Duchess

"A good diplomat never lies outright," he pronounced grandly to the Princess, one eye flickering shut in a wink for a fraction of a second. "Although if that's truly the case I must hold my hoof up to being a bad one. My sweet tooth is the only vice I will happily own up to, but, as I said, not all of the truffle boxes are for me this time. Starbright – or as I should really call her, Professor Starbright, of the University of Canterlot and the Astronomer Royal to boot – is in foal, you see. I chanced upon the Skybright twins – Star, who goes by 'Hoss' quite a lot, for no reason that I can fathom, and Shanna, if you remember them – at your CRPR Open House the other day, and they asked me to spread the news through the Court.” Polaris smiled, wide and conspiratorial. “It was rather an honour to be asked, actually. I've a great deal of respect for the redoubtable Professor, and have had ever since I first met her as a rather feckless university student - I helped her with some star charts of the Strand she was compiling of an evening and she could generally be counted on to let me snaffle a few of her midnight truffle snacks in exchange. I thought I'd repay the favour, since I've never seen her without a bowl of something sweet and wicked close at hoof, and I've heard all about the cravings mares tend to get at this sort of time.” Polaris cocked his head to one side as Sweet Surprise spoke, giving her words deserved and weighty consideration. “All present and correct, Sweet Surprise, but...hmm...better make that two pounds of the cherry fudge, on reflection. I shall wear my discreet earplugs when Doctor Red Crescent comes calling next – I'm on holiday, and I should be allowed to eat what I like, food plan or no food plan.” He nodded resolutely, looking very military for a moment. As far as the duke was concerned, he and Red Crescent were locked in battle, even if the doctor shrilly maintained that a diet of celery sticks was 'for his own good'. Polaris had only once expressed his own personal opinion of this to Red Crescent, and had been left with a two-hour-long lecture along the lines of 'Which Pony of the Two Of Us Knows Best: Me' and a persistent ringing in his left ear for three days. “And, if Cadance – her highness, that is – has no objection, I shall shamelessly steal a sample of that daisy fudge she's been munching on like there's no tomorrow and, ah, test it. For compatibility with picnics and that sort of thing. Cherry fudge is more for curling up in front of the fire with a good book, in my mind.” He beamed at the pile of neat boxes stacking up on his side of the counter, not caring a jot about the calories and fat lurking inside the luscious treats within. “I'm sure business is booming for you, Sweet Surprise – it's always nice to see ponies making the most of their talents. You'll soon be able to move to a larger store – or one in a more prominent position - of that I have absolutely no doubt. I shall certainly be telling my friends to try some of your culinary masterpieces, never fear! Now, as I mentioned earlier, I'm planning to host a party down at Fetlock Hall in a few weeks, and I may well ask you to help with the confectionery side of things, so you can at least fulfil that part of your dream, eh? My chef is very good, I'll be the first to say, but she and her staff can't do everything all at once, no matter how many ponies I take on. The kitchens are only so big, after all.”

Hallo there, and welcome to Canterlot; I'm sure you'll have a splendid time! Always good to welcome another from the UK . North or South Wales?

Welcome to Canterlot! I'm sure you'll have an absolutely splendid time . If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask - we're all lovely, I assure you. An artist, an experienced roleplayer and someone who likes in-depth advanced roleplay? You'll definitely be in demand!

I love the rain, so I'm quite happy! I just wish we had more thunderstorms . Still, I do hope nopony gets flooded out...

