Carrie liked her aunt and uncle, she really did.

Carrie liked how Fleur didn't make a face or push her plate away when the smell of meat wafted over the dinner table. Carrie also liked how Fancy just... spoke to her like he did with everypony else, even if she wasn't like everypony else.

She knew they were wonderful ponies, despite the stereotypes most held for the nobility. But Carrie also knew the types they ~~typically~~ always dealt with.

She forked some fish off her plate and took a bite.

The asshole-of-the-evening (Hotty Snotty or whatever the buck, she didn't care) pushed his plate away and shifted in discomfort.

Fancy looked at his guest, smiled, gently tilted his head, and blinked.

Carrie patted her beak with the cotton napkin to hide her smile. She always admired his ability to hide his distaste behind his mask of amiability. Queen Celestia would almost be envious.

"Is there an issue, Hoity?" Lord Fancy of the Noble House of Pants inquired.

Hoity Snoity returned his host's smile with a thin-lipped one of his own. "Don't mind me, Fancy; I just had a large lunch."

Carrie admired the beautifully-cooked trout in front of her. She shredded some more meat off the bones.

"A, ah, a very large lunch," Hoity insisted, despite no one in the room challenging his claim.

Fleur hid her smirk behind her glass of wine. "Too bad. I suppose you don't have room for dessert, Hoity?"

Hoity Snoity watched with both disgust and macabre fascination as Carrie took another piece off the fish. She studied the meat for a moment.

Even after all this time, Carrie still couldn't help but be grateful for every bite of meat that rested in her stomach. She then ate the fish and closed her eyes as she savored it.

Hoity swallowed and turned his shaky gaze to Lady (and Knight) Fleur of the Noble House de Lis. "You are as magnanimous as you're graceful, Fleur, but no..."

Carrie set her fork down and drank some wine.

"...I'm afraid I simply do not have the appetite," Hoity assured her.

"Too bad," Carrie shrugged. "The prince hates sweets, but even he likes this Reine de Saba cake."

"Language," Fleur lightly admonished.

"Pardon, Tune*" Carrie apologized with a small smile of her own. "Even the prince likes this Reine de Saba gateau."

"Thank you, darling."

Carrie blew her a kiss, and Fleur turned a cheek to accept it.

"That's... quite alright, m'lady," Hoity Snoity assured her as she and Fleur erupted into giggles.

"Very well," Fancy nodded. "If you do not have much of an appetite, then perhaps we could continue this visit in Fleur's office. The three of us can just enjoy our dessert there."

Hoity Snoity stood up just a little too quickly. "If that is what you wish. Please do lead the way."

Fleur and Fancy stood as well and began leading him away from the table.

"I'll bring dessert to your office, Tune," she promised.

"Thank you, love," Fancy called from the other room.

When she was sure they were well away from her, Carrie downed the rest of her wine.

It was hard being an omnivore in a world of herbivores.

She stood and stretched, flexing her large wings to their fullest length.

Carrie sighed. Not too long ago, Hoity's conspicuous discomfort would have made her night. His disgust was her petty victory against all the times she had been denied meat by her asshole caretakers. Each piece of fish was a triumph against all the bullies she had been subjected to.

But now...

"Ugh, why am I like this?" Carrie grumbled to herself.

She stood up and made her way to the kitchen.

"Um, hey," she greeted the chef fussing over the ~~cake~~ gateau.

The chef nearly jumped out of her coat.

"Oh, a thousand pardons, milady!" the chef apologized. "I'm so sorry for being late—"

"Relax," Carrie assured the chef, waving her talons in a dismissive manner. Carrie couldn't help but notice how the chef's eyes tracked the every movement of her claws. "Everything's fine."

Even though it wasn't.

"My uncle decided that he would rather us finish our meal in Fleur's office. I promised I'd take our plates to them.

The chef tore her eyes away from Carrie's talons.

"Very well, milady. The cake shall be plated in a few minutes."

"Oh, and please only give me three slices. Our guest doesn't have much of an appetite."

"Of course, milady."

Carrie meandered to the massive windows and gazed down at the Manehattan streets below. She rested her forehead and talons against the glass. The refreshing coolness seeped in through her feathers.

She heard the butler clipclop into the room.

"Milady," she could hear the slight strain in his voice.

"Sup," she mumbled, not bothering to look at him.

