Glorified

Upon leaving the café, I took to the air, rising high up to the skies of Ponyville. This city, which was once just a small village when my parents were kids, was composed of one hundred and thirty-one square mile districts arranged in a grid that spiraled out from the center. At its heart was Princess Twilight’s castle, a magic blue-violet crystal tree that got just a little bit bigger every year. It, the gardens and plazas around it, and Ponyville’s college and private academy were all that made up District 1. South of that was Sweet Apple Acres, which took up all of District 2 and a little bit of Districts 3, 12, 11, 10, and 9. Aside from 2, the inner ring districts, 3 through 9, were all big commercial areas with some of the world’s largest and most intricate buildings.

Goldmane Hotel in particular was the tallest building in Ponyville for most of my life, and I still think it’s the nicest looking one we have. The new one that beats it out for height in District 7 has a huge hole in the upper floors to accommodate the wind trying to knock it over. Because it’s big and black and the windows aren’t super reflective, I always thought it looked like the evil king’s tower from the one book with all the dumb names I can barely read. I’m not a fan, but it makes a good perch for pegasi, and I could look down at the Goldmane Hotel without having to strain myself.

Normally, I’d come up here to sketch out a design for something when I wanted to get away from the rest of the world. A new kit, a building I’d like to see made, an idea for a house or a museum or a library or something. Made with blocks or popsicle sticks or clay or a combination of the three, anything was fair game. Today, however, I needed to make some calls. Miss Pinkie was right. So long as I could lower the term of the contract, I could give up a year to set Cheesette and me up for life. We could be together without having to worry about money for a long time, even if I don’t keep on as a Wonderbolt for longer than I have to.

Only, do I even not want to be a Wonderbolt?

I sat up on the evil tower—er, Spotlight Tower—for a few hours thinking. The noonday sky turned from bright blue to yellow gold as the shadows around Ponyville’s largest buildings turned with the sun. Little soft wispy clouds drifted above and below me across the air. It made me think about butter, which had me thinking about other things, and I decided it was time to head home and get this figured out.

Talking to Mom led to talking to Miss Rarity, which led to us meeting her and Pearl for dinner that night. It was unusual for her to be home since Miss Rarity is typically in other parts of the country from Tuesday to Friday. She has stores all over Equestria, and Pearl isn’t the only ‘influencer’ who advertises her clothes. For anything that falls under business management, she’s usually the pony to go to.

They lived in a fairly old house that still retained a very modern look; lots of squares in polished white granite walls stacked slightly off center to make for a staircase look that was all housed in matte black metal castings. Two floors, a rocky garden with self-sustaining trees growing along the drive and walk ways, and round white garden lights between them. The easiest tell that Miss Rarity is home would be her black sports car she drives everywhere when in Ponyville. I believe she has one of these things at all of her offices, and whoever let her have a driving license should be fired. I don’t think she in particular was responsible for Mom’s fear of cars, but I would believe it if that’s what she told me.

The four of us made our way to the door and rang the bell.

Pearl opened it, now in an entire outfit as opposed to earlier at the café. She was dressed in a black vinyl skirt, leggings that faded from black to white while leaving a hole on her flanks to show off her cutiemarks, black suspenders that went over her shoulders and met in a V on her back, and a short top that was only on her body because her limbs were in the way. She had a gold necklace on with her Mom’s business logo, which told me she’d been streaming not long ago.

“Hey, kiddo, that looks nice. Is this new?” Mom asked, examining the ensemble.

Pearl shrugged. “Uh, probably. I caved and made a deal with the devil today, so I’m really not sure what this is.”

“The devil!?” Miss Rarity shouted from further inside.

Mom cackled. “Ha! How do you like it, huh?”

Haze sighed. “Mom, I said I was sorry ages ago.”

She patted my brother’s head. “And I’ll never forget it.” She stepped inside the big white open space and the rest of us followed.

