To Love Thyself

by Akumokagetsu

First published 18th of January, 2014

Prince Blueblood was in the depths of his cups when he met the mare of his dreams. A unicorn so much like himself that it's startling, and he can't seem to get rid of her.

Prince Blueblood has one heck of a family reputation to live up to.
Even Twilight Sparkle is considered better royalty than him, and she's fresh out of her coronation. Blueblood gets no respect, and he tries his best to ignore this by losing himself from time to time in the embrace of hard cider.

As it turns out, he's not the only one with problems.
This surprises Blueblood greatly.

The Prince Formerly Known As Prince Blueblood

Disgrace.

Blueblood trotted proudly past another pair of his aunt’s royal guards, who bowed and gave simpering smiles upon his passing. The clop of his polished hooves across the checkered marble floor filled the cavernous hall, allowing him a bare precious moment’s distraction from the sound of snickering.

He didn’t even bother looking back anymore.

Blueblood knew that they mocked him behind his back – he had caught guards doing it multiple times. It wasn’t as if Celestia were going to do anything about it, though. He scowled a little more deeply, golden locks of his perfectly wavy mane casting shadows over his porcelain face.

She wasn’t just being lenient on them.

Blueblood knew that she laughed at him, too.

Disgrace.

Mockery.

Fool.

Blueblood didn’t even notice when he began stomping toward his chambers, and tried to calm himself. The unicorn cleared his throat, the setting sun blinking in cheerily through the windows. He tried to stop grinding his teeth in frustration, and breathed heavily through his nostrils as he tried to calm himself. It wouldn’t do any good to go blowing up on one of the guards again.

Oh, he certainly wanted to.

But after the last couple of times, he discovered that they even mocked him over his rage. Prancing about doing extremely feminine impersonations of him, laughing hysterically as if he were some kind of buffoon!

The anger bubbled inside him at a low boil, fought against with a wave of other unpleasant thoughts as he drew nearer his quarters. A pegasus with a silver helm and spear bowed curtly to him upon his arrival, which gave him a small measure of satisfaction through the agitation. At least some ponies around here could show proper respect.

“Good evening, guardspony,” Blueblood straightened his back a little upon approaching his room, a little smirk on his lips.

“Good evening, Blueballs,” the guard replied automatically.

Prince Blueblood nearly erupted.

“Blood!” the pegasus spluttered in panic, desperately trying to hide his snicker. “Blueblood, I meant to say ‘Blueblood’!”

“OUT!” Blueblood bellowed, stomping the ground furiously and shouting himself hoarse. “OUT, GET – OUT!”

The pegasus promptly dropped his spear with a clatter, snatching it from the ground with a fumble before taking off at a breakneck pace down the hall.

Blueblood slammed his door shut with his hooves, not bothering with magic as he usually did. Sometimes, it just felt better to get physical.

In fact, Blueblood entertained quite a few fantasies about getting ‘physical’ with that stupid guard’s head.

He slammed his hooves against his puffy pillows a couple of times, showing them just who was boss of whom before asserting dominance over the four poster bed, which seemed to be actively resisting his attempts to sleep atop it.

Unsurprisingly, punching his opulent bed didn’t do anything to relieve his stress, either.

However, since Blueblood was not necessarily one to ‘exercise’ like some common rabble, it did manage to tire him fairly quickly. Ergo, Blueblood was left staring grumpily at the ceiling, and too exhausted to fight back against the awkwardly almost-comfy pillows.

He refused to allow them to win, however.

Blueblood sat up after a while, shaking his head.

It was no wonder at all that he couldn’t sleep properly these days; continuously attributing equine qualities to inanimate objects. All the constant stress that was so unfairly thrust upon him was slowly starting to drive him mad.

Of course, before long, Blueblood found himself trotting around his room in small, slow circles.

Just like every single night.

This only served to make him bitterly angry again, as he was almost certain that Princess Luna was casting some kind of spell that prevented him from sleeping his frustration away. That definitely had to be it; Luna was in a conspiracy against him with the pillows. They probably talked badly about him behind his back, just like his stupid aunt and the stupid guards and –

“Oh, wow,” Blueblood rubbed his eyes, stopping suddenly in the middle of the floor. “Yeah, that definitely sounds crazy.”

