Circa the Unification Era, it was the official coin of Griffonstone during a period of immense strife.
The Griffons had been at war with the United Pony Front for several decades and were in desperate need of funds to continue the war effort. Emperor Gyrus the IV had come upon a new gold vein deep in the Talon Mountains within his kingdom, subsequently using it to mint a new currency named after its place of origin. He used his coins to buy mercenary units from the yaks, dragons, and minotaurs, who happily assisted them with the promise of this shiny, highly valuable new mint.
Gyrus’s ploy worked. The combined efforts of the griffons and their new mercenary allies managed to push back the ponies, and they took the eastern territories of Manehattan, Fillydelphia and Baltimare. Everything was turning up aces for the greedy king as he continued to march onwards into the deeper plains of Equestria.
And so he continued to win the war. Until his “allies” caught onto his clever scheme.
You see, the new “gold mine” did not in fact have any gold within it. This had frustrated the King, until he realized that the ore vein did have something close to it.
Fool’s Gold. Or Pyrite, as it was commonly known. Good enough to fool most.
Not good enough to fool a dragon for very long.
With his ruse uncovered by a mineral-savvy drake, the mercenaries switched allegiance and turned against the griffon forces, marching them all the way back to their capital city, which was soon ravaged for all its valuables.
Emperor Gyrus the IV was executed by his subjects and the ambitious Emperor Kilin the I was crowned. It would take the Griffons well over a century to return to their former glory.
But that wasn’t why I brought this up.
The Imperial Talon was a rare, difficult-to-acquire coin for any collector. I happened to get it by chance from some griffons who tried to pull the same scam as their late Emperor. In doing so, they proved that they, too, were foolish, since the coin was worth so much more than the paltry sum they had used it for.
Regardless, the talon was a small thing, only the size of an average Abyssian’s thumb. One side was imprinted with the face of King Gyrus the IV, while the other side had a range of mountains resembling its namesake. It shined properly in the light, but, if you scratched the surface enough, you saw the flaw in the alleged “gold”.
Beautiful on the outside, promising wealth and good fortune on a first look.
But all it really did was hide the ugly parts underneath.
It was a chilly night in Klugetown, typical for a borderline desert. The stars shone brightly — but not as brightly as they used to, Capper privately remarked to himself — as he walked down the new cobblestone streets of main.
His way was lit by newly installed lamp posts that bathed the numerous gorgeous homes in a welcoming white light. They were all classy in white, with all the ornate fixings and perfectly manicured lawns that were never worth the effort to grow in the hot climate of the wasteland.
Everything was so new, new, new, and Capper was growing sick of the word.
This was all made worse by his travel companion, the nattering twit.
“—And that’s why I think we should invest more in our metalsmithing sector, since Equestria has such a high demand. We could even garner some more favour by selling it at a discount. What do you think, Capper?” Vintage asked him, his wide grin showing his eagerness to please.
“What Equestria wants, Klugetown provides,” Capper replied dully, his tone embodying pure boredom with the conversation at hand.
“Oh! Of course, of course, that’s so wise. There’s a reason you're the Aristocatic leader of the town,” Vintage remarked with reverence, eyes alight with glee. As if what Capper had said wasn’t the most obvious thing that even the dumbest of Klugetown’s inhabitants could have figured out.
“You flatter me, Vintage, but I was simply given the title due to being in the right place at the right time.” And a willingness to sell out every acquaintance I’ve ever had, he added silently.
“How modest of you,” Vintage said. “Truly exemplary of what should be expected of the upper class.” Capper fought back the urge to roll his eyes at Vintage’s ridiculous platitudes. “Oh, fantastic! We’ve arrived.”
Both Abyssinians found themselves before a massive four-story home made of the most expensive materials on the market. Every conceivable addition had been added, from the statue garden to the ornate window dressings. It was imposing in how utterly resplendent it was, a gaudy show of wealth so obnoxious that Capper could assume the owners would reflect it.
And from what he knew of them, this was probably true.
“It is rather…” Capper waved a paw in a circular motion, hoping Vintage would fill in the blank.
“Elegant?” He obliged happily. “The house truly shows what exquisite taste the new ponies”—he said the word with a high trill of excitement—“have.”
“Fancy Ponce and Fleur de Loose,” Capper missaid purposefully, already bored by the entire event.
“Pants and Lis,” Vintage corrected, “it is important to get our hosts’ names right tonight. Now, come on, I’m sure this whole evening will be delightful!”
Capper stared after the greatest knife wielder of Klugetown as he skipped giddily to the front door of the mansion, his petticoat held aloft to avoid the dirt and grime of the street. An odd sight for Capper, who remembered a time when said Abyssinian was drenched red as they gutted pigs for some visiting griffons. They had both laughed at the circumstances and cracked jokes about serving Vintage himself to the griffons. A difficult time to reconcile with the present.
Scowling, Capper tucked his paws into his jacket and entered the gorgeous beast.
“...And I said, that’s not a tree, that’s my butler!”
The assorted “nobility” of Klugetown laughed uproariously on cue to Fancy’s story. Capper joined in with a few subdued polite chuckles.
He swirled the glass of wine in his paw. Taking a quick sip, he took in the elegant gentlecolt before him. A coat so white it could be stained by a sneeze. A kind of white that could never have known a life outside of luxury and the natural ignorance granted by the shelter of wealth. The kind of white that could never have cut up a swine for griffons who would have killed you if it wasn’t just so.
“How about you, Capper?” Fancy asked as he raised his glass towards him, his wine the same colour as the prior occupant’s blood when they had been forcibly evicted, “any good jokes to share? Perhaps a significant other to report on?” A mischievous smirk spread on his face. “A mare? Mayhaps, a colt?”
Capper internally sneered at the loaded language. The unicorn was in an Abyssinian-dominated town, yet couldn’t even be bothered to use non-ponyisms in his speech.
“I haven’t found anyone to my liking,” Capper remarked dryly, taking another sip of wine, “and I doubt I’ll ever find someone”—he stressed the last syllable—“that will meet my expectations.”
Fancy gave an elegant guffaw, followed shortly by the Abyssinians that couldn’t be bothered to hide whose lead they took.
“Now, now, Capper, never say never. I’m sure some mare or stallion will come and sweep you off your hooves,” Fancy said, each word a small spike driven into Capper’s mind. “I, too, once thought that I would find nopony to call my own.”
“Oh?” Vintage said teasingly. “That sounds like a story worth telling.”
“I’m sure I’ve told it before.” Fancy had, in fact, done so twice that evening. “No sense in me babbling on about it even more.”
“No, please, do tell!” one of the suckups said, smiling wide as his eyes betrayed the utter boredom he actually felt.
“Yes, Fancy, do tell,” Fleur, Fancy’s paramour, said as she sidled up to him, all silky smooth like the wine they drank. An exquisite taste that left you with a sharp pain in the morning. “I haven’t heard you tell it recently, and I do so love to pick out all of the falsehoods you like to throw in.”
A flush of red stained Fancy’s cheeks as he coughed into a hoof. “I’m sure that isn’t the case. I’ve been nothing but truthful.”
