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Duchess

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About Duchess

  • Birthday 08/08/1990

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  • Interests
    Reading - mostly fantasy and sci-fi, as well as medical texts (for a second degree as well as for fun), although my fillyfriend has persuaded me to plough through all the classics in my library. I estimate I'll be finished by 2076, if I'm lucky.

    Writing - really, this goes hand-in-hand with reading, and I've always loved making up my own stories, characters and worlds to bend to my whims! Mwahahahahaha...ha...ha...ahem.

    Riding - I live deep in the country, and for my family, riding is practically an obligation, as it is for most of m'friends, as well as being jolly good fun! We have a few excellent horses in stable right now, including my personal favourite, a champagne cremello called Mystic who I can never get enough of.

    Hunting - goes hand in hand with the riding, in my neck of the woods. Not so fond of riding to hounds for foxhunting, but I do love a good chase, or a deer-stalking, or pheasant-shooting, since I can (and do) eat the fruit of my labours.
  • Location
    The United Kingdom
  • Gender
    Filly

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C-Mark Crusader

C-Mark Crusader (3/9)

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  1. ((OOC: I wasn't meaning to suggest all of Blueblood's ancestors were less-than-noble, just that they had the occasional black sheep, like everyone else . )) Polaris tapped a hoof in absent thought. “I'm sure the dignity of the nobility can withstand a merry comedy or two, highness – especially if it's done by the Royal Opera Company; they have the knack for injecting a bit of style into their productions, don't you agree? I bow to your wisdom in this matter, though. The writer did use a variation on one of your titles, after all.” Polaris let it go easily enough; the schedule was decided on votes for each individual piece, and he was confident he could persuade enough of the other patrons and directors round to his point of view that Blueblood's objection to The Grand Duke of Canter wouldn't matter too much. Then again, Polaris' main point was to secure laughter at the opera, not to score points off Prince Blueblood, so perhaps it would be best to simply let the Grand Duke be another provincial run. If he ever got absolutely desperate to see it, well, Manehattan's Opera House would surely oblige. Besides, if the Prince felt he'd been wronged, he could make life difficult for the easygoing duke in a variety of petty little ways. No, best to avoid that, on reflection. “May I suggest-” 'No, not The Royal Cadet, Polaris, have some tact,' “-The Sorcerer as a replacement, highness? I have a more exhaustive list back at Hoofburgh House, of course, if you'd like me to have it sent to you - but I've given you the titles of my proposed main productions, at least.” He waved an airy hoof. “Now, I really mustn't take up more of your valuable time, especially with all these new ponies here. It's been a pleasure, Prince Blueblood. If you're ever near Manehattan, do feel free to pop into Fetlock Hall for a few days. The country might do you some good, you never know.” That was a fairly safe bet in any case; Blueblood hardly ever left Canterlot, and it was highly probable he'd never actually left the bounds of the royal duchy his life. If (by some miracle) the Prince actually pitched up without warning at the gates of Fetlock Hall, Polaris could rely on his mother, the redoubtable Dowager Duchess, to entertain the Prince appropriately. The duke stifled a rebellious smile; even though she was still as sharp as a tack and in rude good health, his mother was old enough that she could speak her mind and be given some leeway 'on account of her age', something that she took full advantage of when she felt the situation warranted it. Not that Blueblood had been that bad – certainly not as dreadful as some of his friends had made out. A little stuffy, perhaps – but then, that was what happened when you were surrounded by the Royal Court every day and was therefore excusable. It happened to him, too – when the time came to rusticate back to Fetlock Hall for a while it took some little while to unwind and loosen the tight saddle of custom and rule that Canterlot invisibly laced around ponies of a certain class and position. His ears pricked up at the mention of his name – Princess Cadance, making her way towards the door, fudge parcels neatly secreted away in her saddlebags. “Farewell for now, Cadance! Do enjoy your treats!” He didn't need to see the alicorn's face to know she was smiling as she left. It was taking quite a bit of control to stop himself from laughing at 'stay glorious', especially since Blueblood would doubtless preen. With some justification, admittedly – the Prince really was a fine figure of a pony and could cut quite a dash when he wanted to.
