Blueblood

Psmith magicked open the pavilion door, indicating by a grand and sweeping gesture that Long Drive was to precede him. "[colour=#996699]If you wish to restore your tissues, there are bottles of ginger-beer and biscuits available for public consumption.[/colour]" The leisurely way in which the colt moved, the particularity with which he dusted his seat, and the overall easy and languid posture he affected may well have made anypony despair of making him be 'short and to the point.' As nothing much was currently happening on the field, Psmith renewed his commentary. "[colour=#996699]You do not plan to play professionally? It is a rarified career, to be sure, but fit for a rare talent. My talents, as you may observe,[/colour]" He nodded back towards the empty speech balloon that was his cutie mark, "[colour=#996699]Lie in talking, and I plan to make a career out of it as a barrister. Hence, I must devote my youth to endurance training of the lungs. Practice, my lad! The champion's foundation, and the sluggard's anathema. One sees so little dedication these days, it would be a pity to spoil any youthful reserve of it.[/colour]"

This kind of mutual teasing had always looked a little odd whenever Earth Writer had seen it crop up, either in fiction or real life. Mind, a lot about having a special somepony couldn't be really understood until one had one. With a half-lidded smile, the stallion responded to Sugar Apple joking tone with a mock-serious one, which made it even funnier. "[colour=#8b4513]Your logic has a failure in argumentative consistency! Your premise is based upon a claim you had just dismissed as, quote, 'A load of hooey.' What exactly is 'hooey,' anyway? I heard that term a lot growing up, but no one ever defined it-[/colour]" Realizing that he had veered into a tangent just like the legendary chancellor, he cracked up, waving a hoof. "[colour=#8b4513]Alright, alright, we concede the Puddinghead point...[/colour]" He had to recover from his laughter, which gave him time to consider his date's question of titles. "[colour=#8b4513]I don't see why you wouldn't hold the title, but then I'm not exactly a member of Herald's College myself; I went to University for a more practical education.[/colour]" Earth's eye twinkled as he continued the jest. "[colour=#8b4513]But I shall be sure to have the answer to your question by the next time we meet, your grace![/colour]"

For a non-ship, how does Prince Blueblood become an amateur detective a la Lord Peter Wimsey?

Hello! And don't worry too much; it's a pretty diverse group here from what I've seen.

There was a lot of good stuff in this episode, I have to say, but it suffered, really suffered, from being 45 minutes long instead of an hour. Development of characters and concepts had to be compressed into sentences, giving it overall a very rushed feel. The framework holds up on retroactive inspection, but if you missed anything, you're probably going to be crying foul at developments that you missed the foreshadowing for. It doesn't actually end on a deus ex machina, but by golly, you'll think it did for a minute. To discuss the cybermen reboot on a separate note... yeah, they're made scary, but the thing is, I'm still wondering why they didn't keep using some of their tactics in the climax that they demonstrated in the set-up (You'll see which one I mean in particular). But Gaiman does use them creatively, I will admit.

Hm, I've got a couple of characters that I haven't used much that could work as ponies that the group can meet at each location, Flying Brick from Stalliongrad, and Sky Sailing from Cloudsdale (Profiles in Character log)

I've actually been looking for the same thing to test an idea of mine here: http://www.canterlot.com/topic/14503-equestria-908-setting-past/ Let me know if you're interested!

Hello and welcome!

Long Drive's rebuke of Psmith's verbosity rolled off his St. Mareson's jacket like water off wingfeathers, prompting nothing but a smile of slight amusement, and a sigh. "[colour=#996699]I dislike,[/colour]" The unicorn spoke languidly as he limped out of the waiting room with Long Drive in tow, "[colour=#996699]This modern superstition of hurry, bustle, and efficiency. It spoils the temperament and digestion; observe the rudeness and inhospitality in this, the city which never sleeps. And not only does it sour sociability, it spoils sport. To speak purely to communicate, and not to enjoy talking for its own sake, would be like picking up the golf ball and dropping it into the hole. No doubt it saves time, but you would hardly do anything like that comrade."[/colour] The parallel was, in fact, very apt, given Psmith's cutie mark and corresponding talent. He'd always babbled at length, ever since he was born. The ensuing years had only enforced a grammatical regularity to the words and a refined solemnity to the tone. "[colour=#996699]As for the injury, I sustained it while providing moral support to the school's cricket team. Such are the risks we brave for our loyalties! Ah, but it was a magnificent sight, the bowler careening down the pitch like a windmill in a hurry, the skittering ball duly punished by the blow of the willow bat as the batter sent it sailing towards the boundary... and my wrist, which was honored to be an integral part of such a spectacle." [/colour]He flexed his injured hoof, and winced. "[colour=#996699]I believe, however, that I shall complete my observances from the pavilion.[/colour]" "[colour=#996699]But now,[/colour]" Psmith turned, feeling that he should allow his acquaintance some chance to speak, "[colour=#996699]Tell me more of your parent's proposed entrepreneurship. I am always game to give what assistance I can to a sportspony.[/colour]"

