Forever Classic

Filthy Rich breathed heavily and paced up and down the corridor.

His tie was all over the place, and after a few more jolts from his constant walking, it came undone and lay across his shoulders. Despite himself, he tried to smooth down the loose hairs in his mane. The nurse had come out briefly and told him not to wear a groove in the tiled floor, but his body refused to keep still and he couldn't think of anything else to do. Occasionally, he stopped to press an ear against the door.

This corridor looks just like the one in my office, he thought. It didn't make him feel any more comfortable. Back in the office, Filthy Rich was the boss with the plan, always one step ahead of his employees - and several steps ahead of the competition. Here? He had plenty of ideas about what he could be doing here. The fact that he was qualified for none of them only made him more anxious.

A nurse hurried through the door, almost bumping into him. She let out an annoyed "tsk".

"Mr Rich, that's the fourth time. Would you please go to the waiting room?" she said. "You're only in the way here."

"How is she?" He coughed and moved aside. Please say she's fine. Please say those words.

"She's doing fine so far. No complications." The nurse hurried on and vanished round the corner. Filthy's breath stumbled as it escaped from his mouth.

A low groan came from behind the door. To Filthy, it was a blow right on his heart. He tried not to think what it must be like, then tried the opposite because he felt it would be disloyal otherwise. Was he her husband or was he her husband?

Come on, Filthy, he thought. There's a team of doctors surrounding her bed. They're professionals. Professionals. The word calmed him down for a moment. He could trust professionals. He always had done.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," he mumbled. His hackles rose up immediately at the words. He couldn't jinx this moment. Was he tempting fate? Could it really turn around just if he said that? And with his wife as the price he'd have to pay?

The nurse hurried back. Though he must have still been obvious to her, she barely noticed him before pushing through the door. Perhaps she gets my sort a lot, he thought. In the brief interval, he heard a lot of hurried instructions being passed around, and worse still, a loud and sudden shriek. Then the door eased shut.

He just didn't have an experience to compare it with. Even his worst job interview had never shook him so thoroughly as this. He tried bracing himself for the worst news possible. "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best," as they said in middle management. He tried to imagine how he would take being told one or the other - or both. He forced his eyes to stay dry.

Filthy looked back at the door. It had gone ominously quiet. Quickly, he hurried over to the door and pressed his ear up against it once more. There was a low muttering. Somepony was telling her to take deep breaths.

Why did it have to be his wife? Normally, the process was simply to stand up and let nature take its course. It wasn't nearly all that painful, or so the other mares had told him. Then when you thought it would always be OK, you got a difficult one. One that wouldn't come out, or one that was positioned in a funny way inside the mare's body, and suddenly nature needed emergency medical treatment and a midwife to help.

Suddenly, he couldn't take the pacing anymore. Filthy let his back legs collapse and sat down in the corridor.

What did a Rich do in a place where he didn't belong? he thought desperately. What did a Rich always do when faced with something new?

A while later, a new sound met his ears. He cocked one of his ears and focused his gaze on the door. He stood up, and took a few tentative steps forwards, mouth slightly agape.

It was. It really was.

He galloped straight into the doctor coming out of the door, and both of them fell back with a grunt. They sat there, nursing their foreheads. Behind the doctor, the bawling of small lungs continued unabated.

"How is he? She? It? Er, they?" said Filthy, getting up.

"Congratulations, Mr Rich." The doctor smiled, none the worse for his fall. He stepped out of the way. "It's a filly."

Before he knew it, Filthy was standing next to the bed, looking the mare over. It elated him to see her sitting up so gracefully. Not a hair out of place on her head. Then he looked into her eyes, and saw the heavy lids and red veins standing out. He wasn't sure whether to nuzzle her or let her preserve her dignity. She held back a chuckle.

"Not like you to give up on personal presentation, Filthy," she whispered.

He had thought of a witty return, like "You're no oil painting yourself," but it got shunted back and replaced by a much more urgent: "Are you all right? Is it - I mean, is she?"

The mare nodded. Filthy looked down at the bundle cradled in her forelegs, and years of playing it cool in the retail sector suddenly melted away.

He didn't remember who offered him the cloth: possibly one of the nurses. He just remembered the little face snoozing below him when he took the cloth away from his eyes.

"We're naming her Diamond Tiara," said his wife. Filthy didn't argue this time, even when she cautiously added, "And that's final."

"Diamond," he said. "Tiara. She's got your colour hair."

"She has, hasn't she?"

"Yes, without a doubt. All over her body."