“Yet I hear nothing of your nervousness or the fumbling of words that you had at my mere presence,” she laughed, a sickly sweet sound, “and I’ve never heard you mention when you tripped over your own hooves.”
Fancy chortled alongside his adoring chorus. “I suppose I omitted some information. Just this once, I suppose I could tell the uncensored version, as it were.”
Taking another sip from his drink, Capper frowned and lifted his glass to eye level. Annoyance crossed his expression as he saw its emptiness, followed by an immediate desire to refill the glass.
“Pardon me,” Capper politely interjected, “it appears I need a refill.”
“Go ahead,” Fancy replied graciously, “we shall be regaling my disaster of a first date by the time of your return.”
“A bit of understatement, dear,” Fleur said, an ugly sneer on her face. “It was closer to a national crisis.”
Before Fancy could reply, Capper left in the wake of the chorus laughing on cue. He needed a break from the sickening conversation.
He wound his way carefully through the partygoers in his search for the refreshment table. It was a long ways away, but Capper wasn’t quite so done with the evening to start shoving.
His eyes roamed across the room, taking in the details that so reflected their owner. Elegant high-vaulted ceilings, elegant marble tiled floors, elegant white decor. Every piece untouched by a living being, perfectly clean and most certainly unused.
It was so unlike the vibrant colours preferred by the majority of Klugetown residents. The gaudiness and mismatched qualities that gave the town its distinct feel. Everything in this monstrosity was sanitized, scrubbed clean of the differences. It truly embodied the occupants' nationality more than anything they could say or do.
Capper arrived at the refreshment table and, in lieu of anything resembling manners, dunked his glass into a crystal bowl of alcohol — prom chic was very in, whatever in Tartarus that was — and took a massive gulp as soon as he pulled it out. Small rivulets ran down from his mouth and glass, staining his fur, his expensive clothes, and the not-so-elegant-anymore marble tiles.
Once he lowered his glass and wiped the remnants with a sleeve, he found himself staring down a painting hung just past the table. It was a landscape painting of Klugetown—modern Klugetown, with all the personality and rougher edges painted out of the picture.
Capper found himself flexing his paws, the claws coming out and retracting as he did. The urge to correct the painting with a few well placed swipes of his claws was a bit too much to bear.
Swiveling his head to the left, his gaze found the open front door. Before he could come to a decision, he found his body sauntering towards it. His mind was sufficiently buzzed and his gait somewhat loose after the two… five.. twelve glasses of wine he had drank.
But it could still scream at him to leave that awful place.
Stumbling out the door, he took a deep breath of the night air, thankful for the pungent scents that tained it. An awful combination of grease, dust, and coolness that was so very much his hometown. Carefully making his way down the front steps, he closed his eyes. The sensory deprivation allowed his mind to overlay his memory of Klugetown over what it had become.
It was abruptly cut off when Capper’s boot got caught on the bottom step, causing him to fall onto all fours, his momentary peace shattered.
Heaving an annoyed sigh, he stood back up, then straightened his jacket and hair. He continued onwards, ignoring the spilled wine soaking the grass from the glass he had dropped in his tumble.
Before he could get far, a sound interrupted him.
His ears flicked towards a nearby side alley, tucked neatly between two buildings. A pained groan emanated from it, just loud enough to be heard by his better-than-average hearing. He found his gaze drawn to the source of the noise.
Lying on the ground was an earth pony, blood flowing freely from red welts and cuts all along his body.
Capper immediately pegged him as the poor type. The kind that ended up bouncing between multiple jobs. That was paid well, but never enough to get out of debt or poverty, because too much of said pay found itself in the hooves of bartenders and salt dealers.
Walking over, he loomed over the victim, nonplussed by the sight.
The pony looked up, pain clear across his face. “H-help,” he choked out.
Capper tilted his head to one side as he tried to identify the stallion. He recognized the stallion from several establishments throughout the market which cemented his earlier read on his position in life.
Just another victim of the past.
“Alright, buddy,” Capper said as he picked up the too-light stallion and threw him over his shoulders, “let’s get you to the hospital.
The cutesy nickname given to all of the Abyssinians that turned traitor and ratted out their criminal accomplices to the Princess once she gained a foothold in the region. Any creature that belonged to the tattletails or had been low-ranked in the bigger oragnizations were granted a blanket pardon by the Princess for any previous actions.
This was particularly beneficial to those that had belonged to the various gangs of Klugetown, the organized groups of criminals that ran all of the major smuggling operations. Organizations had been anywhere from twenty to a hundred strong, and not a single member could have claimed to have been clean. With the gang leaders arrested and the slate wiped, many of those members were able to move on with nothing to hold them back.
Or protect them when things took a bad turn.
One might wonder what any of this had to with a wounded stallion in a back alleyway, but, for those in the know, it was the crux of a common tragedy that occurred in modern Klugetown.
Many of the tattletails had been tryhards on the low end of the ladder, trying to get ahead. When everything had been taken over by the Princess — an event that Capper had greatly benefitted from — those schmucks became the new wealthy aristocats. They were elevated out of their lackluster standing and into positions of absolute power, and they all remembered their lives from before.
It was easy to picture what happened next. Newly defunded goons who had held solid footings in the organization were ripped out of their comfy positions and dropped into the streets without the protection they had all once benefited from. They would wander from paycheck to paycheck, homeless and with no future to strive towards. By terrible coincidence, one of their past underlings would see them.
Maybe the goon had always been in a bad mood in the before times. Maybe they’d gotten high off the power they’d had over others. Maybe they’d liked to vent by beating up those that couldn’t hit back. Whatever the reason, their prior victim always recognized them.
A myriad of emotions would overtake them. First, it would be fear. It was hard to forget what had been instilled bruise by bloody bruise over the years. Shortly thereafter, they would realize they weren’t that creature anymore. Satisfaction would envelope them as they mused on their new position and wealth. How far they had raised their own social standing. Finally, they would realize that the goon that had once terrorized them couldn’t do anything to them anymore. An opportunity for payback would present itself.
So, the past victim would round up their new paid staff that hadn’t quite lost their edge from the old days, then proceed to beat the snot out of the guy that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time until they were bleeding out in some alleyway. Afterwards, the victim would die, or they would miraculously survive and live forever in fear of being found again.
“So, to summarize,” Capper recited in a bored tone as he leaned back in his chair, “you got yourself beat up by one of your past victims, were left for dead, and now you’re in a hospital.”
“That's… exactly what happened,” the stallion, whose name Capper didn’t know and didn’t bother to ask for, said in reply. There was a slight rasp to his voice, presumably from the pummelling he had taken. “But I still don’t get how the tattletails or mass pardon have anything to do with me getting beat up by that loser.”
Capper sighed as he massaged his temples in annoyance. It was always frustrating how those that he helped never had good social awareness.
“Alright, let’s go through this piece by piece. What are you planning to do now?”
“Get revenge,” the stallion replied, a prideful grin on his face despite the massive bruising that puffed up his face.
“You can’t,” Capper stated bluntly.
The stallion tilted their head to one side, confusion clear on their face. “Why not? I just need to find the jerk and pound him.”