(Sure thing! http://generic-poizon-dart.deviantart.com/art/Commission-3-Earth-Writer-365344684) It seemed that the Apple Family's origins weren't quite as clear-cut as Earth Writer thought. "[colour=#8b4513]Huh. I wouldn't have thought being descended from Smart Cookie all that unlikely, though. It was so long ago, there's probably a lot of ponies that can trace their lineage to her in some manner. Of course,[/colour]" He chuckled, remembering, "[colour=#8b4513]Judging from our behavior today, maybe one of us might be descended from Mayor Puddinghead instead.[/colour]" This remark naturally segued into a discussion of Earth Writer's own family history. "[colour=#8b4513]Hm, well I don't mind telling you. It's a bit too mixed and varied to fit well into an expose, though.[/colour]" He began, tapping his chin. "[colour=#8b4513]My father's side of the family is the unicorn half; we've traced it back to one of the old nobles who went down and settled in the Gallopagos Islands. My grandfather came back to the mainland to teach at one of the universities. I suppose that means there's a title on te registry here we could claim if we cared about it.[/colour]" The stallion shrugged. "[colour=#8b4513]As much fun as it would be to spring it on the snootier portions of this city, it's really more trouble than its worth, as far as I'm concerned.[/colour]" He had to laugh at the mental image that conjured up, of the reporter being snubbed by the likes of the Upper Crust, until he casually dropped the fact that he was the Duke of Clopacabana. "[colour=#8b4513]As for my mother, she's an Earth Pony rooted in the Heartland, though her ancestors came from practically everywhere, as far as we can tell. I think there might be a zebra in there, but we don't know for sure.[/colour]"

More and more ponies were beginning to crowd around the gate! A dancer had just walked up, and seemingly decided on the spot to accompany them on their tour of the Empire. Not that Earth Writer would have minded, per se, but the crowding in general was giving him a slight case of irrational, nervous excitement. He tried to walk it out, coming from the gate onto the road, where he heard Heart Healer ask him a question. "[colour=#8b4513]Yep. Was it the hat that tipped you off?[/colour]" He replied with a grin. His hat was more or less part of the "Fleet Street Uniform" that was often seen in Canterlot journalistic circles, though no military pony would have dignified the loose fashion adherence with the title. Speaking of which... "[colour=#8b4513]Morning, Colonel! Why the long face?[/colour]" It was a little surprising to see an officer of his homeland so far from it, and in full uniform as well! He made a studied contrast with the local guard, and the reporter noted down a few of the key differences in his notebook. And then there was another tourist, a Miss Harshwinny. Earth nodded to her in greeting. "[colour=#8b4513]This is my first trip myself; already it promises not to be without incident. Good thing, as I'm here for business as much as pleasure.[/colour]"