And now he was talking to himself.

Wonderful. Just another sign of madness.

Forcing back (quite entertaining) notions of being meddled with by that dreadful, uncouth ‘Discord’ character, Blueblood frowned more deeply and slipped on his pristine black traveling cloak.

Blueblood traveled the streets of Canterlot in utter secrecy, not a single soul recognizing him beneath his black cloak.

Mostly because he was the only pony on that particular street. It wasn’t an especially large cloak. One could even see his Cutie Mark if he didn’t wear the cloak just so.

Regardless, Blueblood found himself once again falling prey to the whims of hard cider. After all, it had helped in the past; although he wasn’t especially keen on turning to any kind of brew often, considering the horrible awakenings previously. Plus, Celestia forbid anything other than ceremonial wine allowed in the castle’s cellars after the ‘Luna and the chocolate fountain’ incident.

Blueblood shuddered, though not from the nipping cool breeze.

One learned rather quickly not to tempt an alicorn of enormous power.

He wandered aimlessly for a little while, passing by a couple of earth ponies that gave him some odd stares. Blueblood nearly reprimanded them for gawking at him, to ask if they even knew who he was. But of course, that would completely defeat the purpose of his secretive black traveling cloak.

Surely there had to be an establishment around here somewhere that still served alcohol. He could have sworn that he just bumbled into one on the eastern side of Canterlot just a week ago. Blueblood had memorized the street signs, something he was loathe to do. Surely that was something his chariot driver was supposed to be paid for.

Blueblood grumbled incoherently over how he was being forced into labor by memorizing street signs, no sign of any pub around.

With a sigh, Blueblood turned on the spot and began to head back to the palace. It was late, and he still hadn’t found any bars. Not even a lousy street vendor, although he had never actually seen a street vendor selling cider in Canterlot. At night.

He quietly assured himself that he would have such a thing petitioned for just such occasions, although he doubted that his aunt would do anything except laugh it off when he wasn’t looking.

Viciously stomping the sidewalk as he passed, Blueblood’s eyes were swiftly drawn to a slowly swinging, dirty wooden sign that sashayed slowly in the wind.

He could have sworn that wasn’t there just a moment ago. Blueblood shrugged it off mentally. He had probably just overlooked it. The run down building looked nearly decrepit, with boarded up windows and a dingy door. Although, he could hear voices faintly, and the dim candlelight slipping through the cracks indicated that the crummy little pub was indeed open for business.

And so, with a heavy sigh, Blueblood nudged open the door to the 8-Bits Bar.

Blueblood let out a breath as he stumbled inside, nearly tripping over his own cloak.

Embarrassed, he righted himself and pulled the hood a little further over his head, which was difficult because of his long horn. He did manage it, though, successfully hiding his shameful tumble as the door swung quietly shut behind him.

And nopony laughed at him once.

Which disturbed Blueblood greatly, because the bar was almost completely empty.

There were no other patrons, even though he had definitely heard them before entering. He would have sworn it on his favorite golden slippers with the comfortable grip.

Peering about with a nervous tingle running up his spine, Blueblood let out a breath and took in the sight for a moment.

The pub was much larger on the inside than he had previously expected; perhaps it was attached to another building. Many rectangular polished wooden tables sat at odd intervals throughout the place, a couple of them close to the door where playing cards had been left. The dingy lights hanging from the ceiling gave off a homey, orange glow, bathing the entire place in a dim but cozy light.

The only sign of life aside from himself was a bored looking lime green pony behind the bar, much larger than himself. The bartender only stared at him for the longest time while steadily wiping the counter with a dirty rag, even though it had obviously been immaculate and shining for a long while.

“Er… h-hullo,” Blueblood tried to make his voice a little more gruff to disguise himself better, starting toward the bar.

“Hello yourself, Blueblood,” the stallion answered with a much deeper voice, like gravel on sandpaper. Blueblood had just begun to make himself comfortable on the stool before he froze, staring at the bartender.

“H-how – how did you know?” Blueblood gaped.

The bartender only stared at him with heavy, dark eyes for a while longer, before answering “You have your name embroidered on your cloak. Unless you’re a thief,” he added with a slightly cocked eyebrow. It was the most facial expression Blueblood had seen from him the whole time, and it looked off on the stallion.

