmare grinned and fished out a small card. "Here you are, Mister Toity!" she held it out to him.
"Who's it from? Do you know?" Hoity gently took it from her and carefully sliced open the envelope.
"Mister Fancy Pants, I believe." She closed her satchel and trotted off. "Have a nice day!" she cried cheerfully.
The stallion didn't reply, as he was too busy staring at the plain white card in his hoof, with the envelope hastily tossed aside.
Hoity,
Forgot to ask you earlier, but do you want a long term or a bed buddy? Please respond.
With love (platonic love, mind you!),
Fancy
Without any hesitation, Hoity tore the card in half and let the pieces float to the ground, a curiously blank expression pasted onto his face. With a few stiff, robotic movements, he stepped back onto the street and away from it all.
He needed a drink, badly, and it didn’t help that he could clearly see Blueblood scramble up from his bench to gallop after him.
“Wait, Hoity!” he called desperately, his mane and tail flowing back behind him like a tattered banner.
Hoity sighed. It was going to be a long day, not nice, as the mailmare had promised, just long.
