Forever Classic

Deep in the Pit of the Canterlot Opera House, the strings moaned. Brass instruments crooned through the floorboards and the taps of the piano danced over them all. Everypony in the orchestra closed their eyes and cocked their ears, trying to catch out any imperfections in their practice. Nothing moved onstage. The curtains were still drawn.

The music was facing some stiff competition. Chattering sounds and the shuffling of jackets and dresses rose from the ponies in the red seats. Stallions and mares debated seating arrangements and showed off their knowledge of the opera to neighbouring connoisseurs. Others rose up the steps in a steady stream from the entrances, but like water trying to flow uphill they thinned and thinned until only a few drops made it to the top box.

Filthy got used to the noise quickly. To him, this was just another kind of market. These ponies jostling him on the steps were customers of a sort, and he could cope with that. The market might have been on a grander scale than he was comfortable with - the stage alone looked capable of swallowing Ponyville town hall - but the audience payed for a service and a service was what the orchestra and the actors would provide.

He tried to convey this to Diamond Tiara on his way up, hoping it would help her to relax too, but she merely pressed close against his legs and said nothing. To his surprise, she was shivering.

"Is that dress too cold?" he asked. He didn't believe that for a moment. If anything, he worried she was suffocating under that lot, but he wanted to get her to talk.

"No," she said, but he could barely hear her.

As they passed one of the higher rows, a unicorn couple accidentally bumped into him.

"Ex-cuse me," said the stallion.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Filthy said, bowing his head.

"I should think so," continued the stallion. His voice drawled, as though each word was carefully measured before its release.

"Where do you think you're going?" The mare looked down her nose at him. "Do you realize, good sir, that you are heading for the top box? You won't get in without a reservation."

"I have a reservation," said Filthy. "Thank you."

She looked his collar and tie up and down. "I rather doubt it. One would think a seat nearer the Pit would be more suitable for you."

"If indeed, his being let in at all could be said to be suitable," added her partner, presumably her husband.

They both guffawed. Until then, Filthy had assumed guffawing was something only actors did when pretending to be aristocrats. Beside him, Tiara was trying to hide behind his legs.

"Ex-cuse me," he said. Two can play at this mocking game. "I'll have you know that the word 'Rich' is in my family name." With a hoof and pastern, he pulled the two tickets out of his collar where he'd tucked them away and thrust them into the couple's faces. "So forgive me if I don't take your recommendations to heart."

Both their skins turned white. So did their eyes, though in that case it was because their pupils were rapidly trying to shrink out of existence.

"B-Begging your p-pardon, Mr Rich," said the mare, recovering first. "I didn't qu-quite r-realize."

"Just a m-minor m-misunderstanding," said the stallion. Both of them stood to one side hastily, letting him pass.

"One can never be too careful, sir. Always been a keen patron of the operatic arts ourselves."

"Wouldn't want to let the wrong sort in, you understand. Got to keep up standards, have we not?"

"As you say, Mr and Mrs Jumper, as you say." Filthy ambled past them, noting their own peculiar taste in clothing. A white woolly jumper had been thrown over the stallion's back, its sleeves tied around his neck like the string on a cape. The wife had copied his style, but with a pink jumper instead. It was hard to see why their fashion was any more refined than his, so he supposed the two of them were just poseurs and forgot about them.

Tiara was still pressing close against his flank, though they had long since cleared the packed crowd.

"Here we are, in the top box," he said to her, waving the tickets in front of the Royal Guard's face. "Looks like we're well in time. The performance hasn't started yet."

Not so much as a peep. Perhaps it was just the culture shock.

Once past the red rope, they found themselves in a squat balcony overlooking the entire opera. Some kind of fancy binoculars had been attached to the side of the box facing the stage, and when he looked over he saw why. It was a wonder the music could reach them up here.

There were only a hoofful of ponies in the box with them. Filthy did a quick head count. Many of them had summer hats on with broad brims, and all of them were dressed up to the neck in wealthy outfits of many kinds.