  2. Polaris smiled at Rose Madder's interruption; it gave him something to do whilst Prince Blueblood marshalled his thoughts. “After the shock everypony had with the changelings, you mean?” He tapped his muzzle with one hoof. “Hmm. Comic opera would be best, naturally – HMS Pintafore, the Barber of Ponyville, The Chocolate Pony-” he smiled suddenly, fondly. “And, of course, that perennial favourite, The Grand Duke of Canter.” It was perhaps somewhat risky, mentioning that particular piece in the presence of Prince Blueblood. The opera revolved around a not-so-subtle lampooning of one of his illustrious (and Polaris used the word in its loosest sense) ancestors, which essentially guaranteed that Blueblood would hate it on principle, even if he'd never seen a production. Even worse, the character of the Grand Duke was an almost-perfect likeness of the current Duke of Canter, and, indeed, many modern productions of the show outright based their costumes and pony casting on Blueblood's mannerisms and dress style. 'Really, though,' Polaris reassured himself 'The Royal Opera Company would manage to do things with a bit of style, especially if they knew Prince Blueblood was watching.' The duke was, however, not altogether au courant with the vagaries of contrary opera singers and theatrical directors; he didn't even entertain the thought that they might play up the resemblance out of sheer spite. With a brief shake of his head, he resumed his conversation with Rose Madder. “It's been far too long since the opera was simply a beautiful amusement, in one's humble opinion.” He tapped a hoof thoughtfully, considering his next words. “Now, obviously, a full season of just light opera would stretch even the Royal Opera Company beyond endurance, so we should have some heavier works to really give the cast something to sink its collective teeth into after the jolly first half of the season – Die Zauberbock, perhaps, or maybe Sangerkrieg auf Ponyburg, with some of the really dramatic stuff from bel canto opera thrown in for good measure – L'incoronazione della Principessa, and perhaps even the new Madame Fluttershy, which I hear has been going down a storm in Itaily.” He paused, and regarded Rose Madder in a new light. “From your question, may I take it that you attend the opera also, at least on occasion? The nobility, his highness and I both know intimately, and so we understand what pieces appeal to our circles, but I must confess to a rather limited knowledge of what would go down well once one gets beyond the Court – what would draw you into the Royal Opera House, Rose Madder?” ((OOC: The operas listed are, in order: HMS Pinafore, The Barber of Seville, The Chocolate Soldier, The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein, The Magic Flute [Die Zauberflote], Tannhauser [Tannhauser und der Sangerkrieg auf Wartburg; Tannhauser and the Singers' War at Wartburg], The Coronation of Poppaea [L'incoronazione di Poppaea], and of course Madame Butterfly.))
  3. ((OOC: Kudos for channelling the Bene Gesserit, sir! And that sounds like the correct reading of precedence from my point of view. Also, if you don't think the Opera patronage fits in with your interpretation of Blueblood, tell and I'll edit it out.)) “Oh, I'm sure they try their very best for the royal table, my prince,” Polaris reassured the touchy Blueblood, and then assumed a commiserating, slightly conspiratorial expression “-but I'm afraid that the simple fact of the matter is once something sweet and delicate's been bounced over hundreds of miles of road or jounced around by the pegasus express, it's never quite so delicious as when it set out, no matter how much protection and padding one layers over the box.” Polaris sighed ruefully. “The differences can unfortunately be quite marked – the Explorers' Society did an exotics-only banquet at their annual celebration a few years ago, and Luna above but some of the dishes were almost uneatable! Aquellian violets do not travel well, and the less said about Itailian mushrooms, the better.” Polaris winced at the memory. “A great shame, really – but on the other side of the coin, something of a boon when it comes to the waistline. The problem of transportation does mean that one has to then seek out talent closer to home for truly divine confectionery, too – and it is our duty, after all, as laurelled nobleponies of the Royal Court, to foster the growth of talent of all sorts within our realm. Noblesse oblige and all that, if you'll pardon my Prench.” He flashed a smile. “With the benefit of our refined palates and our experiences of fine sweets, we are in a position to offer valuable critique, after all – and without the benefit of such insight, how can a pony improve?” Polaris tapped his muzzle thoughtfully, a thought occurring. “While I have the pleasure of your company, highness, I don't suppose I could twist your foreleg about the next schedule for the Royal Opera? Given recent events, I rather think it's a little too heavy on the grand guignol productions, and it's not too late to change it.” He waved an airy foreleg. “I'll raise it at the next Patrons and Directors Meeting, of course, but I find that an informal chat or two before the committee sits saves hours of bother.” Just at that point, however, the conversation was interrupted by a new arrival, an earth pony who – as was to be expected, of course – made a beeline for the royal Princess. Apparently, he was a doctor and something to do with the Canterlot Army Historical Society as well. The name rang a faint bell, but Polaris couldn't for the life of him think where he'd heard of it before.
