Emotional Compensation

by Kiernan

Chapter the Third

Feather beds are often regarded as the best beds. They are soft and springy, and conform to your back with ease. When compared to a spring mattress, they’re also much quieter, not creaking and popping in the middle of the night every time your hips shift. Water beds are little better. Sure, they conform to your body perfectly, but if the water is not kept at a comfortable temperature, you could feel as if you were sleeping on an ice cube. Not to mention that even a minor malfunction could flood your bedroom. Foam pads could be lumpy, and air mattresses would either leak or compress, so they were out of the picture entirely. Feathers were always the way to go if you wished to sleep in luxury.

That is why Prince Blueblood had bought his. He was so determined to draw out the luxury that he had also purchased an array of goose-down pillows and a comforter set, so he was toasty warm in his queen-size bed. He felt as though he were sleeping on a cloud with a ray of sunshine, courtesy of his aunt, beaming down through him to grace the world with his radiance. So beautiful the world would be in his image.

Still, he needed to be quit of his bed if he wanted to grace the common ponies with his magnificent presence. The day had only just begun. He stood up and moved his hooves into his slippers. The ironwood floor, though practically immune to scratches and scuffs, had the potential to ruin the clear coat that kept his hooficure spotless, and he’d have to schedule more time in the chair, and any moment where the ponies of Equestria couldn’t gaze on him were exceptionally dull moments in their lives. If he were late, who would the public adore?

He walked across the hardwood floor to the bathroom. As expected, his butler had already laid out his casualwear for his day out, freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. This was what he had come to expect. If his clothes were wrinkled, ponies might mistake him for somepony useless who did nothing to contribute to society.

Removing the horrid thought from his head, he kicked off his slippers, stepped into the shower, and turned on the water. It took all of three seconds for the water to heat up to the proper temperature. That was not good. That meant he had to have the help call for a plumber. Now he had to suffer through the rest of his shower knowing there was something wrong with the pipes.

In addition to that, his body wash bottle was facing the wrong way. Whichever maid cleaned the shower last had neglected to ensure that the labels pointed out. That was not done, and he’d have their feather duster for it.

With a disgusted sigh, he grabbed his shampoo and began lathering up his mane. While this was typically a job for his stylist, she was unavailable at the moment, and he had to do it himself. As she’d said, in the worst case scenario, he could wear a hat and cover it up. He also made sure to scrub out his tail. He’d brushed up against a bush yesterday, and after picking out all of the little leaves last night, he really needed to wash it out. After all, bushes grew in dirt, and he would not have such an icky substance sullying his tail.

After rinsing out his mane, he reached for his body wash, only to be reminded that the bottle was backwards. How was he supposed to enjoy his shower if he was constantly surrounded by miserable failing clods?

Nevertheless, he still needed to scrub away the dirt. He squeezed out a bit into his hoof and rubbed it all over his coat. He made sure to scrub his face gently in little circles. He was already so stressed today that he didn’t want his brow sweat to mar his lovely countenance. Once scrubbed, he rinsed his body and tail until he was completely free of soap. After all, he was Prince Blueblood, not Prince Soap Residue.

With his shower now done, he turned off the water and grabbed a nice, fluffy towel. These were the most plush towels Equestria had to offer. The cloth was soft and absorbent, causing every dab at his coat to be gentle and loving. But something was odd. He had ordered these in white, and as he tossed it to the floor, he noticed a faint blue smudge. A stain? He shook his head and turned to the mirror. Could this day be any worse?

The answer came rather quickly. As he reached for his toothbrush, he saw a rubber duck on his counter. He didn’t own a rubber duck. He was also the only one that was supposed to be using this bathroom. This was his own private bathroom! Who was using his bathroom without permission?!

He took a few deep breaths. Somepony had caused him a great deal of stress. Since he didn’t know who, he would need to find out. Except, he didn’t have the time to find out.

After brushing his teeth, he put on his casual ascot and exited his bedroom. The maid had already remade his bed with fresh, unblemished sheets, so at least something was going right today.

He found the butler in the hallway, carrying a fresh stack of clean towels for the linen closet. As was normal, the butler bowed at his approach, careful not to drop the towels.

