I'd like to preface this by saying, despite what you all may think. I'm actually a good pony. I'm charming, handsome, brilliant, and I'm pretty down to earth. I grew up in Discords Kitchen, the side of Manehattan that seemed to have missed the 'most cosmopolitan' memo. I grew up in a poor home with more mouths than we could feed. Mom did what she could... Even some things that I didn't know she could do... Whatever money dad didn't waste on alcohol, mum used to buy groceries... It never was much but hey, it was life.
I had four baby brothers and a baby sister. And a brother mom said we can't talk about around dad cause it wasn't his. It was in my family kitchen were I learned my special talent. Ran away soon as I could. Dad wouldn't want his boy to have a namby-pamby cutimark like mine. It was pretty funny though. Leave it to Discords kitchen to churn out the best chef in Equestria (Not that anypony would ever know). Three clover like stars on my flank is all I left with. Life with no money is allot easier than life with little money, least for a unicorn with the right smarts. Don't have to settle for less than you can take. Kinda became my motto. I didn't know it till I was living in the capital that I learned life only really sucks in the kitchen. Ponies outside the kitchen get all kinds of luxuries I didn't know existed! Like clean water, and lights that didn't explode if you stepped on the wrong piece of wood, they had it all. And I could take it all.
Turns out, unicorns are generally believed to be well educated. I could barely read or wright, and really only could do math that related to cooking. But I had ears.Good ears. Food talks if you pay attention, tells you when it needs to be flipped, or stirred or pulled out of the pan or how much salt is too much and how much seasoning to add. Food talked to me...
Anyway, being a unicorn, what's more with three gold clovers on my ass, made ponies believe I was the tops, I milked this for what I could. When you have some high society friends, and they let you "borrow" money. Expect to get a few hundred from each. However. I ended up milking the cow for too long. As it turns out, my dad was mad about my running away, he tracked me down. The resemblance between myself and my old man is uncanny. Once ponies found out I was a punk from the Kitchen, no pony would talk to me. That's when I learned another special rule. Ponies are stupid.
The high society pomps wouldn't touch me, but they didn't spread the word to any establishment 'of renown'. I learned over the next few weeks that you can run from a check the same way you can run from home.
Get fitted for a tux? When the tailor pops out to get you the bill, slip out the back.
At an auction? Give 'em a fake address. Or better still, give em the address of somepony ya hate.
At a restaurant? Order your meal, go to the bathroom, slip out the kitchen. If you know what your doin, talk the talk, walk the walk, look and act like you belong, nopony will look at cha twice.
It was going alright. I became a sort of rouge, a modern day robin hoof. I stole swank stuff from the high class places around Manehattan and gave to my poor self. I never stole money. Just stuff that would look better on me, or taste better to me, or look better in my loft that Fancy pants bought for me... He was the maddest... I remember when he found out... He met with me about a day or so after my pa showed up... He said "No dear boy, I'm not angry that you're of poor circumstance. I can't blame you for that. No my young friend. I'm angry, that you would lie to everypony... That you would lie to me."... That stallion was more of a father than mine was... He taught me the walk, the talk. He even let me keep the loft... goodbye present I guess. Point is, I was living large. Until I met her.
Clop clop clop...
Froosh!!!
!WHAM!
"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FLYIN!"
"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE WALKIN!"