Spoiled Rich sat before her vanity, inspecting her make-up for the fourth time in the past hour and occasionally glancing at the reflection of the grandfather clock in her mirror.
Diamond Tiara should have been here by now. The FFFSFFF had assured her that her daughter's return would be at noon, sharp. And with the Super Speedy Spitzer replacing the Friendship Express, there was no excuse for delay either.
Sighing, she glanced at the family portrait on the wall and scowled at the smiling image of her late husband. It was all Filthy's fault. First for passing on his boorish sensibilities to poor Diamond, and secondly, for supporting all of her completely unacceptable interests. It was bad enough that his family had been new money, he could have at the very least had the decency to be ashamed of it.
Instead, he'd filled their daughter with unwholesome notions and then had the audacity to have a heart-attack, leaving it up to Spoiled to be the one to finally put her hoof down and say "No, you can't elope with your starving artist marefriend."
Luckily the FFFSFFF had opened just in time to answer all of Spoiled's prayers. Making gentlemares, one filly at a time! That had been their motto and for the obscene amount that they charged, they had better bloody well deliver. Spoiled Rich couldn't live with the wrinkles caused by one more screaming match with her frankly disturbed daughter...
After too long, she would at last have the refined, effeminate, and submissive debutante that she had promised Prince Blueblood. Then Diamond Tiara would be a princess and Spoiled a queen!
Spoiled's visions of ponies bowing to her were rudely interrupted by a loud *THUMP!* from below. Frowning, she crept downstairs, ready to give a stern talking to whoever was intruding on her estate.
She found two swarthy stallions, gritting their teeth with effort as they heaved a small crate into the parlor.
"What in Celestia's grave are you doing?" Spoiled demanded.
"Your delivery from F&F Incorporated." The larger of the two stallions said as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"Just sign here and its yours." Said the second, using his teeth to pull out a clipboard smothered in legalese.
"Hold on a moment!" Spoiled insisted. "I didn't order any packages from F&F, understand? Now get that thing out of here and for Empress' sake try not to stain the carpet with your dirty hooves any more than you already have."
The larger stallion stepped over. "Listen, lady, we got seventeen more deliveries to make today. It took us twenty minutes to lug that thing here and we ain't takin' it back. Not today."
"If you have a complaint," The second offered. "You can send in a form and we'll come back and remove it in the next six-to-eight weeks."
Spoiled glared at them both, then grabbed the form and glanced over it. Despite the serpentine language associated with all F&F contracts, running Barnyard Bargains had familiarized her with such documents. She scanned this one for any mentions of hazardous materials or possible malfunctions, before her eyes landed on the package's cost and the discount she'd received as per their loyalty program.
A moment of furious scribbling later, the papers had been signed and the laborers left with a roll of their eyes.
Cautiously approaching the crate, Spoiled removed the note nailed into the side of it and immediately identified it as bearing the horn-writing of one of the FFFSFFF's representatives.
Dear Valued Customer,
We regret to inform you that our efforts to share the magic of etiquette and discipline with [INSERT STUDENT'S NAME HERE] have all failed. As [INSERT STUDENT'S NAME HERE] is no longer on campus, we are no longer legally obliged to provide them further education or provide you with a refund. However, as a token of gratitude to our loyal customers, we are offering replacements for all families whose students may have been misplaced.
Please enjoy your Fawning Filly 5000, retrofitted to resemble your specific student.
Signed,
Headmistress Polomare,
of the Flim-Flam Finishing School For Fancy Fillies
Spoiled re-read the note again and again and still unable comprehend its contents. Then the crate beside her rattled.
She jumped and let out a little shriek. She watched, in mounting terror as the boards on the outside of the crate cracked. Wood splintered and nails sprung free.
Spoiled stared into the hole formed in the outside of the crate and something like glass stared back.
A moment later she'd ascended the stairs and barricaded the larger of her two wardrobes against the bedroom door. Grabbing her Terrific Telegraphic Transmitter, she tapped a message to the nearest constabulary, reassured that she'd paid her Civil Defense Union fee this month.
I'm under attack! I need an enforcer at once! She typed out.
The machine immediately spit out a strip of paper in response. Her eyes bulged at the message.
Due to technical difficulties, your message could not be received. We apologize for any inconvenience caused.
The wardrobe burst open and Spoiled dropped to the floor in surprise. As the cascade of ruined outfits cleared a fuchsia figure poked its head in. It was the size of a very young filly. And it was completely unscratched.
"GOOD AFTERNOON, MOTHER."
Its voice buzzed like twittermite hive, projected from a hole in an unshifting styrofoam grin. And its lifeless gaze never lowered from the wall above her head.
"I MISSED YOU SO MUCH. I CAN'T WAIT TO SHARE WITH YOU ALL I'VE LEARNED AT THE Flim-Flam Finishing School For Fancy Fillies."
Steel limbs slithered around her, and she could hear the gears clicking in its skull as rubbed its muzzle into her barrel.
"WE'RE GOING TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN TOGETHER."
As she struggled against its impossible strength, Spoiled Rich heard the rhythmic thump of its wooden tail against the floor. And she couldn't help but recall the two words she'd been overjoyed to see when signing for it.
Lifetime warranty.