The modernity was even more present here with bar lights hidden under everything and illuminating the walls, but keeping a nice warm atmosphere in the very ‘Blockcraft’ rectangle theme the house had going on. Black vinyl couches, a fluffy violet rug, a huge TV recessed into the wall, a small indoor tree here and there, a black staircase with no exterior railing to give it the appearance of jutting straight out of the wall, a fireplace with little fountains gurgling softly over a moat in the stones.

It was well kept and well arranged and something I really enjoyed sketching over the years. Very much the home of a rich mare, and probably a very dangerous place to raise Pearl over the years. As much as I liked this, I’d never build something like this to raise kids in.

The mare herself had just finished setting food out around a big black square table with white and blue plates, golden ‘silverware’ and engraved glass goblets, all straight as a razor and aligned like it was stuck to a grid. “What about our deal was me being a devil, hmm? I believe those terms were fair, and you can’t escape me, so I didn’t even put any clauses in like I would with other influencers!”

The older unicorn shared a short and wide body type with Pearl and, while I wouldn’t call her fat, she was definitely overweight. She tended to wear suits wherever she went, but today it was just a pink apron that may have been stolen from or created for Cheesy Pie Café. It had all the branding and embroidery on it, so it had to be an extra or a leftover.

“Ya know, the phrase ‘you can’t escape me’ doesn’t make it sound like a clean deal,” Haze argued.

Pearl turned her head indignantly. “That’s because it wasn’t. There was a clause in the contract alright, it just wasn’t written down.”

It was clear to me now. “Ah, so you are going to college this fall, huh?”

Pearl rolled her blue eyes. “Yeah, just here and not in Manehattan.”

Identically, Miss Rarity huffed. “You wouldn’t believe the concessions I had to make just to get her to go, and she won’t even tell me why she doesn’t want to leave here! It’s so utterly backwards! Here I am paying her to expand her skills with a bachelor’s degree, and for what? Really, I’d like to know.”

I smiled and caught Pearl’s eye. Hers went wide. “I swear to the Goddess, Prism!”

Miss Rarity glared at her daughter. “Don’t say that.” Then she turned on me. “But you know something, don’t you? You wanted to discuss your new sponsor contract tonight didn’t you? I didn’t plan to charge you, but now I have a fee…”

“Well—”

Dad cut me off. “You can do that after we eat.”

Pearl went to defend the table. “He’d better not! I already apologized, why are you doing this to me?”

I had no particular sympathy for Pearl. “As Miss Applejack says, ponies get what they deserve, don’t they?”

Dad hit me across the back of my head. “Enough.”

“Ow!” I groaned, but then went to take my place at the table, ignoring Pearl.

She was coated in Miss Rarity’s blue magic, placed on her seat, then joined by her mother. “Mom, please.”

With a mirror to her, Miss Rarity rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t you ‘Mom, please,’ me. I will get the truth, whether it comes from you or not.” Turning her magic to the pitcher full of sweet tea and ice, she filled glasses, then waved a hoof to the rest of my family. “Please, have a seat, everypony.”

Once they were seated, we all said grace and dug into the food. A huge bowl of linguine and clams sat in the center of the table, accompanied by a Caesar salad, toasted slices of a baguette, a bottle of vinaigrette and olive oil, a block of parmesan and a grater, and a mysterious silver disposable pan that was covered. If I knew Miss Rarity, there was some fancy foreign desert in there, and it was absolutely one of my favorites.

Everyone took however much of whatever they wanted, leaving Pearl with a big pile of salad, no bread, and a small helping of pasta, the complete inverse of her mother’s plate. For the rest of us, there was no restraint anywhere and as we were all big eaters, our plates were piled high and then polished clean. Haze and I went so far as to do it twice.

When the regular food had mostly disappeared and Pearl’s leftovers for the week had been decided, the pan was unveiled to be exactly what I’d hoped it was: that coffee cake with the name I can’t pronounce.