Polaris trotted closer as Ice Storm replied, ensuring she didn't have to shout and disturb other ponies. He nodded in understanding as the arctic unicorn replied, noticing that she seemed a lot more relaxed and comfortable in Ponyville than she ever had in Canterlot. “Oh, I see! Awfully nice of you to come along and support your benefactor, I must say – he's very lucky to have such a stalwart friend. It's good to hear that your shop has done so well in Ponyville this time around, too. Business must be booming if you're contemplating buying a house; I was always given to understand that most shop-owners lived in their establishment. That reminds me; whilst I remember, what is your emporium called? I know you told us all at the Open House, but it went clean out of my head and I've been racking my brains for the past week trying to recall it.” He gave her a slightly embarrassed smile. “I'm not always the best pony at remembering things, as you can tell.” At that point, Ice Storm turned to her erstwhile companion, the white-and-purple unicorn mare; Polaris could recognize the preamble to an introduction at fifty paces and so set his face in the diplomat's professional, amiable smile that could cope with anything. Well, almost anything – when Ice Storm mentioned the pony's name, Captain Synapse finally fired in the duke's brain, prompting a cascade of thoughts which threatened to ruin his savoir faire before he managed to recover somewhat. Even so: “Rarity? The Lady Rarity?” were the first words out of his mouth; even the plummiest of Canterlot accents couldn't disguise Polaris's surprise. Even as he considered the question he'd voiced, his mind took over: 'That brilliantly white coat, imperial purple mane and tail, triple diamond cutie mark...it can't be! But these eyes don't lie – at least, close up – and Ice Storm did call her Rarity, to boot. I'm almost sure I've seen her – or at least, somepony who looks awfully like her – at the opera, too. Yes, perhaps if we add a fine evening gown and a tiara...' He cleared his throat with a gentle harrumph, taking advantage of the brief lull to order the words queuing up on his tongue. “Do forgive me for not recognizing you straight off the bat,” he said with a self-deprecating smile and a half-bow – the confines of the shop, and the nearness of the other ponies, meant that a full courtly submission was out of the question - “-but the only impression of your fine self I've seen is on the windows of dear old Castle Canterlot, and the royal glazier rather tends to the stylized in his representations, alas.” He pulled a rather martyred expression, a small, wicked smile flickering around the edges. “Still, one must live in hope that portraiture will one day permeate even the hallowed halls of the royal palace. Ah, but where are my manners? It's a true pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

((That's okay - and I apologise for the wait. My better half came to visit this weekend.)) The artist vanished inside what was probably her home as well as her studio, reappearing a short while later bearing a canvas which she displayed, proudly and slightly nervously, to Polaris. He took a few steps closer, so he didn't have to strain his eyes, which stung slightly from the turpentine fumes. It was a landscape, which surprised him, a dark, almost primeval forest towering beneath an endless azure sky, framed by more cheering rolling fields and the suggestion of neat, trim farmhouses and orchards on the sun-dappled hills. It was much more textured than the majority of paintings he'd seen, a newer and bolder style, currently favoured by few and formed by the layering and sculpting of very viscous oil paints, set with linseed oils and then built up more to suggest even greater depth and texture than was normally possible with the simple play of light and shadow. “I like the use of texturing,” he commented – it really did make an otherwise quite unremarkable painting look striking, especially up close. “I see you're developing your form away from the idealized style, as well. Very progressive. The chiaroscuro in the forest foliage contrasts nicely with the pinpoint precision of your shading and colouration everywhere else in the piece, too – I assume you know the view well? The contrast of known and unknown, the bright colour elsewhere in the painting focusing the viewer on the forest scene.” He smiled, amiably. “It's a good painting – a little rough around the edges, maybe, but a nice work nonetheless.” Polaris paused, as though trying to think of a diplomatic way to put things. “I don't wish to be rude, so please don't take offence, but you're offering portraits, yes? Do you have any portraits – self or otherwise, I really don't mind - that I could gauge?”

Books sent back to the waiting air-chariot and mind once more firmly on the tasks he'd set himself, Polaris trotted down Ponyville's main street with every intention of getting on with them this time. 'No more bookshops', he admonished himself, slightly ruefully – he'd never been able to resist the lure of paper and ink, the smell of old books and the leather of the fine bindings – even the memory put a fond smile on his face as he continued to move at a leisurely, unhurried pace; it would never do to arrive out-of-breath and perspiring, horribly crumpled to boot. As he passed one of Ponyville's subsidiary thoroughfares, his sensitive nose twitched – a sharp, biting smell, oddly heady and giddying, touched it and he sneezed convulsively, head swivelling automatically to try and find the source of the odour. It was familiar, too, maddeningly so, smelt before and half-remembered...Polaris shook his head and stamped his front hooves lightly in irritation, mostly at himself. The caprice of the wind took it away, and he turned back to his original path, but then it gusted, stronger, and he followed, curious now, and wanting to find out just what had so tickled his nose. As shortsighted as Polaris was, he was quite close to Electric Vibe and her improvised street atelier before he managed to make out the easel, palette, chair and sign. “Ah. Turpentine,” he said with a slightly rueful sigh, more to himself than anypony else, suddenly remembering the various portraits he'd sat for – usually chafing as a foal in full dress and longing to be anywhere else. Remembering his manners, he turned to the artist pony, raising his rich voice to carry effortlessly. “Good morning, miss! I hope I find you well this fine morning? Tell me, do you happen to have any examples of your art handy?”

