Filthy Rich IS Divorced! (Finally)
DING DONG! THE WITCH IS GONE!
It had been a long, arduous process, full of heartbreak, bitterness, acrimony and tears on both sides, but the dust had settled and everything was almost certainly over.
Lives could move on, the past would be forgotten and harmony might finally be restored in the elephantine confines of the giant mansion, self-titled after the family that inhabited it.
The end result was always guaranteed to be a slam-dunk, basically. While the whole traumatising process of litigation was reluctantly started by the nervous stallion in the first place, the dozens of ponies willing to testify on his behalf against his rancid wife were so numerous and varied, most had to be locked out of the courtroom for very legitimate fears of asphyxiation by compression alone.
Multiple reports of bullying the local students at a local elementary if they were 'unlucky' enough not to have received their cutie marks yet... Intimidating the patrons at the popular spa destination when she discovered not all of them hailed from an 'affluent' background... Witnesses recounting in great detail how she'd almost deafened her daughter in public for the 'unforgivable' crime of finishing second in the school presidential election...
All of that damning, inarguable evidence, even before the years of spousal and child abuse were bought into the equation. It was safe to say the judge, Princess Celestia herself, having thoroughly prepared herself for an extended trial with Luna and Cadance alternating her usual duties between them during her absence, didn't even need to rely on the schedule her former student had so enthusiastically worked on. Twilight would be most disappointed.
If the booming call of 'GUILTY' on the very first day didn't exactly come as an earth-shattering shock, nopony had bothered to deliver the script to the defendant. To say she was incensed at the verdict would be the biggest understatement of all time... there she was, berating her lawyers, spitting poison at the applauding public gallery and declaring the whole system 'corrupt' and 'not fit for purpose'.
It wasn't an age before Celestia, tired of this foalish horseplay and eager to get back to delicious cake, gave a short, sharp nod to her accompanying guards. Before the protesting old nag knew about it, she was nose-deep in the rest of the dirt and filth outside, having kindly been 'helped' along by the monarch's regular security party. They didn't even need to be thanked for their invaluable assistance: they practically insisted.
Now she was back home, or at her old home, as would soon be the case. Having been awarded a sum roughly in the region of 'nothing' and 'diddly squat' in the final settlement announced after proceedings had concluded, it was only due to the undeserved goodwill fostered to the mare by her ex-husband that she even had clothes on her back, let alone enough to fill a medium-sized box.
The veteran butler who packed her meagre belongings into the cardboard container hadn't worked so fast since his first day on the job, as a fresh spring chicken. It was a reliable bet that he'd been waiting a long time for this moment, though he never thought he'd get to witness it during what few remaining years he might have left.
Having toyed with the idea of retirement for a while, now he was more than happy to contribute the rest of his life towards the upkeep of his once-cowed Master and the newly redeemed Miss. With the toxic influence of the Mrs not now being an existing factor, he was positive that the ongoing recovery of both would escalate like never before.
It might take a while to eradicate the foul stench of the self-professed 'Lady Of The Manor' from the premises, but as long as the loyal retainer and the rest of the staff contributed to the big clean-up operation, soon it'd be like no gold-digging stuck-up mares had ever set hoof in the blessed place. Miracle of miracles.
Speaking of the hired help, they were all lined up by the big double-doors presently, ready to give the departing mistress the send off she well and truly warranted. This poignant landmark would soon be known as 'The Walk Of Shame' in the annals of history. Many future academics and professors would debate the ramifications and consequences of this subsequently common term, barely remembering where it originated: right here and now.
What the event entailed was as follows: As the baleful former resident of the estate growled and griped her way past the very same servants she used to mock and belittle at every opportunity, they intended to simultaneously turn their backs on her, tails to the front, eyes to the back. The last glimpse she'd get of 'the good life' was the delightful tableau of many differently coloured buttocks staring her right in the face. Somewhat fitting, a few might argue. Sort of like a mirror image.