Pearl looked upon the confection with desire and disdain. “Come on, Mom, I have to watch my figure!”

Ignoring her, Miss Rarity passed a piece out for everypony. “Watch it all you want, it will go by the time you’re my age. You won’t be young and skinny forever, and between me, your aunt and your grandmother, you’ll end up a big marshmallow like the rest of us whether you’re healthy or not.”

I frowned. “Didn’t you have cake and a sugary drink at the bakery earlier?”

Miss Rarity gave her daughter the most treacherous side-eye. “Oh, so you did, did you?”

“Ugh, go to Cloudsdale already!” This protest only lasted until the fork full of cream cake ended in her mouth.

Dad had a piece of cake at one point, but it was gone now, with the only evidence of it ever existing being the cream on his mustache. “Speaking of, did you talk to your guy about that?”

Miss Rarity removed her fork from her lips and set it down, totally clean. “That I did. The TLDR is that we’ll have to arrange a meeting with Thunderaid very quickly, but it should be doable. They might be a little wary since you’re trying to lower the terms fairly significantly, but you agreeing to a cheaper deal for them isn’t exactly something they’ll want to turn down. In the long run, provided things go well, you’ll look better to them as a sponsee. I can have it set up whenever you need, but we really should get this done as quickly as possible.”

Mom frowned at her friend. “Did… did you just use ‘TLDR’ in a sentence, like a real word?”

“You know that means ‘too long, didn’t read,’ right?” Haze asked.

Miss Rarity was stunned. “What? Is that not what the kids say these days? I see it all the time when I look through opinion forums.”

“Mom, nopony actually says that, it’s a text thing.”

The older unicorn crossed her forelegs. “Well, I think it works perfectly fine as a replacement for ‘the short version’ or the like. It’s shorter and you all understood what I meant.”

Haze rubbed his temples. “It’s that kind of thinking that corrupts the language with insane words like ‘gyatt’ and ‘zamn’ that my peers use. Please don’t do that, for the sake of my wonderful Equestrian, truly.”

She was a little shocked by Haze’s heartfelt appeal there. “Don’t do that to me! Now I feel as if I’ve done something wrong…”

“Because you did, Mom. Don’t use slang, it isn’t for you.”

Miss Rarity set a hoof forcefully on the table. “But I must, Pearl, I can’t lose touch! I’ve already become a corporate suit in spite of everything I said to myself at your age, I will not become the villain!” She felt her forehead. “Oh, Goddess, I’ve grown so old.”

Mom cringed. “Oh, Goddess, stop, stop! You, of all ponies, are not allowed to be saying s—crap like that!”

Dad smirked. “What were we celebrating with our old team a few months ago? Just how many decades has your CD500 record been standing?”

Mom covered her ears. “No, no, no! Don’t say it! That party sucked anyways! I can still fly with the best of the girls, I am not old!”

From a cabinet in the kitchen, Miss Rarity brought out a big dark bottle of wine with her magic. “Oh, Rainbow, darling, valiant warrior fighting a battle you simply cannot win, how I envy your delusions. I’ve given up the fight, you see, so I drink to drown my sorrows. Woe, what pitiful mares we’ve become.” She went on and refilled Mom’s and her own glass with alcohol. “To old mares.”

“I will not! You drink it! You’re older than me anyways!”

Dad raised a brow. “By what, a few months?”

“You have cream on your face, punk!” Then Mom went in for a tongue kiss with Dad. I didn’t watch to the end, but I did watch Miss Rarity’s bitter smile burn them with envy. Mom gasped after pulling her face off of Dad’s. “See!?” she panted, wiping her mouth. “I can still do that, I’m not old!”

The unicorn swirled her wine. “All that shows me is a Mare who’s been happily married… for about twenty years.”

And finally, Mom doubled over, carefully putting her hooves on the wine glass. “No…”

“Indeed.” So she drank. “So, are you free tomorrow afternoon? We can meet them at my office building in District 7.”