Polaris hid an indulgent, self-satisfied smile as Sweet Surprise snapped out of her reverie and bustled off around the counter. Watching ponies' reactions to his noble lifestyle never got old; he'd seen the gamut from repulsion - among the militantly egalitarian ponies - to starry-eyed fantasy; anyone from fillies to (impecunious) nobleponies seemed to be susceptible. It wasn't all roses and afternoon tea at half past four with Princess Celestia, of course, but it could certainly sound that way. When Polaris had been younger, having a home that was so large that friends could get lost in its outer reaches, having to restrict games of Hide-and-Seek to particular wings and not being allowed to eat all the desserts on the sideboard at dinner were the primary complaints he had about life in general – a far cry indeed from a rock farmer's humble existence, for example. Even as a full-grown stallion of high repute and the laurelled Duke of Manehattan to boot, his gripes hadn't increased in seriousness all that much; friends could still get lost in the far-flung wings of home, but rather than Hide and Seek problems, the overwhelming nature of Fetlock Hall tended to intimidate ponies subjected to its splendour for the first time. More than one pony the duke had hoped to court had been invited home and faltered when confronted with the physical representation of his power and wealth, a rather depressing fact. Regardless, he knew he walked a path strewn with roses when compared to many others – even his job saw him feted and looked after wherever he went, allowed him to see far-flung places on the taxpayer's bit, and resulted in a great many splendid gifts with which to stock the halls of Hoofburgh House and Fetlock Hall both. He blinked himself out of his own momentary spot of reflection and took a cautious nibble of the apple vanilla. It wasn't a flavour he'd tried before – and, as it happened, it was lucky he took only a small bite. Taken individually, Polaris liked vanilla – especially in tarts and ice-cream, and he liked apples, too, especially in the summer. He'd been hoping for a picnic fudge, really, something to complement Canape's excellent rock toffee, a delicacy that Polaris had looked forward to since he was a young colt. Mixed together, however... “Oh, dear me,” he coughed, eyes wide in surprise. The two flavours caught in the back of his throat, cloying and sickly, and he coughed again. “Dear oh dear.” His face twisted through several rather interesting grimaces even as his magic rather jerkily fished a silvery flask out of an inner pocket and tipped a generous quantity of the liquid inside – smelling rather strongly of apples and pears - into his mouth. Some battle appeared to be being waged for a moment or two, before Polaris swallowed heavily. “I, ah, think I'll give the vanilla and apple fudge a miss, on balance. Not my best choice, I have to say,” he murmured, rather hoarse. “I'll have six boxes of the orange and dark chocolate truffles, please.”

I mostly live in the depths of rural Cheshire, but I do occasionally make a foray into Central London for a while .

Ah, very good . I go deer stalking and game shooting, so I mix between rifles and shotguns. Well done on your tourney success - I'm sure you'll continue to do extremely well!

Welcome to Canterlot! I'm sure you'll have a splendid time; if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask - we're all nice . May I ask what sort of guns you prefer? (And then, of course, what you use them for ).

Ooh, a lawyer! We need more of the under-represented professions, definitely! I do rather like this pony - may I just suggest a few things that you might consider changing/adding? Firstly, re her profession - what made her want to go to be a lawyer, specifically, as opposed, to, say, going into the Guards or politics, for example? Also, perhaps include a bit more information about the betrayal by her so-called friends at school; this seems to have been a pivotal event that's seriously impacted her life, but the detail's quite sparse. What's her relationship with her mother like? (This is more my own curiosity rather than anything else). How did she take the 'I want to be a lawyer', rather than, say, a weather pony? Why did she spend a year in Stalliongrad, too? A bit more detail on this kind of stuff would, in my opinion, round her out nicely and give a bit more context and background . Once again, I think this is a nice application and I hope you get accepted .

