What can I say about myself? I like the finer things in life: Wine, croquet with my friends, wearing the latest fashion trends, and conversing with those around me. I also dream of watching the blood of ponies as it drains from their bodies.
Today is like so many others, thanks to the princesses and second class pegasi.
I won’t get started on the peasantry, but you know of them, filthy beasts: So very few are worthy of being called third class, yet they live amongst us like it’s a right and not a privilege.
I’m trotting along the thoroughfare, thoroughfare, thoroughfare. Trotting along the thoroughfare so early in the morning.
A song to pass the time, something that does rhyme. I clop my hooves on the street, and rhyme a song to the beat.
I love my life and I love my friends. I love to watch as lives come to an end. I love to smell their blood in the air, I like it when they sing to me. I wish it would never end, that’s why I begin again.
La, la, la, la, la… bum, bum.
“Hello, good day. You look lovely, is that a new hat?” I interact with ponies as I go by. I see them smile at me, and it warms my heart to make them happy. Oh, great, I sigh slightly but maintain my poise. Here comes Sunflare, the one poor splotch on my overall cheerful morning.
This pegasus mare can be annoying to new heights seemingly every time our paths cross. I smile, small yet forcefully. “Sunflare! How are you today?” Please fly away
“I’m good, buddy! Why, if I was any better you’d… uh, really know it without having to ask,” she says jovially to me and laughs. I laugh in return. “I’m in such a good mood, I tell ya, it’s in my blood today. Nothing can bring me down.”
My mind’s eye imagines her veins and arteries pumping blood through her body, and my horn resting through her ribs and inside where her heart would be.
I blink and smile wider. “That’s good to hear, friend! Say, I do have to get to my friend’s house, but it was nice talking with you. And stay in this chipper mood, it’s quite infectious,” I say as I move past her and make it halfway past her body before I see her turn.
“Can I come along? I’m not busy and would love to share the good news with everypony,” she asks happily in an uncouth manner I’ve come to expect. I wince and turn back, smiling still.
“I’m afraid not, personal gathering and all.”
“But I’m pregnant, surprise!” she beams at me. I genuinely smile wider and she sees it in my eyes this time.
“Oh my, darling! That’s amazing, how far along are you?”
“Four months! I didn’t even know, but I have to tell everypony. It’s the greatest time of my life,” she replies to me happily. Now I know why she’s chipper this morning, and the past couple months as well.
I guess I can forgive her annoyances in light of such good news. “I say, we must tell others, indeed. Private party or not, you’re coming with me as my guest.” I reach and grab around her neck. She doesn’t resist as I pull her into a hug and nuzzle her slightly. Being this close I can smell the change in her, however slight.
Pregnant mares do smell slightly sweeter…
She pulls me out of my brief mental respite with a shoulder bump. I look at her and smile, genuinely. It is a great thing to bring life into this world.
Harmony and balance must be maintained -- it’s a fact of the world we live in.
I look to the cobblestone streets below my hooves and listen slightly closer as my shoes clack and clatter along with a dozen others, drowning into a miasmic pool of sharp sound, punctuated with the occasional stomp or scratch.
The rolling sounds from the wheels of a cart snap me from my reverie.
I look up and over to see a twice lesser pony, earth and poverty-stricken, I’m certain of the last, pulling a cart loaded with waste from around the district. I really wish they’d find a better path to take than to haul that filth down the main street. This is the fourth district, not some slum. I smile to the stallion and nod as he passes, returning my gesture with a goofy, snaggletoothed smile.
Inbred hick.
“Are you okay, Fancy Pants?” Sunflare asked me. “You look a little upset. It’s a weird look on you.”
“Ah, I’m well enough, dear. So, tell me, do you know the father, or is it a lucky passerby?” I ask her jovially. Mares like her, they go into estrus and mate with anypony that’ll fill their needs. No selection, choice breeding, arranged matings, or deliberate matches to keep bloodlines strong. No, such mare are sust tail lifters, and good ones at that. Lower ponies deserve weak family lines. Maybe they’ll learn their place and leave our fair city to the top of the herds? Unlikely, but one can hope.
“Oh, it was a stallion I’ve known for years. He’s proud to be the father and said he’ll stay with me, no matter what happens. He’s the kindest, sweetest pony ever, and–”
Great, she’s on a rant about how great this sperm donor is. I see the gates to Hillshire Place; once there, I can pawn Sunflare off and onto somepony else while I mingle and socialize with those who matter. Oh no, I just remembered this is a higher class event only. I hope somepony else brought a lower with them.