“Except they won’t be by themselves. It was Henny, right?” The stallion nodded. “He’s one of the wealthiest amongst the aristocats, he has the best paid protection in Klugetown and there’s no way you’ll get through a contingent of highly trained mercenaries.”
“Oh.” The stallion looked despondent before he had another idea. The same idea that every victim before him had. “I can blackmail the jerk!” He pounded both his hooves together, wincing in pain from the impact.
“For what?” Capper asked.
“Henny helped with the bigger smuggling operations in our old gang,” the stallion said, drawing himself up with a hateful grin, “I can nail him for all the drug runs he did for me. That’ll teach’em!”
“Except for the blanket pardon,” Capper added. “As per the Princess, you can’t peg any prior gang member for their crimes prior to the pardon, and I doubt you are in the know enough to be able to get Henny on something recent.”
“That explains what the pardon has to do with this,” the stallion muttered before raising his voice. “If I can’t do that, how do I get back at him?”
“As I said before, you don’t,” Capper replied, a hard look in his eyes. “You keep your head down, you avoid anywhere Henny might be, and you get to live quietly in obscurity.”
The stallion hung his head, fear finally beginning to settle onto his features. Capper counted silently down from thirty in his head. Everything they’d talked about had gone exactly as it usually did, so there was no reason for Capper to think that this time would be any different. As he reached zero, a light bulb went off in the stallion’s head, his ears perked, eyes sparkling in glee as he came up with his brilliant “original” idea that matched every conclusion made by those in his position.
“What if I had the help of someone higher up the chain to help me?” the stallion declared.
Exasperation settled into Capper’s features as he released a weary sigh, tired with how predictable these conversations were. “And who exactly would that be?”
Confusion clouded the stallion’s face, apprehension growing as he tensed in his hospital bed, already sensing that he wouldn’t like the direction of their conversation. “You?”
“And what made you think that?” Capper dryly replied.
“Because you saved me?” the stallion said, some desperation colouring his voice, “I thought that, since you had helped me so far, that—”
“I needed an excuse to leave that awful party,” Capper lied. “You were simply a coincidental convenience for me. Nothing more.”
“So, you’re not going to help me?” the stallion asked.
“No,” Capper said, his tone broaching no room for argument.
“What if Henny finds me again?”
“Run,” Capper answered bluntly, “or don’t be found. In either instance, it is no longer my problem.”
The look on the stallion’s face was one he had encountered with every victim he had saved in the past. Incomprehension at what they perceived as nonsensical behaviour on his part. Like they were playing a game, but Capper was using a different set of rules that he had neglected to inform the other of. Regardless, the repetitive conversation had run its course, and Capper had no more reason to be there.
He walked out of the room, not sparing a single glance back. He traveled through the unforgiving halls of the hospital and out into the equally unforgiving town. Standing just outside the building were several thugs. The biggest, presumably the leader, gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement. He didn’t deign to give a response as he continued on his way. After a short while, he glanced back over his shoulder to see the thugs enter the hospital. The backs of their jackets sported the crest of Henny’s house.
As it always did, the tragedy had played to its conclusion with only a small interlude to put off the finale. Capper’s involvement left a sour taste in his mouth at the cruelty he had inflicted on the stallion. He had already known that Henny would finish the job. Grudges ran deep amongst their lot, and it sickened Capper that he had given the stallion some measure of hope, only for it be taken in the cruelest of ways. Why bother saving someone who couldn’t be saved?
It would have been a greater kindness to have left the stallion to die. At least then Capper wouldn’t feel like such a monster.
It was another day in Klugetown, and, once more, Capper found himself stuck in his office. After the events of yesterday, he had slept the rest of it away before being “treated” to a surprise gathering in his home. And by surprise, he meant expected, as he had remembered too late that they were due for a discussion about the town initiatives for the upcoming term.
Those initiatives, of course, would never get finished with half of the discussed budgets to be squirreled away in various pockets.
Boredom was already tugging at the fringes of his consciousness as he stood within his overdone office. The room looked like what someone who had never actually been in a political office thought a political office looked like, all high-class furnishings with not a speck of personality between them. It wasn’t completely Capper’s fault, as he had only a few choices to choose from, and beige had somehow been the most colourful of them.
The other Aristocats gathered in tight pockets around the room, all Abyssinian, as they were the only ones that the Equestrians deemed “proper.” They were all dressed nearly identically, a suit to match the fake face they all had plastered over their true feelings.
They were at the social part of the meeting, mingling in the aftermath of the budget discussions. Three such members stood near Capper, carryovers from an era that had been gone for a number of years.
Vintage was on his left, a pen replacing his usual knife as he pointed out particularly poignant parts of the present meeting notes. Places he had merrily written down as the designated record keeper, eager to ink the lies everyone had proposed and schemed over.
Tilt was to his right. An enthusiastic fellow that had changed his obsession with binding his victims with straps to doing so metaphorically with his proposals in over taxation. Capper noticed the gleam in his eyes that he only had when a poor sap was bound to a chair before him, a sadistic glint that enjoyed the whole affair a little too much by envisioning the tightening that happened around the everyday citizen’s neck from his policies.
Opposite Capper was Velvet, the last cat with the old Klugetown spark. The gray around her face did nothing but accentuate her keen intelligence, a physical indicator of her cunning wit and sharper tongue. She enunciated every syllable carefully, smooth as the lightest touch of a lover before they stabbed their significant other in the back.
His companions laughed jovially around him, louder than the cacophony of meaningless drivel in the background.
“So, what do you think, Capper?” Vintage asked, “was the proposal for the new park good, or was it fantastic?”
The proposal was another meaningless pretty thing to build in town without addressing any of the real issues that continued to grow underneath their feet, quickly becoming an insurmountable gaping maw that would eventually devour them.
“It is, as always, a wonderful investment into the future of Klugetown,” Capper lied in a dull, tired monotone.
“I am looking forward to erecting the proposed statues,” Tilt snickered as he fiddled with a coin in his paw. “I’m sure the ponies will appreciate the subject we chose to feature there.”
The ponies. Not the Abyssinians or any other denizen of Klugetown. The ponies.
“A stroke of genius to have an Abyssinian stand next to our Princess alongside the other races,” Vintage added.
Alongside a unicorn, a pegasus, and an earth pony. The pony races, and, more importantly, the Abyssinian was situated below them. Capper had genuinely been impressed with how they managed to angle it in such a way to make the genetically taller race look smaller.
“It will look beautiful once it's finished. A marvelous centerpiece for the market square.” Tilt grinned, the corners seeming sharper than usual.
“Will it, though?”
As one, Capper, Tilt, and Vintage turned to Velvet as she stared directly into the bored expression of Capper, a mischievous glint in her eye and a coy smile on her lips.
“What do you mean, Vel?” Vintage asked.
She frowned in distaste at the nickname she never agreed to. “Are we so certain this was the best use of funds? Adding some more pretty statues to the town doesn’t seem like the right thing to be spending our budget on. Perhaps our leader has a suggestion for something better?”