The two servants clinked and clattered in the kitchen. Carrie could feel the silent tension they both shared.

As she watched Manehattan bustle along, she couldn't help but remember. How many times had she been in this situation— one where ponies were agitated by her mere presence?

A hundred instances answered her question, some sticking out more than others.

'Behave or I'll just have to feed you to that predator!'

'Nope, sorry we are simply full at the moment, you'll have to go somewhere else!'

'Empty? Oh we're not empty! Y-you see we, um, have a, um... wedding reception— yep, a wedding reception— coming to our arcade. We simply can't accept you, ma'am!'

From her aunt's penthouse, Carrie watched with disinterest as a donkey and a couple of pegasi began going through the routines of an escalating confrontation.

She scoffed. If there was one advantage to being a hippogriff, ponies usually didn't dare to risk her ire. Most assumed she had a taste for ponyflesh (she didn't), and they didn't want to wind up getting shredded by her vicious beak and claws. But Carrie was well aware that not every non-pony minority had her intimidation factor.

On the streets below, an officer of the Manehattan Police Department approached to the squabbling group. The officer looked to be a female unicorn, but even Carrie's eagle eyes had difficulty discerning the sex and race of the police pony at her current distance.

Carrie watched as the police officer halted to confrontation from escalating further. The pegasi landed beside their fellow pony and the donkey took several steps back.

Carrie was not afraid of getting physical (her numerous scars stated that quite clearly), but even she knew when to clamp her beak shut and just let ponies lord themselves over a minority like her. When she was a stupid foal/fledging/whatever-it's-not-like-anypony-ever-bothered-to classify-hippogriff-young, she would have challenged the ponies, but as experience had taught her, winning every squabble was highly overrated.

The donkey below knew the same thing. S/he threw a crate at the hooves of the pegasi and stomped off. Carrie could guess that crate actually belonged to the poor jack/jenny stalking away, but the MPD officer ~~could~~ would not see that. Instead, the officer spoke to the pegasi, undoubtedly reassuring their precious pony egos that the nonpony had been put back in his/her place.

Carrie scowled as she watched the poor donkey slink off in defeat. Ponies could be petty-ass bitches when they wanted to be, but thankfully they were herbivores, and herbivores preferred to be defensive, not offensive.

The mended bones and repaired muscles in her wings twitched.

Herbivores typically preferred to be defensive, not offensive. Typically.

Carrie reared onto her hind hooves and once again flexed her massive wings to their greatest length, resting her claws against the window for support.

As she stretched, Carrie couldn't help but notice how she heard both the chef and butler stop their work. She supposed she was being intimidating at the moment. She briefly entertained the idea of intimidating them some more, for the donkey's sake, but she let the thought go. The Elements of Harmony had taught her better. Besides, it's not like the donkey could appreciate the gesture, and the chef and butler were merely intimidated, not blatantly hostile like those pegasi. Carrie lowered herself down and continued to study the Manehattan streets.

Soon enough, Carrie turned around to look at Fleur's servants. The chef was already plating the gateau, and the butler was assisting her here and there. She made her way to them.

Once everything was on the tray, the butler addressed Carrie. "Milady, it seems that we got the post."

"Now?" she asked in surprise. "It's, like... 19:45."

"Indeed, but this address receives its mail via a private company, not by Equestrian National Postal Services.

"Oh. What did we get?"

"That is for all of you to see for yourselves," the butler stated as he placed the envelopes on the tray next to the slices of cake.

"Thanks— oh wow, that's a lot! Could you please place the tray on my back? Awesome, thanks again."

By the time Carrie made her way to Fleur's office, she and Hoity Snoity were in a deep conversation about business.

Fancy smiled at his niece and stood up from Fleur's desk. "Ah, I see you got dessert! And the mail as well, how nice. What did we get?"

"I 'unno," Carrie shrugged as he levitated the tray off her back. "I know what I want to get though."

Fancy chuckled as he began shuffling through the envelopes. He set some aside and went over to the two fashion stars.

"Please do pardon my interruption, you two, but it seems the post has arrived."

"Excellent, excellent! So glad these new portfolios were able to arrive here!" Hoity Snoity picked up the manilla envelopes addressed to him. "Fleur, my dear, you always have such an eye for talent, perhaps you could help me sift through these..?"

