It was a lovely meal.
Pinot Noir stood at his counter, whisking away at the eggs in his metal bowl. The soft, rhythmic scraping sounds and churning mixture was music to the cyan unicorn's ears. Pouring the now smooth mixture over a hoof-full of crumbled sausage and sauteed mushrooms into his cast-iron skillet, he hummed along to the soft melodic trill of a piano in the background.
Sausage frittata. Yes, it was a very lovely meal. Noir would settle for nothing less; breakfast was always the most important meal of the day. And it was important to start one's day right. Especially a day like today.
Rich sanguine eyes turned to the rest of the kitchen. All chromes and stainless steels, with black marble counter tops and floor tiles. It was the epitome of modernization: Everything a chef could ever want to make magnificent meals, both for himself and his adoring guests. It was a shame he couldn't bring it all with him. He had a great many fond memories of this kitchen. The kitchen was where Noir truly thrived; his passion and talent for the culinary arts was unmatched by any in his current location, and his skill with fine food was something of a legend.
Taking a deep breath and feeling a pang of something akin to regret, Noir turned his eyes back to the skillet of thickening egg-sausage mixture and levitated it down into the oven to finish cooking. Yes, he would miss this kitchen...but all was not lost. Canterlot was a city of great possibilities, and his current home limited him far more than he was comfortable with. And Noir knew better than most that growth required sacrifice.
Casting another sad smile at his domain, Noir removed his apron and left the kitchen to finish packing. The lovely scent of egg and sausage allowed some small measure of comfort to cut through the haze of melancholy hanging over his head.
His home, a modest but well-kept dwelling accented with rich cherrywood floors and maroon rugs, seemed cold and uninviting without Noir's collection of sculpture and paintings giving life to the place. Closing his eyes, the stallion allowed his mind's eye to paint a picture of what his current home should look like: The chandelier of intertwined silver vines casting a forest-like collection of shadows on the walls, giving an impression of mystical, fantastic spirit to the abode. Hauntingly beautiful sculptures of wrought iron and bronze populated small mahogany tables and marble pedestals. Abstract, impressionistic oil paintings, most painted by Noir himself, dotted the walls to give a much needed splash of color and life to the museum-esque home.
He opened his eyes. The cold, lifeless emptiness of his now ex home nearly stole the air from his lungs. The ice seeping into his veins rushed to his core, banishing the brief comfort from his mind. It was painful to leave this life behind. But a necessary evil.
His eyes turned to the stacks of boxes from his study. Books on psychology, law, anatomy, art, and cooking. Noir had read through every single one, but would often re-read them at his leisure when confronted with boredom. One could never have too many books. Particularly books with valuable, useful information. Knowledge was power, after all. And power was the most important thing in the world. Especially in the brutal political landscape of Canterlot. It wouldn't do to be cast unprepared into the shark tank. Noir had no interest in being devoured so quickly.
He turned to return to the kitchen. Breakfast was likely done, now. And Noir was loathe to leave a meal to burn.
Tempered Steel shot upright in her bed with a strangled scream. Her body trembled in residual terror from her nightmare, fur slick and clammy with a cold-sweat. It took her several moments to shake the horrible dream from her mind, and several moments more to get her traitorous breath back under control.
Mother...father... Drawing her knees up to her chest, the earth-pony mare let out a soft, barely-audible sob and squeezed her eyes shut. The ever-present hole in her heart ached terribly, bleeding a cold, lethargic agony through her core and extremities. Her mane clung to her scalp like a second skin, dripping sweat down her muzzle and the back of her neck. Am I going mad?
The only response to her broken thoughts was the faint flash of fangs and monstrous blue eyes in her mind, causing her to flinch. A faint buzzing echoed in the back of her mind, ever-present and penetrating even her most fervent attempts to drown it out. The buzzing, the eyes, the fangs...The only company she had in this cold, empty life she now lived. The only companion that stayed by her side in this cesspool of ivory towers and golden spires. Wrapping her in a numbing haze of impenetrable misery, blocking out light and heat like the thick smog over her hometown of Fillydelphia.
Tempered didn't bother to check the time. She knew it would be early, just an hour or so since she'd fallen asleep. she unsteadily got out of bed, meandering towards her bathroom with the uncoordinated, graceless shuffle of a zombie. Absently opening the door and turning on the light, she gave herself a once-over in the mirror. A sickly pallor had taken hold of her visage, giving her face a drawn, nearly-cadaverous look to it. Her emerald eyes had lost the clear, bright sparkle they once had, seeming dull, sunken in, and unfocused. Dark rings and bags lined the lower lids, a badge of countless sleepless nights.
She hardly recognized herself. It seemed fitting, in a way; Tempered hadn't felt like herself in months. Not since-
She quickly took her eyes away from the mirror, closing them and desperately trying to banish her current line of thought.
