A Touch of Fancy

by pmcollectorboy

Rating: teen
Tags: Sex, Fleur de Lis, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Romance, Fancypants
Length: 4797

Journal style Fancy Pants story.

A journal style story detailing small snippets of Fancy Pants' life, from his birth and including the life of his parents, to the moments that formed who he would become and how he came to meet the mare of his dreams.
Edit: Removing the story's cancellation and putting it on hiatus.

Published 2011-12-30 18:15:12 UTC
Last updated 2011-12-30 18:15:12 UTC

Chapter One

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

A Touch of Fancy

Rated: PG 13

Themes: Romance, wealth, change of heart, implied adult conduct

by Mario Rodgers

aka pmcollectorboy

Chapter One

Birth Certificate

Sanctus Solari Hospital of Canterlot, Western District

Name of Foal: Fancy Pants

Gender: Colt

Date: September 5, 1980

Time: 4:22 AM

Parents: Moneybags(Stallion) and Chantilly Lace(Mare)

* * *

Journal of Sir Moneybags

September 12, 1980

The cigar was excellent. One smoke was more than enough for me, but the company of my good fellows and conversations of various topics helped to extend the duration of the experience. It had a slightly bitter bite and undertones of pine with hints of wild cherry and an admirable, slightly thick draw.

The celebration had been thrown in honor of my son being born a week ago. The invitations had been sent out months in advance, with the follow up notices dispatched the day after the birth. Only my closest associates were there, most of them business ponies and recognizable faces from the Stallion's Club. I brought up my son in conversation at the party. He looked so much like me a few hours after the birth. His smile won the hearts of many nurses, and I could already tell he would grow to possess my strong chin. I then launched into meanderings of my future plans for the colt. He would take over the family business of running my hotel empire, of course, but I was also quite the quarterback in my younger days. He will be a leader in the stadium of hoofball first; then a leader in the stadium of the world second. I told my fellows that this was my plan. It was simplicity at its finest, really. I had always admired the sport of hoofball, not for its inherently uncouth violence, but for its similarities to the world of business. Conquest is the name of the game of both, and hoofball players are traded like commodities.

My assertions had elicited a response of skepticism from a couple of my peers, not the least of whom was Sir Prise de Fer. He was always such a romantic fool, but a lovable fool nonetheless. I myself could never sit still long enough for any of the more, eh, gushier processes of emotions, and in terms of courtship, long winded dissertations bore me. I would trust Prise de Fer with my life, however, and with him being the eldest member of the Stallion's Club, he had amassed a wealth of knowledge and experience in different matters, and not all of them in terms of acquisition.

After several hearing iterations of "The best laid plans" and variations thereof, I peddled several amendments to my plans, including the statement that if the child didn't become fond of hoofball, he could try his hoof at cricket if he so chose, although that would be stretching my limitations. Nevertheless, the future would be grand for my son. Once he gets old enough to learn, I will be teaching him the finer points of money management and how to run a business. The whole of Equestria will come to know the name Fancy Pants. It will be synonymous with greatness and power.

I will, of course, deny him nothing.

As the hours burned themselves out and the day turned into night, the lounge started becoming smokey, and several of us, those that didn't retire for his respective home, that is, took to the fresh air on the expansive balcony outside. The night had a peaceful feeling about it, and the air lay cool and still on my cheeks. The stars looked like so many diamonds on an evening gown, and in the distance, like tiny candles on a velvet covered table, burned the lights and fireplaces of some rustic country town. I don't rightly recall the name. Once outside, a servant poured me a scotch on the rocks, but Prise de Fer declined a glass. Prise de Fer then dismissed the servant and took me by the shoulder over to a quiet corner of the balcony, away from my other peers and their own conversations.

My good companion was ever so quick to drop his normally cheerful demeanor, and his expression became serious in a flash. He lowered his voice as he spoke to me and asked me if I would keep what he divulged a secret.

"I will," I told him, although at that point, my concern for him was growing.