"Of course I— oh... they're from Photo Finish?"

"Nopony else but the best!" Hoity assured her.

Fleur began peering over the notes and descriptions Photo had placed behind the portraits and shots. "I don't deny her talent with the camera, but you need academic help deciphering the hieroglyphs she tries to pass of as modern Equish."

"Ah, but who better than you?" Hoity asked with a cheeky smirk.

"Ah, so this is why you invited yourself over for dinner tonight."

"You know me far too well, my dear."

Fancy threw his head back laughed.

"Oh hush up, you," Fleur rolled her eyes as she and Hoity started organizing all the new modeling portfolios.

"It's quite alright, Hoity; I like to torture her from time to time too!" And the stallion accentuated his statement by giving Fleur a firm spank on her flank.

Fleur immediately blushed and made a weak attempt to kick him. Hoity merely laughed at their antics.

Fancy joined his niece on the other side of Fleur's desk. "Well now, Carrie-dear, not too quickly! A dessert as fine as this is meant to be savored, not scarfed down!" he chuckled.

Carrie forced herself to swallow the large bite of her cake. "Sorry, Fancy," she apologized.

It had been years since she had felt the gnawing pain of chronic hunger and malnourishment, but old habits died hard. Fancy and Fleur respected that, and because they respected that, Carrie respected the gentle admonishment and request to be better than what she was now.

Fancy took a plate off the tray and tasted his dessert. "Ah... if it weren't so late, I'd ask for a coffee."

"Yeah, it's great! When I go back home, I think I'll ask one of my friends if she would like to make this with me!"

Fancy chuckled as he cleaned his monocle. "Baking? Is there anything you can't do, my darling?"

~~Stop scaring everypony who meets me~~.

Carrie returned his bemusement with an arrogant grin. "What can I say? The sky's the limit with me!"

"Indeed it is," Fancy agreed quietly as he began sorting through the rest of the mail.

Carrie continued eating her cake, albeit at a much slower pace. Her uncle was right: La Reine de Saba was better off savored.

"So what'd you get, Oncle?" the hippogriff inquired once she didn't have cake in her mouth.

Fancy sighed, shuffling through the mail in distaste. "Invitations, summons, bills, sycophants, requests, demands, and, and..." he blushed and fed a letter into the trash. "Your aunt is as popular as ever."

Carrie finished off her dessert. She definitely needed tohave some more in the future. "Are all those letters for Fleur?"

"No," Fancy stated with a flat tone. He began opening some envelopes.

Carrie leaned back in her aunt's office chair and looked at the decor in the room.

It was not hard to imagine why Fleur was popular pony. All the fashion magazines that littered the wall displayed her effortless beauty and grace. The articles gushed about her charitable nature. The dueling trophies, medals, and honors were displayed next to the exceptional works of art Fleur had once modeled.

Fancy truly was lucky to have her.

Once again, Carrie felt her mind wander back to the donkey who had been bullied by the ponies. Could that donkey have been as adored as Fleur was? Or maybe just half as popular as Fleur?

Carrie placed her empty plate back on the tray with her deadly, vicious, cruel, not-at-all-pony-like talons.

"I'll be with Fleur," she excused herself.

Fancy only nodded, mind engrossed with whatever business was in his letters.

Carrie meandered over to the two fashion ponies. They were debating something or other about the models. She began to rifle through a stack of manilla envelopes. She took out a photo.

The model was utterly stunning: a silken mane, a long straight horn, a delicate face. A blush creeped into Carrie's face. She thought love at first sight was bucking stupid, but lust at first site...

The hippogriff slid the photo back into its envelope.

She opened another envelope. Again, the model in the portrait was a complete knockout: piercing eyes, a playful smirk hidden behind her wing, a beautiful mane...

Carrie went through several more. Surely these beauties were—

"Oh Carrie! I'm afraid I didn't see you there! Could you please toss those at your leisure, darling? They simply aren't what we're looking for."

Carrie's eyebrows shot up. "I'm looking through the rejection pile?"

Her aunt nodded and went back to conversing with Hoity.

Yeesh. Fashion really was cutthroat. Carrie threw out the rejections and that is what she assigned herself to do, if only to avoid being bored.

