Celestia makes you an offer you can't refuse.
"I believe in Equestria..." the well-suited stallion wearing a smart tie stated with complete conviction, as he pleaded his case. "Equestria has made my fortune. I raised my daughter in the Equestrian fashion: I gave her freedom, but taught her never to dishonour her family. After all, my wife already does enough of that. She found a boyfriend: not a pony. After all, if she wanted to go out with a young dragon, who was I to judge? I'm not prejudiced... some of my best customers are dragons. Two months ago she went to the Zap Apple Festival with him, and stayed out late. He tried to make her drink alcoholic cider and then he tried to take advantage of her. She resisted, she kept her honour. S-So he burnt her to a crisp with his fiery breath. W-When I went to the hospital to visit her cutie mark was destroyed, h-her skin was held together with healing salve, and she could not even weep because of t-the p-pain."
At this point a visibly distraught Filthy Rich took a slight pause, so emotionally wracked was he that every word uttered through his pursed lips seemed to take considerate effort to emerge.
"I-I went to the police like a good Equestrian. That damn dragon was arrested and brought to trial. The judge sentenced him to three years of Friendship Lessons, but suspended the sentence because Ponyville law currently holds no sway over dragons. He went free that very day! I stood in the courtroom and that bastard, he smiled at me! So I said to my wife: if we want justice, we must go to the Clodmother. I'm not sure she heard me, whilst posing for the paparazzi outside, but you get my point. P-Please, I'm b-begging y-you..."
As Filthy silently wept into his turned-up collar, a majestic white mare nearby sitting at a large desk stroking a pet phoenix observed him thoughtfully, taking in every single word. Her name was Celestia Corleone, and regardless of what anypony else might tell you, she was the law around these parts. Her close associate Twilight Hagen sat nearby at a small table examining some complicated paperwork which only she could interpret before filing, whilst her second-in-command Luna Corleone stood impatiently by a nearby window waiting for night to fall. After all, who else was going to give The Family's rival gangs nightmares that evening, if not her?
"Mr Rich, we have known each other for years..." Celestia frowned a little, as she gently scratched her beloved Philomena under her exposed belly. "...but this is the first time you come to me for help. I can't even remember the last time you invited me round for coffee, even when your wife is out of the house on one of her many spa dates. It would take much more than a hooficure and facial to make that creature even remotely tolerable, but I digress..."
"What do you want of me? I'll give you anything you need!!" A desperate Filthy would've started begging at this point, if he didn't think that such a pathetic display of grovelling in front of the refined Clodmother might have precisely the reverse effect. "50% discount off all Barnyard Bargains products for the rest of your life! H-Hang on, you're immortal, aren't you? Such an unwise arrangement might bankrupt me in the years to come: let me think of something else..."
"Look, just tell me what is it you want me to do!" At this juncture, Celestia was beginning to tire a bit of Filthy's melodramatics, and decided to get to the root of the matter.
After all, those scrumptious fairy cakes (actually made by Breezies, call it creative license) waiting for her downstairs weren't going to eat themselves.
As if to answer her question, Filthy composed himself long enough to trot over to whisper in the Clodmother's ailing ear, before wandering back to his starting point to await the white mare's reply with barely disguised anxiety.
He didn't have long to tarry, either. "No, Filthy. You ask too much of me."
"I ask for justice!!"
"No, you asked for lemonade and ice on your way in, as memory serves."
"Haven't you heard the ancient saying: 'A pie for a pie'?!"
"Don't bring Apple family homilies into this room, please. And at least your daughter is still alive!"
"Then make them suffer as she suffers, then! She never wants to look in a mirror ever again! What can I pay you to make you change your mind?"
Upon broaching the subject of 'payment', both Twilight and Luna looked up from their respectful activities of paperwork and brooding to stare at Filthy with new interest, but the unflappable Clodmother refused to show even a scintilla of what she was thinking about. Suddenly though, in a single fluid motion, she allowed the fidgeting phoenix on her lap to fly off squawking back to its perch, before regarding the nervous Filthy with the most serious of expressions.
"You never thought to protect yourself with real friends, only shelf-stackers and middle-management type guys. You think it's enough to be an Equestrian. Alright: the police protect you, there are courts of law, so you don't need a friend like me. If only we had a powerful monarchy run by dutiful princesses sworn to protect the downtrodden, things might be different. But now you come to me and say: 'Celestia Corleone, you must give me justice.' And you don't ask out of friendship or respect. And you don't think to call me 'Clodmother', instead you come to my house the day the special limited edition fairy cakes I ordered have finally arrived to ask me to commit murder... for bits?!"
"E-Equestria has been good to me..." Filthy Rich tried to rescue his case, which seemed in danger of collapsing almost as much as his flimsy marriage.
"Then take the justice from the judge, the bitterness of the sour lemon drizzle with the sweet cherry tart, Filthy." Celestia attempted to explain her position as succinctly as possible, whilst using her most favourite of sugary metaphors. "But if you come to me with your everlasting friendship, your sworn loyalty and your most tastiest of baked goods, then your enemies become my enemies and then, believe me, they would fear you. If they have any sense, that is."