"You want to hold her?" She offered the bundle. Filthy didn't trust himself to hold the newborn, but his wife nudged him and he took it anyway. The filly seemed so fragile. He suspected most of the weight on his forelegs came from the blanket. He sat down - being a four-legged creature meant he needed better support for any weight his forelegs bore.

The doctors and nurses were saying something to him and his wife, but he was barely listening. For him, the world was just him, the blanket, and the newborn in his care. His chest swelled with fatherly pride.

"Diamond Tiara," he said quietly. "You look so much like your mother. You'll get only the best. On my pa's business, I swear you'll get the finest upbringing a Rich could ever have."

Now that he was here, actually doing something (even if it was merely holding the baby), his old confidence came back to him. He was Filthy Rich, wasn't he? He had the money. He had a good job. He had the best mare fate could've given him for a wife, and years of plans ahead of them. He could give her the best.

Filthy beamed down at the bundle. Only the best for Diamond Tiara...

That was a long time ago.

A mare scooped a tin from the shelf and looked over the picture stuck on the front. She seemed to be satisfied with what she saw, because it went into her saddle basket with the loaf of bread. Further along the aisle, earth ponies examined price stickers and stacked boxes. One or two plonked carrots and wrapped cherries into their own baskets, and then gasped and plonked a second lot in afterwards when they saw the "two for one" stickers.

One of the customers peered at a tray stacked with tomatoes. On top of the pyramid, planted like a flag, a wooden sign boasted: "Three tomatoes for two bits and a quarter!"

"Two bits and a quarter?" she scoffed. "I could get these for just two bits at the street market."

"Ah, but can you get them so fresh and juicy as you can here?" said a male voice.

She looked around. Approaching her was a stallion, his fur as dull as earth and his mane as thick and as slicked as his eyebrows. The expression on his face was one of quiet confidence, as though he'd cruised through life with all business working out for the best.

"Fresh, you say?" said the mare.

"Why yes ma'am. We here at Barnyard Bargains provide only the highest quality produce for our customers. But you don't have to take my word for it. Here." He gestured towards a second, smaller tray of tomatoes next to the first. The sign on this one bore different writing: "Try before you buy!"

"A free sample for all customers who wish to put our vegetables to the test," Filthy continued. "It's part of our new customer quality feedback initiative."

The business stallion gave her a smile, which was no less quietly confident than his former expression. Warily, she accepted one tomato. There was a crunch, followed by a brief interval for chewing. Filthy watched her eyes like a griffin. Strike, he thought.

"These are delicious!" she said. Hooves were a blur over the pyramid. "I'll take twelve."

"Thank you for shopping at Barnyard Bargains," he said, while adjusting the tie dangling from his collar. "Cash tills are thataway, ma'am."

She thanked him repeatedly and trotted in the direction he pointed. The stallion quietly congratulated himself on another successful venture.

It's just like bowling. You aim, you bowl, and the strike takes care of itself.

Clearly visible on the brown tie around his neck was a dollar sign, the same one that could be found on each of the three moneybags that he bore on his well-groomed flank. There was a reason he was called Filthy Rich, but it payed to just be called Mr Rich. He'd learned from an early age that ponies set great store on names. With a name like Filthy, they easily got the wrong idea.

He wandered down the hay aisle, occasionally nodding and handing out hellos and good evenings on either side. It was remarkable how well Ponyville's citizens had adjusted to the town's first department store. That said, before then they had built the train station upgrade and renovated the town hall, and everypony felt it in their bones that the town was changing with the times. When change was already happening, Filthy had found an opening for more. He was good at that sort of thing.

One or two mares scoffed at the price tag for hay fries, probably with the street market fresh on their minds. Mr Rich made a mental note of the produce. He hoped it wouldn't come to price slashing because business had been smooth so far. It was nothing like that time when Engallop had tried to muscle in on the retail sector. Besides, the last thing he wanted was another escalating rivalry.

The aisle opened out to a series of cash tills, where indeed his customer was making her purchase. To his annoyance, the aged employees behind the cash tills weren't even trying to smile. He made a mental note to push the positive thinking classes further up the priority list.

"That'll be sixteen bits and ninety two cents, sir." Cha-ching.

"Have a nice day, ma'am. Yes, and how can I help you?"

"Sorry, ma'am, my mistake. I forgot to take off the employee discount." Cha-ching.

"Oh, but see, sir? That's three for the price of two." Cha-ching. Cha-ching. Cha-ching.

On the other hoof, he thought, smiles or no smiles, they're still making money, aren't they? He could let this little detail slide. Filthy walked past them, nodding whenever they called out his name.

