Some Ponies Have No Taste
Celestia had little taste for critics in general. She understood the role demanded a certain level of negativity and over-analysis, but she had yet to meet one who was not infuriating. So it was reluctantly that she had brought one to the castle - despite her distaste, she knew there were some tasks that only a proper critic could do.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Rich," Celestia lied cheerfully.
The critic shook his head, immediately souring her attempt to put on a good face. "Riche, your Majesty," corrected the light gray stallion. "The Rich family are a different branch - cousins on my father's side." He bowed. "You may call me Nouveau."
"Apologies, Mr. Riche," came the alicorn's already exasperated response. "I presume that Ms. Inkwell has provided you the details?"
Nouveau nodded, stonily serious now that it was time for business. "She has. And I must say that it is flattering my opinion is held in such regard - just evaluating the art of Canterlot Castle would be an honor, but to influence what should and should not stay before a major renovation?" He let out a wistful sigh. "The opportunity is a dream for a pony in my field."
Celestia smiled, meaning none of it as he continued on with empty platitudes. He had no idea, of course, the cause of the renovations. But how could he? The number of ponies who knew that Luna would be returning soon could be counted on the primaries of one wing with feathers left over. (Everything was, of course, dependent on just what returned from the moon but Celestia was trying not to think about that. It would drive her mad if she did.)
"Shall we begin?" His smile should have been a tip-off that things were wrong. No pony had that many teeth.
She nodded back.
Saying Nouveau hated everything was an overstatement. He had rather liked the drapes in the upper-east sitting room.
It was everything else that was the problem.
He began with The Birth of Celestia. Painted four hundred years before by the diamond dog Barkicelli, it was arguably the most famous painting in Equestria - top five at worst. A prime example of the Reineighsance, the image of Princess Celestia rising out of the sun with her wings spread wide charted the course of art for decades afterwards and remained influential even in the modern day.
"Meh."
Celestia blinked in confusion.
"This hardly belongs here," Nouveau stated.
Again, Celestia blinked. "This is the original." As if an expert would think she had hung a copy.
"And it's overrated," came the sneered reply. "Replicas of this painting are in every gallery from here to Vanhoover. Having it makes no statement, Your Highness. It has a place in history, but not in the Palace. You may as well be hanging a mass produced Thomas Cantercade."
And so stunned was the Princess that she was unable to come up with a reply before the critic walked off.
"Hm."
Nouveau was posed with one hoof under his chin, almost identically to the statue he was considering. Roandin's The Thinker stared back at him without judgment.
That attitude was distinctly one-sided.
"It's acceptable," deemed the critic as if he weren't speaking about the masterpiece of one of Equestria's greatest modern sculptors. "A bit common but not beyond saving. It should be… Hm. Approximately twenty percent smaller."
The Princess stared at him, aghast.
"The extra negative space will vastly improve the room's flow," he continued airily. "Otherwise I just don't see how it could function here. It would need to be thrown out."
"Warhorsal was a hack," stated Mr. Riche as if it were an indisputable fact.
Princess Celestia remained silent this time.
The critic motioned at the painting of a soup can. "Anypony who considers this high art is a fool." He glanced to the Princess, waiting for an objection.
She gave none.
Things were tensely silent for a good minute before she finally shrugged. "To be honest, I don't get it either."
The day dragged like a loaded fishing net and by lunchtime Celestia was at her wit's end. Their tour had progressed into the gardens and Nouveau Riche had just declared Winged Victory a relic of savage Pegasopolis which had no place in modern Equestria.
Then abruptly he stopped. And he stared at the next statue.
Celestia internally signed with resignation - at least this time she would agree with him. (Albeit for very different reasons.)
"It's…" Nouveau took a shuddering breath. "It's beautiful."
"...What."
"Never before in my life have I seen something so unique!" Nouveau rushed to the statue's base. "So bold! So original! The courage it must have taken the artist to create this!" He zipped around it, examining every angle.
Celestia sucked in a sharp breath as the stallion clambered across what she knew to be an imprisoned chaos god. In the back of her head she could almost hear Discord giggling about how it tickled.
Nouveau continued to rave. "Avant-garde doesn't even begin to cover this! It is truly a statement on the inherent nature of Equestria as an amalgamation of ideals, as well as a window into the nature of the pony mind! For truly as highly as we hold ourselves, at heart are we still not beasts with animal urges?"
A little bit of breakfast came up before the Princess could fully restrain herself. She had to escape this lunatic. "Mister Riche, I'm afraid that's all the time I have today. Please continue your review and submit it to Ms. Inkwell once you're finished." She rushed away but he barely noticed. He was entranced and still raving about the 'statue'.
Three years later, there was a knock at the door of the Riche household.
Nouveau - unsuspecting - answered. "May I help–"
With devilish glee, the Lord of Chaos threw the door wide and planted a deep kiss on the shocked stallion's lips.
"I think you're beautiful too," is all Discord said before cackling madly and teleporting away.
Author's Note
Ugh, I hate how the word counts in the chapter and on the story card don't always agree.