  4. Polaris nearly recoiled at the use of the word 'undignified', since he attached many of the same connotations to it as Blueblood did. He soon recovered, though – a diplomat could never be seen to lose their equipoise, after all.“I can't speak for her highness, of course-” he graciously inclined his head towards Cadance “-but I simply happened to be passing on my way to the palace – I thought it far too nice a day to bother with a chariot, you see - and happened to notice both Sweet Surprise's shop and the sign by great good fortune. I'd promised her I'd drop in anyway; it doesn't do for a diplomat to break his word, after all, and since I have a dreadfully sweet tooth – as her highness has been discovering – the opportunity was rather too good to pass up, whether there was a sale on or not.” The duke smiled amiably at the Prince's high dudgeon, letting it wash over and around him. “Consider it the common touch, if you will, sir. There's nothing wrong with displaying enough savoir faire to take advantage of such an offer as this when it comes along, in any case, and I've always felt that Germaney's exported confections are rather lacking.” He paused, face completely straight and serious. “You are aware, I assume, that their true masterworks are reserved exclusively for home consumption? I was lucky enough to taste some when I was performing my ambassadorial duties for the Court, and I've never been able to enjoy the imported stuff anywhere near as much ever since.” He pulled a mildly martyred expression, only the twinkle in his eye betraying his amusement. “Now, are you sure I can't tempt your royal self to at least try a piece of this rather splendid cherry fudge? It hasn't had to rattle along the roads or get chilled by high-altitude express delivery, for one thing, and for another, you must have had a bit a shock with that terrible carriage incident, after all – in a Rolls Kinardly, too - and I'm told by all the best doctors that a touch of sugar is just the thing to set a pony back on their hooves again.”
  5. "Ah me! See that, Timid Star? Betrayal in the ranks!" Polaris' eye flickered in a wink as he pulled an aggrieved face, putting his hoof up to his heart and half-turning towards the Princess. "That positively cuts me to the quick, highness!" His flickering, elusive grin, dancing around the aggrieved mask, turned sly, but his voice still bubbled with warm good humour. "You know, were a certain doctor to discover my little lapse, I have it on reasonably good authority that the royal cooks would find themselves in receipt of a little word in their collective ear re your own fudge supplies in short order, and then...well, fudge can be a terribly delicate thing, you know. Unfortunate changes in temperature, assistant cooks not aware of your stockpile, so sorry, your highness...can we get you some nice, healthy hay instead?" He paused, deadpan, for a moment, before flashing a quick smile at Sweet Surprise for her interjection. "We jest, Sweet Surprise, we jest! Or at least," he murmured, pretending to look quizzical "I do. In all seriousness, though - it takes all sorts of ponies to make a world. I shan't breathe a word if you won't, eh?" Just at that point, the shop bell tinkled merrily once more. His attention on Timid Star and the Princess more than anypony else, Polaris did not at first respond, but as soon as he heard the cut-glass and crystal chimes of the most upper of upper-crust Canterlot accents, cut with diamonds and backed up by a sense of absolute right, he winced, but only for internal consumption. Prince Blueblood, it had to be. He moved so that his head was on a level with Timid Star and murmured, very quietly so as not to be distinguishable to the Prince, “If this were almost any other pony I'd present you, but...I understand Prince Blueblood to be a very...prickly pony, shall we say? He looks to be in a bit of a mood, too – nopony will blame you if you want to duck out of the firing line, as it were. If you do want to meet him, manners are the order of the day; bow, say good morning, use the right honorific, ask him if he's well and wait to be spoken to.” He took a deep, steadying breath and straightened up, layering on the armour of etiquette and convention once more. On paper, at least, it would seem all but certain that Duke Polaris and Prince Blueblood had known one another well since foalhood. After all, Polaris was of the highest echelon of nobility, with a family as old as Blueblood's own. They both frequently attended the opera, had an appreciation for fine food and wine, were obscenely wealthy and were both members of the Royal Court, to name but a few things they ostensibly had in common. Thus, one might easily construct a view of a younger Polaris and Blueblood meeting time and again over canapés and fruit at one high-society event after another – meetings of the Patrons and Directors of the Royal Canterlot Opera House, the annual Explorers' Ball and the Grand Galloping Gala, the yachting at Cowes Week, the Grand Equestrian races, and so on. In point of fact, however, that most inconvenient of hacks, they have generally managed to miss one another thus far, two ships passing in the night, and each without any real knowledge of the other beyond name and appearance. They might perhaps have seen one another across a ballroom, dancing genteelly or exchanging refined views with other ponies of distinction, or perchance peering through opera lorgnettes from private boxes, but never actually progressing much beyond that. This hasn't been helped by Polaris's regular long absences from Canterlot and its high society - a consequence of his diplomatic duties - either, since Blueblood rarely travels far from the heart of the realm. Polaris straightened fluidly up and turned elegantly to fully face the Prince, seamlessly segueing into a shallow bow. “Good morning, your highness. I trust you are quite well? To answer your question; I myself am here for exactly the same reason as your royal cousin: the rather delectable fudge that the fine pony you see behind the counter-” Polaris used his magic to shift a few of his boxes away, giving a better view “-who now needs no introduction from me, has the talent of making. I had the unexpected delight of tasting it at the Canterlot Royal Public Relations Office's Open House the other day, and resolved to get my hooves on more of it at the first available opportunity.”
  6. Duchess