Flushing, Blueblood scowled and threw down his hood. He glared hatefully at his reflection on the counter, his own dainty features staring back at him between his white hooves.

“Just hit me with whatever’s most expensive,” Blueblood grumbled wearily, not bothering to catch the bartender’s name. “I don’t have all night.”

Without pause, the bartender replied “Oh, everypony’s got enough time for the Eight Bits,” without changing his deep voice from monotone. “And there’s no charge.”

“… Oh,” Blueblood perked up a little with a smug grin. “Royalty discount, eh?”

“No,” the green stallion deadpanned. “We don’t charge for drinks.”

Blueblood stared at the bartender as he expertly filled an entire mug with a frothing brown liquid. How in the world was anypony supposed to run a pub that didn’t charge for drinks? What kind of low-down establishment had he bumbled into?

Blueblood glared in disdain at the mug placed before him, although he secretly appreciated the free joy-juice. The cider was surprisingly sweet, with a tinge of what he supposed was… cinnamon and pumpkin? He smacked his lips, but only once. Blueblood quickly kept his face as expressionless as the bartenders, staring into the drink.

No need to go letting him know that it was actually good. Blueblood didn’t stoop so low as to compliment worthless drinks that his royal lips shouldn’t even have to touch, and other such weak excuses that he thought up to silently defend himself.

His thoughts eventually turned to his aunt after he was nearly halfway through his second mug, the relaxed buzz pleasantly tingling him. Perhaps he really didn’t have it so bad. After all, Blueblood was such an amicable fellow – he could forgive Celestia for being pompous all the time.

Blueblood’s gaze wandered around the dingy bar, and he nearly did a double take when he saw the neatly rowed circular tables.

Odd.

He was quickly distracted by the arrival of somepony he hadn’t even seen enter.

The mare was in the process of hanging up a forget-me-not blue cloak on the rack beside the door, which Blueblood also must have looked over. He silently chided himself for his forgetfulness, but pulled his own cloak a little tighter around himself nonetheless.

It was obviously a common pony, the teal unicorn even had difficulty hanging up her cloak. It took Blueblood a moment of staring to realize that her hooves were shaking, and the bedraggled mane implied that she hadn’t slept for a while.

He felt an extremely rare twinge of empathy for the unicorn, who started toward the bar. Blueblood turned away swiftly, realizing that he had been crudely staring at her the entire time. His attention back on his unexpectedly full mug, Blueblood nodded politely to the bartender.

He didn’t even have to ask for it. Blueblood was beginning to like this place more and more – it was about time he was treated with even a minimal amount of respect.

The mare tiredly sidled into the seat beside him, barely managing to keep her head off the counter before rapping it a couple of times.

Wordlessly, the bartender poured and slid down the smooth countertop a tall mug of foamy, yellowish liquid with a pink tinge over the bubbles. Blueblood didn’t even bother noticing the drink, because the moment the unicorn brushed a lock of light cerulean mane from her eyes his breath immediately caught in his chest.

Blueblood’s heart pounded so loudly that he could hear it in his ears. Despite the patched cloak she had walked in with, despite the worn and weary look on her face and unkempt mane, Blueblood still would have sworn that she was some form of royalty as well. The unicorn was easily one of the most captivatingly beautiful mares that he had ever laid eyes on.

She was in the process of taking a swig of her cider before placing it on the counter and turning to give Blueblood a harsh glare.

“What are you looking at?” she glowered, startling him.

What he tried to respond with was something along the lines of “How dare you! You, madam, are in the presence of royalty!”

What came out of his mouth, however, was something along the lines of “Buh bluh bubbububububuh.”

With a disgusted upturned cringe, Trixie frowned harder than she thought she could.

“Charming,” she turned back to her drink.

Blueblood shook himself firmly, getting a better grip on himself.

“Er…” he began.

Brilliant. Positively genius. Now you know why everypony mocks you behind your back.

Clearing his throat loudly again, Blueblood spoke more firmly and with determination.

“Good evening, pretty mare,” he said with what he hoped was a winning smile.

“Go buck yourself.”

Blueblood balked, gaping at the unimpressed unicorn who sat sipping her drink quietly. Evidently his appealing and charismatic personality would not be enough to win her over.