And now came the locals, all sparkling in the sun. [colour=#8b4513]*How in the wide world of Equestria do they do that?*[/colour] Ever since the Crystal Empire first re-emerged, all kinds of theories and explanations had been put forward by academics and the like, none of which seemed to be attracting anything like consensus. Maddeningly, most of the Crystal Ponies themselves, when asked, generally replied "Why don't you?" But then, that was part of the fun of being a traveling reporter and geographer. The definition of "Normal" changed depending on where you were. The stalling greeted the newcomers with a bow, trying to summon all the manner's he'd picked up in Canterlot. "[colour=#8b4513]It is a great pleasure to meet you all. Just to be able to come here is a rare and unexpected privilege for Equestrians.[/colour]" He especially wanted to make a good impression on the guard. There was something about her, not exactly cold, but sharp. Warm, but with a definite edge. [colour=#8b4513]*Like this place, and its crystals.* [/colour] There was something pleasing in the parallel between the Empire and its guard, and it earned her a big smile from him. The other two mares seemed like more or less ordinary citizens coming to see what all the fuss was about. Ponies were essentially the same everywhere, in that regard. Right about then, Pathfinder got up and, well, proceeded to be herself. Earth would have recognized her anywhere. "[colour=#8b4513]Now I remember, we met back in Ponyville, back in the line at the kissing booth.[/colour]" He paused, not sure if such things had ever been heard of in the Empire [colour=#8b4513]*Well, that's another thing to put in the article.*[/colour] Or there could be an international incident. That could work too. It had taken the reporter but an instant to put two and two together, and for a second, he thought he was about to witness an arrest, or at least some kind of serious indignation. As it was, she seemed to be mostly concerned with the pegasus' mental state, which was reasonable enough. "[colour=#8b4513]I'd be glad of the company, if you would consent to the tour, and I would also offer my aid in escorting my... fellow countrypony to a place of aid.[/colour]" He drew out his notebook again. He hadn't been a reporter very long, but he was starting to get a feel for when interesting things were about to happen...

Upon hearing that the apple strudel was indeed a favorite of the chef's, Earth Writer beamed. "[colour=#8b4513]Excellent! I believe that will be all; I had some sugar apples myself.[/colour]" He gave another smile to his date as Greenshot levitated their menus away. In truth, the Stallion probably could have eaten more, but it probably wasn't a good idea to gobble up so many sweets in one day. Besides, it would have been an imposition upon Sugar Apple, and that his chivalry would not stand! Now that their orders were out of the way, the conversation could go on to other matters, and talk of strudel segued into a discussion of family origins. "[colour=#8b4513]I've heard that the Apple family originally came out of Germaney; I know Granny Smith's brother's from there, at any rate, since he used to visit Ponyville from time to time. You've all certainly branched out-[/colour]" He paused suddenly, realizing what he just said, "[colour=#8b4513]Er, if you'll pardon the pun.[/colour]"

The patchwork was not complicated job, and it was but a few minutes before Psmith came hobbling out of the office, forehoof in a splint. It was a testament to his native gentility that he managed to retain an element of solemn gracefulness in his limping, but the upshot of that was of his injury invoking humor rather than pity in the bystander. He was too dignified to be anything but funny; so much so that a pony might almost suspect that he was doing it on purpose. A big hint to that effect was his face upon seeing that Babs was no longer there; it bore the look of an actor who has come out to an empty theater. "[colour=#996699]Why, we are bereaved, comrade Long Drive! Has the young beauty of Manehattan, the pick of the apples, deserted us in our time of need? Have our slight friction frayed the thread of friendship to its breaking point? Alas, it seems to be so. Well, we must bear up under these troubles, surel they must have some purpose. Perhaps to make us more grateful of those who remain."[/colour] With a sigh, he turned to his remaining 'comrade.' "[colour=#996699]I do hope our [/colour][colour=#996699]acquaintance[/colour][colour=#996699] has not proven to be excessively abrasive. This city is stimulating, but more delicate constitutions find it wearing. Fortunately, I enjoy these collisions of wit and temperament, though I sometimes forget that others do not.[/colour]"

(Do you all want to conclude this here? I had a sort of idea that Psmith would volunteer his "services" to Long Drive's parents, but that could easily go into another thread.)