    Phobias

    Were you brought up in the city, by any chance, Chocoswirl? I ask because my better half (decidedly a city girl) has near-enough dislocated some of my fingers when I took her for a midnight ramble near my home because of that exact same fear .
  7. Duchess

    Phobias

    I sympathise completely with Bellosh - I cannot stand wasps and bees inside the house, or if, outside, they seem like they're going to mistake me for a very large flower or something. The instant I spot one, and I am very good at spotting them (a la Phil Jupitus' spider vision in his standup show Quadrophobia, if anyone's seen that) every bit of my attention is focused on it, to the exclusion of all else, I break out in a cold sweat and I will run away gibbering (I'm too afraid of the blasted things to scream) if it gets too close. I've put up mesh screens over the windows for the summer, and I won't listen to the Heritage people's wittering; they are staying! I refuse to have parts of my own home off-limits because a stupid wasp or bumblebee has blundered its way inside. My mother's quite afraid of dolls, too, Kryptchild. Not the modern ones as per se, but we have a rather large collection of the older porcelain ones, and they've had to be boxed up in a storeroom because she really doesn't like the sight of them. It's not a fear I share; I just think they look a bit lonely and far-away, but I can see where you're both coming from and I sympathise.
  8. ~Pink Lady's Refreshment Tent~ With a shake of his head, Polaris turned back to Pink Lady. “I just what?” he echoed, nonplussed for a moment, before a small spot of high colour bloomed on each side of his muzzle. “Oh! I do beg your pardon, but in the excitement of the recent...” he hunted for a sufficiently neutral word “...contretemps, shall we say? I completely forgot what I was going to say. It was complimentary, though – of that you can be sure.” He coughed, diffidently. “I don't suppose, though, whilst I've got your attention, I could have another glass of that excellent lemonade? It's got just the right amount of tangy zestiness to offset the sweetness, and it quite reminds me of my foalhood.” He smiled fondly – but briefly – at the memory. “And...I know it's an imposition, but would you mind awfully letting me have a small punnet of raspberries – if you have any left, that is – later on? I'll pay, of course,” he reassured her quickly “but you see, I've some bottles of Rosaillé Grand Sol-” the silky Pranceish name of fine champagne rolled easily off his tongue “-back at my pavilion and it's just divine with some fresh raspberries.” He regarded the griffon's form with a mixture of interest and contemplation as she squared up to the challenger pony, feathers bristling, chest puffed out and talons flexing – classic griffon posturing. He nodded subtly towards Gilda and lowered his voice, a rich aside that would only carry as far as Pink Lady. “You know, when – although I really should say if; our challenger pony might just pull a miracle out of that trenchcoat – Gilda wins this, she's going to be dreadfully smug. Do you think it would be too terribly cruel to tell her – from a safe distance, knowing what I do about griffon tempers - I'm thinking of endowing the Gilda Griffon Trophy as a prize for the most abject loser in the Iron Pony games? Purely as a means of puncturing that 'might makes right' mentality of hers, of course,” he added, deadpan.
  9. Polaris sighed. No sense in raising the hackles of a blameless teashop pony. "I apologise, miss...heavens, I don't even know your name! Very remiss of me, to be sure. But 'Mister Duke' is rather like me calling you Miss Madam, for example. It just...grates." A mildly apologetic smile - Polaris was a proud, proud pony, even though he'd be hard-pushed to admit it to anyone, even himself, on occasion. "Nonetheless, you're quite right. I should save my ire for ponies who deserve it - or better yet, let it drift away on the vapour from my tea and think of more worthwhile things." He took a long, lingering drink of the tea Masala had made for him, savouring the snap of the ginger and the warmth it filled him with. "Like, for instance, the Iron Pony games! It's terribly exciting, isn't it? Bit of a shame they've kept most of the events so tip-top secret - unless there's been some sort of circular that goes around and didn't get as far as me - but I'm sure it will be a fantastic show nonetheless. I shall be digging out the pavilion we use for summer picnics and heading down there post-haste when everything kicks off - and if Sir Proper Place tries to stop me from going..." the duke trailed off meaningfully. "Fountain." Polaris gave his full attention to Shanna, seated nearby. "I think I heard a little about the cloud dive - you, my dear, are a very, very brave pony for even contemplating it! I'll do my level best to get there in time to cheer you on, you may depend upon it. What sort of training have you been doing, if I may ask? I know next to nothing about most sports, but I'd imagine the training for a cloud dive is a little more involved than flying up high and then dropping into a convenient lake?" He smiled wryly. "Of course, if I'm completely wrong, do correct me."
