Forever Classic

by Impossible Numbers

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life
Length: 9542

Filthy Rich hopes that a visit to Canterlot will improve Diamond Tiara's attitude.

Diamond Tiara is getting to be too bratty even for Filthy Rich, so he takes his daughter to a Canterlot opera performance to show her the refined ways of the elite.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-18 08:07:51 UTC

Chapter 1

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.

Chapter 2

So far, it hadn't gone well.

The train thundered and jolted all around them. Mountain sides and green plateaus loomed at the windows, too big and distant to simply flash by. Filthy had hoped that the white walls and wine red carpeting, the glass chandelier, and the table lined with Canterlot cuisine would have at least assuaged Diamond Tiara's temper.

He leaned back in his recliner and glanced aside. Tiara sat with her forelegs crossed. She wasn't looking at him.

"You know why I'm doing this," he said as sternly as he could manage.

"I don't need any stupid 'attitude adjustment'," she replied, waving away a waiter who'd offered her a platter of shot glasses. "I'm not one of your mindless drone employees."

"Tiara, show a little respect for the ponies who make your living possible."

"What did I do?" she said. "I haven't got an attitude problem. I'm still getting good grades at school, aren't I?"

"Your grades are fine. It's what you get up to outside of classes."

Tiara pouted, but at least it was an improvement on earlier. She'd been whining and digging her hooves in all the way through the ticket barrier, and only his persistent nudges and mild frowns had gotten her to settle down... eventually... after she'd drawn everypony's attention on the platform.

"But I'm your precious little angel, aren't I?" she said, trying another tactic. "You know I only want to make my Daddy-waddy proud of his precious?"

"Then explain the incident with Sweetie Belle." When she opened her mouth a little too readily, he added, "Your teacher told me all about the details, so don't even try to... sugar coat it."

In the privacy of his mind, Filthy let out a sigh. He wasn't cut out for being stern. Nature had given him a temperament like a glacier, and even at the extremes, it was simply a different shade of the same tired-eyed, stoic-mouthed, quietly confident expression he always wore on his face. That sort of thing was good in the high-stakes poker game of enterprise, but not when you were trying to get your daughter to stop sulking on the chaise longue.

"Sweetie Belle's a prissy know-it-all," said Diamond Tiara. "She needed taking down a peg."

"She was correcting your spelling mistake."

"What business is it of hers if I put an 'r' or two 'rs' in 'embarrassing'? It was my work, done by my hoof. She shouldn't have been looking over my shoulder anyway."

"From what I heard from Miss Rarity, she was just trying to be friendly towards you."

"Yeah, well... well..."

Tiara humphed, her usual response when she was out of answers. Filthy sat back. A second waiter offered him a selection of exotic cheeses, but Filthy shook his head and the stallion moved on.

"Anyway," he said, turning back to his daughter, "I would have thought you'd love to visit Canterlot."

The silence had another texture to it now, and he didn't press the point. While she was in this mood, Tiara wouldn't have responded anyway.

Sometimes, he wondered if she knew about the first time he'd visited there...

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

At last, the clanking of the couplings stopped and the still engine let out a final hiss. Throwing a tip to a passing stallion servant, Filthy motioned for his daughter to follow and led her towards the sliding doors.

"How about I get you a treat while you're here. Anything on your mind?" he said.

"Maybe." Tiara paused at the carriage exit in thought.

"Tell you what. Why don't we walk through the high street, and you tell me if you see anything you like?"

She leaped down onto the platform. Diamond Tiara or not, she was still a filly and the step was a bit big for her. As she fell into step beside him, she merely hummed in acknowledgement and kept her gaze on the path ahead.

Give her time, he thought.

They came out onto a row of buildings that seemed to have been carved out of ivory. Everything was plated in gold or draped in royal purple. Curls, flower baskets, and statues lined the fronts of many outlets. Even the iron lampposts and duller bricks of the street had made an effort to look squeaky clean. Beneath the moonlight, the streetlights dazzled them and Filthy put a foreleg up to shield his eyes.

Shops boasted exotic feathers and beads, gems hung from overhangs, and dress-bearing mannequins were lined up at shop windows as though already at the fashion shows. Tiara refused to look up at first, but as they walked further along, she couldn't resist the pull the place had on her. By the time they reached the end of the row, she was stopping to stare at each display. Filthy watched her press her hooves against the window with a small smile on his lips.

"Wow," she said. "Nopony in school has a dress like that. Can you imagine what Silver Spoon would say if I went into school wearing that?"

Filthy let her talk on. Before he made another three steps, she zipped ahead and pressed her hooves against the next window. Gems shone through the window onto her face, casting little circles of colour on her fur.

"I like that hat," she said, "I like that hat a lot." Another few steps, another zip of a passing filly body, another wipe of hooves against glass. "I didn't even know you could get necklaces like that!"

He allowed himself a brief chuckle. "Why don't I just buy up the shop and have done with it?"

"You could do better than that, couldn't you Daddy?" she said, turning around. Stars gleamed in her eyes. "You could buy up the whole street and the next street along if you wanted."