“Who was in my bathroom?” demanded Blueblood. “Which member of your staff has been slacking in their duties?”

The butler kept a calm expression. “We did hire a new maid a few days ago. Perhaps she needs some retraining.”

Blueblood shook his head. “See to it that not only is she retrained, but that her pay is docked so she doesn’t forget her place. You will also need to call a plumber and remove the duck from my countertop. Do I make myself clear?”

The butler nodded. “Of course, sir. I shall see to it right away.”

"Excellent. Has breakfast been prepared?" Blueblood asked.

The butler nodded once more. "Yes, it has been prepared, and should still be warm when you reach the dining hall," he confirmed. Blueblood smirked, and went on his way, feeling a bit peckish after everything his morning had thrown at him thus far. Then again, the staff he had hired always made excellent food, and it was not an invitation turned down so easily. How could he go about his day, and grace the common ponies with his magnificent presence, if he had an empty stomach? It wouldn't do; would not do at all. He would dare say, the mere notion was simply unacceptable.

Reaching the dining hall proved to be no issue, fortunately, and nor was eating breakfast. Only the hired help were able to watch him partake in orderly eating; he started with a few waffles, sprinkled with nuts and fruits and whipped cream, and sprinkled with flower petals in their buttery masses. Weirdly, the petals were blue, but then again, the waffles had been dyed slightly by the color, so he just wrote it off as an exotic flower spilling its colors into the made-from-scratch batter of the breakfast item.

He chewed the waffles, and savored their taste. They were nutty and sweet, and the crispness of the fruits rounded them out very well. He ate the whole plate, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before moving to partake in some orange and lemon juice that, by smell alone, he could tell was freshly squeezed.

Strangely, a blue flower, floating innocuously, adorned the glass, with vibrant blue stamens and leaves framing it nicely. He plucked it out, and found that a bit of the blue colouration had wormed its way into his glass. He took a slow sip and found that nothing was wrong with the taste, so he slowly downed the rest of his glass without issue.

A nice serving of granola tiramisu rounded off the affairs of the breakfast table, and he dabbed another napkin on his muzzle before standing up, and trotting out of the dining hall as the butlers and maids set about cleaning the empty plates he had left behind. As he made his way out, he asked a butler, "Tell me, those blue flowers… where did they come from?"

"They're exotic flowers from the Everfree Forest, milord," the butler replied. "We received them in the mail last night, from an anonymous source. The sender said that you would love them mixed in with your breakfast. He was a ruggedly handsome gentleman, too; likely very wealthy."

Blueblood nodded. "Very well; if we receive any more of those flowers, do include them in a breakfast platter every week if you can," he said.

"I will ensure that your wish will be granted, milord," the butler said. Blueblood grinned to himself and trotted on, unaware that the butler's eyes flashed red and gold as he watched him trot off.

Blueblood left his quarters within the palace, and made a detour to the royal gardens. There were scarcely any ponies within the palace at this time of day, even as he traversed through the many window-laden halls, save for butlers, maids, and royal guards, and they were stationed so sparsely that he didn't notice when they did double-takes at his passing, snickering to themselves like schoolfillies. Besides, the Royal Court wasn't scheduled for today, nor for a few more days afterwards, so he didn't need to bother dithering about, worrying about what the other members of the Canterlot elite thought of him.

The gardens proved to be a mundane affair, relatively speaking. Blueblood always liked to stroll through them at a leisurely pace, paying respects to any statues he trotted by—for all he knew, one of them might have been molded after the likeness of his ancestor, and he was of the mind that said ancestor would strangle him if he hadn't paid his dues to that particular pony. Though, his respects only entailed a glance, a curt nod, and a half-bow in those statues' directions; he'd never bothered to read the plaques inscribed on the statues' bases. Besides, that was typically the common courtesy he'd have been given by the commoners, and many of these statues seemed to depict such rabble.

Though, the few smattering of guards tasked with ensuring the safety and harmony of the royal gardens couldn't help themselves; some were openly snickering into their hooves, and looking away from him when he turned in their direction. Blueblood made a mental note to inform his auntie Celestia about the guards needing to be retrained; they were giggling as though they had heard a bad pun too many. Alas, he could not chide them directly, at least without the current Captain of the Guard present, wherever in Tartarus he had wandered off to.