  10. The duke flashed a grateful, lightning-quick smile at Rose Madder, noting her interest in passing. "Thanks awfully," he murmured as he swept past to attend to Timid; he was sure he'd have a chance to chat with her some more presently, but his ward took precedence over all else now that he was free to deal with him. Polaris blinked down at the little colt for a moment as he apologised and offered up a piece of fudge out of his bag - a decided improvement on the grovel-and-offer-the-lot he'd seen out of the corner of his eye the first time around. The Princess really did have a way with all ponies, young colts to old courtiers alike, and he really would have to thank her properly for that. Flowers, maybe, and a bottle of something nice, perhaps. "Apology accepted, of course, Timid Star," his voice carrying his smile. "I'm sorry if I was a little sharp with you - I was annoyed and embarrassed at making an absolute fool of myself in front of the Princess back then, and I'm afraid I rather took it out on anypony who happened to be nearby. You just got caught in the firing line, as it were." Once again, his magic shimmered and cocooned a piece of cherry fudge in its grasp, floating down to the colt. "Now, putting that little bit of unpleasantness behind us...Shall we trade? Cherry fudge for chocolate? Cherries and chocolate go awfully well together, you know." He wrinkled his muzzle. "Well, unless you're Princess Cadance, apparently. Still, we all have our own tastes, and far be it for me to dictate those."
  11. “Hardly deserving?” Polaris nearly reared and whinnied in disbelief and dismay, only the years of etiquette lessons and good breeding keeping all four hooves firmly on terra firma. “My dear lady,” he reassured her quickly “-we could fete you through the streets pulled by...by pegasi covered in gold to the massed songs of the Canterlot Royal Opera choir in full bel-canto swing, for example, and it'd be only appropriate!” A pause, to let that sink in, a small smile and a gentling of the tone. “Take the greeting for what it is, hmm? From a titled pony who inherited everything to a mare who earned her accolades in adversity, it's expected – and quite, quite deserved, if I may say so.” Another smile, this one mildly conspiratorial. “I wouldn't even dare to presume on the way you live your life, were I so inclined, but I do have to ask...a dressmaker, my lady? By any chance the esteemed proprietor of...Carousel Boutique, I think it's called? and therefore the elusive designer who's been filling out Hoity Toity's emporium in Canterlot as of late? If so, I hardly think anypony can consider you 'small-town', not when you're supplying one of the finest fashion houses in all of Equestria! The cost of Hoity originals is positively obscene, as I'm sure you're aware! Mind you, the outfits are generally masterpieces rather than awful warnings, so I suppose his prices are justified.” Polaris tapped his hoof thoughtfully on his muzzle. “All that aside, and do correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm sure you made quite a splash in Canterlot society some while back, yes? I read something in the back copies of the Court circular about it when I came back from ambassadorial duties, you see. It's usually full of rubbish,” he confided. “Mostly of the: 'Lady So-and-So seen in the Rose Garden with Earl What's-his-name! Fifty-four pages of speculation and outright fabrication inside!' variety, but usually is the key word, and they do sometimes get close to the mark.”
  12. ((OOC: Apologies for the wait; I've just got out of hospital after an operation to get rid of some kidney stones.)) Polaris chuckled at the thought of Rainbow Dash cannonballing into the lake. "I thought I heard a wail and a splash when I passed that way earlier on," he commented. "I certainly heard - and saw - the Rainboom, though. A spectacular sight, to be sure - I'd ask her if she'd mind doing a display at Fetlock Hall, but it's hardly appropriate to use an Element of Harmony as a glorified firework, is it? No matter how much I paid her." He sighed, rather whimsically. "Even with her display, I'm sure you've placed very highly, Shanna. I shall watch the lists and cheer for you both in any events you take part in, you may depend upon it!" He smiled and turned his attention back towards Pink