I keep my trained smile on as Sunflare talks. The cobblestone turns to brick and the sounds change to clip-clops as my steel shoes meet them while the stench clears up from a horde of ponies to grasses and fresh water. The sounds of water bubbling in fountains and ponies in the distance talking begin to tickle my ears.
“–and then we talked about where we’d retire and we thought some place south would be nice, by the beach. With his career, it should be easy to save the bits to start over out there.”
“Ah, a wonderful plan for a life well lived. Here we are,” I say as we reach the gate. A bodyguard is standing, asking ponies for their invitations. I remove mine from my coat pocket and wait in line, only a couple good ponies ahead of me, us. “Here you are, good sir. Fancy Pants, plus one.”
He looks at the invitation and I hope he denies her, but with a nod her returns the paper to my magic and I nod to the guard. “Come along, dear, I must introduce you to several ponies who will be positively overjoyed to hear of your condition.”
I lead her to the gardens and sigh as I’m announced and eyes turn to me in classic fashion. There are only unicorns; not a single lower class pony here. At least Sunflare is wearing a seasonal dress and scarf.
“Good day, fellow ponies,” I say cheerfully. I move to a group of ponies that have resumed their conversation. I join in and intentionally neglect my guest long enough to notice her looking around at the other groups and gauging where to go. “I say, this is my guest, Sunflare. A mare of her own making in the, uh, what industry was it?” I ask.
“I’m a barista,” she says, with slight apprehension. There’s a round of laughs at her expense. “No, really. I work at Wake Up, Filly. It’s in district six,” she goes from normal to a more hushed voice as eyes turn to her from other conversations. Shrinking slightly, she apologizes and bows her head. “I... think I should be going. This really isn’t my kind of party.”
“Oh, why of course, dear,” I say, “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. I do hope to see you again, and tell me of your development,” I smile and turn back to the group I am now with. I hear her leave with a slight haste to her clops before she flaps her wings and flies away. Inside myself, I feel a slight joy to not be associated with her this evening.
The night drags on, conversations of politics, princesses, taxes, levies, and even fashion take up our evening. A round of croquet, billiards, and some classic dancing round out the evening. The hors d'oeuvres are fine enough, but I wish they had more of a meaty texture to them. Mushrooms, I mean.
Vegetable sandwiches, puff pastries, mini kebabs. It’s becoming so meaningless. So one note about these parties is that, if I were not a noble and expected, nay, required to attend, I’d stay home and read my books.
I have come across a most fascinating medical book on pony anatomy. It has diagrams and charts, detailing our anatomy in ways and words I never imagined. Near the back of said book I’ve even found some spells to alter a pony’s body chemistry for surgery or stasis. I’ve contacted a friend in the medical field and have, as of two days ago, procured a large shipment of various enchanted items that I said I’d be donating to various royal regiments and towns across Equestria to aid in the recovery of monster attacks.
In truth, I have many stockpiled in my home for... personal usage. A stallion must be allowed a vice or two.
The party comes to a close at nearly three in the morning and I am ready for a respite. So much socializing can be taxing, and I have been taxed. I leave and make my way home, posthaste, avoiding the stallions of the night to my estate. A unicorn mare propositions me outside my gates and I ignore her. It’s such a shame to see one of my kind at such a low level.
She curses me after I pass and I look back to sneer – one does not insult nobility – then I trip on an uneven stone and barely catch myself. She laughs at my folly and, had I the energy of the day, I would have invited her in for tea and some snacks. She wouldn’t be missed.
“I say, you old nag, hadn’t you be off to the slums, where ponies look for your kind?” I snark.
“Why, when I see my kind before me?”
I am taken aback. Surely she doesn’t consider me a common, sex driven pauper. Or, perhaps, she shares some unicorn pride, for such a lowly employed mare. “What’s your name?” I ask, turning to face her.
“Fleur De Lis, wanna ride?” she asks, with a sultriness to her voice. Her tail lifts.
Normally a mare of such airs would repulse me, but there’s something about her. “I do not wish for a ride, however, would you care for a spot of tea and a warm bed to sleep in for the evening?”
She’s cautious, but accepts my offer. I lead her inside my home and am upset right away, Grey Withers isn’t there to greet me and disrobe me of my coat. Must I do everything myself? I remove my coat and hang it upon the rack just inside the door. I must have a chat with Grey Withers, but it shall wait until the morrow.
With a deep yawn, I announce my intentions. “Terrible sorry, dear, but I must put the tea on hold. Would you care to join me in my chambers for platonic rest?”
