Prince Blueblood walked through the gardens. He did not care for the bright fauna, or give a damn that the buzzards really buzzed. He was here for one reason; to watch his cousin make a fool of himself. Fancy Pants led a small puppy on a leash. The animal slobbered and ran through his legs in figure eights. Fancy Pants fell down after becoming entangled in the leash.
"That's not how you handle a dog," Blueblood commented and untangled the leash, "You have to be in control of him constantly."
"I've seen how you handle animals." Fancy Pants dusted off his black tailcoat. "Some might say it borderlines abuse."
"And those ponies would be wrong," Blueblood snorted and took the leash from Fancy, "You have to keep the leash short at first." He wrapped a good length of it around his hoof. "Keep you orders simple and your tone firm." He looked down at the dog. "Hoof!"
The dog now panted beside Blueblood's right foreleg.
"I'll never understand why he obeys you so quickly," Fancy Pants complimented, "You have a way with animals."
"It's easy." Blueblood kept the leash tight around his hoof. "Do you have any treats for him?"
Fancy Pants gave Blueblood a small crumbly bone.
"Sit," Blueblood commanded. He placed the treat on the dog's nose, "Take."
"Quite impressive," Fancy Pants stated, "Now if only we could keep him from piddling on the carpet."
"That's easy too," Blueblood laughed, "Punish him as soon as it happens. He needs to associate the pain with the action."
"I think we'll just keep with the crate training."
"If you think that's best." Blueblood handed the leash back to Fancy.
"Can I expect to see you at tonight's symphony?" Fancy Pants asked.
"Always," Blueblood answered, "Do you still have your seats in the founder's box?"
"Yes, of course." Fancy lifted his hooves to prevent them from being tangled in the leash, "The Grand Canterlot Orchestra has been quite good to me in that regard."
"Good. Good." Blueblood pulled a pocket-watch out of his vest. "I best be off though. I have some things to take care of before then. I'm sorry for any inconvenience."
"Quite all right," Fancy Pants asserted, "I'll see you tonight."
Blueblood stared down at his pocketwatch.
"Late," He muttered, "Fancy is never late. This is most inconsiderate."
He tapped his hooves on the gold railing that surrounded the balcony. The orchestra was beginning to assemble, each musician tuning his instrument.
"Fleur," He said to the mare a few seats to his right, "Did Fancy Pants say if he had anything to take care of?"
Fleur shook her head. Blueblood let out a harrumph and continued clicking his hooves on the rails.
"My most sincere apologies," Fancy Pants entered through the archway and took his seat beside Fleur, "I just happened to meet a mare who wanted to view the symphony as well."
"I thought I could find a scalper," The mare sat down between Fancy and Blueblood, "I couldn't get a ticket in time, but I figured 'no biggie', there's always a scalper."
"Vinyl, Blueblood- Blueblood, Vinyl," Fancy Pants introduced them, "Vinyl, Fleur- Fleur, Vinyl."
"A scalper?" Blueblood asked, "You seem to be used to a different kind of concert."
"Yeah, I don't normally go to these kinds of things," Vinyl agreed, "But see that mare with the cello. She's my best friend, and I promised her I'd show up."
"Ah." Blueblood nodded, "I actually think I've seen her before."
"She plays at all sorts of fancy gigs," Vinyl explained, "You've probably seen her at one of those."
"Yes, but I can't quite remember her name." Blueblood flicked through the program, "Yes, Octavia. That seems right."
"Yeah, she really likes this new gig." Vinyl took off her sunglasses. "We're thinking about getting a new place with the extra money."
"Is there something wrong with your current residence?" Blueblood picked a stray thread from his smoking jacket.
"It is way too close to the train station," Vinyl elaborated, "It's big enough, but the noise wakes us up at all hours."
"I see. I have a friend who is a realtor," Blueblood stated, "If you would like, I can give him your address, and he can add you to his mailing list. Fancy, do you have a pen?"
"Of course." Fancy Pants pulled a fountain pen from his jacket and floated it to Vinyl.
"Thanks." Vinyl scratched out her address on the back of her program, passed it to Blueblood, and gave the pen back to Fancy.
"Quiet now, everyone," Fancy Pants whispered, "Ponofski has arrived."
Blueblood walked quietly across the marble floors of his chateau. He reached into a box in the hardwood walls and pulled a lever. He heard a light bell ringing. A servant stepped out of a false wall and bowed low. Blueblood handed him the program with the childish scrawl on it.
"I want the gray mare, but be careful, she does not live alone." He said, "Make certain you make it look like a robbery. But don't leave anything that can be traced back to you."
The servant nodded, snapped his soft white cloth boots in place, and left. Blueblood reached into the small box and pulled another lever. Another servant stepped out of the false wall.
"Make up the rations for tonight," Blueblood ordered, "But no water tonight for 3-B. No candle for it either."
The servant bowed, and stepped back into the false wall. Blueblood walked down the stone steps to the wine cellar. He removed the rough stones from one wall and stepped into an unlit tunnel. He waited until the servant arrived with a gurney covered in sandwiches, bowls of water, and candles.
"Leave," Blueblood demanded.
He pulled a key ring out of his coat pocket and unlocked one of the many doors in the tunnel. He raised up a sandwich, a bowl of water, and a candle. He opened the door and stepped into the poorly light room with a piano in the corner. An emaciated stallion stirred and looked up at him. Blueblood gestured to the piano, and the stallion rushed to it. He played for thirty minutes, and Blueblood raised a hoof. He set the provisions down on the stone floor, and left. The stallion smacked greedily as Blueblood locked the door behind him.