Annoyance flashed through Capper’s mind. She was clearly looking to play some sort of verbal game with him. Unfortunately for her, he didn’t feel like playing that day.
“Using the funds to improve goodwill between us and the ponies is always worth the expenditure.” Capper reflexively clenched his paw around the non-existent wine glass he wished he had in his paw. He instead settled for burying his claws in his palm. “Besides, it's a good selling point for potential new pony neighbours.”
“The rich ones,” Velvet stated.
“Yes,” Capper replied, already knowing the end goal of the conversation.
“Buying up all the old neighbourhoods?” Velvet continued, tilting her head to one side as a predator sizes up a snack.
“Indeed.”
“And remodeling them into expensive new homes designed specifically for other ponies?” Velvet rubbed a claw alongside the bottom of her chin, her eyes belying her mischievous intentions.
“That is correct,” Capper agreed. “The neighbourhood is getting a rather massive overhaul from the influx of purchases.”
“Probably to be used as vacation homes,” Vintage cheerily interjected, a claw raised to bring attention to himself. “I heard from Fancy that ponies love the sunny weather.”
“And to get away from the crowds,” Tilt added. “Many of them express how much they love the quietness of Klugetown.”
“They’re going to sell them,” Velvet bluntly stated in a tone that brokered no argument, “to the highest bidder.”
Capper crushed his claw tighter, drawing pinpricks of blood in his palm. This wasn’t a conversation he had wanted to have. The other two stared at Velvet in confusion, then looked to him for guidance. It was no surprise they didn’t understand. Vintage and Tilt had only ever been hired muscle before all of this.
Velvet and Capper, however, had been involved with much more.
“I wouldn’t put intentions to those you know nothing about,” Capper replied, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Yes, it’s a little…” Vintage trailed off, waving a paw in a circular motion.
“Cutthroat,” Tilt finished, that same sharp smile on his face.
“Overdramatic but sufficient,” Vintage said, wincing.
“I’m simply voicing my thoughts aloud,” Velvet said, a playful drawl to her voice.
“Really?” Vintage asked, furrowing his brow. “It sounded more like a statement. Like you knew exactly what was happening.”
“And none of you do?” Velvet smirked directly at Capper. “Surely, one of you has heard a direct answer from our pony friends on their intentions?” Silence answered for all of them. “Well, then I suppose we had better move on.” She smiled in satisfaction. “How are the sales?”
“Oh, wonderfully!” Vintage enthused, his chipper attitude immediately returning. “We’re making great headway, breaking into the Minos market.”
“And my company is spreading further into Griffonstone,” Tilt added, “making record profits that we haven’t seen since the good days.”
“Delightful!” Velvet exclaimed, clapping her paws lightly together. “And what about you, Capper? How are your profit margins?”
“None in the field that any of you work in,” Capper replied.
“Have low inventory?” Vintage asked.
“I could give you some of my lesser stock if you need them,” Tilt added.
Capper waved a hand dismissively towards Tilt. “No, it's nothing like that. I’m just not in the business.”
His three companions looked between themselves for a moment. Velvet spoke for them. “I suppose, you wouldn’t mind letting us know if you’ve been in contact with anyone about our business?”
The room turned as one to stare at Capper, each with a beady-eyed expression that was eager to hear Capper’s response. Though, unlike before, it wasn’t out of deference, but rather as a threat.
“No, I haven’t,” Capper answered to the ravenous crowd.
“And how may we ascertain you haven’t?” Vintage asked. “You are regularly in contact with the crown.”
“I have told nothing to the royals, nor do I plan to,” Capper replied.
“But how can we know?” Tilt said, a glint in his eyes promising violence should Capper’s answer not be to his satisfaction.
“All my correspondence with the palace is in the desk just over there.” Capper indicated the noted area with a lazy wave of his paw. “I keep copies and time stamps of everything. So, if you’re worried about it, feel free to peruse at your leisure.”
A tense silence followed before breaking back into its normal background babbling. Vintage, Velvet, and Tilt were back to smiling again, chuckling lightly at Capper’s expense.
“No need for that Capper. We were just scratching your fur,” Velvet said. “Just remember to keep this between us.”
“Wouldn’t dream of telling anyone,” Capper replied. A true statement as he pointedly ensured no nosy Princess could unbury that particular piece of information.
After his final affirmation, the conversation carried on without him, he himself withdrawing his attention. He surveyed the room, not really feeling present, taking in all the occupants and various conversations flowing freely through the space. Everything was all vapid meaningless sentences, strung together with no purpose in mind for what was said.
It was all so—
“A letter for you, Sir.”
Capper snapped out of his internal musings and faced the Diamond Dog standing before him. The Dog in question held out a simple envelope stamped with a familiar red seal of a six-pointed star.
“Important message from the Princess,” the Diamond Dog continued.
All eyes were on him as he took the letter, ripped open the envelope, and unfolded the parchment tucked inside.
“Will you not read it in private, Sir?”
“Nothing written here that can’t be shared with the rest.” Capper waved a paw towards the door. “You may leave. Your duty is done.”
The Diamond Dog nodded before making their way out, purposefully not making eye contact with anyone on their way out.
Refocusing his attention on the letter in hand, Capper quickly scanned through the neatly worded script. A scowl appeared, then deepened with every new word he read.
Dear Capper,
It has come to my attention through visitors to Klugetown that you have not been performing your duties adequately as head Aristocat. Fancy has sent me a letter recently stating that you were absent for the majority of his party, which lines up with previous reports from other delegates.
You must be present at these gatherings, as they are key to developing relations between Klugetown and Equestria.
I hate to say this, but you have been acting foalishly ever since you obtained your position. Though harsh, on feedback from Princess Luna, I would say this to you:
Grow up. Perform your duties.
Princess Twilight
A tremor reverberated through his body in barely contained rage. His thoughts were a swirl of negative emotions and responses to the Princess’s claims, ranging from blatant insults to simply clocking her in the face. He needed to grow up?
Him?
Trudging towards his office desk, barely keeping himself from stomping his feet on the way there, he placed the letter neatly on the table, tucking it back into its envelope. Afterwards, he continued his trek to a tucked-away cabinet in a corner of his office. Opening the door, he grabbed a bottle of champagne and popped the cork using his claw.
He tipped the champagne back, emptying the entire bottle, foam dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Once finished, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, staining the material. He addressed the wide-eyed stares of his assembled guests.
“We are done for today,” Capper announced.
“Don’t we have—” one of the guests tried to interject.
“Leave,” Capper hissed.
With wary looks on their faces, they filtered out of the office one by one. The last was Velvet, who turned to look back at Capper with a distrustful gaze.
“It’s not in relation to anything we discussed,” Capper answered the unspoken question.
Seemingly satisfied by his response, Velvet closed the doors softly shut behind her.
Once more alone, Capper procured a second bottle from the same cabinet and downed a third of it in one go. He walked over to a nearby window and stared out at the square, watching the other Aristocats file out of the house. He glared down at them, his mood at an all-time low.
The words just wouldn’t stop swirling in his head.
Grow up.
It was infuriating.
Grow up.
