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.'
Carrie returned back to Ponyville the morning after. Fleur and Fancy could pick up on her upset, but she insisted it was nothing. Again, because they were wonderful ponies, Fleur and Fancy respected her boundaries. Instead of pushing the issue, they kissed her goodbye and wished her a safe, boring train ride.
Her trip was nice and dull, and when she reached the Ponyville station, only Spike was there to greet her. Thank the gods.
The dragon waved at her. "Hey, Carrie! How was your trip?"
Carrie jogged up to him and gave him a firm hug. "It's so good to be back."
Spike returned her embrace. "Was it really that bad?" he asked with concern.
"It was..." she trailed off as she to tried find the right words.
Spike pulled away from her.
"Carrie?"
"My... my trip was nice," the hippogriff finally told him.
Spike quirked a brow as he began leading her off the platform. "Is 'nice' a good thing or just code for a bad thing?"
"So where are we going?"
"Ah, so it was that bad, huh?"
Carrie looked away from him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
The dragon sighed. "Alright, Carrie. Do you want to know what we've been up to here?"
"Yes please."
"Alrighty then!" Spike clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. "Let's go to Café Hay!"
"Will my dad be there?"
"Eh? I wouldn't count on it," Spike shrugged. "There was a nasty Everfree storm at the farm last night, and it did some damage. All hooves are on deck at Sweet Apple Acres. I guess you can see him tonight, though."
"Too bad," Carrie pouted. "I guess I'll just see him later." The two walked the rest of the way in amicable conversation.
By the time they had gotten seated and placed their orders, a comfortable silence had fallen between them. Spike took the opportunity to strike up conversation with the couple sitting next to their table. Carrie took the opportunity to drink in her surroundings.
Manehattan was, without a doubt, the most diverse city in all of Equestria. It's where most immigrants began their Equestrian story, and it was where Carrie had (probably) been born and raised. And yet, as she analyzed the scenery around the cafe, Carrie felt like Manehattan purported diversity was overblown.
"Your coffee, ma'am," the waiter said, giving her a real smile. "And your hot water and mint leaves, Spike."
"Thank you," Carrie dipped her head in appreciation and returned his smile with a genuine one of her own.
The waiter then turned to the couple Spike was conversing with. "I'll have your sandwiches in a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Donkey," the pony promised the pair prior to parting.
As Carrie looked at Cranky, she thought back to the ponies who had bullied the crate away from the nameless donkey. Questions formed in her beak, but Carrie didn't ask them. Instead, she closed her eyes, sipped her coffee, and listened to the sounds of Ponyville.
"Carrie? Carrie?" Spike focused her attention back on him.
"Oh! Sorry about that, Spike! Were you saying something?"
"Not me. Matilda asked you a question."
Carrie offered the jenny a smile. "Hello, Mrs. Donkey. Sorry about that, I kinda zoned out."
Matilda giggled. "Just Matilda, dear. Anyway, I asked how you were doing. Did you have a good trip?"
"It was... nice," Carrie answered, trying to make her response sound as neutral as possible.
"That bad, hm?" Cranky asked. "Can't say I'm surprised. I'm not crazy about Manehattan either."
"Cranky!" Matilda chastised.
Carrie considered contesting his assertion, but then she dismissed the thought. Truths were easier to keep track of than lies and she was under no obligation to tell them everything that happened.
"Eh, when you grow up in the city, it loses it luster pretty quick," she shrugged.
"I'll say," Cranky grumbled with a roll of his eyes. "I lived in that overhyped dump for a few years trying to find you, Milly, but ugh. I couldn't. I just simply couldn't live there."
"Manehattan's not that bad," Spike offered. "I visited—"
"Yes," Carrie nodded, "you visited; you didn't live there."
"Whole different game when you actually live there," Cranky agreed.
Matilda pouted. "Well if you hate the blasted place so much, why did you book our honeymoon there?"
"Because—"
"Bridleway?" Carrie interrupted him.
"Bridleway," he confirmed.
"Deers and Roebucks Department Store?"
"Naturally."
"Central Park?"
"Eeyup."
"I went to those places too!" Spike exclaimed. "They were nice."
"I'll say!" Matilda agreed. "I loved the 'Forest King' musical we saw!"
"And there was everything at the Deers!" Spike added.
"I could just shop there forever," Matilda sighed. "And Central Park was so lovely..."