"I should have got me one of those at least," he muttered, eyeing up a top hat. "Can you see the stage, Tiara?"

"Hm," she said. She hadn't even looked.

"Tiara?"

"I say, how did you get past Tempest?" said a voice.

He turned around. A trio of ponies stood next to him, giving him sidelong looks. They were a stallion and two mares and looked like they'd just come back from a summer garden party. One of them had a cucumber sandwich floating next to her ear.

"Who's Tempest?" Filthy asked.

"The Royal Guard at the door. Of course, if you actually belonged here, you would know that."

Ah, he thought, this hoo-hah again. Once more, he produced the tickets. "The name's Rich. Mr Rich, of Barnyard Bargains."

The stallion cast a withering look over the tickets. "I've never heard of you. Are you from outside the city?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Me and my daughter here -" he gestured towards the side of his flank "- just came in from Ponyville."

"Ponyville, you say?" said the fatter of the two mares.

"Yes."

"Excuse us."

The trio broke off. They huddled together and a lot of muttering met his ears. Once, he swore he heard the words "don't want to go through all that again".

All three turned and gave him what he supposed were winning smiles. They weren't much good at it. He'd tutored ponies on how to give winning smiles, and these ones wouldn't have made it on the shortlist.

"Begging your pardon, Mr Rich," said the thinner mare. "We don't meet many Ponyvillians here in Canterlot."

"So, er, what was this... Barnyard Bargains," said the stallion with obvious distaste, "of which you speak?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked that." At his side, Diamond Tiara began shaking her head frantically at him.

"Don't say a word, Dad," she whispered.

"Aw, Tiara, no need to be shy. Remember, these are the elite; they wrote the rule book on good manners." In a louder voice, he said, "This here's my daughter, Diamond Tiara. She's come to see the highlights of Canterlot living."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said the fat mare carelessly. "You were about to tell us about these... Yard Barngains."

"Barnyard Bargains," hissed the thin mare to her.

"Yes. Barnyard... Bargains."

"Well, gladly. We just happen to be the largest retail outlet in Ponyville. Our suppliers provide us with only the best crops and only the best stock for our customers, including Sweet Apple Acres, Golden Harvest Hills, Cherry Berry Plantations, and Quills and Sofas. We go back a long way. You might say Ponyville and Barnyard Bargains are one and the same."

He beamed at them.

They regarded him with raised eyebrows. Another kind of smile played along their lips.

"Retail, you say?" said the stallion.

"Yes, indeed. In fact we recently completed and opened Ponyville's first department store, and we're in the planning stages of building a chain of them in several more towns, from Delamare and Pigpennsylvania to Los Pegasus and even Applelaska!"

To his surprise, the mares were grinning at each other as though sharing a private joke. One of them raised a hoof to cover her mouth and whispered "nouveau riche" behind it. Their grins quivered trying to keep the laughter in.

"So, Mr Rich," said the stallion, who paused before continuing, "have you been to the Royal Canterlot Theatre before?"

"Why yes, I have. Once before. Obviously, my seating arrangements were a little different back then, but it was a long time ago. Just before Diamond Tiara here was born, in fact."

"And, um, what were you doing at the time?"

"I'd just set out from Ponyville to make my own way in the world. My pa wanted me to inherit the business, but I was young and hot-blooded then, and I told him straight that if I was going to be a Rich, then I was going to make the money on my own terms, as if there weren't an inheritance coming to me."

The fat mare humphed. Filthy ignored her.

"Well, my pa was sad to see me go, of course, but he always admired spirit, and he wished me luck. So taking the advice of his neighbours, he told me to go to Canterlot and start trying my luck there."

Both mares were looking at him listlessly. Behind them, the stallion's head was slowly lowering towards his chest.

A change had come over Diamond Tiara. Her eyes were wide and she found herself listening keenly. She even stepped away from his flank so that she could face her father better.