Coincidentally enough, similar thoughts were going through the head of another pony. At least, he hadn't heard of any other reporters who'd made the trip yet. The tan unicorn emerged onto the open platform of the recently-constructed train station. His hooves took the first few steps with a wobbling gait; the high speeds of the train, faster than any heretofore seen in Equestria, had been disorienting to say the least. After a few steps, however, the shakiness had left him, and he was staring at the surrounding countryside in awe. From here, Earth Writer could see the Crystal Gate, and the harsh northern snows beyond. Nowhere else was such a direct contrast even possible, but the magic in this land could make such marvels almost seem commonplace. Immediately upon sighting it, he levitated a notebook from the pocket of his shirt, and jotted down this first impression. That was, indeed, the reason he was here. As a reporter who did work for one of the Canterlot Daily Papers, as well as sporadic contributions Equestrian Geographic, naturally when his editor had learned of the new opening of the rail line to the Crystal Empire, he was the one sent to represent the paper and report his impressions. The journalist had suggested a name for the column, which would soon hopefully be a household phrase to readers across the Heartland: Notes from a Small Empire [colour=#8b4513]*This first sight will make an excellent first column. Might finish it in time to get it back on the evening train.* [/colour]On this optimistic note, he trotted forward to get a closer look at the gate, cresting a hill just in time to see a pegasus crash into it! "[colour=#8b4513]Hang On![/colour]" He called out, stowing away his notebook as he galloped towards the fallen mare. He slowed as he approached; there was something mighty familiar about her. He leaned over to get a closer look. "[colour=#8b4513]Have... we met somewhere before?[/colour]"

Now that my Pegasus musician, Sky Sailing, has been approved, I'd like to stretch his wings, so to speak. He's not a very famous musician at this point, right now he just plays the opening act for slightly more famous musicians. I'd like this RP thread to be about that. Does anyone want to be the act he's opening for? Stage crew and audience members are also welcome.

The subject of drinks having become a shared source of humor, Earth Writer was feeling happy, but slightly lightheaded. Part of having to become a more outgoing pony was having one's personal quirks, developed in isolation, up for public discussion. This was a slightly bewildering experience; in the back of his mind, he'd entertained the thought that most ponies mixed drink flavours when they could. At least, the prospect of putting his money where his mouth was brought no terrors. "[colour=#8b4513]Challenge accepted.[/colour]" He said, returning Sugar Apple's grin. Greenshot's little remark about in-law's, while obviously at least half-joking, did set the stallion's thoughts along that track. Of course, it was too early to start discussing that, but that didn't stop him thinking as he looked at the blushing mare before him. There wasn't much time, though, to let his mind wander that road, as the green unicorn returned to take their orders. "[colour=#8b4513]Oh yes, the apple strudel sounds excellent. House specialty, isn't it?" [/colour]That was generally a good rule in his experience, to go with the house specials and the table wines. Even if they weren't necessarily the "best" things in the menu, the chefs took the most care in making them, and often you couldn't get them anywhere else. (Seriously, though, those mixtures [cola+orange, tea+sprite] really are good.)

It seemed that Long Drive was more interested in Pmsith's musings on Golf itself, rather than any particular social policy that the he might hold relevant to it. But the older colt was not offended, and looked upon the younger with an indulgent eye. Long Drive was partial to his talent, and was simply saying why he enjoyed his favorite game. Bab's remarks, however, elicited a more direct reply. The lavender unicorn turned with a most solemn expression to face her. "[colour=#996699]Miss Seed,[/colour]" He began, pronouncing the name and title in such a way as to denote a fall from 'Comrade Babs,' "[colour=#996699]It is not intelligence that I say you lack, but politeness, and respect for other ponies.[/colour]" There was something a little more serious at the back of every pony, however foppish, foolish, or frivolous; for Psmith, it was sociability and social graces. He took manners of word and appearance not as an artificial set of arbitrary rules of behavior, but as a ceremonial symbolism of the respect due to all ponies. And Babs' last remark had struck at that sensitive point in him, giving his words a sincerity that was not so apparent in his earlier piffle. "[colour=#996699]In order to not appear deficient yourself, is it truly necessary that you denigrate the interests of many, and the special talent of the pony right beside you? Such one might expect of the schoolyard bully, but you..." [/colour][colour=#000000]And here he gave a sigh and sad look.[/colour][colour=#996699] "I had thought you were better than that, Comrade."[/colour] Obviously, Psmith would have had no way of knowing of the recent events in Babs' life that would have increased her sensitivity to his remarks. In truth, he had little time to observe her reaction, since at that point his name was called, and he departed to have his hoof wrapped, leaving the younger colt and filly waiting outside the doctor's office.