He stopped at the entrance and turned around to take in the panorama of ponies and shelving and aisles. Yep, he thought, everything's ticking over sweet as a clock tower. The report sheets told him as much, but Filthy would come down every now and again anyway. It was far more satisfying to see his creation in action.

As he pushed through the double doors of the barn-like building, he paused to let a couple of colts hurry through. The door slammed shut behind him.

It was much quieter out here. The sky faded to a subdued orange and pink. Filthy wiped his brow and looked over the thatched rooftops for signs of the evening star. It was always the first one to come out, and so it seemed brighter as a result. He wasn't much of a star gazer, but that early star was his personal favourite. It reminded him of his old pa.

As he was losing his worries and letting meetings and finance charts melt away from his mind, a movement closer to earth caught his attention. He looked down to see a light pink filly galloping towards him, completely oblivious to the one or two stragglers still out on the streets. On top of her striped mane was a diamond tiara, seated like a queen on a throne.

"Dad! Dad!" she called, brimming with what he first thought was excitement. "How'd it go? How'd it go? Did you get me anything?"

He gave her a warm smile. A long time ago, this sort of behaviour would have made him chuckle, but now his daughter was older. He suspected that a new approach was called for.

"It went fantastically, honey. Business is booming right now," he said. Diamond Tiara skidded to a halt beside him. "We passed this month's profit quota a week and a half earlier than forecasted."

"Totally super, Daddy," she said. "I knew you wouldn't fail. Nopony can say no to my Daddy for long."

"You're right there," he said, allowing himself another smile. Certainly not the Mayor. It had been tough pushing for planning permission, but Filthy had several years of sweet-talking and legal experience to draw upon.

"So you'll get me that new Canterlot dress I asked for?" A pair of blue eyes blinked up at him sweetly.

"I don't see why not. Have you been a good girl at school today?"

"Of course, Daddy," she said.

"Really now? You remember all that business last week with the other filly in your class... what was her name?"

"Oh, Sweetie Belle?" Diamond Tiara waved a hoof airily. "That was nothing. Just a little spat in the playground. Even your super special angel can't be perfect all the time, now, can she?" She giggled unconvincingly.

Filthy raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're being honest with me, Diamond Tiara?"

"Of course, Daddy! Would you expect anything less from your precious little angel?"

Filthy Rich decided not to comment. He'd had words with her teacher, and though he was used to getting the occasional bad report, he had to admit that recently Ms Cheerilee had been telling him some unexpected stories.

"Are we going straight home now?" she asked. "Or can we go to the spa?"

"It's a little late for the spa. Actually, Tiara, I have a little surprise for you," he said. Just in case she could see them poking out, he tucked the golden tickets into his collar. "It's better than the spa. You care much for music?"

I know you do, he thought. I saw your face when Ms Pie hosted that second parade through the streets and it wasn't swarming with bugs. You only put on the act when Silver Spoon turned up.

Unfortunately, that had been a long time ago, when the act was just put on in front of the other fillies. These days, she had a bad habit of bringing it home with her too.

Diamond Tiara examined him warily. "Maybe. Why?"

"Would you like to see a performance tonight?" he said. "I know where and when there's an opera. Only the finest musicians in all of Equestria will be playing, and the singing is going to be divine."

Tiara's eyes were wide, but her mouth was firmly closed. Filthy, who was much better at the poker face, grinned to himself. Tiara couldn't resist words like "divine".

"I didn't know they played opera in Ponyville," she said.

She's going to love this. Filthy steeled himself as he led her along another street. In the distance, he could see the rising plumes of the steam trains. The station was within sight.

"Oh, it won't be in Ponyville," he said. "It's much more prestigious than that. Tiara, you're going to the culture capital of the world. We're going to catch the evening express there, first class."

"So where is it?"

She'd smiled. Filthy was reminded of all those meetings he'd had in his youth. The delivery, the mouth-watering deal, and the eager faces around the table. At times like those, he briefly didn't care about the money. He looked down at her as her eyes lapped up the looming sight of Ponyville Train Station. This was far more rewarding. Filthy took a deep breath.

"Tiara, we're going to Canterlot to visit the Royal Opera Theatre for a one-night performance of Przewalski's The Pony of the Lake, with orchestral score provided by the one-and-only Royal Canterlot Orchestra." He gave a winning smile.

Out of the corner of his eye, Filthy noticed her falter on the steps to the ticket booth. At first, he assumed she must have been overcome with the surprise. In a way, he was right.

When she didn't catch him up, he looked back. He wasn't quite prepared for the expression on her face this time.

"Tiara?" he said. She was glaring at him.

"I'm not going."

There was a long pause. Filthy felt as though he'd been tripped. "You're not?"