Maybe the current crop was laughing at something they'd heard from the barracks, so ultimately he paid the giggling little mind. Besides, whatever bad jokes the common rabble told one another was none of his business. The nobility didn't have time to entertain such rubbish—image mattered as much as sophistication after all, and he had to uphold his image like everypony else in high-class positions of power. Thus, everything he did, and every step he took, was to ensure he stayed within that position of power and prestige—at least, until he could find a wife and pass on said power and prestige to the next generation, preferably under his masterful tutelage.

Better that the common rabble didn't hear that leave his mouth or thoughts. Some things were better left unspoken, some thoughts better left unheard, some paths better left untraveled by. Still… something about the giggling as he passed guard after guard unnerved him, and a tiny voice piped up in his head, wondering just what they were laughing at. It better not have been him—he would find all the necessary avenues to dock their pay if he were the target of their joking. The last time he had been the butt of the joke, it had meant an early end to that year’s Grand Galloping Gala… he shuddered at the memory.

Through a trellis archway, he came to the next section of the gardens, where countless flowers bloomed. A panoply of scents washed over him as the breeze fluttered through his mane. The collection of flowers growing in this section was the largest and most beautiful in all of Equestria. Very few things compared to his face, but the flowerbeds here were certainly trying harder than most ponies. Most notably, a patch of daisies had replicated his cutie mark precisely. While the gardeners had tried to convince him that it was a compass rose, marking the exact center of the garden, he could see it for what it was: a love letter from the flowers themselves, assuring him that he was beautiful.

He wondered if those blue flowers in his breakfast were around here. While he was above searching for tiny placards that told him what was on display, he did want more of them. As often as he received gifts, he would be very interested in knowing if he could supply himself. After all, what the commoners considered to be fancy gifts were often dull and unappealing, and on the rare occasion that something good did come from the drab, thoughtless masses, he could usually find out what it was.

He decided that it would be best to take a stroll around this section in a different path than he usually did. This would mean possibly crossing paths with the filthy gardeners that played around in the dirt all day, but perhaps he could find the flower in question.

As he passed a hedge wall, he spotted a pair of mares. While one looked at him with wide eyes, the other put a hoof over her mouth while her cheeks ballooned. Narrowing his eyes, he marched over to them, sticking to the cobblestone pathway to avoid stepping in the mud.

“Have you no dignity?” he admonished. “You are to tend to the flowers, not eat them!”

“B-blue…” wheezed the wide-eyed one, clearly petrified in fear. The other one just made a gagging, choking sort of sound without removing her dirty hoof from her mouth.

“Stealing from the gardens is a serious offense,” he continued. “If I weren’t so busy today, I’d have your jobs!” He pointed his nose in the air as he walked off, leaving them to stew in his magnanimous mercy.

He could swear he heard them laughing as soon as he rounded the corner. Whatever they had eaten, it must have had a powerful grip on their minds. Otherwise, how could they find joy in nearly losing their livelihoods?

The next section did have some blue flowers, along with some white, yellow and pink, arranged in a way that resembled a shield on a blue and white-striped background. Behind him, a large tree had a weaving network of vines with blue and white flowers. Such a lovely pattern. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been to this section before.

Just as he felt about ready to change his usual path, however, he spotted a dandelion among the shrubbery. Not only were the gardeners eating the plants, they were also slacking and allowing weeds to propagate.

“I see that with joy the gardens are brimming,”came a voice behind him. A zebra had entered the section, a goofy-looking smile on his face. “And I had considered my stripes slimming. Still, given a morning so fine, it’s a shock to see such colourful lines.”

“You think this poorly-groomed section is colourful?” sneered Blueblood. “Clearly, you haven’t seen the better sections. Far more vibrant than this weed-riddled mess.” He didn’t know why he was even being so cordial. This zebra should feel lucky that he was even allowed into such a nice place, widely and correctly considered the domain of the Equestrian royalty, nobility, and castle staff, save for rare events such as the Grand Galloping Gala. Why his aunt just let anypony walk around here was beyond him. It detracted from the serene beauty of this place.