His eyes grew a longing, faraway kind of stare, and after a moment of silent gazing at the far off country town, he started mentioning about how he felt he was ready for retirement, and some kind of nonsense about feeling his bones, and wanted to step away from the Stallion's Club. He told me there was nopony else he trusted with ownership more than me. Needless to say, I was taken quite by surprise. Prise de Fer had always been known for his leadership of the Stallion's Club. His family name had always been associated with the distinguished establishment. I pressed him to reconsider and mentioned that I felt it wasn't my right to relieve him of his entitlement. He waved a hoof at me dismissively and went back to stare absently out beyond the walls of Canterlot. He then mentioned--and perhaps it was half to himself--that while he had bedded many a notable mare throughout his life, until he became too old for such endeavors, that he didn't have any heirs to carry on the family name.

I felt like I had swallowed a bitter pill and could only stand there and work on the dry feeling in my mouth. As long as I had known him as a friend, I had never seen him so melancholy. He had always been such a happy, carefree soul, a kernel of light in the normally proper and stately atmosphere of the Stallion's Club. However, at that moment, as I watched him gaze out beyond the walls of Canterlot, his eyes seemed drained of life, and after several minutes of watching him in silence, I too developed the urge to stare out into the wilderness.

"I wasted my life," his eyes seemed to say.

Of course he never actually said this and never would, either. This was just a musing on my part. As carefree as he once was, he was still a Stallion's Club stallion, and a pony of strength. A modicum of guilt started to well up inside me and just as I was about to cheer him on and tease him with flatteries of still being a "wellspring of life", he turned around, clapped me on both shoulders, and smiled.

"Hey enough about this old fool. You're the stallion of the hour!" he exclaimed to me. "How is your wife doing?"

The change in his demeanor had been so abrupt that I struggled to spit out my words at first.

"She's still recovering with the baby at the hospital but she'll return to work in a week or so," I had finally managed to say.

When he gave me a carefree wink, I knew the old Prise de Fer was back. He levitated the bottle of scotch over from the silver and glass table in the far off corner. The servant had left the bottle there.

"Then there's still time to save you, yet!" Prise de Fer bellowed with a volume rivalling any hearty remark from a pony a third his age.

With that, he popped the glass stopper and refreshed my drink, and I spent the rest of the night, possibly until well past two in the morning, getting thoroughly precocious and inebriated. While the party wasn't as wild as my bachelor party (HA HA!) somepony must've helped me get home, as I had lost all track of time and wound up in my master bedroom the next morning. Perhaps it was Prise de Fer who helped me. I don't recall him ever having any of the stuff.

* * *

Journal of Chantilly Lace

September 6, 1980

I now feel strong enough to write in this journal. Yesterday took a lot of my energy, after nine hours of labor which started late in the evening on the fourth. Even a day later, this all still feels like a dream to me. My first born and my first son. I still can't believe it. I have a son! Even now my emotions overwhelm me. It is almost too much. Although I felt out of sorts yesterday, upon looking at my son cradled in my hooves I felt a growing sense of peace, an inner warmth, something like a joyful sorrow, and maybe a little pride.

I still feel proud, of course, but today I discovered that every now and then, now that the baby is out of my hooves, I feel the tiniest seeds of doubt. Would I be able to raise him properly? Would I be a good mother? If only my mother could see me now. I sometimes catch myself wondering what she would think of me. She would probably say something along the lines that twenty two is too young to have a child.

Fancy Pants. My little Fancy Pants. I adore saying that name. Both I and my husband settled upon that name at the last minute, partly because he was inspired by his grandfather's venerable clothing business and partly because I discovered the baby almost came close to being delivered "pants first", as it were. Oh but he was such a sweet little angel. I have little doubt that he'll always be a sweet little angel. He charmed the pants off of many nurses. Oh there I go again. I'm all a flutter of many emotions, and laughter is now one of them.

Fancy Pants was graced with his father's strong chin, deep eyes, and high cheek bones. However, one of the nurses noted how much the baby looked like me. She was especially enamored with his blue eyes and mane, which she remarked mirrored mine. My husband will probably always mention how the child looks like him. He didn't even stay around for most of the birth! He had to excuse himself after only an hour upon remarking how he was starting to feel physically ill! My husband's habit of calling the child "Young Master" Fancy Pants is also starting to worry me. While it is true that all three of us live in a world of privilege, I do not wish to foster in my child a belief that this is all there is or that the ponies in the world outside are somehow beneath us. I will try my best not to let all of his influences come from my husband. As much as I love my husband, he's a traditionalist and a materialist.

