Chapter Text
To be constantly surrounded by unfiltered Canterlot, under a fancy title, was to be surrounded by people who found themselves in possession of a lot of money. This afforded them the luxury of owning many fancy things. Yachts, art galleries, expensive houses, occasionally other people. Harems and dirty business deals, and expensive alcohol, and exotic drugs. The privilege of not caring whether or not the next princess was a Liberal Democrat or not. The values of a romanticized, idealistic sixteenth century. An unbearably long list of table manners.
Duke Vladimir Blueblood did not remember the last time his name was called without the presence of his title to precede it. He wondered sometimes if there was ever such a time since his birth. “Duke” was probably on his birth certificate. He had become accustomed to it, it’s very fanciful presence in his life for twenty-seven fanciful years. It rolled off the tongue, and it was as much a part of him as an arm or a leg. It was something extra. An ugly appendage. He walked down the street, and people revered in his presence, because they saw that appendage on him, sticking out of his head, right along with his horn and his ears and his perfect hair.
A wealthy couple, wearing the finest clothes in all of Canterlot, passed him on his walk down the avenue. They bowed their heads as they passed. A window washer averted his eyes towards the ground - he never came within a yard or two. Blueblood could make out a marching line of guards on their way to Canterlot Castle in the distance. Among their ranks was a changeling .
To be surrounded by unfiltered Canterlot was to be surrounded by a few different kinds of people, some of which, in the esteemed opinion of Duke Vladimir Blueblood, did not belong there. And they all treated him with the same dutiful respect. They all gave him a bow as they walked by, moving their legs in unison, like toy soldiers in a cheap playset. They swerved to avoid his path because for him to have moved for them was not a concept that had crossed the minds of either himself or the guards.
It was a good thing, too, that Blueblood didn’t know how lucky he was to be born when his parents were in the right place at the right time, because if the money tasted good enough there was no reason to really think about why that was. It made the air smell greener than it did out in the countryside where there was nothing but grass, and the grass wasn’t the same green.
There was a changeling heading the back of the marching line. His helmet was made of gold but the sun was hiding behind the tall buildings this afternoon, so it didn’t shine the way Blueblood liked gold to shine. He was looking where he was walking, which made it all the more appalling to everyone around when he refused to swerve away from Blueblood’s path.
He bumped Blueblood’s shoulder as he passed, and Blueblood did not even have adequate time to form the indignant reaction he meant to before the changeling - filthy creature - added “‘Scuse you , Ken-doll.”
He left Blueblood behind him in a sort of state of revulsion, with his jaw and his dignity on the ground.
After a few drinks, he’d picked his jaw up quickly enough to find a suitable lady to bring back to his suite at the castle with him on the same evening. He had been bored, and remained bored suitably thereafter. He hadn’t asked the lady to leave this time, which was unusual for him, but he still hadn’t remembered her name. In fact, he’d forgotten as soon as she’d told him, but he felt like talking, and to somebody other than himself.
“You and I should travel, my dear,” she said. “We could see such wonderful things together.”
He placed a hand on the flank of his leg. It was where his cutie mark was. That pointless and needlessly flashy thing. It went with his eyes and his silk yardage of hair. Perhaps he should travel. Not with her , obviously, but he certainly had the means. What with diplomacy being the hot new topic, nobody would find it in the least bit strange if he decided that tomorrow he wanted to disappear for a month or two. Perhaps going different places would be a refreshing change of pace from the routine of unsavory activities he had gotten himself into in the latest year or so.
In the morning an art gallery, during the day, spending more money than he needed to buying clothes he would never wear, investing in places he would never set foot in, reserving tickets for shows he wouldn’t go to so that he could tell people he did. In the evening, a drink or seven, some new drug he’d never heard of, or an old classic perhaps, an expensive, beautiful club, so that he could surround himself with expensive, beautiful people. Sleeping with a person or two, and then kicking them out so that he could spend the night pretending to sleep.