"Yes, honey," he assured her. Probably not, he thought.

While she rushed on to the next display, Filthy stopped and examined the peaks of the tallest towers. Up 'til now, he'd hoped that his memory would take care of the route. Ten years is a bit long for a memory like that to last, though, he thought. And here I used to swear I'd never forget.

"Excuse me, sir," he said to a passing unicorn. "Could you direct me to Livery Luxuries?"

"Certainly, my good chap." The stallion adjusted his monocle, giving Filthy a glimpse of the unicorn's azure pupil. The stranger lifted a blue hoof to indicate the left turn, trying not to crinkle his dinner jacket as he did so. "You simply trot down Paradise Boulevard and make a right turn into Gemford Street. You can't miss it, old bean."

"Thank you kindly, sir," Filthy said. With a polite nod, the white-furred stallion turned around. Looks like I've come to the right place, Filthy thought as he watched the unicorn stride away. Tiara could learn a lot from ponies like him.

He looked over his shoulder. "Tiara, have you seen anything yet?"

By the time he got her to walk down the street with him, she was overloaded with bags full of dresses and feathers and beads and headdresses. She was already wearing one of the gowns, despite his complaints that she ought to have put it away.

"You always say it's about presentation, Daddy," was her reply. "Besides, we've got to fit in right here, haven't we?"

Fitting in? Didn't seem like it to him. Strangers were giving them aside glances, and he couldn't blame them. Even for Diamond Tiara, the paper bags on her back were overloaded. That was after he'd put his hoof down; if he'd given her full rein, she would have looked like a general department store with legs.

A while into their walk, he noticed her looking around nervously. Strange, he thought. She was in love with the place only a few minutes ago.

"You all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Daddy."

"You don't look fine."

She turned her head and gave him a beam that would have made cherubs envious. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm in Canterlot, and how many of my friends can claim they've been here?"

"Those bags look kind of heavy."

"They're fine," she managed to say. "I think."

"Let me carry a few."

It was still a big pile when he'd finished. In fact, now there were two big piles - passersby moved around them as if worried one'd topple over - but at least she wasn't turning red around the face anymore.

He took a good look at the pedestrians scattered along the road. The first thing he noticed was that every last one of them wore clothing of one sort or another. In Ponyville, most mares and stallions were content to forgo ties and top hats and dinner jackets and saddle skirts, at least when there wasn't a party or a cuteceaneara going on. Filthy had always been told that he looked overdressed, given that he went through Ponyville constantly wearing a tie. By contrast, he was overexposed here.

The second thing he noticed was how lazy everypony's eyelids were. One or two couples seemed to be cheerfully sleepwalking. The third thing he noticed was how they walked around as if they owned the place. Some of them probably did own parts of the street.

Despite himself, he began to avoid their eyes. They had a contented, easy-going look even more deep-seated than his own, as though life had personally selected them to have it good. Even without the shopping giving him backache, Filthy stood out like a wooden coin among golden bits. He wished he had a different design on his tie.

Tiara also stood out, but for the opposite reason - she was like a painted lily petal with glitter and bows and frills all over. She didn't so much shine as explode in your face.

"Is it much further?" she said. Filthy looked ahead.

"I think this is the place," he said. The unicorn had been right when he'd said they couldn't miss it; the white tower rose over them like the sort of proud monarch who wouldn't even look down at street-level folk. "We'll drop your stuff off here before going to the opera."

"Why are we even here again?" she asked.

"You'll be tired when the opera finishes late." They walked up the ivory steps to the double doors. "This way, we'll both have a good night's rest before heading for home. I don't want anything to spoil tonight."

Chapter 3

With relief, they dumped the bags down on the four-poster bed and let out a sigh each. Tiara recovered first, running past her father to admire the drapes along the wall.

"This place is amazing," she said. "I wish my room was like this."

"I'll have to see to it when we get back home." Filthy caught his breath. He wasn't surprised that the room looked as overdecorated as the streets outside. It had been like that the last time he was here. "Don't get comfortable just yet. We'll be leaving for the performance soon."

Tiara didn't hear him. She rushed into the adjoining chamber, and her form landed with a soft thump on the quilt of the smaller bed.

"Ah." She spread out on her back. The fresco on the ceiling caught her eye, and she picked out individual scenes from the Equestrian Fairy Tales in it. "This is the life. Now this is how somepony like me should be living." Noticing what she was still wearing, Tiara fiddled with the gown and threw it aside. "I don't have any need for that anymore."

"Did you hear me? We'll be going in a short while."

"But we've just arrived! I haven't had time to adjust yet. Besides, it's so nice here. I bet the Princess totally feels like this all the time."

He didn't bother to reply. Sooner or later, she'd get the hint. He heard a lot of muttering from the next chamber over the rustle of a dress. Hinges creaked.

"You understand why I'm doing this, don't you?" he said, when she came through the door.

"To try and get me talking to the Canterlot elite," she recited dully.

"So you do listen to me sometimes."

"I don't need to meet a bunch of stuck-ups. Er... I mean I... I'm already well behaved. I know my manners, I know what etiquette is. Aren't I already an angel?"