Not long after the birth, I knew that the baby, my Fancy Pants, was fine and heathy, and I didn't need a nurse to tell me the baby had been born healthy to know it was so. Eight pounds and five ounces. He's going to grow up to be a fine specimen of a stallion. Of course it didn't hurt that the father was also a "healthy" specimen of a stallion.

Oh there I go--

I had to stop writing momentarily to stifle a fit of giggling, and twice a nurse checked in on me to ask if I was okay. I said I was.

As soon as I and the baby get cleared for release, I shall have to surprise my husband with breakfast in bed...among other things.

Oh my little Fancy Pants. My life is complete.

September 18, 1980

My friend Morning Glory surprised me with a baby shower today. That was so thoughtful of her. The food was modest but there were so many gifts. Threadbare crafted a satin blanket for the baby. It was stitched with silk threads, and the fringes were decked in gold with a blanket stitch finish. The top lay adorned with depictions of my and my husband's cutie marks that were sized such that they went along the full length. Morning Glory gave me a rattle for the baby. My jaw immediately dropped upon its unveiling, and I couldn't find the words to say or even how to describe my feelings. It looked and even smelled expensive. When I levitated it over to my body and turned it over and around to examine it, I saw that it was colored in a multitude of soft, soothing pastel colors I never even knew existed. A lot of cute, little depictions and characters danced and enacted scenes of merriment on its handle. The surface of the plastic was smooth to the touch, such that it almost seemed more like silk than plastic.

I gave it a single shake like I was living my own foalhood again and immediately smiled and fell down laughing. A few of my friends laughed with me. They're already well aware how precocious I can get. They're so understanding that way, but when I got up and looked around and saw many of my friends, with all their smiling faces and loving eyes, and saw all the gifts they had bestowed upon me and the baby, I was overwhelmed with the luxury of it all and the generosity of my friends. The colors and shiny bows and fabrics and the decadence and especially the outpouring of love just hit me like a lightning bolt kicked out from a storm cloud by a pegasus. I immediately started crying afterwards. Such a spectacle I made.

My little Fancy Pants was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. He will know comfort and luxury all his life. He will never want for anything. I want to make his life as comfortable as I have the ability to and don't want to deny him anything his little heart desires as he grows up, but...

Sometimes I wonder.

After my friends helped me to calm down, we all gathered around the bassinet to coo and marvel at Fancy Pants. The young tyke was asleep, but that didn't stop a gaggle of girls from fawning over him. He lay curled up and swaddled under his soft blanket of cotton. The angel gave the tiniest, sweetest inhalations of breath as he slept, the risings and fallings of his chest just barely seen underneath his covering. He reminded me very much like a little puppy or a kitten, with the way he lay there all curled up in a show of innocence and warmth.

Swan Song reached out and stroked his cherub cheeks, remarking how puffy and soft they were. She hadn't seen his deep, endearing eyes of aquamarine yet, and I could tell she was itching to wake him up to stare into his limpid pools, but thankfully she refrained from doing so. The young child turned over into a new position and gave a short, endearing yawn as he did so. This earned an enthusiastic response of squeals of delight from my friends, and Swan Song experienced a sudden rush of joy so strong within herself that she promptly fainted.

Later on, long after the baby showered had wound down and my friends had gone home, my husband brought home his gift, a crib. It seemed like a gesture that he didn't want to be outdone, but I knew this wasn't the case because he never knew about the baby shower. Even so, the crib looked like a lot of thought and effort went into its design and manufacture. It looked custom crafted! The paint on the bars gave it a scheme that resembled polished marble instead of plastic. The fringes and legs were lined with depictions of gold painted teddy bears and spoons. Here and there, accenting the cross pieces and even the spheres topping the four corners, lay tiny diamonds, glimmering from deep within the protective shells of plastic bubbles. I walked over to the crib and reached in, touching the bedding. I marveled at how soft it felt. It was deep and plush, almost like touching cotton candy. My husband mentioned to me that it was triple stuffed with a special kind of cotton grown in a far away land.

It all sounded very expensive. Whom did he hire to design this crib? When were the designs put in place and planned out? I could only imagine how long this wonderful, extravagant thing took to make. Was it all started months ago during the early days of my pregnancy?