Lady, having greeted his friends. "Dear lady, could I just-" Just at that point, however, Swift Squall did some form of curious - and quick - backpedal, once again placing himself directly in front of Gilda and issuing a strident and rather irritated challenge - along with a glare at the duke and a curt 'some things can't be solved with words alone.' Despite himself, Polaris bristled, ears going up and forward momentarily. "Quite right," he replied, coolly, to the unicorn who was now challenging Gilda, not rising from his rather comfortable position. "A bucket of water is sometimes necessary to bring silly hotheaded ponies to their senses - although if you think I'd waste any of Pink Lady's fine lemonade on the task, you're sadly mistaken." He frowned at the sword-bearing stallion. "I will say this, though; hypocrisy becomes nopony. I may not agree with Miss Gilda's view of the world, but nor do I go around reinforcing it by fighting; all you're doing is proving her correct in that 'might makes right', as it were." Could the pony not see he was just backing up everything the griffon had been saying, undermining his own case in the process? There were more elegant ways of proving the values of a different philosophy, and they didn't revolve around the strength of hoof and horn.
  13. Polaris blinked. “What brings me to Canterlot?” he echoed, gratified and slightly puzzled at the interest. “A holiday, I suppose. I serve the Princesses as an ambassador with the Diplomatic Service, you see, which takes me away from central Equestria for years at a stretch.” He smiled, faintly. “Other ponies scrimp and save to go abroad for a holiday; I get to come home. There's the usual debriefing period, of course – although this one's dragging on far longer than it should; our new pony-in-chief is...” Polaris cast his eyes up to the heavens momentarily “...difficult, shall we say? Mind you, I can't complain too much: 'there is in Canterlot all that life can afford.'” He put a hoof to his chin in momentary thought, voice speculative. “Can't quite put my hoof on which pony it was who said that right now, my Classics studies were some time ago, but it's quite close to the mark. There's the Royal Opera, for example – of which I happen to be a patron – and I was just telling her highness about a marvellous production of HMS Pintafore they put on recently...” he tailed off with a fond smile, before recalling himself to his primary theme. “Then there are all the art galleries, stuffed full of Old Masters and new talent alike, the Explorers' Society and its perennial guest lecturer series, the fascinating little restaurants and shops – like this fine establishment, for example - the Royal Museum, even if it does have far too many steps, what with all the towers, along with all its lesser brethren, and, of course, quite a few of my friends reside here for most of the year, if not all of it.” His eyes flicked over, at this point, to where Timid Star had burst in, looking close to tears – but Princess Cadance, Luna bless her, had gamely stepped into the breach, calming the sensitive colt down. “Canterlot's also the nerve centre of Equestria, so to speak, and living here, at least for part of the year, is really the only way to keep a weather hoof on the pulse of the realm. There's always something important going on – the day after I got back here, for example, Princess Cadance was holding an Open House event to promote the Canterlot Royal Public Relations Office and its new and expanded remit. The pace of life in Canterlot can be a bit much sometimes, I admit, but I do always have the recourse of fleeing to the country for a while.” A brief smile. “The benefits of being a noble, I suppose.” His smile turned apologetic. “If you'll just excuse me for a moment, Madder Rose? My ward is rather upset about something, it seems.” Polaris trotted gently over to the Princess and Timid Star, readying himself to weave calming magic into every word he spoke. Hopefully, sweet reason and cool heads could prevail. Foals in full bawl were not something he had any experience with. “Now, what's all this about, hmm? Deep breaths, Timid Star, nice and calm.” He cast a silently thankful look at the Princess, sure she would pick up on it. He'd thank her properly later on, of course, but silent appreciation would have to do for now.