From a new upstart Princess that didn’t understand how anything worked.
He thought back to the day he had sold out everyone he knew. How he had been told to take the deal. That she was on the way and if he didn’t accept it, he would be joining the rest.
His gaze drifted over to a nearby bookshelf, a bag of assorted golf clubs leaning against the wood. He smiled.
Capper knew exactly how to show how much he’d grown.
Capper took a swig of wine as he lined up his swing with his free paw. Red liquid spilled from the edges of both cup and mouth as it splattered against the severed pony head laying perfectly on a makeshift tee in the grass. Eyeing his target carefully while maneuvering his golf club, he tried to line it up with that of a large boulder in the distance.
After a few moments of futile effort, Capper shrugged, set his wine glass on the rough surface of a pegasus-in-flight’s severed neck, then pulled his club back. He bit his lip in concentration, mentally going through the process to execute a perfect swing.
“What in the name of sun are you doing?!”
Glancing up, he saw Fancy Pants come out of his mansion, a flabbergasted expression on his face. “Golf,” Capper replied. He returned his focus to his head ball.
He swung.
The head went sailing through the air with a crack, well off course from the direction of the rock. It hit the town sign, causing it to fall forward and impact in the dirt with a loud “thwump” and cloud of dust — Capper had to assume that was the sound, as he wasn’t close enough to the impact to be able to discern the exact noise made.
Several Klugetown locals drinking beer outside the local dive bar up on the nearby cliff cheered raucously at the display.
“I can see that!” Fancy exclaimed as his wife joined him, her expression equally shocked. “Why are you playing golf? And, for that matter, why are you using my lawn ornaments?”
Spying a nearby unicorn statue with a still-intact head, Capper sauntered over, swinging his club in lazy circles with a paw. “Why not?” he asked.
In lieu of Fancy, who just spluttered noise, Fleur cut in annoyed, “because it's not your property?”
“Actually,” — Capper brandished his club like a hammer, lining up the swing with the neck of the statue — “this is my property.”
“How?!” Fleur shouted, her face becoming flushed. “We own this—”
“You do not,” Capper interjected.
“What?! Do not what?!” Fleur screeched.
“Own it. The property, specifically.” Capper swung, severing the pony head clean off the body of the statue with a crack of stone. Cheering followed. “Really should have read that contract you signed more carefully. Through some fun shenanigans in the fine print, I now own this entire lot.”
“E-excuse me?!” Fancy spluttered. “That is preposterous. I read no such—”
“Subsection 5: Intentions,” Capper interrupted as he carried the head to his golf tee, squaring the head with the exact center. He eyed the rock once more in the distance, narrowing them in annoyance, as he still hadn’t managed to hit it. “You violated it,” he added.
“How?!” Fancy threw his hooves up, his monocle popping off of his face. He stomped towards Capper as the Abyssinian readied to swing. “What intentions have I broken? I bought this property as a temporary vacation home, which I know is perfectly acceptable within the constraints of your contract! So, I will require some form of explanation as to what intentions you think I have.”
“As the lead Aristocat of Klugetown, I may reclaim property in which the owner has intentions that do not align with Klugetown values.” He pulled his club back.
“I have no such—” Fancy started.
“Sorry, you’re right, you do not.” Capper swung, hitting the unicorn square on the muzzle. “I meant your wife’s.”
The head soared through the air, completely missing the boulder and instead hitting the sign hanging above the bar on the upper cliff level. The bar patrons excitedly cheered as more alcohol was consumed amongst the crowd and money was exchanged between several betting parties.
“My wife?!” Fancy exclaimed indignantly. He stomped his hooves, righteous anger coursing through him.
Fleur released an offended noise. “I am insulted that you would—”
“I do not allow renting schemes in Klugetown,” Capper bluntly stated as Fleur’s light coat went paler than it already was. “Don’t think I don’t know about your little back room dealings to upsell Fancy’s properties for exorbitant prices behind his back.”
Fancy turned back to look at Fleur, his fury finding a new target as his face began to redden.
“He’s lying,” Fleur said, her voice tinged with sickeningly sweet poison. “I would never do that, love. I put it all in the past. If you would just—”
“You told me you wouldn’t do this again.” Fancy stomped back to his wife, looming over her as he drew himself up to his full height, shaking in place with barely concealed rage. “You promised you would never do it again.”
“I didn’t!” Fleur pleaded, shrinking against Fancy’s intimidating presence. “Let’s go inside and discuss this. I can show you that this is all just a ruse by that damned cat.”
“Make sure to ask her about Jet Set,” Capper added as he leaned on his club.
“Listen, you— !”
Fancy stomped his hooves before Fleur, silencing her outburst. “Go inside!” he yelled. “I will deal with you shortly.” As Fleur trudged back into the house, her body betraying her nervousness, Fancy turned back to Capper. “I will be looking into this, but rest assured, if I find out you were lying, Princess Twilight will be hearing about this.”
Capper gave a deep bow at his waist, sweeping his free hand out in a placating gesture.
Giving a dismissive snort, Fancy turned to leave, calling back over his shoulder, “And stop breaking my statues! They were expensive!”
As the doors shut behind Fancy’s retreating figure, Capper gestured to the rowdy crowd of bar-goers above. “Any suggestions for whom I should hit next?” He shouted.
“The farmer!” One patron screamed over the cacophony.
Grinning widely, Capper walked to the aforementioned statue and readied to swing.
“How've you been, Hen?” Capper asked as he inspected his claws casually. “Do anything crazy recently?”
The Abyssinian in question, a weaselly type with small features that did nothing but accentuate the grossness of his expressions, gulped. “Pretty good, ya know? Business running smoothly, profits soaring…” he bit his lips nervously as he trailed off. “How ‘bout you, Cap?”
“Not great. Not great at all.” He eyed the half-full glass he had placed on a nearby barrel, opting to leave it for now. “Got some bad news this week.”
“O-oh?” Hen asked, a tremor in his voice. “Money running low?”
“As the head,” he emphasized the word, drawing it out, “of the town, I have money so long as Klugetown has buildings. So, no. That isn’t my problem.”
“A friend of yours got into some trouble?” Hen ventured.
“Hen, really. You—” Capper paused as he stared at Hen in surprise, “—oh! Actually, yes that is my problem. I’m a bit surprised you came to that conclusion so quickly. Though,” he returned to inspecting his claws, “friend might be a bit too strong of a word.”
“An acquaintance then?”
“Yeah!” Capper snapped his fingers, a wide grin on his face. “That. An acquaintance of mine got into a spot of trouble and it made me mad.”
“I-I suppose that I may have had something to do with it?” Hen asked, apprehensively.
“You actually did! How did you know?”
Hen shrugged helplessly as he gestured to the two beefy minotaurs on either side of him. Both sported hard glares with their arms crossed in front of them. The very picture of thugs meant to pound victims into a paste.
“Of course, them. Well, don’t worry yet, we’ll come back to them.” He stepped off the wall and sauntered the short distance towards Hen, looming over his kneeling form. “Here’s a question: did you kill off an earth pony stallion recently?”
“Yeah, but he was asking for it, Cap! He— !”