Before I could say anything more and ask him about the particulars of this extravagant crib, he approached me and distracted me with my own gift, a gold pendant with the largest, most strikingly deep blue diamond I had ever seen. I wasn't too familiar with gemstones, but it seemed to me somewhere between ten and fifteen karats. The blue that gave the diamond its color was so rich and deep that it seemed like I was staring into the depths of a tropical sea. I couldn't even imagine where my husband found one of the rarest diamonds ever, but the soothing color which matched mine and my baby's eyes brought a warm feeling and a sense of peace throughout my body. Unbidden tears came to my eyes, and I smiled and hugged my husband as he latched it around my neck.

Afterwards, I picked up Fancy Pants' bassinet while Moneybags dragged the crib into the nursery room. When the crib was all set up and secure, I lay Fancy Pants down inside and tucked him inside his swaddle. His blanket will have to wait until he's older.

* * *

Letter

From: Nurse Lavender Fields

To: Sir Moneybags

Addressed: Zebraca Away Station No 7

Slant Rhyme, Zebraca

April 21, 1980

For the eyes of the benevolent Sir Moneybags, husband of Chantilly Lace. Should this letter find you, I must inform you that I am the nurse that your good wife had hired to help her through the challenges of her pregnancy. This is a matter of some urgency, so I shall be brief. Chantilly Lace has recently started to distress over your absence from her and being away in Zebraca. To ease her boredom and her sadness, she has taken to working in the garden and putting in overtime, against my advice. Recently, the silly mare actually injured herself, although I am not certain the intent was malicious. Currently she is being monitored in the hospital for spotting. It is to her benefit that you cut your sojourn drastically short.

* * *

Journal of Sir Moneybags

April 23, 1980

I had been here in this country of Zebraca for a whole month, and there was still no agreement with me from the locals over land acquisition rights in preparation of one day erecting a hotel in this land. I have spent countless hours polishing off my elocution to impress a dignitary here. Countless more before that were spent tweaking and working on my commercial, my pitch to these people. I've picked out the odd town of Slant Rhyme as the prime spot for my hotel because of the nearby locales. There is a thriving market deep in the center of the colorful town, and the Kissimikate River flows nearby through a breathtaking valley of desert flowers blooming in a rich land of tans and browns. To the east towers a series of cloud-topped mountains, each rich in purple hues, with the whole range assisting to bring in life-giving rain to the hot desert land every now and then. With an eye for the picturesque, I figured the elite of Canterlot, and even wide-eyed tourists willing to flex their pocketbooks, would fall in love with a land such as this and be willing to spend some money to take in its wonders for a day or two. There was not a single hint of strife or tribal warfare anywhere, although many of the zebras seem to be somewhat on the mistrustful side. Alas, my impassioned pleas that a tourism industry would do wonders for the economy haven't had much luck.

While I am here in Slant Rhyme, my companion, Corsaire Gold, has asked me to assist him in locating and securing an old abandoned diamond mine, which he claims could be the whereabouts of a legendary blue diamond. He also plans on reopening the mine for regular diamonds and to give his company a boost, provided the mine could be determined to contain enough harvestable gems to "break even".

(separate entry)

We arrived back at our base camp, and I received a letter. It was about my wife. It would seem that she had recently come under distress over my absence from her life and might even be hurt. I expressed to Corsaire Gold that I was growing worried about her. While a small part of me feels that I should see the conclusion of my business excursion here, my duty was foremost to her. My friend had been studying his clues some more when I relayed to him what was in the letter and my desire to return home. His reply was disheartening.

"Oh but my friend," he said "I feel that I am so close to finding that blue diamond. I want to make it into a family heirloom and turn its image into my new logo. I really could use your help in locating it, though, and especially if I run into any dangers. An adventurer without his companion is an adventurer who is vulnerable."

I didn't acquiesce one bit, and I shook my head and mentioned my need again. It pained me to leave my friend in this wild land, but it would pain me even more to distress my wife. Immediately I began making preparations for my departure back to Canterlot. Luckily I had packed light when I came to this land, and a Chariot Port wasn't too far from camp.

When I was ready, but before I bid Corsaire farewell, Corsaire came over to me and pressed a hoof firmly against one of my shoulders. With an intense stare face to face, he asked me if I remembered the Stallion's Club creed. With a hard swallow, I nodded my affirmative.

"In acquisition, in battle, and in the heart, we are brothers to the end. Let no females come between us," I uttered.