“So…” Blueblood tried to make interesting conversation. “… Come here often?”

“Trixie is not some drunkard,” the apparently named Trixie huffed haughtily. “Does Trixie look like a filthy peasant?”

“Er… yes?” Blueblood responded cluelessly.

Trixie’s head hit the counter with a tunk, and she groaned into her elbow while dragging her nearly empty drink a little closer.

“Rock bottom,” Trixie sobbed bitterly. “Trixie has finally sunk to the lowest of the low.”

A bit offended that she was obviously implying that such an obviously great unicorn such as himself would ever sink to anything, regardless of the fact that he was sitting directly next to her, Blueblood cleared his throat again.

“You should see somepony about that,” Trixie mumbled, wiping a strand of mane from her face before finishing off her drink. She chugged it down with a swig, dropping the mug back onto the counter. Her eyes widened a little, and she patted her sides swiftly.

“… Oh,” Trixie stated uncomfortably when the bartender gave her a slightly tilted look as he continued cleaning the countertop. “T-Trixie seems to have, um… forgotten her bits,” she chuckled weakly, starting up to leave.

“It’s on me,” Blueblood offered what might have been one of the only moments of chivalry or generosity in his life. He was supremely pleased to see a look of relief on her face when he did so.

“Oh,” Trixie half-laughed. “Why, Trixie thanks you kindly.”

“Care for another?” Blueblood offered, extending a hoof toward the bar with what he hoped was a charming grin. “I’m buying everypony drinks tonight.”

Trixie took a look around the empty pub, and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m generous. I know,” Blueblood patted his chest smugly.

Trixie sat back at her seat as the lime colored bartender nodded and passed her a new drink, and she thought pensively for a few moments. The insufferable stallion beside her was almost – well, definitely – blatantly full of himself. However, such a cocksure attitude was usually a display of strong personality, which Blueblood most certainly did not have.

If he was willing to buy drinks, though, then he obviously had more bits than she did.

Or had, for over a month.

Trixie turned toward her new mug with a slight tinge in her cheeks, realizing that she had been ogling the smug unicorn for several minutes.

And he had just sat there, staring at her with the goofiest grin she had ever seen.

Creepy bastard.

“So…” Blueblood tapped his hooves together, desperate not to make himself look like an idiot when he had been granted a second chance. He was surprised that she even listened when he talked, considering his recent life. “I, er- I don’t believe that I caught your name,” he tried to say suavely, taking a tiny sip of his own cider.

She looked up from her mug, a dark look fading from her eyes when she did so. Her first reaction was to rear up her head with one of pride, and she took a deep breath – only to cut herself off, sinking slowly and miserably into her seat.

“… My name is Trixie,” she mumbled, swirling her drink around a couple of times and watching the bubbles dance.

“Just Trixie?” he pried, interested in somepony else for once.

Trixie began to reply, but shook her head again.

“Yes. Just – just Trixie,” she sighed bitterly, cupping her mug between her hooves before chugging hard.

“Hm. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, just Trixie,” he beamed at her pleasantly and extending a hoof. “You may call me Prince Blueblood.”

Trixie choked on her drink.

"Okay, fine. Just Blueblood."

Like Two Peas In A Pub

“Blueblood?” Trixie gaped at him in disbelief, foam still dripping down her chin. “You’re Prince Blueblood?”

“Please, please,” he chortled self-assuredly. “Just Blueblood.”

“Trixie had no idea that she was in the presence of royalty,” she made a hurried attempt to clean herself. “Forgive me, your highness, Trixie has nev- I mean, it is not often that Trixie is blessed by the presence of nobility.”

“That’s quite alright,” Blueblood motioned for a couple more drinks, even though his latest one hadn’t been touched at all. “I forgive you.”

It got awkwardly quiet after that. If Blueblood was still expecting her to continuously fawn over him he was sorely disappointed. Trixie instead turned uncomfortably back to her drink, avoiding eye contact. Somehow, Blueblood felt that something had gone wrong at some point or another.

“Er… another round, would you?” he waved at the bartender again before turning once more to the uneasy mare. Blueblood was unused to not being the focus of somepony’s attention in a conversation, and those did not actually concern himself quickly became boring. “So… Trixie, was it?”