Capper closed his claw in a shutting motion, causing Hen to immediately clam up. “Why’d you kill him in the hospital?”
“Because he shouldn’t have even lived the first time around,” Hen answered.
Leaning in closely, Capper smiled widely. “You know, Hen, I appreciate the honesty. You’re wonderfully blunt, considering you know where all of this is going.”
“Look, Capper, I didn’t know he was one of your buddies!” Hen pleaded. “But ya gotta believe me when I tell you he had it coming. He was a real brute, always picking on us in the lower rungs and—”
Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, Capper interrupted Hen by pulling him up and close to his face. “He didn’t deserve to die for it, especially after the beating you gave him the first time around.” He squeezed tighter around Hen’s neck. “Normally, I’d have you dead, but, since we all make mistakes, I’m just going to teach you a lesson, and, if you know what’s good for you, it’ll stick. Got it?”
Hen nodded his head as best he could.
“Great!” Capper happily exclaimed as he dropped Hen to the ground. “Now, the lesson I will impart to you is to not dredge up old grudges. The teaching of said lesson shall be deferred.” Capper grabbed his glass off the barrel and took a big gulp of its contents. Once finished, he smashed the glass onto the ground. “Don’t kill him.”
With Hen dealt with, Capper left the alleyway, Hen’s screams from his lesson plan following in his wake.
Capper chugged down another glass of wine. He’d lost count of how many he had drunk some time around noon, but, if he had to give a guess, he would say he was somewhere around a third keg in terms of volume. This was secondary to the horrific caterwauling coming from his own mouth as he sang along to a jug band. The crass patrons laughed uproariously as the bartender kept the drinks running freely.
“Capper?! Capper!” A voice called out. “What are you doing?! Get off of there!”
“Vintage! Come on up and join me!” Capper stretched out his paw towards the nervous Abyssinian, who shrunk away from him. “Oh, come on, don’t be a wet hairball. Let loose and join in the fun!”
“T-this— !” Vintage hunched himself up and swiveled his head, taking in the mass of dancing bodies around him. “It isn’t proper!”
“Honestly, Vintage. This is why—”
“Get down, now!”
Capper and Vintage both turned towards a fuming Velvet and laughing Tilt. She stood ramrod straight, her paws clenched, a look of fury across her face. “I won’t repeat myself,” she added.
Rolling his eyes, Capper leaped off the stage and was shortly replaced by another rowdy drunk who sang just as terribly as Capper had.
“Wow, that’s awful,” Capper commented as he saddled up next to Velvet, handing his empty wine glass to a nearby server.
“You are hardly one to judge,” Velvet hissed. “Follow me.”
Velvet stomped off, followed by a nonchalant Capper. When Vintage and Tilt attempted to follow, Velvet spun around. They shrunk against her withering gaze. “Not you two,” she said.
“Then what do we do?” Tilt asked.
“I don’t care!” Velvet snapped. “Just do it away from us.”
Both toms looked apprehensive, but soon wandered off towards the bar. Velvet grabbed Capper’s sleeve and dragged him after her, with Capper purposefully digging in his heels to make the endeavor as difficult as possible. After a short trek through the back rooms, she threw him into an empty room, slamming the doors behind them.
“What is going on?!” She shouted, jabbing a finger towards Capper’s chest.
“Well, I was trying to hit a high C, but—”
“Oh, claw off!” Velvet exclaimed, waving her hand in frustration. “I’m talking about what happened earlier with Fancy Pants and Hen. What were you thinking?!”
“I was thinking…” Capper trailed off as he scratched at his chin. He thought about his approach and decided that the truth was best. “I wanted to win.”
He felt a stinging sensation in his face as Velvet slapped him clean across the face. He rubbed the welt that formed before returning his gaze to the furious queen before him.
“Are you a moron?!” She shrieked. “I had thought you were one of the smarter ones, but I clearly see that is not the case! Your acting out will do nothing but bring the crown’s might down upon us.”
He grinned lazily. “Are you sure of that?”
“Am I—” Velvet released a sound of pure frustration, a cross between a growl and a cat’s shriek. “You are throwing a tantrum!”
“Yes,” Capper agreed, “to win.”
“Win what?!” Velvet hissed, her eyes dilating in rage.
“What we both want,” Capper explained casually.
“And what, pray tell, do you think we both want? A keg of wine to drown out this stupidity?”
“A free Klugetown,” Capper stated bluntly.
That single sentence froze Velvet in her tracks. Tension raced through her body as fur stood on end and she leaned away from him. “I-I don’t—”
Capper closed the gap between them, shoving his face close to Velvet’s. “Don’t even try to play innocent, you see it just as much as I do and are just as frustrated by it. You know it’s only a matter of time before we become a pony town.”
Velvet drew herself up. “Of course I’m aware, Capper. I don’t have the luxury of ignorance as the others do. However, I don’t see how throwing a kittenish fit is going to—”
“Fleur was the lynchpin of the upselling market. With Fancy now aware, he’ll stop Fleur and act as a solid barrier against the others. He’s a goodie goodie like that.”
“Okay, but what about—”
“Hen?” Capper quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t really care about him, do you?”
“He’s scum,” Velvet said bluntly, “and deserved what came for him. I just don’t understand why you were the one to deal with it.”
“To set a precedent,” Capper said. “We can’t have him killing off all those workers you’ve been recruiting.” Velvet took in a sharp breath of air. “And…” he trailed off as he surveyed the room, frowning when he didn’t find what he wanted. “Is there any wine in here?”
“No, and you won’t have any until we’re finished speaking. What is the ‘and’?”
With a weary sigh, Capper continued, “I showed the others that there are consequences to acting on old grudges. A very public punishment to show that money can’t save you from everything. They’ll think twice before trying that kind of stunt again.”
“Not if you get tossed out of office for misconduct by the Princess,” Velvet scoffed.
Capper stared at Velvet impassively. Velvet stared back. Comprehension slowly dawned on her face. “You…” she started before trailing off.
“This is an important question, and I need you to be honest with me,” Capper said, his tone severe. “None of the product can be traced back to you?”
“No, since I was never directly involved. I had Tilt and Vintage for that.”
“Good,” Capper replied.
There was a moment of silence as thoughts swirled about them.
“This plan is insane,” Velvet said.
“I know,” Capper agreed.
“This is more ridiculous than any of your schemes from the old days.”
“Obviously.”
Another bout of silence followed.
“You’re going to need something bigger,” Velvet said as she walked past him and reached behind several stacked boxes. “Something to really catch their interest. You remember the new park installation?”
“I do,” Capper said, curious as to what Velvet was grabbing.
She came back out, dragging a sledgehammer behind her. She proffered the handle towards Capper. “It just got erected today. You should go see it.”
“Excellent.” Capper chuckled. “I never liked that statue.”
Capper woke up in a daze, his eyes immediately being drawn to the severed marble heads of Princess Twilight and some earth pony that was probably important, but he couldn’t be bothered to remember. He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what had woken him, then perked his ears as the distinctive sound of knocking echoed through his home.