But before she tossed the portfolios in the rubbish, Carrie looked through each of them. Earth hottie, pegasus cutie, unicorn babe, pegasus darling, unicorn beauty— oh, a gazelle. Neat. Carrie set that one aside.

Fleur and Hoity had reduced their large pile of envelopes to just a few and they were debating about the potential models.

"Well, I think we've made excelle— eugh," the earth pony looked in distaste at the photo before stuffing it back into its envelope.

"What's the matter?" Fleur glanced up from the portrait she was currently studying.

"Nothing," Hoity assured her as he tossed the portfolio in Carrie's general direction.

Carrie pulled out a photo from the manilla envelope. The many branches of his antlers were the first to catch her eye. His long lashes and black, dewy eyes were the second. Carrie looked at the note that Photo Finish had written in the back.

Wow. No wonder Hoity wanted help deciphering her ink splatters.

Carrie frowned at the note. She couldn't make out what Photo had written, but she could make out the name of the stag and, and... sweet Celestia, was Hoity Snoity serious?

Carrie walked up to her aunt and put the portfolio in Fleur's periphery. "This guy is a son of Warren Roebuck," the hippogriff stated.

Fleur snatched the envelope up in her field and began to take out the portfolios.

The Hoity shot up at attention. "He's what?!" And the Earth pony scrambled to go study the portfolio.

Fancy looked up from the letter he was currently writing. "Why, whatever is the matter?"

'This dingus almost insulted one of the biggest and most powerful names in Equestrian business.'

"A son of Warren Roebucks submitted his portfolio and it was almost thrown away," Carrie clarified.

"Warren Roebucks of Deers and Roebucks?" Fancy asked, disbelief saturating his voice.

His niece shrugged. "Who else?"

And Fancy sprung up to go ogle the portfolio with the other ponies.

The three of them attempted to decode Photo's hieroglyphs after a couple minutes of bickering and muttering amongst themselves. They finally split up. Hoity went to go study some more portfolios at the sofa (which was coincidentally a fair distance away from Carrie). Fancy went back to his letter. Fleur studied the portrait again.

"Well, he certainly has the flair for modeling," the unicorn mare stated in a consolatory tone.

"But he certainly won't sell product," Hoity said with finality.

Carrie went to study the Roebucks portrait with her aunt. "Um, that's a son of Warren Roebucks, and you just said he has the flair—"

"He's one of Warren Roebuck's bastards, darling," Fleur explained. "This M. Warren Roebucks, this Moss Warren Roebucks is the son of one of Warren's many mistresses. I don't know Warren personally, but I do know the only children he ever pays attention about are the ones borne to him by one of his three wives. Moss' biography does not list any of Warren's wives as his mother. In fact, I'm willing to guess he likes to go by 'Warren' to try to coast on his father's name! I'm willing to bet he talked Photo into doing a shoot by flashing the Roebucks name." Fleur pouted in distaste. "I dislike such cheap methods. I don't think I'd want to work with this model." And she slipped his portfolio back into its envelope. "Thanks for making that catch though, Carrie. Another set of eyes is nice."

"Uh, yeah," Carrie mumbled as she took out the Roebucks portrait. Fleur went back to business.

As she drank in Moss' photos, she thought back to the donkey from before. If a son of Warren bucking Roebucks could barely get ponies to even spare him a glance, then what chance did a simple donkey have of being adored at all? Carrie studied the dry, rough, scaly skin of her talons.

What chance did a halfbreed like her have?

Carrie's lashed her tail once. Thankfully, none of them noticed.

Carrie liked her aunt and uncle, she really did. She knew they were wonderful ponies, but she also knew the types they dealt with: ponies. Ponies, ponies, and ponies. Always ponies.

Carrie's wings suddenly ached. "I think I need to fly a little. I've been cooped up for too long," Carrie informed her aunt and uncle.

"Sorry, darling; have we bored you?" Fancy asked.

Carrie shrugged and gave him a reassuring smile. "Only a little."

She kissed Fleur and then Fancy. "Good night. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Come back safely, Carrie. Your father will surely clap me in irons if you get hurt," Fleur warned.

"Bye, Tune! Bye, Oncle! Later, Mr. Snoity!" the hippogriff called out over her shoulder as she left. Luna's light, she needed to get out of here.

"... Did she just call me 'Snoity?'"

Author's Note

*'Tune' as in the French word for 'Aunty.'