"It sure is... (when it's not dark out). Anyway, you picked a good itinerary for your honeymoon," Carrie complimented the jack.
"Of course," Cranky preened. "Nothing but the best for my beautiful jenny."
"Then it's a good thing you chose to live here, Mr. Donkey," Carrie concluded.
He shrugged. "If you travel long enough, you figure out how to spot the nice places from the not-so-nice ones... and please, call me 'Cranky.'"
Spike raised a brow. "Is there something you want to talk about, Carrie?"
She looked down at her wobbly reflection in the coffee. Again, Carrie knew that she wasn't under any obligation to tell any of them what was on her mind. But then again, Spike was her friend, and Cranky had lived in Manehattan before, and Matilda was so nice, and they were all minorities...
Well, no one here was much of a blabber mouth.
Carrie turned her attention back to the married couple. "Cranky, Matilda, would you mind if Spike and I pushed our table next to yours."
Husband and wife immediately began shifting their seats out of the way to accommodate the new addition to their lunch.
"Spike, could you please grab our drinks?"
He gave her a salute before doing as she requested.
When the task was done and all four were properly situated, Carrie began rummaging through her saddlebags. She pulled out several manilla envelopes.
"Matilda, did you style manes and tails?"
"Why yes!" she nodded with pride. "Before the arthritis locked up my bones, I was a beautician!"
"I could tell," Carrie smiled. "Your mane is always immaculate."
"I was never as successful in my beauty career as, say Rarity or Fluttershy. But every mare who sat at my seat always left looking like a million bits!"
"Matilda... who were your clientele?"
"Why, the fine mares of Ponyville of course!"
"The mares? Of course. Matilda?"
"Yes, dear?"
Carrie pulled out a photo from one of the envelopes. "If you were still in your prime, do... do you think that you could work your magic on this model?"
Matilda grinned. "Well, I don't know if she'd be runway ready, but—" Her grin disappeared as she studied the portrait. "Sorry, but I don't think there'd be much I could do for her. Why do you ask anyway? Does she need a beautician?"
Carrie sighed. "No, Matilda. I don't know anything about the model except what she looks like."
"Well jeez! Just how hideous is this model that you couldn't do anything for her, Milly?" Cranky asked with a frown as he snatched the portrait from her hooves. "Oh."
"Let me see that," Spike said as he reached over the table to grab the photo. Spike studied the photo before closing his eyes in concentration. "She is... a Mongalla... no, she's a Rhim gazelle." And he gave Carrie the photo.
"A Rhim gazelle? Never heard of them," Carrie told him.
"She must be an immigrant from the Zebrican Savannah. That continent is very diverse," Spike added.
Carrie slipped the photo back into its manilla envelope. She pulled out a portrait from a different envelope. "Matilda? Do you think you could do anything for this model?"
Matilda's grin reappeared again. "I don't think I was ever skilled enough to style for fashion shows, but I could make this Earth beauty dazzle!"
"And what about this one?" Carrie handed the jenny yet another photo as Matilda hoofed over the Earth model's photo to Cranky.
"Oh, I was always disappointed Ponyville had few pegasi back when I was still standing behind the chair. I could maybe—" and Matilda yammered on a bit as she described what she could do to the model.
"And him?" Carrie asked as she showed the jenny a different model's portrait.
"Ooo, a stallion! I didn't work with males that often, but I still made them look fantastic! With this model, I would—" Carrie let her talk before finding a suitable moment to interrupt her.
"Last one, Matilda. What could you do for him?"
The moment Matilda laid eyes on the model's portrait, her excited grin disappeared again. She silently studied the photo, drinking in his features. "He's a handsome one, I'll give him that, but I'm afraid that this stag is well beyond my power."
"He's a son of Warren Roebucks."
Spike, who was attempting to drink his fresh mint tea, sputtered and choked on his drink.
Cranky snatched the photo from his wife's hooves. "The Warren Roebucks of Deers and Roebucks?"
"Yep. That stag's name is Moss Warren Roebucks."
A blush ignited in Matilda's face. "Well, if I really had to be a beautician for one of Mr. Roebucks fawns..."
"The model's a bastard. He was born from one of Warren Roebucks' many mistresses," Carrie informed her.
"Oh. So he's not the son of one of Mr. Roebucks' wives?"
"Nope," the hippogriff supplied. "In fact, I heard from somepony else that he likes to sign his name as M. Warren Roebucks just to get everypony's attention."