Smiling, he got out of bed, threw on his usual finery, and walked to the door, gingerly stepping over the sledgehammer Velvet had given him.
A short walk through his far-too-big abode brought him to the front door of his home. Before the next wave of knocks could begin, he grabbed the handles and swung them open to reveal a familiar face, one hoof raised in preparation to knock.
Before Capper could even respond, Rarity pushed past him and quickly trotted to the nearby parlour room. Shrugging, he closed the front door and followed after her.
The parlour was certainly comfier than his office. It had more of his personal touch: vibrant colours, nap-worthy furniture, and a glass case spanning one wall that prominently displayed his coin collection. The only room in this whole mansion that Capper could call his.
Rarity trotted about the room restlessly, an angry frown affixed to her face as she mumbled to herself. She hardly looked her age, with all the standard signs tucked away quietly away by what remained of her youth, but it showed in other ways. Her openness was gone, replaced by a hurried gait that had no time for others. The ambitious sparkle in her eyes had faded to something colder. A younger Rarity may have preferred to start with pleasantries; the Rarity before Capper just wanted to get this over with.
As she paced, Capper decided that he needed a drink if he was to get through the conversation they were to have. He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a bottle from inside along with a tall glass.
“Are you seriously drinking right now?”
Capper glanced at Rarity who stared at him in a mixture of bafflement and indignant rage. “Yes,” he answered.
“Even after everything that happened yesterday?”
“It’s because of yesterday that I’m having a drink now.” He popped the cork of the bottle with his claw. “Need something to take the edge off my hangover.”
Rolling her eyes, Rarity returned to her pacing as Capper poured a glass for himself. He took a few lazy sips as he sat down on a nearby lounge chair, watching Rarity go back and forth like a strange pony version of tennis.
She stopped in place and whipped her head towards Capper. “You caused—”
“A scene?” He grinned coyly. “Yes, I did. Several, in fact.”
“That was—” Rarity tried again.
“Quite fun, actually.”
Rarity stomped her front hooves. “Let me—”
“No,” Capper interrupted. “I already know what you’re going to say and I don’t feel like listening to it.”
She huffed for a moment before her features softened, a momentary return to her kinder self. “I’m worried about you.”
“And I’m worried about Klugetown,” Capper replied. “I don’t see you caring too much about that.”
Her glare returning, Rarity said, “Capper, you’re being rather rude and it’s very unbecoming! Frankly, I would have expected, as a friend, that you would have toned down the attitude.”
He smirked. “Funny word, that. I’ll be interested to see how long that holds.”
“Excuse me?!” Rarity scoffed, placing a hoof to her chest.
“You know of my coin collection?” He gestured towards the display case.
Throwing up her hooves in exasperation, Rarity replied, “Yes. I gave you a fifth of that collection myself. How is this relevant?”
“It’s a subtle thing, but I’ll get to it.” He stood up and took another swig from his glass. “How many new coins do you think were released within the last year?”
Rarity sighed. “Capper—”
“Just guess, Rarity. I promise there’s a point to this.”
“A few dozen?” Rarity waved her hoof, exasperated. “Just the griffons alone usually have several new ones through the year since they can never decide on a mint to stick with.”
“Three,” Capper declared as he put up the same number of fingers.
“Three?” Rarity repeated, her brow furrowed. “That can’t be right.”
“It is. Now, where do you think they were minted?”
“Probably…” Rarity trailed off as she thought. “Honestly, I can’t even begin to guess who. Griffonstone? Minos?”
“The Crystal Empire, the Dragonlands, and Klugetown. The prior two due to requiring a consistent currency to trade with Equestria, the latter for… different reasons.”
“I suppose that makes sense…” Rarity trailed off, her face visibly uncomfortable with the statement.
“What does the Klugetown mint look like, Rarity?” Capper asked.
“A cat imprinted on one side with a desert bluff on the other. Copper base, right?” Capper nodded. “I suppose they updated the metal to something sturdier?”
“Not quite.” Capper walked a short way along the coin display case and pointed towards one of the coins on display. “Where is this coin from?”
Looking towards the pointed-out coin, Rarity snorted. It was gold with the stern visage of Princess Twilight. “Capper, I can recognize my own country’s currency.”
“It’s not,” Capper stated.
“Not what?” Rarity asked, perplexed.
“Equestrian,” Capper answered. “It's the official mint of Klugetown.”
“No, it isn’t!” Rarity said in frustration. “It’s a gold bit! I am quite tired of these games, Capper, but, you know what? I’ll play just this once.” She dug into her saddlebags with her magic, pulling out a single gold bit. “Now, see! This is…”
She trailed off as she stared at the coin in her magic. She brought it up next to the one in the case. They were different. Both had Princess Twilight’s face on them, but where the one in Rarity’s magic was open and friendly, the one in the case was closed off and stern. She turned to look at Capper who stared back at her impassively.
“I…” Rarity started. She shook her head and continued, “Sorry, darling. I’m a bit lost.”
“How often does the Princess visit Klugetown, Rarity?” Capper asked.
“Not since the initial visit,” Rarity answered.
“What about her aides? Her friends? Her ministers?” Capper stepped forward, looming over Rarity. “You?”
“Not since… we settled the affairs of the town,” Rarity reluctantly answered.
“See, that’s the problem.” Capper pressed his paws together, steepling them under his chin. “When you take over—”
“Ally,” Rarity corrected.
“Take over,” Capper insisted, “then leave, things tend to fall through the cracks that would have otherwise been caught by an active governing body. Do you know what Klugetown’s main export is?”
“Ore, marble, and the like?” Rarity ventured. “Klugetown has a rather substantial number of mines and quarries.”
He bent at the hip, leaning down towards Rarity, a wide grin plastered on his face. Rarity took a step back. “Slaves, Rarity,” Capper said. “Our main export is slaves.”
A look of utter disgust crossed Rarity’s face. “You must be lying! We put a stop to that!” She shrieked. “Klugetown shouldn’t be able to continue those revolting practices since Twilight came and—”
“As when all things become illegal, but money can still be made off of it, it went underground,” Capper explained. “Instead of doing so publicly, the transactions are completed in safe houses and back alleys safely out of reach of the Princess’s prying eyes.”
Several expressions crossed Rarity’s face, most a variation on righteous fury. “Fine! Then who is responsible?” Rarity commanded. “I shall notify the Princess immediately to have them thrown into the darkest cell imaginable.”
“Me.”
There was a heavy silence as Rarity stared at him in confusion. Unfazed, Capper took another sip of wine.
“That’s not funny, Capper,” Rarity chuckled uncomfortably.
“It’s me,” Capper restated.
“It can’t be you,” Rarity said more firmly.
“But it is.”
“This joke is getting rather stale, darling,” Rarity said, a dangerous edge to her voice.
“It’s not a—”
Rarity stomped her hoof, snorting aggressively. “I have heard quite enough! You will tell me who really runs this supposed slave operation so they may be apprehended. After which, we shall discuss your recent behaviour.”
“The only thing that can fix my behaviour is an assuagement of my guilt,” Capper said.
“You—” Rarity stopped, her brow furrowing in question. “Do you mean to say that you’re acting out due to feeling bad about your actions?”