She's descending the stairs now, best outfit on and trying to maintain as much dignity and poise as possible under the humiliating circumstances, with her muzzle held arrogantly high in the air as always. She is fooling nopony though: having utterly failed in all of her chosen objectives, with her spite and hate now plastered all over the international press for all to see... a public disgrace with no job and not even one friend to speak of. You reap what you sow, indeed.
Trotting slightly behind the sullen spectre of the moody mare is her now estranged hubby, behaving with all the polite decorum such a solemn occasion demands, but internally leaping for joy. It would certainly be party time tonight, as a nice big bonfire would be constructed out of the many old photographs taken of them together, where his attention-seeking ex-spouse always took up centre-position, pushing him out of the frame until nothing was visible save for a bit of black mane or a stray brown hoof.
Some of the many tacky trinkets she'd wasted the stallion's money on over the years that couldn't be squeezed into her smallish crate could be tossed onto the makeshift blaze, too. Keep it burning nice and hot. Maybe even invite some posh friends over... some of the ones that'd turned her many party invites down for years due to their understandable loathing of the narcissistic mare would surely want to celebrate her eagerly anticipated departure. Let them know that their family was now no longer spoiled, pun intended.
As for the most junior trouper in this dizzying circus, she was too busy pondering the effect this massive upheaval would have on her young life to worry about what she was going to wear to the big jamboree that evening or whether she'd bother to roast any s'mores. The silent pink filly pensively watched her birth mother (for that was the only context for which the latter word could be applied) reach the bottom of the steps, to be greeted with row after row of exposed bottoms, with mixed feelings.
True, she wouldn't miss one iota the uncompromising militaristic regime installed by her conscienceless female parent, which forced her to do awful things to innocent ponies yet receive barely any praise or recognition in return, let alone love. But she couldn't help but think that it'll be weird not to be roused every morning by that foghorn of a voice, telling her exactly what to do every day and who to do it to, all for the slim chance of gaining a few inches of 'social standing'. At least, unlike before, she had plenty of good friends who could help her through the tough times that were sure to follow.
As long as she had them and her beloved Daddy around, as well as continuing the miraculous progress she'd made so far ever since 'seeing the light', was sure that everything would be fine. Now though, it was time to say a permanent goodbye to her dreaded nemesis for so many years... the unfeeling creature otherwise known as 'Mum'.
The potentially tense moment was surprisingly brief in duration. Spoiled Milk turned around in the doorway, almost as if she wanted to say something important. Her jaw was slightly aquiver with emotion, and if everypony present there didn't know her well enough already, they'd swear they saw a few sincere tears of regret in her eyes.
This impromptu display of remorse was more in relation to the opulent lifestyle she was leaving behind rather than any serious contrition for her past conduct of course, and didn't fool any of the aggrieved onlookers even momentarily.
Seeing there wasn't a shred of pity remaining for her under the auspices of this roof, the now despondent exiting mare spun about once more to face the door, and make her unceasing retreat to the seedy motel where she'd be residing for the foreseeable future. Good luck, you'll need it.
As soon as Filthy Rich was absolutely sure that no part of the old nag was still within the vestiges of his mansion, he promptly slammed the door shut with great vigour...
Before unexpectedly tearing off his stoic business suit to reveal underneath... a glittery 'party boy' outfit. With extra spangles!
"C'mon, everypony! Let's boogie!!"
And, as her father formed the biggest Conga line ever, with a jiving Randolph firmly strutting his stuff at the front, an apprehensive Diamond Tiara shrunk back a little, unsure if such reckless joviality was the proper way to behave at this sensitive juncture...
...That was until her father scooped her up in his hooves to delicately position her on his head, thus removing all element of choice from the situation.
And, as she found herself uncontrollably frolicking to the beat of the imaginary music, while she and the rest of the mad entourage danced their groovy selves throughout the many rooms of the mansion, she did begin to enjoy herself. A lot...
...Spoiled who?!
Author's Note
It feels good to return to familiar terrain with writing about my favourite filly, and on such a happy day too! 
Anyway, lots of exciting stuff coming soon, as soon as I can find the time and motivation. Cheerio for now. 