"I soon arrived at the gates of Canterlot castle. I can't describe what it was like to be that young colt, jumping down from the steps of the carriage with the sheer beauty of the palace looming over me. It was as if I'd stepped into paradise. I was mighty sure that if I was going to make my fortune anywhere, it would be in Canterlot."

The train tracks of memory made another turn. On the edge of the box, Tiara and Filthy barely noticed the snores coming from one of the slumped mares.

"I visited the theatre. I was keen to get into the mindset of the crowd living here. One of the first rules I established for my business was to think like the customer, so that I could understand the customer's wants. And I admit, I was still feeling the dazzle of the streets. I had a little money with me - my pa was a practical stallion, and he knew I needed some money, independent business venture or not. I got the cheapest seat I could afford. The performance was L'Horseo by... by... well, I forget the name."

"Monte de verti," mumbled the stallion. "It means 'green mountain'."

"Thanks. The great singer Diva Star was on that night, and the adverts in the foyer simply raved about her voice. The lights dimmed, the curtain was raised, she climbed onto the stage. And it was magical. Quite possibly the most magical moment of my life. A beautiful singing voice, wonderful music, the cultured atmosphere... if I remember nothing else from my stay in Canterlot, I'll remember that 'til the day I die."

Down below, the musical score of the Pit reached a crescendo. The Overture, which was everypony's excuse to chat among themselves, was drawing to a close. The three ponies snorted and shook their heads hurriedly.

"Yes," said the stallion carelessly.

"Fascinating, fascinating," said the fat mare. "You really must tell us more about this another time, Mr Rich."

"When we're interested," added the thin one.

"And still able to stay awake." The stallion and the two mares burst out in great heaving laughs.

Mr Rich frowned as the laughs continued. "I don't see what's so funny. I was sure the Canterlot elite would have behaved better than this."

"Oh, forgive me, forgive me," said the stallion, spluttering back to normal. "Just our little joke, Mr Rich."

"I say," said the thin mare suddenly, "what an extraordinary costume."

Tiara looked like she'd just been given a death sentence.

It took a while for everypony else to realize the mare was talking to Tiara, who dived behind her father's legs again in an attempt to conceal the gown. The thin mare, however, was standing slightly to the side and had a good view of it.

"Isn't it though?" said the fat mare, leaning across for a better look. "It's as if a jeweller's shop had met a delicatessen's and had an unfortunate accident with a lampshade maker's."

Pink as she was, Tiara turned pinker still. Filthy Rich's frown narrowed as the raucous chortles broke out.

"How much did that cost?" said the stallion. "In money, I mean, not in sense. If it had been sold in sense, the shop would have been giving it away!"

It took a while for the two mares to follow this joke, but once they got it, the chortles burst out again. "More money than sense!" the fat one said.

"Now, wait just a cotton-picking minute -" Filthy began, but a couple more ponies were coming over to see what the fuss was about, and he was already out of the conversation. None of them were going to take seriously anypony who thought inheritance was lower than hard work.

"She's even got the tiara to match," said the fat mare.

"Rather fancies herself as a princess, doesn't she?" said one of the bystanders.

It was worse than being called 'Filthy'. He couldn't even speak. There were some feelings that were too far beyond words, and on those matters Filthy Rich wasn't an eloquent speaker to begin with.

The crowd continued chortling. A small hoof tapped him on the flank. When he looked at her, his mouth hung open as though uncertain what to say.

"I'm going to the little filly's room," Tiara said.

"It's the first door on the left as you go out," said the thin mare.

"Just so long as you can read the sign," said the stallion. "Do they teach ponies how to read in Ponyville?"

Tiara was gone long before the chortles died away. Filthy's stomach twisted into knots. He was sure he'd heard a brief wracking sob cut off as she vanished under the red rope and down the steps. By the time he hurried over to the edge of the box to try and see her, the lights had dimmed and the audience had fallen silent, and only the shimmer of a few gems in the dark showed him where the dress caught the last of the light from the chandelier above.