The last words almost died in my throat. They were bitter to swallow. The creed was written decades ago, possibly during our fathers' fathers' time. Possibly before even Prise de Fer had been born. The Stallion's Club, or so I am to assume from what little of its history I had studied, was a different beast than what it is now. It had seen times when it was not as concerned with matters of the economy and gentlestallion courtly behavior as it was with less savory views on females. In the later days, the heads of the establishment indicated that it didn't have to carry an inherently misogynistic tone, but that the bonds of fraternity should be stronger than courtship. That sentiment wasn't enough to convince me that my friend wasn't trying to send me on a guilt trip.

* * *

Journal of Chantilly Lace

December 22, 1980

Parenthood is harder than I thought it would be. Fancy Pants seems to be getting more and more restless nights lately, causing me to become a rather cranky mother. Many days I am simply beside myself on how to calm the fussy child. My nerves are becoming more and more frayed as days go by. His unicorn horn has grown considerably in the few months since I've given birth to him, and he now has possibly the largest horn of any baby I've ever seen. I can only imagine the kind of discomfort this is causing him, but even entertaining these thoughts doesn't ease my irritableness any.

A couple months ago, my husband increased the size of his staff, including hiring a couple caretakers and one gardener. He had told me time and again that I should let the caretakers tend to Fancy Pants during his bouts of crying in the late hours of the night. I would have none of it, however. Last night, however, my short temper got the best of me when I was dealing with the latest bout of crying. I angrily shoved the caretaker out of the nursery and dismissed her. This only made crying worse, and I found I couldn't deal with Fancy Pants properly. What I did was...

I screamed at him. Oh, Celestia I screamed at him! Somehow the situation resolved itself, though, for which I am grateful, but earlier today, my husband actually called me a "silly filly". Actually, he didn't use quite those words, but I shan't reiterate them even in a private journal. He's been cross with me before, but I don't ever recall him being that...crass with me.

I said nothing, of course. His truth of me stings my heart, but it's a sting I welcome. May the bee it belongs to insert his weapon deep in my heart. I'm a terrible parent.

I just heard the door close just now. I rushed over to the bedroom window and cautiously opened up the blinds. My husband was leaving for work. He paused a moment in the walkway and lifted his head and saw me at the window. I waved at him and blew him a kiss, but he merely smiled at me and nodded before continuing on his way. What does that even mean?

He's gone. It's just me, the baby, and a mansion of strangers. I've never felt so alone before. I'm going to have to stop writing for a bit. I'm starting to cry.

(separate entry)

It is now night. Earlier I had been crying severely, and it took me several hours to calm down. Sometimes I wonder if I can keep my presence of mind. Later on, I fed my child, and that helped to improve my mood. I also apologized to the servant that I had been severe with. She seemed like a timid young pegasus but also somehow full of kindness. I asked her if she would like to take off early and go visit family for the holidays, but she said she was placed in the mansion by an employment agency and didn't have a family that she knew of or even a home. I immediately took pity on her and told her to take the next few days off, but she shyly declined.

"I wish I had a gift to give you," I said.

"It's quite all right," came her reply.

Our conversation seemed really awkward, and her position shifted this way and that, along with her nervous eyes. It almost seemed like she was still somewhat afraid of me, but she still gave the occasional kind smile to me. She returned to work as soon as my husband came home.

The next hour was filled with chaos and screaming, which only caused the baby to start crying and adding to the emotional stress. It had seemed that during my earlier emotional outburst, I had lost track of my blue diamond pendant. My husband had caught the caretaker with it, and his treatment of her made my angry shove seem like a playful game of tag. I had never seen that side of him, and it nearly terrified me. Angrily, I stepped between between my husband and the young pegasus before he could do any permanent damage. He had threatened to fire her, which mean she would be homeless and out on the streets. I told him he would do no such thing and that if he didn't calm down that I would personally give the pendant to the pegasus as a gift myself.

So here I sit on our king-size bed. An unbearable tension is between us. He is propped up against his pillow and reading a book while I write in this journal. The pendant is back around my neck, but I shall take it off and place it on the night stand next to us pretty soon. My mind is muddled with emotion and doubt. It took so much effort to calm the baby down, and I couldn't stand to see what Moneybags had turned into during that fight. He had such a wide-eyed look of rage. I will just convince myself that it wasn't my husband a few hours ago. I don't know if he returned to the form that now sits beside me.

He's looking at me now.

He just kissed me.