“Uh, sure. I... don’t see why not,” she responds, her ears are perked and alert.
“Fear not, darling. I shan’t take advantage of you,” I yawn, showing my need for rest, “nor shall you come to harm. Follow me,” I say as I turn and walk down my plush carpeted entryway to the second floor stairs and ascend. Listening, I hear her hoofsteps behind me, almost too far behind. I look back to see her admiring my home.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Oh, no, I’m just...” she pauses to think. A mare that thinks is a nice change. “I grew up in district five. My family has a house like this,” she admits, still alert and guarded.
“Oh? Then why, my dear, are you not there?” I inquire.
“Stubbornness of a mare, I suppose,” she says, raising a hoof to brush her pink mane from her eyes. Why she doesn’t just use her magic is beyond me, like most mare habits.
“Ah, yes. Quite. I see you have some common traits with me, then. I can be quite firm in my beliefs as well.”
We fall into silence as we crest the stairway and I lead her to my suite. With a slight push of my magic, and the doors unlock and the right one swings open enough for me to enter,, with her close behind. I shut the door quickly and hear her yelp and I smirk to myself. Maybe her leg got pinched, I hope to myself. A little blood might make this night change course.
Turning back I look and see her pouting face. “You closed the door on my tail, how unfortunate for you,” she says whilst she glares at me playfully.
“Oh my, I apologize. I’m not used to others in my chambers,” I apologize and open the door slightly, freeing her. I look a little too intently at her tail and she moves quicker than I expected, pressing her lips to mine. Her magic washes over my back and I feel her caress my sheath. I lose myself in the moment and kiss her back, her magical intrusions are not lost on me, and at the deepest level, I wish to be inside her.
To bury my horn within her belly and relish as the red blinds me. Another option quickly presents itself as I feel myself relax and unsheathing. She tugs at my testes and breaks the kiss to look at me, into my eyes.
She sees my desire, but she mistakes it for something more primal and appropriate. I am no beast of base instincts. The sexual urge is a distasteful thing that should be used only for the making of young to perpetuate the species, and only then deliberately and with great care. The urge to kill, however, is far more useful, given the general worthlessness of the common pony. I take her in my magic, tossing her. With a giggle and squeal, she lands on my bed and goes prone like a cat about to pounce as I prance over to her. No matter the circumstances, I shan’t lose my grace. She uses her magic tug me onto the bed and before I can react, she’s pounced on me, biting me playfully on the neck.
It hurts, but this is a new, good hurt. No pony has ever bitten me, but I like it. I want her to taste my blood, but she moves to another spot and bites, repeating the process lower and lower, until her bites stop at my belly. I recall the cats I’d played with as a colt and I reel at the thought of her opening my belly and watching my innards, but the fearful excitement I feel is passed quickly as my stallionhood tingles at the flare as her mouth takes it past her teeth.
The soft, supple nature of her mouth and tongue are quickly found by me as she encloses my girth with her lips and proceeds to take in a deep breath, then takes my stallionhood all the way down her throat until I feel her lips at the base. Then, she slowly releases me from her warm, wet embrace. With a pop sound, she frees me and begins to breathe again, a long trail of saliva connecting her lips to my bouncing rod.
Not one to be outdone or to spur a deserving mare's advances, I use my magic to form a phallic shape, akin to my own piece, and when she’s starting to lick my length, I insert it into her delicate folds. I grab her with my own magic and hold her tail taut so she can’t escape as I rut her like the whore she is. She doesn’t resist once she knows what I’m doing, and she returns her affections to my lower self with the vigor of a crazed youth in estrus.
She quickly strips me of my clothing and tosses it aside as though it were worth as much as she, but I ignore the action for the act at hoof.
I can take no more, the scents of our efforts have clouded my mind and I must act on them. Nearly sending a rear hoof to her face, by accident, I scurry like a rodent to my hooves and move to mount her properly, and I do just that. She nickers in excitement as I thrust, thrust, thrust, and on the fourth try, find her opening and enter her body.
The next minute is a blur of motion and passion that have me feeling like a young colt again, learning the ways of sex with my fillyfriend at the time, loving the sensation of it all. Then, I feel myself release a week’s worth of seed, stress, and frustration inside of her velveteen embrace, filling her hot body, flooding upon her waiting womb. I grunt like an animal, crazed in the moment, and I bite her with intent to draw blood, even though I am unable to with these flat teeth of mine. The pleasure becomes too much and I lock myself hilt deep inside her, riding out my orgasm until it fades.