Upon hearing this, Matilda made a face of distaste. "So he's a bastard coasting off Daddy's name? Well now I definitely wouldn't want to be this stag's beautician."
"Why?"
"Because it's dishonest! I wouldn't—"
"Matilda, have you ever beautified a bastard before?"
"I— well yes. I've made bastard brides shine brighter than the stars."
"I see. Have you ever worked for a client who was under a false name?"
"Er, yes, several times in fact. I must've helped... five or six... seven(?) ponies—"
And Carrie gave her a defeated sigh.
Cranky studied the Roebucks photo. "So you said your trip to Manehattan was 'nice?'" he asked the hippogriff.
"Eeyup. How'd you know I'd get back to that?"
The jack hoofed over the portrait to Spike. "You don't survive travelling the world by being a dumb ass."
Matilda flattened her ears against her skull. "Carrie, what did I say?"
Cranky started nuzzling his wife.
"Matilda, you're a nice donkey and I really do like you," Carrie offered her in a comforting tone, "but I don't like that I saw that typical Manehattan attitude of just... dismissing the nonpony."
And Cranky scoffed. "You think this is just a Manehattan attitude?"
"Fine, Equestrian—"
"Uh uh," Cranky shook his head. "Think bigger. Every soul I met in all my travels was a speciesist."
"Well I'm not a speciesist!" Matilda protested. "Just look at who we're sitting with!"
"Shh, Matilda!" Spike whispered. "Not so loud!"
The jenny swallowed whatever other outburst she had, but her indignation was still apparent. "I am not a speciesist!" she insisted quietly. "If I were, would I be sitting here talking with a dragon and hippogriff? Cranky, you've just thrown a terrible insult at me. Honestly, accusing a donkey of all souls—"
Carrie reorganized the manilla envelopes. "Matilda, I know you're mad because being accused of being speciesist is pretty bad. But..."
"But what?" Matilda growled.
"You said you once beautified the mares of Ponyville. How many cows and sheep have you beautified?"
"I— cows? Sheep? I worked at the salon, not for Granny Smith!"
"Okay, fine, so the heifers and ewes never left Sweet Apple Acres (as if that's not concerning enough). But what about other donkeys? Haven't you ever beautified other donkeys?"
Matilda seemed taken aback by the question. "I, well..."
And the other three waited for her to finish her response.
"I've, I've beautified myself before," she finally admitted in a small voice.
"Have you ever beautified a nonpony before?" Spike asked.
Her ears flattened against her head. "W-well, no, but-but Ponyville used to be such a small, isolated town. There really weren't that many clients I could work with, regardless of species."
"Milly, when you were getting your beauty license, did you ever even learn how to work with nonponies?"
Matilda shied away from her husband's question. "Um well, it was, it was so very, very long ago and-and—"
"Milly," Cranky softly interrupted her rambling.
Matilda sighed and looked down at the ground, her ears and tails drooping. "No... I don't think I ever learned how to work with nonponies before."
Carrie pulled out the two portraits of the gazelle and Roebucks and studied them.
"So this is what you meant by 'nice?'" Spike asked. "Speciesism? What happened in Manehattan?"
The hippogriff set down the two photos and tapped her claws against the table, wondering how to word her story.
"Nothing... bad happened to me. I spent a small holiday with Equestria's power couple: we laughed, we explored, we had fun, and because I was in their little bubble, nopony dared to be blatantly bigoted towards me. But... a couple nights ago, I saw an altercation."
"What happened?" Matilda pressed, glad the conversation shifted away from her.
"Nothing too horrible. This donkey and these pegasi got in a shout match, a police officer came and she broke them up, but then the donkey threw one of his crates at the pegasi. He wasn't being violent or anything! He was just... giving them what they wanted."
Spike pondered the story behind steepled claws. "And do you know if the crate belonged to the donkey?"
"Well, I don't know for certain because I didn't hear what they were fighting about, but when the police officer came, she immediately sided with the pegasi."
And Cranky rolled his eyes. "Typical."
"Maybe," Spike mumbled as he now tapped his claws in thought. "However, I was taught (and learned firsthoof) that the obvious explanation isn't always the right one."
Carrie waved dismissive talons. "Fine, but that's just one thing I saw, the other, well..." She looked back down at the gazelle and Roebucks photos.