"No, thanks. I don't have to go to Canterlot if I don't want to. I'd rather go to the spa."

She wasn't going to the spa. Filthy wasn't sure she was quite prepared for that level of pampering yet, and he questioned the idea of taking such a young filly to that place. This was roughly what he was thinking about as he tried to backtrack the conversation he'd just had.

He raised his eyebrow when she turned around and stuck her snout up into the air. This wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. She should have been over the moon at the prospect of visiting Canterlot.

"It's right up your street, Tiara," he said. "The high society, the cream of the crop in the fashion business, the style of the buildings and the streets: I thought you'd leap at the chance to see it."

"Huh. I don't think so." Tiara began striding away, or at least striding as well as her stubby filly legs could manage. "There's no place outside of Ponyville that compares with what I already have here."

"That doesn't sound like you. I've heard you tell your friend several times what you think of this town." And I pretended I couldn't hear most of it, he thought. At least she'd stopped saying things like that recently.

Filthy walked down the steps after her. He didn't hurry - he was so much taller than the filly that he easily caught up with her. "I'd have thought visiting Canterlot of all places would have been like a dream come true to you, Tiara."

"Well, maybe you thought wrong." She quickened her pace into a brisk walk, but he overtook her and stuck a hoof out in front to block her path. She growled. "I don't want to go."

"What's the matter, Tiara? You can tell your old pa about it."

"Please, Dad. Put your hoof down." She was looking across. Following her gaze, Filthy could see three other fillies coming down the road towards them. Tiara buried her hoof into her own face.

The three fillies were chatting among themselves. Filthy watched as they passed, and all three briefly looked up to stare at him and his daughter in blank surprise. Once they'd gone by, the trio went back to their chatter. His gaze switched between their retreating backs and the reddening face beneath him.

"There's nothing wrong," Tiara said. She pushed his hoof away.

"Well, will you at least give it a try? I think it would do you a world of good. It's only for one night."

"No."

She turned slightly, so that he couldn't see her face. Filthy's brow creased. There's no need for that tone.

"I'm doing this for your own good. I've always let you have your own way, gotten you the best of everything, and I've sacrificed a lot for your well-being."

"No." Tiara began walking away. Filthy bridled. So this was what Ms Cheerilee was talking about. "Opera's so last season. So thanks but no thanks. Can't you take me to the spa instead?"

"Diamond Tiara," he said. There was no warmth in his voice now. "You will get on that train and come with me to Canterlot."

"I said no."

"Diamond Tiara."

He didn't need to raise his voice. She came back with much stomping of hooves and pouting.

"But Dad -"

On cue, he raised his eyebrow higher. It was always the same. However much she stropped and moaned, she was still his daughter and there were years of disputes and quarrels behind that raised eyebrow that she couldn't ignore.

Tiara did not look at him, but after a long time she did raise her head and walk back to the steps. Possibly, she was remembering the last time she'd tried to ignore his admonition. That had ended with her wearing a pair of bunny ears and hopping over some water-filled kettles for Granny Smith.

As he walked along behind her, he thought back to that particular dispute. It had been strange, he had to admit, but Granny Smith's ways of making zap apple jam ("finest pomace-based produce your tongue will ever taste") worked. Moreover, he saw the results for himself, and profited from them every summer. Granny Smith and his pa had struck up that particular business deal long ago, and Filthy had been taught all his life to treat the apple farmers with the utmost respect. The things Diamond Tiara had said about one of his best suppliers...

"It's not just for your entertainment," he said. "It would do you a world of good to go to Canterlot. Think of it as an investment for your future well-being. Your behaviour since the last Family Appreciation Day has plummeted like a bad deal, and it's about time it stopped. You should see how the elite really behave."

Filthy knew about her pretensions. At times, he suspected she should have grown out of them by now, but he sometimes saw Ms Rarity's business at Carousel Boutique, and at other times he was sure Tiara's obsession could be put to good use. First, though, she needed a role model or the right environment.

Stars came to his eyes. He still remembered when he'd seen Canterlot for himself for the first time.

He followed his daughter to the train station's steps, and he brought himself out of his drifting memory and back into the present. You never need to raise your voice, he thought. If your sales pitch is good enough, then the bargain will speak for itself. All the same, he could almost hear her fuming. The train journey wouldn't be long, but suddenly he had a premonition and merely getting onto the platform already felt like taking a lifetime.

In the privacy of his mind, Filthy shook himself down. It'll do her some good, and she'll probably feel better once she's there. She's going to Canterlot, for Celestia's sake. Only the best for my daughter, he thought. Only the best.