“To the petals and leaves, I do not refer, but your joyous crusade I shall no longer deter.” The zebra waved as he left the section. “I do hope to see you outside of this place; my day has been brightened by your lovely face. To hide it away would be such a pity. Go, and share it with the entire city.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, that zebra was right. He should not be locking his gorgeous face away behind some hedges while some other charlatan was soaking up all of the attention. While he still wanted to find and identify that flower, it was well past time to show all of Canterlot the magnificence they should be striving for. After all, if they didn’t do their best to look like him, were they even trying? Leading by example: That was what a prince should do.

Winding his way out of the gardens and into the city proper, so many ponies seemed to be more glad to see him than usual. Some would smile, others would laugh, and others still would bow down, holding their stomachs as they were suddenly caught breathless by his appearance. It was truly astounding how tickled his subjects were to see him.

Of course, he could not help but wonder if a parade of circus clowns had passed through here. His perfectly cleaned and groomed ears were spectacular at picking up gossip, and he kept hearing them talk about how polka-dots and plaid was going to be the new style for the next season, something he hoped was just a rumour. Such garish patterns did not belong in a civilized place such as Canterlot, and he would not dare be caught in such a horrid combination. If he had any sway in the fashion market, this trend would be dying off long before coming anywhere near him.

Everywhere he went, he seemed to hear more and more about this pattern choice, along with other ghastly design choices. From some poor sod who was running around with the word “Goofball” written in his forehead to a stallion with an afro-mohawk rainbow wig to somepony skulking around in a tiger-print facepaint, there had to be some kind of circus in town that he hadn’t been made aware. Why else was everypony so full of raucous laughter?

Not to mention, there were ponies mentioning steak-like patterns in his presence—the kind that ghastly gryphons, dangerously decadent dragons, horrid hippogryphs, malodorous minotaurs and conniving changelings would dare eat, the kind that no sane pony with a ten-foot pole would touch in a million years. What did these commoners take him for, some demented pop star who would actually clothe themselves in the flesh of other living, breathing animals?! As far as he knew, Diomedis Defectus was just a tall tale, meant to scare the scions of nobility into behaving. Hopefully, his future bride would have agreed with him, on the issue of flesh—none for him, and none for the rabble. Not to mention, as well, the uncomfortable visions he had of another place, another time, where he had associated with such ponies—euch.

He shook his head to clear those horrid thoughts and continued on down the path, veering into Restaurant Row, where good smells enticed him onwards. At least the ponies here stuck to a menu of strict greenery, and small bland portions or no, at least Restaurant Row had some variety. If he wanted small bland portions, he'd have asked his head chef to go extravagant with his food designs.

Here there was a wealth of options available, since Restaurant Row had a variety of goodies to offer for the weary, aching tummy. Which one did he feel like sampling today…? That was the million bit question, almost as important as his own carefully-crafted self-image that he projected onto the world for all to see. All this brooding was making him hungry, he mused as he put a hoof to his chin—but not high enough on his chin to see what was wrong with it.

What to choose, what to choose… his hoof tapped at his chin, stroking it lightly, still feeling alright as fur ought to. The Bake Stop… no, no, he already had tiramisu today, and he had to adhere to a strict regimen of allotted foods to maintain his appearance and health… The Tasty Treat? No, no, too out-of-the-way, not to mention the ponies who ran it preferred a lot of spices in their food. He understood the appeal of Whindian cuisine, but today he was feeling more peckish than usual… and not to mention that whole kerfuffle with Zesty Gourmand made newspapers in Canterlot a few years back, and somehow that incident was still fresh in his mind…

He scanned Restaurant Row, or at least, as much of it as he could see without the aid of wings. There was one on his left, its name blaring over its doors in fanciful, cursive font: Le Nom de Fantaisie. A Prench restaurant? Well, sign him up, paint him in three stripes, and change his nationality for a moment, the Prench certainly knew good food when they crafted it! Blueblood strode up to it, and paused to look at the chalkboard menu sitting next to the door. Ooooh, the wares were equally as good as the name of the restaurant, so he opened the door with a flick of his horn and strode on in.