It's your fault, you know...If you hadn't dragged them to Canterlot-
Tempered snarled and turned, smashing her hoof into the mirror with a sharp crack. Pain lanced up her foreleg, and white spots dotted her feverish vision. Letting out a pained yelp, she withdrew her hoof and held it to her chest, sinking down to the shard-covered floor. Crimson stained her ivory coat, a large shard of mirror embedded deep into her hoof. Her eyes caught her red-stained reflection, eyes half-delirious with stress and sleep-deprivation barely able to focus through the pain.
I can't do this...I can't stay here. I...I need...
Sleep claimed her, unbidden and unwanted.
Canterlot was beautiful, by any standard. The brilliant, dazzling lights and sparkling clean buildings overshadowed even Manehattan and Las Pegasus for sheer bustling liveliness. It wasn't known as Equestria's Shining City for nothing, after all.
Pinot Noir smiled as he beheld the wondrous sights, sounds, and smells. The pale cobblestone streets were clear of refuse and populated by clean, well-to-do ponies, the buildings were well-scrubbed and pristine, and even the sky had a clear, picturesque beauty. The epitome of Equestrian harmony and grace. It was...perfect. Exactly where he wanted...needed to be.
The stallion walked through a fanciful garden, under a painted arch covered in ivy towards his new home. Clearly old, but reasonably well-kept. The previous owners had lost the home due to unforseen financial and personal difficulties, and it had passed back to the crown. His eyes roved over the weathered home. The architecture marked it as well over a hundred and fifty years old, possibly even older. For a brief moment, Noir marveled at the many great things the generations of owners had witnessed in this house. Birth, death, love, loss, joy, sorrow...The things these stones have seen!
Removing an ornate, brass key from his saddlebag, Noir almost reverently inserted it into the keyhole. It entered with far less resistance than he had expected, and the tumblers slid into place with a sharp click as he turned the lock. He'd expected at least SOME corrosion. He knew for a fact nopony had lived in this house for well over thirty years.
Entering the home, he immediately wrinkled his muzzle in disgust. Dust...Everywhere, dust and cobwebs. Noir had accepted that he would have to do some cleaning to make the home suitable for living in, but this was unacceptable. He immediately got to work. He dusted the filthy cabinets and shelves, cleaned off the candelabras and chandeliers, trying to hold his breath so as to not choke on the thick clouds of dust filling the air. He swept the floors, being careful to avoid kicking up more dust than necessary, revealing faded hardwood flooring in desperate need of waxing and sealing. He scrubbed the discolored tables, floors, cabinets, counters. Scoured the tarnished silver faucets and accents. Mopped the stone tiles of the kitchens and bathrooms...even with magic, it took several hours to get even most of the house clean.
Passing by a door, he froze. Jaw set, mouth drawn into a line, he turned and pushed the door open with a creak. Entering, he passed his gaze over a small bedroom. A foal's bed was pushed along one wall, with a crib against another. A thick, plush rug, coated in dust to give it a dingy grey hue, sat in the middle of the floor, a few toys still littering the rug. Noir was somewhat reluctant to enter, feeling as if entering this particular room would break some manner of spell, or sully hallowed ground. Eyes drawn to the toys, he lit his horn and drew one closer to himself. A dusty old unicorn ragdoll, with a pink plush body, black button eyes, and a red mane and tail composed of strands of frayed yarn. His eyes turned distantly curious, trying to imagine the foal that this had belonged to. Undoubtedly a filly, grown by now. Had she loved the doll? Did she ache from it's loss?
He averted his eyes and levitated it and the other toys to an open chest in the corner of the room. He would take care of this room later. He hadn't even touched the attic or basement yet. That was a job for another day.
He closed the door and let out a sigh of relief at the chance to stop, before making his way to the kitchen. Thankfully, the kitchen was clean. And far larger than back in his old dwelling. While it was only stocked with the minimum for now, it was suitable for simple meals. A salad would do for tonight. He was dying to try out a new vinaigrette.
Fresh, raw spinach, tender baked chicken, candied pecans, and sweet ambrosia apples drizzled with a vinaigrette fashioned with spices and herbs from the far southern edges of the Zebra Homelands. Equal parts savory, crisp, and sweet. While not as extravagant or complex as his palate was used to, Noir enjoyed it nonetheless. While not a common choice, small amounts of meat in a meal was not entirely unheard of in pony society, particularly among the extremely poor and the extremely rich. The poor, because it was necessary to supplement the limited diet they could afford with whatever could be trapped, scavenged, or stolen. The rich, as a curiosity or morbid indulgence. Noir himself had picked up the habit from griffons, during his time abroad. One bite, and he'd never looked back.
Some ponies took to meat better than others.
Setting his dishes in the sink, Noir took to washing them with an almost religious zeal. No matter the size or composition of his meal, he refused to abide a dirty kitchen. Scrubbing, washing, rinsing, and drying, the unicorn was not satisfied until he was certain his domain was spotless.
With a final satisfied, exhausted huff, he moved upstairs to find the Master Bedroom. Wandering the halls with a drowsy curiosity, deep maroon eyes took in the clean but worn interior. It would need some definite care before he was comfortable. And something to cover the walls, it seemed...eerie, staying in a home that didn't bear the marks of his ownership.