Earth Writer shrugged as Greenshot doubted whether the cider would mix well in a milkshake, "[colour=#8b4513]Well, you can't know unless you try, right?[/colour]" He asked, as one who would put a question fairly. The unicorn seemed to be quite unaware of the humorous nature of his statements, looking a bit nonplussed as the waiter walked away. Looking back at his date, he could see Sugar Apple trying, and failing, to restrain her hilarity. "[colour=#8b4513]What's so funny?[/colour]" He asked, as the pegasus stated that the stallion would have to be the first to try any culinary monstrosity that resulted from his experimentation. It was a suggestion that Earth took in stride. "[colour=#8b4513]Hey, I'm the pony who'll mix together all the drinks in the soda fountain, just to see what it tastes like, and I'll drink it afterwards too. Actually, I've found several rather unlikely combinations that really are quite good. Orange and cola, for instance, or sweet tea and lemon-lime. Almost every drink or dish started out as an experiment, after all. What primal courage filled the first pony to eat a cupcake, we may never know.[/colour]" It was about here that he realized how pretentious he was starting to sound, and he burst out laughing himself. "[colour=#8b4513]But, yeah, maybe not on a first date.[/colour]" Earth Writer chuckled. "[colour=#8b4513]Speaking of cupcakes, your cousin's got me sold on one; so I think a cider smoothie would be an excellent idea.[/colour]" He set down the menu in the relaxed but decisive manner that comes to anypony making an order in a restaurant.

May I request a pic of my Crossover Character Crazy Horse (Profile Below): [/colour]

Earth Writer was quick to forgive the lost opportunity of chivalry, and he gave his lady a warm smile as he took her hoof... which led to a slight amount of awkwardness, when Greenshot offered his own to shake. Perhaps unwisely, the reporter attempted to shake the unicorn's hoof with the one that wasn't holding Sugar Apple's, which led to much stumbling and embarrassed apologies to the both of them. He was blushing again; the whole display might have been cute to an outside observer, if anypony had been paying attention. "[colour=#8b4513]Ehe, right.[/colour]" Earth Writer managed to recover himself, and lead his date to the table, pulling out the cushion for the pegasus before taking a seat upon his own. He nudged the vase away with his hoof so he could see her clearly across the table, and he caught her delighted expression at the sudden glow of the vase. It made him smile as well. Greenshot came forward with the menu, which Earth perused as Sugar made her fumbled order. He looked up, with a thoughtful look upon him face, "[colour=#8b4513]Would it be possible... for you to make the milkshakes with[/colour] [colour=#8b4513]the apple cider?[/colour]" He asked, giving Sugar Apple a wink. No reason why she couldn't have everything she wanted, right?

It is a surprisingly delicate operation to languidly lounge with an air of unconcern while one has a sprained hoof. Add in the unsuitable environment of a hospital waiting room, and the fact that the seats managed to feel cramped even when the room wasn't crowded, it was a commendable accomplishment that Psmith managed it. Not without a few uncomfortable squirmings beforehand, and sharp tugs to restore the proper creases in his jacket, it has to be said, but nevertheless, he did. Having resumed his natural attitude, he resumed his discourse. "[colour=#996699]The aim of Golf, as so dexterously implied by comrade Drive, is not so much activity as leisure. In that, it suits my temperament to the ground. It's lack of physical demand and excitement serves the purpose of relaxation, and as a catalyst for socialization. It is awkward to ask a stranger if they will take a walk with you, but quite easy to ask, 'Do you play Golf?' A good principle of life to remember, comrade Babs, is that if something bores you, that is only because you have not understood its true purpose.[/colour]" Pausing for a moment to let the philosophic point sink in, the unicorn began on a more practical tack. "[colour=#996699]In any case, the leisure of one implies the labor of another, and we are most pleased to hear of your parents' dedication to the cause. As a matter of principle, all good things must be made available to the entire public, and not just the province of the rich. The country clubs serve a small market, but a wider customer base is won by the believer in social equality. You know,[/colour]" he mused, having seized upon an idea, "[colour=#996699]As a socialist, its practically my solemn duty to support such efforts, and I shall do so![/colour]" He sat up, eyes animated as he looked at the golfing colt. "[colour=#996699]Psmith is at your service, sir, as soon, of course, as the medical professionals do their good work.[/colour]"