He’d recently developed unsightly dark circles under his eyes, which he regularly covered with makeup and pretended around with strong coffee.
Perhaps he should break in one of his yachts that he never used. The big one, with the deck and the packing room for a months-long voyage. It wasn’t his flashiest one, but it would do. He could call himself a diplomat. Maybe in other countries, they had better alcohol. More attractive people. Different things to spend his money on.
“You want to travel?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been cultivating an interest in different cultures and foreign places.”
The palace of Canterlot was not particularly more grandiose than other places. In fact, if Blueblood had to say anything about it, it would be that it looked far plainer than many of the places he had visited that belonged to the people he called his friends.
Princess Celestia was royalty in a vastly different sense than Blueblood was. Yet he, as did all Canterlot royals, enjoyed many of the very same luxuries. He lived in the palace. He enjoyed the fruits of others’ labors. The difference between himself and Celestia, besides of course lawmaking power, was that he did not bother himself with pretending to be concerned with people who were beneath him.
“Well,” She said, standing beside her wife - which was a spectacle in itself. “I think diplomacy will be an enriching experience for you.” Queen Chrysalis - a Queen only in title and most certainly not in appearance or power - eyed him with a look that implied he was someone she would rather never have to look at again. Yet of course coming from her face it was more amusing than whatever she had intended to begin with. He eyed her back with condescending politeness, a look which he had been cultivating over several years of uncomfortable dinners with people he could not stand.
“I’m sure you’re already packed and ready, dear, but I would like you to depart with the comfort in my mind that you’re guaranteed to return. Safe and sound.” She turned to Chrysalis, expectant.
“You shall travel with one of my personal generals. To ensure your safety,” Chrysalis added, begrudgingly. It was not in Blueblood’s plans to travel with a companion, but he very much wanted this conversation to be over, so he forced himself to smile, bow, and reply with “yes your highnesses.”
The very last thing he expected to do after he left the castle was to go to the port, looking spectacular with his hair styled for the wind of the sea and a stunningly tailored suit, to meet a changeling general who looked annoyingly familiar.
“Oh,” said the guard, “It’s you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Blueblood, “Have we met?” They had. He remembered it perfectly fine. But he didn’t want to remember, because the humiliation of an experience he had never in his living memory had to come to terms with was frustrating at best and wildly uncomfortable at worst, so he pretended that he did not. In fact, now it seemed that his travels would be much less refreshing and rather more aggravating.
In the presence of blueblood’s own radiance, the ship seemed rather plain now. Perhaps the disparity between himself and the dullness of the hull would allow him a moment’s rest from being surrounded by things that glowed and glittered far too much. There was no gold plating, nor silver, nor iron, and there were no diamonds and the shiniest thing around was the changeling’s stupid helmet.
“We have now. The name’s Pharynx.”
“Of course, of course. A pleasure old boy.” This was one of the Queen’s personal royal guards? How thoroughly disappointing. And rude. And loud and uncivilized, and quite honestly repulsive. If Blueblood was going to travel the world he would much rather have done it spending his time looking at beautiful things, like the Notre Dam*, or Equus Tower*. This was not that .
“I am-”
“Prince Blueblood. I know.”
“Duke. Blueblood. If you please.”
“Alright, Duke . Get on the boat and let’s go. The sooner you get bored ‘seeing the world’ the sooner I can get back home.” He put “seeing the world” in gigantic air-quotes.
Blueblood fought with himself to maintain his composure. He hated having things assumed about him, irrelevant was the fact that one of his own favorite things to do was assume several outlandish things about other people, and so far as assumptions go, this one was fairly realistic. But he would not give this creature the pleasure of unraveling him, despite the fact that he had never in his life met someone so crass and undignified. Without saying a word he boarded the boat to greet the captain, who was legions more respectful. Just as respectful as all the people in Canterlot, just as all people were, and should be. Clearly that cretin had been out of the loop.