Entering the large bedroom, Noir moved towards the window and threw open the curtains, letting the pale moonlight flow in unobstructed through the freshly cleaned glass. Gazing up at the night sky, he gave a slight smile. Accomplishment and pride welled up in his chest, and he let out a soft sigh. "Mother...father...I made it."
He opened the window, enjoying the soft light it bathed his bedroom in along with the crisp night air. Turning his gaze down to the streets below, his smile dropped from his face and was replaced by a faint scowl. Movement. Pristine, snow-white fur. Flowing locks of golden hair. Tall, gracefully tapered horn. Noir recognized this pony.
Whatever joy Noir felt curdled and soured in his belly as he saw the Prince approach his home. Closing the window, Noir turned to make his way down to the door. He made it just in time to hear a trio of firm knocks.
Setting his face into a calm, pleasant smile, Noir opened the door. "Hello? What can-oh!" His eyes went slightly wide. "Your highness! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I assure you, the pleasure is mine." Blueblood's smooth voice was rich and velvety, but there was the slightest hint of condescension in his smile. "I wanted to meet the stallion who bought this old place. I was beginning to worry I'd have to have it demolished. May I come in?"
Noir suppressed a possessive, irrational anger at the mention of demolishing his home, maintaining his beatific smile. "Well, I'm glad to remove that burden from your withers. Please..." Standing aside, Noir ushered the prince inside and towards the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting company, especially at this hour. May I get you something to drink? Tea? Water?"
Blueblood looked around at the worn interior, the bare, faded floors and moth-eaten curtains and rugs. "Yes...I can see as much. Wine, please. If you have it. This, I think, is not a home I want to be sober in...no offense, of course." The prince's expression was, as ever, the cardboard smile of royalty.
Noir's eyes tightened slightly at the barb, but the smile stayed easily on his face. "Apologies, your grace, but I'm not fully moved in. I offered tea and water because that's all I have available at the moment. I'll gladly get you either, if you'll accept my hospitality."
Blueblood's visage shifted to a slight disappointment. "A shame...perhaps I should've given you more time to prepare. I've heard about you, of course. Well...My cousin heard about you. Pureblood does background checks on every pony who attempts to buy a home in Canterlot. We have certain standards to maintain, and it wouldn't do to let just any pony call our fair city home, lest we devolve into the cesspool of crime and depravity Baltimare has become...congratulations on being one of the lucky few, Mister Noir. I hope you appreciate what's been given to you."
"I like to think I've earned my current station, your highness..." Noir moved to set a teapot on the stove, setting it to boil. Setting out a pair of teacups, he prepared the leaves, milk, and honey. "I can scarcely begin to remember being given anything. I've been working towards this for a very long time. You can't imagine how satisfying it is to finally reach a goal you've strived towards all your life."
"Of course..." The prince's condescending smile was bordering on a sneer, but he quickly reigned in the unpleasant expression. "Well then, Mister Noir, congratulations on reaching your goal. I hope it is everything you've hoped for and more. Now...on to less pleasant matters. Mister Noir, I know there have been...words, between our families."
Noir was glad he had faced away to prepare the tea. He couldn't stop the tightening of his jaw at the mention of his family's feud with Blueblood's father. "Your highness, I believe both prestige and enmity live and die with the ones who earn them. My father and your father didn't see eye-to-eye, but I am not my father and you are not yours. I hold no ill will towards you."
"Mister Noir..." Disappointment bled into Blueblood's voice. "That may be the most pitiful lie you've told tonight." The fur on the back of Noir's neck stood up. "I don't hold it against you, though...that's why I came here. I wanted to offer an olive branch, of sorts. I don't want to be your enemy. Neither of us stand to gain anything from continuing such childish feuds. I wanted to assure you that I have no intention of harassing you. I'd hoped to put the sins of the father behind us."
"...Please forgive me, your highness. Perhaps I took more of my father's ranting to heart than I should have." Noir poured the tea, mixing in the milk and honey. Blueblood smiled, holding up a hoof.
"No forgiveness necessary, Mister Noir. I just wanted to clear the air between us. Have a pleasant evening...And Mister Noir? You may want to keep your windows closed. Weather's supposed to take a turn for the worse later in the week, and you've got enough problems with this house already." The prince gave a vague nod, moving towards the door. "Please give it some thought, Mister Noir...Live and let live."
Noir stood there, looking down at the tea, expression tightly controlled. He didn't react at the door opening and clicking shut. He numbly, almost mechanically lifted one of the teacups with magic, staring down at it in contemplation.
He let it fall, watching in detached fascination as it tumbled towards the ground and shattered on impact, scattering shards of porcelain across the freshly cleaned floor. Sharp red eyes tracked as many pieces as he could, tracing the abstract, shapeless splatter of tea on the ground.
Without thought, he made his way back to his bedroom.