  14. ((EDIT: Just saw Quicklime's request via Phil. Sorry!)) As Shanna's request reached his sensitive ears, the duke waved an expansive hoof with a broad, happy smile. “Not at all, you two! Not at all! You can drop the 'your grace' here, by the way – this isn't a formal Canterlot ball, after all, and we do seem to be meeting on quite a regular basis as it is. Just Polaris will do, I think, since we're being informal.” He laughed at Hoss's comment; did the pegasus pony really think he'd expect ponies to be immaculate all the time? “As I said, this isn't the Grand Galloping Gala, so I really don't expect anypony – and certainly not any competitors; I expect the two of you took part in the Cloud Diving contest, yes? – to look like they've just come straight from one of the six-hour spa, makeover and pampering sessions that my mother's so fond of. I grew up in the country, remember, where there's an unlimited supply of dirt and almost as many activities guaranteed to make a pony perspire; living in Canterlot hasn't quite managed to make me forget my foalhood just yet. I promise I shan't faint at the sight of honest dirt on a pony's flank, nor at the sweat borne of exercise.” He raised his glass – mostly empty, save for a few pieces of softly-thawing fruit slumped in the bottom – in salute to the two pegasi. “Don't suppose I could tempt the two of you to dinner and drinks later on? Canapé packed enough victuals to supply half the army, and Vintage Cru must have thought I'd want to bathe in champagne, the amount of bottles she sent.” Just then, Polaris was interrupted – and distracted – by a harsh, brassy laugh, one that could only have come from a griffon's throat, an echoing, strident call, quickly followed by an almost equally brash comment from Gilda. A mildly sardonic smile flashed across his muzzle, quickly vanishing beneath a more polished expression. “And yet here you are, surrounded by us 'lame little ponies',” Polaris observed lightly. “And by your accent - or rather, lack of it - you've been in Equestria for some time. Still, far be it for a mere little pony to judge, especially since I have a feeling you'll make me a fortune in wagers of one sort or another over the Iron Pony contest.” He took a breath and readied his vocal cords. “Strong winds beneath your wings, Gilda the griffon,” he cawed, the harsh trills of the griffon language decidedly at odds with his genteel appearance. “Win honour by the strength of your talons and the steel of your resolve.”
  15. "No charge?" Polaris's eyes widened - it wasn't something he usually experienced. "Well, thank you kindly indeed!" Without further ado, arctic light expertly lofted the tall lemonade glass, condensation beading its sides, letting him take a long draught, eyes closed in pleasure at the feeling of chilled liquid sliding down his gullet, spreading coolness through his body. "Ahhh, that's the ticket! The water of life - literally - in this heat." Polaris considered the tentpony's generous offer of food seriously for some time, before remarking, slightly ruefully: "It's good of you to offer food, but I've been grazing through my hampers ever since I got here. With some help, admittedly, but I've still managed to make a fairly substantial inroad." He thought back to the sundried tomato, rosemary, mushroom and Camembert tartlets he'd breakfasted on with a smile. Healthy and tasty in one. "I quite agree the athletes need to keep themselves hydrated and fed - especially for the endurance races - but as a self-confessed lazy spectator, the most I really have to worry about is falling asleep in the sunshine! Still, I'm sure the medical ponies are on standby in case somepony has an accident; with so many ponies - and other races, of course-" that was addressed to Gilda, feathers still rather ruffled and grubby in places, but puffed out in characteristic griffon pride "-so close together, it's best to be prepared." Polaris cocked his head at the griffon as she proudly announced her intention to win the Iron Pony. Brash and confident, as most of her race were, but there was nothing wrong with being proud of one's skills. "Why, we'll give you the trophy and medals and a big cheer, just like we would if a pony won, of course. Might I have your name, in case I decide to have a little flutter on some of the events?" Just then, their convivial little group was joined by another unicorn stallion, most impractically-dressed for the day - although Polaris did think back to the cloth-of-gold and silk waiting for him in his pavilion - with swords, of all things, strapped to his side. 'Perhaps he's one of the Guards. Then again, I've never seen them wear anything like this...maybe he's plainclothes? I don't think you could find a less-Royal Guard-like outfit if you tried. Well, maybe a ballgown, but that'd come with its own set of problems,' Polaris shook his head to clear it of whimsical thoughts. "Come come, there's nothing wrong with wanting to win! Nothing like a bit of personal motivation to make the struggle all the sweeter, eh? No need to cast aspersions just because somegriffon's getting herself primed for the competitions ahead."
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