Panting, I fall from her and thank her as I fall instantly into a light slumber. The toll of the day has taken its course, and with this act of release, I have spent my last ounce of energy. I wake once more by the sounds of squishing and moaning from the very mare I just sent to blissful rest with me.
These dreams are most welcome, and I swear I can hear her climax as I fall into deep slumber again. Pride wells within me, because I was able to cause her to do that, even in my sleep.
A small bird chirps outside my window upon my balcony and I grab the nearest item I can and throw it at the incessant noise machine with intent to kill. It wouldn’t be the first, or last, time I’ve killed a bird in this mansion. The horseshoe slams against the marble railing, missing the bird and clattering to the floor with more noise than the fowl could have made in five minutes all at once. I groan and move to lift my head, only to find a weight upon my neck. I turn and look, to see a very silken pink leg weighing heavily upon me.
Upon closer inspection, it is a white leg with pink mane covering i, haphazardly. This shan’t do, so I brace, and force myself up, rolling the sleeping mare off of me and onto her side.
I look at her and feel... something…? It’s uncommon for such experiences to occur within me, but I actually feel something… warm and happy…? It’s a sensation I feel while in my fun room, most of all. Perhaps it’s because she was my mare of the evening, yes, that must be it. I should have her taken away by Grey Withers like the refuse she is.
I climb from the bed and to the door, opening it without regard to her snoring sleep, and leave it open as I enter the hall. “Grey Withers? Good heavens, stallion, where were you last night?” I ask incredulously as he quickly trots up to greet me with a bow.
“I am sorry, sir,” he says humbly, “I was not expecting your return last night, and had you not rung the bell, I wouldn’t have known you were here today.”
“Wasn’t a bell, Grey Withers,” I tell him, “was a shoe and a terrible bird. Now, there’s a mare in my chambers that must be taken care of,” I say with my nose raised in slight disgust at the thought of what I’d done and how I’d given in to my baser instincts. I had given something of mine important to a mare, now one had to give me an important fluid of their own. He nods and moves past me.
“Breakfast is ready, sir. On the table, as usual.”
He’s a great servant, for a third class earth pony. I should surprise him with a few extra bits in his bag this month. I’ll say for helping me dispose of this mare, should he ask.
I enter my dining hall and make way to the table. Seating for twenty-seven, yet rarely used as it should be. There is a nice selection of breakfast choices and I fill a small plate to a respectable level, take a large decanter of spirits, and then my seat.
Everything is as it should be, and I like it this way. Still naked, I eat carefully, so as to not mess my recent grooming. At least, not much more than what I’d done last night with Fleur de Lis -- what a nice name.
I shake my head slightly and clear my throat. She’s out of my life now. She’ll find a new home, a new pony to lay with, and another the night after that. Gah, Sweet Celestia, how much has she charged me for last evening? I should have asked her prices before I even let her enter my mansion.
I had no ill intentions, and had she not taken advantage of me I would have remained richer by so many bits.
A lesson is to be learned here, but one I can not take to heart, as the needs of the flesh are always want to win out over logic and money.
Ah, I have finished my plate! Time for a second, and another drink of brandy, to aid in digestion. “Matron, where’s the music this fine morning?” I call out to the head maid, hoping she’s within hearing. As I fill my plate a second time, a soft hum begins to echo through the room and the vaulted ceiling reflects the acoustics just perfectly.
By the time I am sitting again, there is a quiet concert echoing through the room. The skills of two well trained musicians playing their instruments is certainly the best part of the morning, thus far. A content sigh escapes me as I bite into my eclair and chew slowly. The Bovarian Cream is sweet and rich, filling my palate with its delicate flavors.
A shot of brandy and it explodes into an aromatic sensation unlike any other morning concoction, sending my mind into a frenzy as a smile crosses my muzzle.
This is what bliss is like, and I shan’t give it up for anything.
*.*.*.*
I look splendid in my day attire. I wear a full frontal suit and my tail is freshly brushed to show it’s glory while distracting from my stallion parts. Now, all I must do is find an event and I shall begin my—
“Good morning, you stud.”
The mare from last evening? What was her name? Flour, something. “Ah, good morning upon you, dearest. I thought Grey Withers had aided you on your way?”
“Oh, that nice third class pony?” she makes my ears perk in attention. “He was kind enough to help me to the bathing room and then to a mare that helped brush me to look like a lady, and now I’m here, ready to join you on your morning walk.”