"My aunt, Fleur de Lis—"
And Matilda gasped. "You don't mean—!" She quickly looked around her and then lowered her voice. "You don't mean that your aunt is Lady Knight Fleur of the House de Lis?"
And Carrie nodded. "She is as talented, as beautiful, and as wonderful as the press says. But the other night, she and this other pony, Hoity Snoity—"
"Toity," Spike and Matilda said in unison. "His name is Hoity Toity," Matilda corrected.
"It is?" she asked. "Oh. Whoops."
"What's the matter?"
"Um, that's not important!" Carrie insisted, unable to hide her blush. "What's important was how Hoity Toity, how everypony reacted when they looked at Roebucks' portfolio."
"What happened?" Spike pressed.
"Hoity Toity just... looked at it in disgust and wanted it to be thrown out with all the other rejects. He later said that the model wouldn't sell product! But I wanted to see why the portfolio was so bad, and then I read that his name was M. Warren Roebucks, and when I told everypony in the room that he was a son of the Warren Roebucks... everypony got excited like you guys did. But then they realized he was a bastard."
Carrie pulled out the rest of the portraits from the envelopes. "All of these models were rejected by my aunt and Hoity Toity, but I kept a few just to... I don't know."
The four sat in silence before Carrie spoke up again. "I guess I just wanted to see if anypony— anyone in Ponyville thought these nonpony models were worthy of adoration. The three of you gave me that answer. Spike," she turned to the dragon, "you just looked at this gazelle to figure out her species. You were admiring the beauty of all the other female models."
He looked away, a blush creeping into his cheeks. "Carrie, we were raised by ponies. I've hardly ever dealt with anypo— anyone different."
"Maybe, Spike, but you just tossed her portrait aside once you were done figuring out her species. How many times has something similar happened to you? I can tell you that happened to me a hundred times when I was still in foster care. Every time somepony would come by the home to get a foal, they would just look at me to figure out what I was before moving on to some other foal. Can any of you imagine how that felt like? To be some quaint oddity to figure out before being passed over?"
And Spike turned his gaze down to the floor. Carrie continued her tirade.
"Matilda, you gushed over all the other models and had plans right off the bat about how to beautify them! But when you looked at the gazelle's portrait you just dismissed her. And you did the same thing with Roebucks before I told you his name. And then, when I told you he was a bastard, you dismissed him again—"
"I, I dismissed him because he was being dishonest by trying to coast on his father's name!" she protested.
"Maybe, Matilda, but his father's name is all he has. Before you knew his name, you were ready to just dismiss him like you dismissed the gazelle. And then when I said his name, he had your attention!"
Tears rimmed Matilda's eyes. "I-I guess," Matilda admitted with a murmur. Cranky nuzzled his wife again, but did not say anything to her. "B-but I had never had the opportunity to study nonponies."
"Maybe you didn't have the chance, but would you have studied how to beautify nonponies?"
The jenny's eyes widened and then she started to cry. "I'm not sure..."
I— look," Carrie pinched the feathers between her eyes. "I like all of you, I promise, and we're all minorities here. But even when I'm surrounded by minorities, you're doing what that police officer, you're doing what my family did to these models: dismissing the minority and catering to the ponies."
The four of them sat in silence for awhile. Spike's tea was cold, Carrie's coffee was only half-drunk, and the sandwiches Cranky and Matilda ordered lay forgotten on their plates.
Finally, Carrie pulled away from the table and stood. "Matilda, if you were in your prime, and I was getting married in a month, what could you do to beautify me?"
Matilda rubbed the tears away from her eyes. She squinted at the hippogriff. At last, she answered. "I could... curl your tail."
"You could only make my pony-half beautiful?"
And Matilda looked away in shame. "That's all I know."
"I guess," Carrie mumbled. "That's all I know too. That's all everypony knows. I'm sorry for making you cry, Matilda. Bye."
She didn't even bother saying goodbye to the others before launching off with her powerful pony legs and taking flight with her powerful griffon wings.
Spike looked at the manilla envelopes that Carrie had forgotten to take. He tucked them all under his arm. Maybe she would want them later.
He left a couple of gold bits on the table. "This, uh... this wasn't the lunch I was expecting," he told Cranky.
Cranky sighed. "You and me both, kid. You and me both."
"I hope you feel better Matilda, bye. Bye, Cranky."
"Bye, Spike. Waiter! Could you please give us the check and a box?"
Author's Note
I should probably proofread these before I submit them
...
Nah.