He hummed with suspicion.

Tiara made a big show of yawning. "Besides, I'm so very tired after such a long travel. I don't think I'll be able to come. I think I'll just stay here and sleep in. We can, like, try again another time." She eyed up the chamber door and made to approach it.

"Diamond Tiara."

"What? What's the big deal?"

"Aren't you excited about going to the opera theatre? I paid good money for exclusive tickets in the top box, just for you. The Royal Canterlot Orchestra will be playing tonight. You don't want to miss that."

"Um... er... Opera is bor-ing."

"You've never seen opera before."

"I can just tell. It's going to be boring."

"Your Diamond senses told you that, did they?"

"Dad, please!" Tiara's voice had the whine of a filly who knew she couldn't win and was very upset about it. "It sounds dreamy, but I really am tired."

"Oh no. You're not wriggling out of this one. You need to see how the elite practise stuff like etiquette and saying their pleases and thank-yous, and most of all you need a lesson in pony courtesy, young lady. If it helps, think of this as a punishment for bad public relations."

"Just for one incident with Sweetie Belle?" she said petulantly.

"From what Miss Cheerilee's been telling me, there's been a lot more going on at that school than you getting irate over spelling mistakes. It's got to stop." In the mirror overlooking the chest of drawers, Tiara's cheeks burned. "I thought I'd heard the last of it after that Family Appreciation Day."

"Kooky old lady," Tiara muttered under her breath.

"You're just lucky I didn't tell your grandpa what you said about Granny Smith that time. And I suppose there's a reason you keep calling her grandfilly a 'half-pint'?"

Tiara wisely kept her mouth shut. Unfortunately, it didn't last long. "Silver Spoon does it too -"

"Don't try to fool me, Diamond Tiara! Silver Spoon gets it off you, not the other way around. And even if that was the case, if she went around with a jar of zap apple jam on top of her head, would you put one on and do the same as her?"

"No."

"No. And while we're on that subject, I notice you don't talk to Silver Spoon anymore. Or anypony else in your class. You've practically alienated yourself from the rest of the fillies, and when you do speak, it always seems to end with Ms Cheerilee hearing about it. I knew you could be difficult, but this has gone on long enough."

By now, Tiara had shut her lips so tightly they were bulging. Her glare was scorching a burn mark on the floor. Filthy heard a sniff, as though his daughter was trying to preserve some dignity.

He sighed. There you go again, Filthy, he thought. You're no disciplinarian. You either let her go too easily or lay it on too thick, but you never get the dosage just right and heaven knows she needs this kind of medicine. The sooner we get to the theatre and get her seeing the refined Canterlot crowd, the better.

"You're going out in that dress?" he said, trying to inject some kindness into his voice.

"Yeah! This is Canterlot, Dad. You have to make a statement here." She was still avoiding his gaze.

"In your case, I'd call it a full sales pitch. You don't think it's a little much, honey?"

"I don't think it's enough. I've got to look special. Especially here!"

Filthy tried a small chuckle. Anything to ease the tension a little. "You always liked being the centre of attention, didn't you, Tiara? Grandpa used to have this exact same conversation with me when I was a young colt. I kept dressing up in fancy suits and ties wherever I went."

"I know," she said, still sulking. "I've seen the pictures."

"It's all right to make a statement. In business, you get judged the instant you walk through the door. What you wear, how you walk -"

"How you talk and look and move," completed Tiara. "Yeah, yeah. You've told me."

"And you always followed through with it." He licked his hoof and ran it along his mane, trying to tame any rogue hairs. "Not always how I'd like you to, but you're mighty good at it otherwise. Just like at your cuteceaneara. You wanted to make a 'big statement' then too. Though I'm sure we got the dresses mixed up; you said you wanted one that showed off your cutie mark."

"I made the best with what I got." In fact, she'd had very little choice - the party had been minutes away by the time she'd unwrapped the box and pulled out the contents.

"See? That's resourcefulness. A good quality in a business mare. And you remember that other time when you and Silver Spoon set up that lemonade stall on the front yard?"

"Dad," she said, blushing harder. "That was ages ago!"

"When you still had no cutie mark. I remember."

"You promised you'd forget about all that!"

He chuckled, completely oblivious to Tiara as she hid her face behind a hoof. "You were an enterprising little filly back then. Trying your darndest to get a cutie mark on your own. Not like now. Now, you just lounge around the house, doing nothing."

"If I go to this dumb opera," she said, "will you please stop talking about my fillyhood?"

"Wide awake now, huh? Come on, then. Before we miss the Overture."

As they pushed through the door and walked out onto the landing, Tiara pressed close against his legs. He noticed she was shaking, which caught him by surprise.

"Promise you won't ever tell anypony ever, ever again about all that stuff?" she said. "Nopony at school can ever know about it. Not ever!"

"But Tiara, that time you showed real initiative and an entrepreneur's spirit. You should be proud of that." He looked misty-eyed for a moment. "Just like your old grandpa."

"Never ever ever ever ever -"

"OK, OK, I promise."

Chapter 4

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.