The other patrons of the restaurant, as well as those running the establishment, turned to him as soon as the door jingled to announce his presence. Five seconds of silence passed—five whole seconds for Blueblood to bask in the adoration of the lesser ponies, and allow them to bask in his magnificence.

At least, until the patrons went back to their food, snickering amongst themselves. Immediately, talks of garishly glittery garments and sordid steak slick-backs reached his ears once more—only now, he was certain the conversation was about him. But what would he have to gain, what would he have to allow, by wearing such corrosive contraptions? He noticed that some of the patrons were Dukes and Duchesses, though none of them bothered to make eye contact with him—fitting, as his station was so much higher than theirs.

Though, whatever had set them giggling still perplexed him. As far as he knew, he didn't go out looking like a half-drowned rat with rabies every day—everything about him was groomed to perfection. Sure, he had to do a little bit of manual labor today, but that was because of circumstances beyond his control. And besides, that little bit of effort on his part should have appeased his fellow nobles—so what in the blazing, backwater Tartarus had them giggling?!

It was fortunate that the management of the establishment was still too stunned to act; that meant Blueblood had some measure of time to investigate this. He trotted to a table, where a Duke sat, and shook his head. "Duke Bellweather, what is with all this foalish snickering?" he asked. Duke Bellweather, bless him, kept his mouth in his hoof, refusing to make eye contact with Blueblood. Alas, he was of no help; his mouth was too occupied with wheezing and snorting to provide any sensible answer.

Blueblood turned to the Duchess next to him. "Duchess Spring Breeze, what ever is the matter?" he tried, but Duchess Spring Breeze had also been reduced to absolute, if dignified, stitches. She had no breath for words; her lungs were too busy producing the giggles traversing up her throat.

Blueblood frowned, and trotted to the next table over, where a familiar sight that would have been in the Royal Court greeted him, had the Royal Court been active today. "Baron Fancypants, what has possessed everypony?" he asked.

Fancypants, bless him, coughed awkwardly into his hoof, though there was little doubt that he was smiling beneath his mustache. At his side, Fleur-de-lis clutched her stomach with one hoof, and her mouth with the other, muttering something about the color blue as she lost herself to the throes of laughter. "Well… just between you and me, I think you should find the nearest mirror available," he said, both tartly and gently. That caused the other nobles present to laugh even louder, some masking their giggles with awkward coughing that could not hide their earlier amusement.

Blueblood narrowed his eyes. He looked down at his chest. It was very obvious to him what everypony had been laughing at. The utter shame he felt was unimaginable. He couldn’t believe that he had been walking around all day with his bowtie completely crooked. Still, this much giggling over such a small mistake was uncalled for. Everypony was behaving like a group of juvenile schoolcolts who had just learned a dirty word. Insipid commoners…

He pointed his nose in the air and found a place to seat himself. The fact that no host had come to guide him to his chair was a very upsetting turn. The owner would certainly be receiving a condemnation in his review of service. Even after seating himself, it was a few minutes before a server came over to speak with him.

“Excuse me, sir?” said the mare, hiding her apron behind her writing pad.

“About time you showed up,” groused Blueblood. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?”

“Sir?”

“I had to seat myself, for Celestia’s sake! Is your waitstaff on break during peak hours?”

“Sir…”

“Oh, nevermind that. Let’s start off with an appetizer of bruschetta, some vichyssois, and we’ll finish that off with speculaas.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to be bringing you any of that, sir.”

Blueblood’s eyes went wide, his lips pursed, and his jaw clenched. “What was that you said?”

“I’m not going to be serving you, sir.”

Blueblood’s eye twitched. “Do you have any idea who I am?” he barked. “Do you have any clue to whom you are refusing service? I am Prince Blueblood! Princess Celestia is my aunt! How dare you refuse me service?!”

The waitress shrank down beneath her notepad. “It’s not my decision, sir. We have a dress code that you do not meet. It’s out of my hooves, and I was told that–”

“I don’t care what you were told!” snapped Blueblood, pressing his hoof to his lapel. “These are made from the finest silks, tailor-made to fit perfectly around my exact neck. Not just anypony can wear this! And you have the unmitigated gall to insult my attire?! I demand to speak with your manager!”