“Yes?” she didn’t bother adding the oh-so-important ‘your highness’ this time, which Blueblood found mildly annoying even though he had requested otherwise. Her quick and snappish tone threw him off a little, but he was quick to resume his confident pose as he leaned comfortably against the bar.

“Surely you must be somepony of no small importance,” he took a small sip from his fresh mug, not so much as thanking the silently busy bartender. Trixie began to answer, but once again she looked away in shame.

“… Not really,” she muttered just so that he could hear. “Trixie isn’t quite what she used to be.”

“Nonsense,” Blueblood chortled. “Stallions must be lining up to meet you.

Trixie only shook her head.

“Oh?” he leaned in interestedly. “So, you’re single then?”

“Are you serious?” Trixie balked at him. “Do you honestly think Trixie is that gullible?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Blueblood leaned on one elbow, grinning. “I just find you very… interesting is all.”

“If Trixie were the easy two-bit mare that you think she is,” she puffed herself up angrily, “then Trixie would have been all over you the moment you said ‘royalty’! Trixie has standards!”

“Oh, and I don’t meet up to your standards?” he shot back. “Well, what about my standards, huh? Maybe you don’t meet expectations!”

“What expectations, we just met!”

“So maybe I hold you personally to higher standards!”

“What does that have to do with anything!?”

“Maybe everything!” Blueblood hardly noticed that his voice had raised to match her own.

“Maybe you don’t meet Trixie’s expectations!”

“As if! Maybe you’re too full of yourself!”

“Maybe you’re a pompous dick!”

Blueblood didn’t really hear what else she had to say. He was too busy kissing her.

Which Trixie was returning, oddly enough. She fell into the grip passionately, almost with heat – her touch was hot, like he was being branded. Not that Trixie minded all that much, as evidenced by her enthusiasm that somehow kept up with Blueblood’s. He didn’t slow down, not for an instant, fervently pulling her deeper as their lips met again and again, drawing the breath from her with each fiery touch.

The bartender only shook his head, not even bothering to glance their way as he continued to shine the already spotless bar.

“Well, that escalated quickly.”

Blueblood lay staring at the velvet ceiling in his four poster bed, his almost comfy pillows still not offering the embrace he needed to sleep.

He was still very much buzzed, he could feel it. Although whether it had been from the cider he had quaffed too much of was questioned. He could still taste the gorgeous mare’s lips on his own, where his hoof once again touched. Filthy peasant lips had actually touched his pristine royal ones, but that wasn’t his main concern.

She had been into it.

She was into him.

Finally, somepony that showed him something that wasn’t a mockery of respect, but something genuine… even if he couldn’t quite identify what that genuine thing was.

Blueblood had felt it, even after they had awkwardly broken away and left in horrendously uncomfortable silence. But he still felt it, and he was positive from the last look she gave him that she had, too. It had been too long, too deep of a kiss to have been anything playful. The way she had leaned into him with everything she had, pulling him tighter in need as he gladly returned the favor…

It was keeping him awake.

And that was the last thing that Blueblood wanted.

Once again, he found himself pacing.

Albeit, in slightly wobbly circles, but pacing nonetheless.

I can’t believe this. I cannot. Believe. This. That stupid, insipid mare, he thought venomously to himself. That inane WENCH has gone and done this to me – me, of all ponies!

He stomped hard at the heavily carpeted floor, hardly leaving a print. Blueblood only gritted his teeth, pacing again and again.

She had to have done this to me on purpose. Feminine wiles is what she’s using, some kind of mind trickery – something in the cider maybe, I don’t know!

Blueblood almost wanted to shout it, and would have if he hadn’t gone through all the trouble of sneaking back into the palace undetected.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how she was making him feel these… feelings. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Blueblood collapsed onto his bed again, groaning into his pillow. The wretched mare was going to be the death of him.

She really is. That Trixie is going to be the death of me. Not that it wouldn’t be a bad way to go…

Blueblood swiftly pushed the thought from his mind, struggling to find sleep.

She’s going to be the death of me. Trixie is undoubtedly one of the most obnoxious, self-absorbed, crude, vapid shrews I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, he thought finally to himself, dragging the covers as tightly to himself as he could.

… Titans, I can’t wait to see her again.