“It’s eating me alive, Rarity,” Capper replied, forcing his tone to remain even. “All the drinking and the property damage were because I couldn’t face the consequences of what I’ve done.”
She stared silently at Capper for a moment. “What is your goal here?”
“To be charged for my—”
“No!” Rarity cut in. “This ridiculous over-the-top farce is not fooling me one bit! I talked to Fancy on the way here. He had some rather interesting words to say about the debacle from this morning.”
“Yes, I do owe him an apology. I was so stricken by deep-rooted guilt at the time that I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
“Rather correct things, from what I hear.” She took a deep breath. “Listen, Capper. I know melodrama, I live it and this just feels like a scene from my favourite romance novels.” She gazed directly into Capper’s face with her intense blue eyes, conveying an uncomfortable severity. “I need to report this.”
“I’m aware,” Capper replied as he poured himself another glass.
“If I tell the Prin— Twilight that you are responsible for this, you will face all of the consequences for this endeavor. Especially as she cannot ignore something like this,” Rarity explained.
Capper took another gulp of wine.
“I just… please, Capper,” Rarity begged. “Help me understand what you’re trying to do here.”
He could explain himself. He could drop his schemes and weasel himself out of this situation easily enough. Rarity was so willing to believe he was good that a single sentence could absolve him of this whole thing. He could have the slave ring disbanded easily enough with the Princess’s assistance and then carry on, completely undeterred.
But he would only ever be a figurehead. A worthless vagabond who served as a physical reminder of the crown’s influence. A witness to the death of his home as it was torn out and replaced by something bereft of all of what made it unique. Already, the wounds were becoming noticeable, spreading like a bloody plague.
There was no choice to make.
“It’s a long trip to the capital,” Capper said as he placed his glass and bottle on a nearby shelf. “Shouldn’t you be heading out if you want to return home before the evening?”
Rarity looked at him with a mixture of heartbreak, pity, and sorrow. It soon hardened into an even glare, the momentary empathy buried under professionalism honed over years in the service industry.
“Fine. Be like that. Goodbye, Capper.” She trotted past him, pausing within the doorframe of the parlour. She looked back at him over her withers, a final look of vulnerability. “I don’t know what you hope to gain from this, but with everything you’re about to lose, I genuinely hope it’s worth it.”
The Crystal Empire had a long history, stretching far into the past, even past the founding of Equestria. Though it may have shrunk over several hundred years, the Northern Empire had remained independent for the entirety of that duration. When Princess Cadance became Empress, it had remained that way until Princess Twilight expressed an interest in annexing the Empire into greater Equestria. This announcement had been met with huge support from the populace.
Until certain facts were brought to light.
The second hoof of Princess Cadance, and Sombra before her, had been Minister Clear Rites cut Emerald. He was described as having the sharpest edges and clearest body compared to any crystal pony that resided in the Empire. Many attributed it to his virtuous honesty, but that could not be further from the truth.
Clear was a schemer, but he only cared for the greater good of the crystal ponies. Not the Empire, the populace. He had survived the rulership of Sombra, he knew the assimilation of their culture was inevitable with the appointment of an Equestrian ruler, and he feared for the loss of what made the Empire the Empire.
So, to counteract the annex, he framed himself.
This hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment decision, but rather several smaller plans set in motion as early as the Empire’s return to the modern world. He faked crimes of dark magic, wicked sorcery that did nothing but happen. To create a fear that mayhaps some wicked beings hid within the dark recesses of the Empire.
Years of fake crimes were committed underneath the royal couples’ noses. All of them were pinned on Clear by investigators working under him. He pled guilty despite never directly being involved with the actual use of the magic. With outside pressure from Equestria and the ongoing horrific reputation of black magic, he was executed for his actions.
As planned, he was shortly thereafter shown to be innocent. He was made a martyr, an innocent taken by the bungling of their Empress. They had lost one of their greatest, and the Equestrian royals had been the ones to take him away from them.
Cadance was expounded immediately, a ponies’ government was installed in its place, independence was redeclared, and all favour of the annexation was discarded. This was further supported by Princess Twilight, who feared for her extended family’s lives and couldn’t justify a war against a country that was seen as the victim.
Klugetown didn’t have the pedigree of the Crystal Empire, nor was it really worth the trouble of keeping watch over. Something I hoped would work in its favour when Klugetown pushed to become an independent state.
Velvet, as the next-most-powerful aristocrat, would become my successor. She shared my ideals and would see them through, with or without me present. She had already brought the lower class into her vision; they only needed a reason to revolt.
I would be punished, that much was certain. I didn’t know what that would be, but it certainly wouldn’t be just a slap on the wrist. I would take the blame, wrongly, and become a martyr, just like Clear. There was no way the residents of Klugetown would take this information well, between the abhorrent practices and the exclusion from the profit margins.
Princess Twilight was smart, she wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice, but she wouldn’t be prepared for the twist that the slave trade did, in fact, exist. It would be more than enough to ruin any of her prepared countermeasures. A situation she hadn’t prepared for and the only way to get one over the Princess.
But that wasn’t important anymore. The plan had already been set in motion and soon I wouldn’t be able to do much of anything anymore.
Capper sat in the grand foyer, which seemed bigger than it normally did, the ceiling stretching far out of his reach. Capper felt like he did as a kitten, as he waited for the lambasting from his boss after screwing up a gig. The difference was that, this time, that Capper wasn’t going to get away with just a few lashes over the back.
It was quiet, empty. Nothing moved or made a sound within the house. This giant hollow monster that took up too much space had never felt like a place Capper could live in, and the silence only served to compound that.
“Tick-tock” went the nearby clock as he waited for his appointed time. Not a day passed after speaking with Rarity that he received a curt letter dictating the time of the Princess’s arrival. The aggressive prose had been clear that he was, under no uncertain terms, to stay. In preparation, he had spent the last few days squaring things away, ensuring everything would be ready for when Velvet made her move, but, with all that finished, all he had to do was wait.
So he did.
He mused about his decisions, his past, and his failures. Everything that had led him to that moment. The culmination of his greatest, most absurd scheme. It felt good, pulling a scam for the benefit of others, even if none of them would truly know what he had done for them.
Some thoughts Capper refused to focus on were his regrets. Things he wanted to do. Things he wanted for himself. Because if he did, the fear might settle in. Cowardice could overtake him at the last moment and cause his resolve to waver, to let up the ruse and ruin everything he had worked for.
Surveying the colourless foyer, the dull nothing that carried through much of his home and Klugetown, he couldn’t help but see how pony it was. How watered down it had all become.
Hopefully, that would change.
The doors burst open.
Princess Twilight had arrived, with the midday sun ringing her in an ethereal glow. She was dignified, regal, poised as a royal should. She looked at him with cold indifference, already judging him for what he hadn’t done.
His fate was sealed. He would be taken soon, potentially never to return.
Goodbyes were hard. Goodbyes were sad. Goodbyes meant leaving the familiar behind. But a departure with dignity, with knowledge of the good that might arise from it, couldn’t be more joyous.