Before he’d even finished describing his outfit, a very large stallion in a chef’s jacket was already approaching. “The manager is the one who’s telling you to leave,” he grumbled. “You can’t be in here looking like a foal’s colouring book gone horribly wrong. We have a dress code for a reason; to keep out the riff-raff and troublemakers. Right now, I’d mistake you for the latter. Unless you want to be permanently barred from my establishment, you will leave without another word. When you look presentable, you can come back, but I will not allow you to berate my staff!”

Blueblood raised his nose in the air, huffed, and walked to the front door. “I’ll see this place shut down!” he declared, slamming the door.

As he passed in front of the restaurant, he saw the clown in silly attire. That was truly a gruesome outfit. His facepaint was in orange and black stripes with a pink nose, he was wearing a rainbow wig that varied between an afro and a mohawk between colours, his shirt was patterned with steaks, his wide cloth belt was pink and blue polka-dots, his leggings were the most garish purple plaid, and instead of his normal tail, his was arranged like peacock plumes, with zigzagging feathers and paisleys at the tips of the feathers. It truly was an ugly outfit, and deserved to be mocked.

As the clown stared at Blueblood with the most disgusted grimace, He turned his ire on the spectacle. “You’re the one I’ve heard so much about,” he started. “That skin-tight outfit you’re wearing is ghastly. It’s truly a wonder that you haven’t been arrested for causing a disturbance. If I looked anything like you, I wouldn’t dare leave the house. That you thought you looked presentable at all is an insult. That shirt, those leggings… even that cheap knockoff bowtie is an insult to society. If anypony deserves to be thrown out of a restaurant for not meeting the dress code, it’s you. Not even a restaurant with no dress code should be accepting you!”

With every word he spoke, the clown looked back at him, disgusted, mocking every movement of his lips. Not only did this creature have no sense for how to present himself in public, he was rude, shallow, and childish. Blueblood had put up with a lot today, but this oaf needed to learn to respect his superiors. As he stormed across the street, the clown stormed toward him, until they were face to face. “Now you listen here–” he began.

“I’m listening,” came Discord’s voice from behind. The Draconequus was leaning against a light post, a hayburger in his claw. He took a bite, his teeth passing right through the burger and munching the paper wrapper instead. In his other paw, he was drinking a cup of gummy bears. “Oh, you were talking to your reflection. Pardon me.”

“Reflection?” Blueblood reached out and touched the clown. Undoubtedly, it truly was a large mirror panel that was being delivered on the side of a large cart, only reinforced as two stallions came out to carry it away. Blueblood hurriedly looked himself over, and sure enough, he was the very definition of clashing. Steaks, polka-dots, even the tiger facepaint was plastered on him.

“You look upset,” smiled Discord. “Can I interest you in something to cover yourself with?”

“Yes, right now!” demanded Blueblood. “I can’t go around town looking like this!”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you look very festive,” chided Discord. “So much of the outfit just sings of spring. I can’t imagine why you would want to spit in the face of all the hard work you put into your appearance, but here, have this.” From his tail, a vest on a hanger was produced. “I worked with Miss Rarity on this, I’m sure you remember her. This is her emergency formal wear. It’s perfect for any black tie event, designed by a spectacular seamstress, and all you have to do is pull the cord on the lapel. It even covers your face in makeup.”

“Give it here!” demanded Blueblood, grabbing it and fitting it to himself, “before anypony else can see me like this.” He pulled the cord, and the vest immediately popped outward. Truly, this was a magnificent ensemble, and a powderpuff immediately blotched out all of the colour from Blueblood’s face, returning its white sheen. He looked beautiful once more.

“Much better,” smiled Discord. “I’m not one for high fashion, but you look just like Miss Rarity imagined she would.”

The laughter didn’t stop, as Blueblood, while no longer coated in dye patterns, was now wearing a lacey, frilly dress. Even Discord slipped in a chuckle as he disappeared up the street, his skirt fluttering behind him.

Comments

[The Great Derpsby]

Turns out Discord is a complete liar who doesn't really care about what Fluttershy asked of him. Which is... not surprising. Let's see how else he can "not damage" his victims' social standing.