“I’m not old, no…” Mom moaned.

Dad patted her back. “We should be free after one. Still got practice to run before the summer circuit starts for the incoming freshmen and all the still attending classes.”

“And you, Prism?” Miss Rarity asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m totally free tomorrow.”

“I’ll set it for three then.”

Mom’s wine had disappeared and her cheeks had reddened. “I’m not old…”

“She’s really broken up about that, huh?” Haze noted.

Dad nodded. “Torn wing, twice pregnant, and kid who’s finally old enough to be a Wonderbolt? Poor Dash never imagined she’d make it this far at your ages, and now that she’s here, it’s finally hitting her. How the mighty have fallen.” He sighed, then his ears shot up as he remembered something. “Provided this takes too long, are you good to dive yourself wherever you need to go tomorrow, Haze?”

Mom rolled in her seat, burying her face in Dad’s chest. “No, no, no! He’s just a baby, no…”

Haven’t heard that in a while. Oh, poor Mom.

Haze stared at her blankly, then at Dad. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Miss Rarity poured herself another glass. “Well, I appreciate you keeping us company, but it seems as if Rainbow hasn’t increased her tolerance to alcohol over the years. You should probably get her home before she starts crying.”

“She’s always been a weepy drunk.” Dad got out of his chair and draped Mom over his back. “Welp, come on boys, let’s go home.”

Pearl silently let out a breath as we got up from the table and headed for the door. I wasn’t about to let her throwing me under the bus earlier go, though.

“See you tomorrow,” Miss Rarity said brightly.

Dad and Haze waved goodbye, and I trailed behind to make sure I was last at the door. “Yep, see you tomorrow!” My lips curled and I stared directly at Pearl. She froze in place. “Good luck trying to find out that Pearl doesn’t want to leave Ponyville for Stout’s sake.”

“Prism, you motherf—”

I slammed the door.

The meeting with the Thunderaid guys was surprisingly chill. They said they’d be happy to give me more if I could commit to a longer term, but between trying to speak their legalese and all the nonsense between the lines, it was more of a conversation between them, Miss Rarity, her lawyer guy, and my parents who were both surprisingly fluent in the language. Maybe I’ll be too if I keep this up for as long as they have. Four years for one, and a whole decade for the other.

When all was said and done, I was given a really cool aviator coat covered in Thunderaid logos, my own name, I guess the number I’d be assigned which was 1, and the one thing that concerned all of us: Spitfire’s cutiemark as a patch right under the Equestrian flag and beside my cutiemark. The contract had somewhere in it that all my sponsored gear was supposed to have her mark on it, and I really didn’t like that at all.

When I first met my real grandmother on Dad’s side, Downy Snow, she didn’t know who I was and made a rude comment about Dad being a pedophile since he had me with him. I would later go on to find out some terrible stuff about a Manehattan popstar who ruined his image when my parents were kids because of, ya know, that stuff. What came out is that there was a trend where music industry tycoons, who were never known for being great people, would find young talent with pretty faces and be sent to live with industry veterans who would then ‘groom’ them into modern popstars. In the exact same way that the Manehattan popstar did.

Branding the ‘new talent’ with their cutiemarks was one of the tactics they used so other industry vets and powerful people know who belonged to who. It’s a very fresh topic in some people’s minds because yet another industry tycoon was arrested in a huge sting operation by the feds not too long ago. Needless to say, I really didn’t want her mark on my stuff.

Still, both my parents knew Spitfire and neither believed she’d do anything like that to me, so we went ahead with it anyways. I’d get my first payment on the fifteenth of June and on the same day for the next eleven months until I’d screwed up or the total sum of one million bits had been paid.

It was less than I would’ve made in the original arrangement, and I’d still have to work for a few years even with all this money, but provided I played my cards right, Cheesette and I could retire by the time we’re my parents' age. And who knows? It might not even be that bad.