Polaris blinked in mild shock as Timid Star cowered before his offering as though it were the worst weapon imaginable before all-but-snatching a bag of fudge and casting some bits in the general direction of the shop counter, vanishing in an instant and leaving Polaris's cherry peace-offering tumbling forlornly at colt-level. His ears drooped, his posture slumped, and a heavy sigh filled the air. To comfort himself, he took another bite of the cherry deliciousness that he was, true to his word, shamelessly monopolising. The rush of sugary, tasty goodness helped somewhat. “Really, it seems as though Canterlot's experiencing something of an epidemic of 'run away' as of late,” he observed, voice deceptively light. “Then again, that's hardly surprising, given recent, ah, events.” Polaris coughed and looked away momentarily; he wasn't sure how well the Princess was coping with the memory of her wedding-that-nearly-wasn't. “Either that, or the Duke of Manehattan is a scary, scary pony,” he added, deadpan. “But to answer you, Princess – life is good, nonetheless. It's always a joy to come back to Canterlot after a long time away; to see faces old and new – like your good self, to get lost when somepony changes the city layout again, to find that my favourite cafe's expanded into a seven-restaurant spectacular, to fall in the fountain in Canterleigh Park after rather too much Chateau Lahoof and brandy with old schoolfriends – although I haven't done that since I first became an ambassador, and I'd take it as a service if you wouldn't mention it to too many people...and of course, to attend the opera.” He gestured expansively, enthusiasm all-but infectious. “I saw a truly glorious performance of HMS Pintafore on Tuesday, you know. The music and the sparkling dialogue together make one of the best recipes for laughter I know of.” A wry smile and a half-shrug. “Not the most highbrow of material, of course – I doubt one would find my fellow patron Prince Blueblood dead at a Pintafore production, for instance - but it's a perennial favourite of mine nonetheless.” He laughed, shortly, at that, eyes becoming contemplative and somewhat distant. “Having said all of that on the delights of the city, though, I have to confess I miss the southern Equestrian countryside. Canterlot is always changing, full of vibrant life, a shot in the foreleg, if you will, that gets you up and going if you're a bit down in the dumps, but the Strand is where I was born and the dear old pile of Fetlock Hall is my anchor and my castle both. I spent my childhood running through the Great Park and following the ponies around on the Home Farm there, I learned to swim in the Galloping River where it runs through the estate and met my oldest friends in the little villages that dot the duchy.” He smiled, vaguely reminiscent. “Even had super secret midnight raids on the Little Pantry with them and all. Yes, the Hall is my true home, that immovable centre that holds a pony fast, wherever they are, and I miss it greatly, on occasion.” Every word that Polaris had been speaking was underlined by a vast and unshakeable fondness for the place he spoke of, a deep and abiding love for his home and his duchy both. He coughed, suddenly self-conscious, the dark blush returning once more. “Your pardon, ma'am,” he murmured, with a half-bow. “The lands your aunts entrusted to my family are very precious to me.” To give himself a little time to recover, he glanced at the fudge board again. “Sweet Surprise, could I be a bother and ask to try some of the apple vanilla, too? Oh, and do you happen to sell truffles, by the way? Orange and dark chocolate, for preference – and no alcohol in them. I know they're not in the sale, but...” he trailed off with a mildly apologetic shrug and turned to the Princess, thinking he sounded rather gluttonous. “They're not for me – well, not all of them,” he explained. “Have you by any chance met the Skybright twins, Star and Shanna?”

Hallo there, and welcome to Canterlot! I'm sure you'll have a splendid time; if you've any questions, don't hesitate to ask . We're all nice!

Hehe, as Artax has said, pay attention to the rules and you'll be fine! Previous experience in RPing is, of course, a good thing - whether to apply for Free-For-All or Mane is a matter of personal choice more than anything; if you want to have ponies with lasers and psychic powers, you're better off in Free-For-All. If you want to play around in a slightly expanded Equestria from the show, go for the Mane RP .