Dearest me, I must be rid of her. I can’t be associated with mares of the night, it would bruise my near perfect image. “Thank you for the offer, but mustn’t you eat breakfast? You look famished,” I say, raising my monocle to my eye to drive the point home.
“Don’t worry about me. I don’t eat breakfast. A lady must maintain her figure, even at the cost of a meal or two. Mother had the matron teach me that.”
Dash it all, she piques my interest again! A fine lady, she seems to be. Not a casual mare of the night, so what am I to do? Shall I risk it?
“Yes! I see the look on your face, you’re wondering if going out with me is worth it. The answer is yes, so let’s go before you change your mind,” she hurriedly states and walks past me to the entry doors, opening them with her magic and letting the morning sun wash over me.
“Who am I to disagree with such veracity?” I ask rhetorically as I follow her into the city proper.
A breeze blows to my left and ruffles through my mane, bringing a warm chill to my scalp. I hear birds chirping in the trees and I wish, only once, to see one hanging by its innards, writhing it’s short life away while I watch.
A pony pulling a cart greets Fleur as though he knows her. That snaps me from my short daydream and I trot to catch up to her, then stand proud and begin walking down the street greeting ponies as I go.
“Good day, madam, fine hat you’ve chosen. A lovely scarf on such a lovely day.” “Your mane is a beauty to behold, mistress.” “Sir, I believe you’ve stolen my style of monocle!” I jest and laugh at a passing pony. It seems everypony knows me, but it’s quite difficult to know them. They’re so far below me in so many ways, I feel to know them is to forget myself in a way. Perhaps Prince Blueblood is free? I enjoy our talks of what the lower classes should be doing instead of sullying Canterlot with their poor genes.
“Ugh,” Fleur says to me quietly, “how can you be so kind to such ponies? I think of them as mud lovers and cloud humpers, yet you’re friends with them all? I wouldn’t associate with them so easily,” she says and fluffs her mane with her hoof, striking a feminine power pose.
My monocle drops from my face as I stare at her. Her beauty and resplendence is to be reviled, she should have a bust made of her to adorn my… what am I thinking?! “Yes,” I said, “I do agree with you, however we mustn’t speak of such things in public. Please, let me see if my friend is available, then we shall see how you act in the company of others.”
I’m challenging her and I see her showing her nervousness. She stands proud and trots to me, pressing her side to mine. “I’ll do as I please when I meet your friends, and if you don’t like it, I’ll move on to one of them,” she tells me softly into my ear. Her words ring true and I feel the slight urge to violate societal protocol and press my lips to hers, but I will not relent to my baser instincts again, and if I do, it will not be in public.
“Well, let’s be off then. He may be free, and if he is I’d prefer not to have to catch him on a day wherein he prefers to play sports.”
“Oh, sports? Like hoofball?”
“No, gentlecolt sports, like croquet or swords. Hoofticuffs or horn clashing. You know, games of the sort.”
“Horn clashing? I thought only colts played that,” she asks as I lead her to the third district. It’s a trot, but it’s where Blueblood lives. I certainly hope to surprise her, I look forward to seeing fear in her eyes. Few things bring fear like meeting royalty.
“Yes, we’d play magic clash, but no one is brave enough to go against him.”
“Oh, he’s good at magic clash?” she asks casually.
“No, he’s terrible. He can barely open a door, in the first place. He says it’s below him to do such tasks, but he’s really just not very powerful, magically. It’s quite the shame to see a unicorn’s ability dwarfed by their ego to the point that their ego holds more power than their horn.”
“He sounds like a cad. I can’t wait to meet him and challenge him to a magic duel,” she giggles into her hoof and I roll my eyes. She can’t be that foolish, can she?
We make our way to the elite district, a place I would love to call home, but the requirements are too steep, in both poor character and in bits. Flour tenses and leaves my side, choosing a safer place behind me where she can follow my lead and not have to interact with other ponies of such class. With only a couple common greetings to mares and stallions of the first tribe, we arrive at his mansion. It is a mighty home that dwarfs mine, yet is still shadowed by Canterlot Castle.
“B-b-blueblood? Prince Blueblood? That’s who you’re meeting with?” she stammers and trembles in her shoes, slightly.
“Why, yes. Didn’t I mention that we’re old acquaintances? His father and I were in boarding school together, then Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. Our families are practically one at times. It’s not a bother to you, is it?” I ask, strutting my connections like a peacock flashing its tail.
“No, I just haven’t seen him for years and it wasn’t under best conditions we last met,” she pokes the marble walkway leading to his gate that we’re standing before. Had I been wearing my monocle, it would have fallen to the floor and shattered. Can I do nothing to impress this mare?