Realising he had little choice if he wanted to get satisfactory revenge for his precious jewel Diamond Tiara, Filthy bowed his head in abject understanding.
"Be my friend. And remember: Friendship Is Magic. Or murder, in the right situation." Celestia continued to lay her cards on the table like the craftiest of poker players.
"Clodmother." Filthy Rich at long last got Celestia's unofficial title right, and with a subtle agreement now forged between them, he slowly made his way to the door.
"Try some of the breadsticks on your way out, they're delicious with the clam dip... oh, he's gone already." Celestia shook her regal head sadly at her thoughtful serving suggestion being ignored, before turning to her most trusted advisors. "Phew, glad that's over with, now I can finally go back to talking in my normal voice. Now, sis and... lawyer-type pony, how do you think we should handle this delicate matter?"
"I-I don't mean to sound like a racist..." Twilight was the first to react to her employer's suggestion, as she struggled to squeeze her mountains of paperwork onto her minuscule worktop. "But it was never going to end well between those two. Every available survey and statistic clearly demonstrates that interspecies relationships involving equines have at least an eighty-percent chance of failing after the first six months, and that's not even broaching the subject of what happens after marriage and procreation..."
"Why, Miss Hagen! I'm surprised at you! Filthy Rich came specifically today to ask me for help, and despite previously disappointing me, has now pledged his full support!" Celestia harshly chided her overburdened attorney. "Our views about his daughter's preference for reptilians are completely irrelevant: besides, don't I often see you hanging around a young dragon called Spike in the meagre amount of leisure time allotted to you? Or are you calling me a liar?"
"N-No... not at all. I-I was just... s-stating a few basic facts and figures, that's all..." mutter Twilight wondered if her academic talents were ever going to be recognised in this cosa nostra atmosphere. But she had little choice but to stay: once you were a part of 'The Family', the only way out was in a quartet of concrete-filled horseshoes... and it's not like she was even a very good swimmer.
"Good, glad that's settled then." Celestia seemed content that her point had been fully taken on board by the lavender lickspittle, so now she turned to her sibling for her opinion. "Have you anything to say for yourself, Luna? You've been awfully quiet over there... you're not plotting to overthrow and assassinate me again, are you? I thought we'd already sorted this out when I banished you to the Old Country for a thousand years: why can you never wait your turn for anything?!"
"Oh, dearest sister, thou don't need to worry on that score. Those interminable days of farming, country music festivals and more farming hath surely stifled any lingering remnants of rebellion from mine subconscious." Luna trembled slightly at the traumatic memories of hard labour and tone-deaf fiddle music she'd been forced to endure for a millennium. "Now, as to thy problem. I hath a suggestion, which mayhap thou may find a little... gratuitous. But if thou is willing to listen, and has a strong stomach for the macabre, I shall divulge."
If Luna had underestimated her sister's determination to put a fork in this whole pointless affair so she could freely scoff her newly-arrived cakes (having already waited the obscenely protracted amount of ten minutes) then she was about to be surprised.
"Try me." The Clodmother leered over her desk.
........................................
It had been a taxing day already for Miss Ember, leader of the honourable Dragon Clan (otherwise known as the Triads). It was difficult enough dealing with the constant bickering, backstabbing and belching which seemed to come naturally to those of her kind...
...And right now, she couldn't even get a good night's rest.
"Huh?" The irritated female growled from under the plush covers of her four-poster bed. "Didn't I tell that numbskull Drake to stop making that awful 'music' and sort out my sleeping situation? He knows that I hate lumpy pillows... what the?!"
The actual cause of Ember's ongoing insomnia turned out to be a little more disturbing than uneven cushions, as the confused dragoness then pulled out a disembodied reptilian head from underneath that she'd somehow missed until now.
"Oh, the barbarity! Oh, the brutality!" She began wailing at the top of her voice at the cruel reality of life, but then caught a glimpse of the identity of the poor decapitated victim. "...Oh, it's only Garble."
"M-Miss... I-I heard a noise..." At this juncture Drake came bursting through the double-doors of his mistress's ornate bedroom, panting heavily. He might not be the most attentive of attendees, but when his boss's life might be in danger, you better believe he'd be the first one on the scene... instead of last in the dole queue.
"Oh hello Drake, I'm perfectly fine as you can tell." Ember informed her underling in the calmest voice possible. "But while you're here, I have but three requests. Please take this severed head with you to be recycled. Have this bloody bedding put in the laundry first thing in the morning. And, Drake..."
"Yes, Miss?" The eager-to-please servant inquired.
"Could you lower the volume of your crapping just a scooch? It's your free time to do with whatever you want, but it's not exactly conducive to a tranquil atmosphere at night, is it?" Ember referenced the fact she was finding it impossible to drop off with that incoherent racket going on.
"It's called 'rapping' and it'll be huge one day. You'll see, they'll all see..." mumble Drake silently complained a little about his employer's lack of faith in his 'musical' skills, but nodded in acceptance at her requests before leaving with the head.
"Now finally I can have some peace..." Ember sighed with relief as she closed her eyes, signalling the end of the day...
...And this story. Badda Bing Badda Boom.
Author's Note
A little thing I did based on one of my favourite movies of all time. That's it. 