Polaris sighed, although tolerantly, and put on a hugely over-exaggerated, long-suffering face as the laugher infected both Sweet Surprise and Timid Star – who he'd not managed to notice either, blast the light differences, amongst the maze of shelves and displays groaning under the weight of sweet treats. At least Sweet Surprise had the presence of mind to vanish into the nether regions of the shop, where her laughter was muffled, before bursting into gales of merriment, and so she could safely be ignored for a little while. The colt rolling around on the floor, however... “Do stand up, Timid Star. You don't know what's been walked onto this floor, or by whom, no matter how clean a shop Sweet Surprise keeps.” Polaris was about to say more on the subject of rolling around on the ground like an earth pony, but at that moment the chocolatier emerged, and he felt a lot more capable of forgiving her; plates were balanced on her head and the small of her back, and the delicious smell of cherries and daisies, mingled with rich sugar, wafted and billowed from them both, piercing through the background aroma of chocolate. His mouth began to water, even as his magic lofted a large piece of fudge, but just before his teeth closed on the inviting morsel, the Princess admitted she didn't care for cherries, which prompted the duke to turn and gaze, nonplussed, at the royal alicorn for a moment. “You don't like cherries?” he exclaimed, morsel still bobbing invitingly in the air, half-forgotten at this revelation. “Not even sweet cherry tart, or, or, or kirsch? Gods and stars.” He shook his head, wonderingly, and then brightened, a slyly wicked smile curving up his muzzle. “Well,” he sighed, after a moment's thought, “It wouldn't do for everypony to be the same – and that does mean I can shamelessly monopolise the cherry fudge.” To prove his point, he bit deep into the floating piece still patiently suspended in ice-blue magic in front of him, appreciating the melange of flavours, the pervading sweetness tempered by the sharp bursts of intense flavour from tiny pieces of dried cherry, contrasting to perfection. “Delightful, as expected,” he commented, with a smile, absently lofting another piece off the plate. “If I could have a pound and a half of that, please, Sweet Surprise? Oh, and while I remember – how well does it all keep? I mean t'say, nothing sweet lasts very long in my presence, but I'm planning to host a party in a few weeks, down at Fetlock Hall, and I was considering putting in an order. Would it have to be made on the day and then freighted down post-haste, or will it stay meltingly moist and delicious for a while?” His gaze flicked towards Timid Star, who had managed to right himself and was now evidently waiting patiently to chime in with his own request. “Can I tempt you, Timid Star?” he asked, in part to show that all was forgiven, and in part to induct the young unicorn into the delights of sweet cherries. A luscious bit of the fudge turned idly over and over in a corona of powder-blue light, a little way in front of the colt, inviting him to take a bite.

Only unmarked mute swans belong to the Queen in England, not 'all swans'. 'Auriga' is both the name for a constellation, a type of carriage, and a chauffeur in the Roman Empire. Magdalen College in Oxford is pronounced 'Maudlin' and has a deer park as a (much treasured) part of the college.

Hallo there, and welcome to Canterlot! I'm sure you'll have a splendid time; if you have any questions or need any help, don't hesitate to ask . And I quite agree with you, Luna -is- best pony . A professional driver? That's piqued my curiosity; d'you mean as in racing, or as a chauffeur? Or have I got the wrong end of the stick entirely?

Welcome to Canterlot! I'm sure you'll have a superb time! If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask . I can't recommend learning to bake highly enough; it's so therapeutic and you can munch contentedly on the fruits of your labours!