I clear my throat and nod. “Indeed, well, now is the time to make amends,” I look to the doors behind the barred gates that block us as a wagon is being pulled to us.
“A mud pony pulling a wagon?” she giggles. “How appropriate, now who’s that in the wagon?”
“Ah, that seems to be,” I raise my monocle to clarify the view, “Prince Whitemane.”
She groans quietly. “Yay, this’ll be great.”
“Poise and charm, my lady,” I tell her as I act what I say, “poise and charm.” Time seems to slow as the muddy moves at a steady pace. Finally they reach the gate and I struggle with the urge to openly scold the dirt pony for taking such a while, but I hold my tongue and keep my resolve. “Prince Whitemane!” I smile slightly. “It’s so nice to see you again. How’s the family? Numerous and belligerent still?” I jest.
He smiles back to me. “Indeed! Four sons and a daughter, each with a dagger aimed at my side. Yet, without me, not a one of them would live the month through.”
He quickly disembarks the wagon and opens the gate. I waste little time. “Save for Blueblood, if I recall correctly.”
“Indeed, fair friend. He’s more masterful with his magic then he lets on… and who is this marvel of first beauty?” he asks Flour as he walks past me.
“Fleur de Lis, your highness,” she bows slightly. **Fleur, not Flour. I was so close. “It’s an honor to meet you again.
“Ah, I recall your name, albeit slightly. Weren’t you the mare who used to pee in the bushes at luncheons?”
He jabbed at her with sharp words, enough to bring a mare down to a level where he could take advantage of them
She merely smirked. “Yes, as a filly tends to do. I competed with Blueblood and when he lost, naturally he’d make a scene over it.”
I’m flabbergasted. Is she truly admitting not only public urination, but in contest with royalty?
“Ah-hah! You are certainly correct. The number of times he cried because he wasn’t the victor at any game exceeds the spirals on all our horns,” he laughs loudly and moves to hug her. She reluctantly hugs him, but looks to me in a pleading way.
“Well, it’s quite nice to catch up on old times and memories of the past, however I am a bit thirsty at the moment,” I say, licking my lips just enough to get the point across.
“Ah, yes, indeed. Pascal here will pull us to the front doors,” Whitemane says as he closes the gate behind us. We make our way into the wagon and talk about our day until we arrive at the door. It seems the reason the time passed so slowly was the health of this mud pony pulling us. He appears to have arthritis and poverty.
Two issues I will never have, on my life. But, being in the company of others, I offer my condolences and five bits for the trouble. “You two go ahead, I wish to ask Pascal something,” I tell the two so they will leave us alone. “Well, now that they’re gone, I have some friends with magic abilities that could help you with your predicament.”
He blushes and shakes his head. “No, I’m happy where I am in my life. I don’t need handouts or charity.”
My interest is piqued. I had meant only for his knees, but this has my heart pumping. “What about family? They can’t like the lifestyle, do they?”
“I don’t know. I’m making it on my own now. Nearest family I have is nomadic, so they could be anywhere,” he shrugs off the heavy yoke and cracks his neck.
I feel like I’m asking a mare to make love for the first time, with intent to carry my foal. I would of course never simply ask, but instead make proposal, and all in only the best of decent family interest, of cource, not like how Fleur tempts me. I’m positively tingly with nerves and excitement. “Where do you stay, old chap? Here on the estate?”
“No, I walk to the tenth district. That’s where I live,” he says to me blandly. He’s perfect. The first, most perfect pony I’ve ever come across. Not a cat, dog, or other pet type of playmate. A real pony playmate… If I play it right, that is.
“Sir, I won’t have it. Stay at my chateau this weekend, I insist,” I stomp my hoof to the ground in finality. He smirks, I now see the look in his eye.
“Well, if you truly insist, I can stay this weekend, but only because you asked.”
He played me for a fool. He’s a common swindler, and now I cannot back out, lest my word be rubbish. Drat, maybe I can play with him at my home still, he deserves a good night of play. “Well, I certainly am. I won’t have you walk to the slums of Canterlot when you can stay a mere couple districts away from work, even if it is only for a short time.”
I finish and smile at Pascal, knowing he believes me a fool. Stupid mud pony, I’ll show you who’s the fool by weeks end.
“Now, if you’ll forgive me,” I excuse myself, “I must visit with my host. Fare thee well, Pascal,” I say with a smile as I depart. He does seem to be content with his life, so shall I be content with taking it.