He unlocked the door with 3-B carved into it. He stepped into the room and looked at the filthy mare asleep in the corner. Blueblood stomped his hoof, causing her to stir. She looked up at him.
"Play." Blueblood gestured to the violin beside her.
"No," She answered weakly.
Blueblood smacked her across the face, adding to the many bruises already there. "Play."
She slammed her hoof down on the violin, breaking its neck. "No."
Blueblood sighed. He pulled a length of cord from his jacket and approached her. She backed into her corner, and looked up at him, green eyes wide. He looped the cord around her neck, and pulled in opposite directions. She sputtered beneath him, and coughed in his face. He pulled tighter, and watched her eyes slide back, the lids blinking randomly. She kicked underneath him, and stopped moving. He held on for a while longer, and dropped her to the floor. He pocketed his cord and walked out of the room, not bothering to lock it.
He stepped into another room. A griffon stirred in the corner and looked up at him. He grabbed his bassoon off the wall and played a long tune. Blueblood smiled and set a sandwich on his beak.
"Take," He ordered.
The griffon snapped it up immediately. He raised his bassoon again.
"No," Blueblood stated and walked out the door.
His servant was waiting for him with a large sack thrown over his back.
"Were you spotted?" Blueblood asked.
The servant shook his head.
"Good," Blueblood replied, "Place her in 3-B, and please dispose of its current occupant."
"It's so good of you to have us over for tea, Blueblood," Fancy Pants said mirthfully, "Fleur and I greatly appreciate it."
"Think nothing of it." Blueblood smiled. "As often as you invite me to the symphony it would not reflect well on me to be inhospitable."
Fleur whispered into Fancy's ear.
"I'm sorry, but Fleur would like to know where the water closet is," Fancy Pants admitted, "I'm not entirely sure where it is, I apologize."
"It's quite all right." Blueblood rang a bell, "Mr. Hoof, If you would please show Fleur to the restroom."
"Thank you, Blueblood." Fancy Pants sipped his tea, "Speaking of the symphony,will you be joining us tonight? It has been a few months since you last graced them with your presence."
"Well, I suppose I should let the lesser folk admire me," Blueblood laughed, "But it will have to be some other time. I have scheduled to be groomed tonight."
"I understand," Fancy Pants laughed as well, "We can't have our prince looking like he just came off the street."
"Quite right," Blueblood agreed, "I don't care what anyone says. I am judged harder for my appearance than anyone else in this city."
"What about the Princesses?" Fancy Pants asked, "They are in the public eye more than anyone else."
"Yes, but their manes seem to be made of magic," Blueblood debated, and then spoke with a higher pitch, "Oh, I'll just brush my mane. Wait! It's already done. Yeah! Magic!"
Fancy Pants accidentally choked on his tea, and had a light combination between a chuckle and a cough. "That is most inappropriate."
"Yes," Blueblood admitted, "But I can't make you laugh otherwise."
Fleur trotted back and whispered into Fancy's ear.
"Oh," Fancy Pants muttered and his eyes came to a point, "I'm sorry, but Fleur is not feeling well. I'm afraid we'll have to cut this social gathering short. Again, my apologies."
"All is forgiven," Blueblood replied, "Until next time."
Blueblood rang his bell, but nopony came. He looked around and threw the bell across the courtyard. A servant picked it off the ground and trotted to Blueblood's side.
"Where is Mr. Hoof?" Blueblood asked.
The servant shook his head.
"Then find him!" Blueblood yelled.
They found him quickly. Mr. Hoof lay in the wine cellar, next to the open tunnel.
"This is not good," Blueblood snarled and looked to his twelve servants, "Dispose of the evidence, quickly!"
The servants looked to each other.
"Now!" Blueblood screamed.
The door above them burst open, and six guards rushed into the cellar. Blueblood looked at the spearpoint right in his face.
"Can I help you?" Blueblood asked.
"You can place your hooves behind your head and your muzzle to the ground," The guard suggested, "Or you could resist arrest and make this fun for everyone involved."
Blueblood chose the first option.
"How many, sir?" Fancy Pants asked the guard.
"Twenty-three," The guard answered, "And there's no telling how many he 'disposed of'."
"Is the chateau staff surrendering any information?" Fancy scratched his head.
"Nothing. They can't," The guard explained, "They're all mute. It's funny, Blueblood was actually given a plaque for hiring disabled ponies."
"Can they write?" Fancy Pants asked.
"Allright," The guard sighed, "We've found one that can write basic stuff. But I can't tell you what he told us."
Fancy Pants slid a jingling bag to the guard.
"Our young prince has kidnapped at least forty ponies over the years. All of them talented musicians. Professionals for the most part. One of them was a griffon actually. We can't interview any of them until the departmental shrink checks them out. Near as we can tell, it looks like it started about five years back, but most of those cases were dismissed as robbery. He would have a servant kidnap a pony, make it look like they stole from their roommate and disappeared."
"And what will happen to Blueblood now?" Fancy Pants slid another bag to the guard.
"The same thing that happens to any criminal." The guard slid the bag back to Fancy, "Trial, and imprisonment."
Blueblood sat at the rough table in the cafeteria. He was surrounded by a wide variety of unpleasant types, most of them considerably bigger than him. A large earth pony placed a hoof on his mane. Blueblood looked up at the towering stallion in the orange jumpsuit.
"You're a pretty boy ain't ya?" He leered over Blueblood. "Wanna spend the night with me?"
Blueblood rammed a hoof between the stallion's eyes. He jumped on the large pony's back, and tore out a section of the prisoner's mane, looping it around his neck.
"Beg," Blueblood ordered and pulled tight.