Polaris was a pony on a mission. In fact, a pony on several missions. It was for this reason that he'd roused himself from his comfortable bed (the siren song of which still echoed in the far reaches of his mind) just when the first lemon-yellow rays of another beautiful sunrise began to touch the mullioned windows of Hoofburgh House, the imposing and lavish Canterlot townhouse he currently lived in. Nothing compared to the colossal pile of Fetlock Hall, of course, but a very large dwelling nonetheless for one pony (and a small household staff, of course, but they didn't really count). Amongst the nobility of Canterlot, Polaris was known as an early riser – as in, he habitually got up before elevenses were served – but he was finding the whole business of rising at dawn rather less of a good idea than it had seemed last week when he'd been planning this little trip. Nonetheless, his briskly efficient gentlepony's gentlepony, Sheaves, by dint of discreet bustle and peerless organizational skills, managed to get the bleary duke up, bathed, dressed – in fine silver-gray tweeds suitable for the country and for travel – and out of the grand double doors just as the city bells chimed seven, even when the short discussion (which the valet had lost) regarding mode of travel had been factored in. By eight, having walked through the near-silent streets at a leisurely amble, Polaris presented himself at Canterlot's grand central transport station, an airy structure of white marble and arcing glass, on time and perfectly attired for a little country outing, if still not quite all present and correct in the brain department. In the section of the building reserved for aerial transport, he found his air-chariot, four strong pegasus-ponies already in its traces and champing at the bit to slip the bonds of earth and be soaring in the wide blue skies. Despite the havoc that air-travel caused to his slyly unruly mane and tail – the slipstream often caught the silky black locks and freed them from ribbons and clips of any sort, letting them wave freely around in the breeze – Polaris loved the sensation of flight. Airships were beautiful and refined, of course, but they weren't quite so personal, so connected with the sky – and they didn't move as fast as a good air-chariot, with strong ponies in the traces and a light load behind. Thus it was that he touched down on the outskirts of Ponyville just as the shops were opening and ponies were stirring in earnest. He took deep breaths of the country air – and sneezed; the wind was from the Everfree forest and it was cargoed with a heady melange of unfamiliar smells – before trotting gaily into town, having cursorily tidied his mane and retied the trailing ribbon in his tail. It was a place quite different to Canterlot; the white marble, alabaster and gilt that characterised royal (and, to some extent, unicorn) architecture had been abandoned in favour of solid plaster and half-timbered homes, the streets were unpaved and, a few buildings aside – like a fanciful construction of fluffy cumulus and rainbows that was evidently the residence of the local weatherpony – there were no soaring towers that pierced the sky. Still, everypony seemed friendly, calling cheery greetings to one another as they passed. Polaris shook his head; he had things to do today in Ponyville. Mentally, he reviewed the list. 'Number One: Find the Carousel Boutique.' A chance conversation with Hoity Toity had sparked that particular idea off in Polaris's head, especially since half the designer's stock seemed to come from Carousel these days. 'Two: Sweet Apple Acres – Head Chef, Canapé has sworn up and down that their apples are some of the finest in Equestria, and she's made it clear that if she's going to make me anything apple-based, it has to be Sweet Apple Acres stock or nothing.' He sighed. Chefs of high calibre were picky. 'Three: Find that store...' The name was on the tip of his tongue, he knew, but he just couldn't quite remember it. Ice Storm, the pony with a talent for ice magic, ran it...he was really hoping he would recognize it from the exterior, or failing that, the products on offer. 'Four:-' At that point, his musings were cut short by a proud banner waving over a shopfront: 'Textual Treasures: Grand Opening' it proclaimed to the world, fluttering over a building whose wide windows were thoughtfully arrayed with all manner of books – from the latest Daring Do to the complete oeuvre of the Encyclopaedia Equestria to a rather splendidly-bound set of tomes that Polaris knew for a fact were quite rare and difficult to get hold of. Ponyville really was turning out to be full of surprises; turned from his original plan, the noblepony trotted gently into the shop, letting his eyes adjust to the interior. There were really only a few ponies present – an officious but kindly-looking mare peering around over half-moon spectacles, a tall, violet pony behind an ornate antique cash register; evidently the owner, or at least, manager, of the place, a unicorn with a dazzlingly white coat and richly purple mane, and – Polaris's eyes brightened. 'Well, this is a stroke of luck!' he thought to himself, happily. 'Just fancy bumping into Ice Storm here! I can ask her what her shop's called!' “Hallo, Ice Storm!” he called, but quietly – this was a bookstore, after all. “Fancy bumping into you here! I didn't realise you enjoyed books.”

SkyMunki's just covered pretty much all the points I was going to make, if you look at your application thread . Answer/fill in those and you'll have a top-notch application; I hope you get accepted soon!

Hallo there, and welcome to Canterlot! I'm sure you'll have a splendid time; if you have any questions, or need any help, don't hesitate to ask . It's good to see another UK resident joining up!

Well, you have marked it WIP, and people don't generally comment on something until a [Final] tag gets added - they don't want to tell you to add/think about changing something you were already going to put in .

Renfrewshire? I'm afraid all my experience of Scotland is further up; Aberdeenshire and Perthshire, mostly. Still, tis good to see a fellow UK brony .