A crisp chill blew through the evening air in Canterlot. Cloudsdale’s weather pegasi were making their final preparations to release their winter stockpile upon the mountaintop, ensuring this year’s Festival of Flakes would be particularly cold. Despite the cold, noble mares and stallions of the Canterlot gentry intended to be the first to witness the new winter’s first snowfall before heading back to their warm homes.

More importantly, they wanted to make sure they were seen watching during Winter Rollout.

Every pony that everypony should know suppressed their shivers under lavish bundles of chic apparel. Half of the attendees' ensembles proved less than effective insulation, but sacrifices had to be made to ensure the unspared expenses were readily apparent. Pleasantries were shared, laughs were kept at a respectable volume, and copious amounts of wine flowed like rivers to maintain an illusion of warmth among the cold and calculating upper class.

In the midst of the many, one stallion stood out, the epitome of the Equestrian elite. Dressed to the nines in his hallmark tuxedo vest under a dapper winter business coat, he carried on various conversations with each participant hanging on to his every golden word. Despite the predictable frivolity of those around him waiting to receive his attention, the ever-model gentlecolt Fancy Pants maintained his prestigious decorum while playing among the hollow platitudes.

Unfortunately, his politeness had him cornered near the open bar with Upper Crust along with several other ponies spaced just enough to lock him into place. He had maintained a slow walk throughout the night to keep warm, but now he wished he lived up to his namesake and actually wore trousers. She’d been regaling her audience with her most recent fiscal victories with a rapt audience, though Fancy Pants was certain they were more interested in his listening than her talking.

“...and that was when I secured forty percent,” Upper Crust recounted to Fancy and the other ponies. Several ooh’s and aah’s sounded with a smattering of genteel applauses from nearby ponies, bringing a prideful smirk to the mare. She tossed her streaked indigo mane back proudly, briefly flashing her victory purchase: a set of imperial aquamarine earrings, which topped the rest of her luxurious, brand new Crystal Empire ensemble.

“No, no. I do appreciate the sentiment, but please! It was the least I could do for all of our dedicated shareholders.” Upper Crust stole a glance towards Fancy Pants. She had the same expectant eyes he’d seen a million times from a million different ponies silently fishing for his praise. With Fancy being among those dedicated shareholders in the rising investment banker’s firm, an endorsement from him would surely make a splash in the papers tomorrow and add to her growing acclaim.

Of course, any story of her illustrious gains would fail to mention the loser in the deal, Regal Cents, who was notably absent from tonight's festivities. His invitation hadn’t been cancelled—the stallion had paid handsomely for his plate months ago. Knowing Regal, he’d rather suffer the humiliation of absence than plaster a grin on his face throughout the entire event while his victorious competition blatantly wore her vicious success on the hem of her new dress.

Still, Regal was as good a pony, or at least as good as you could get out of the cutthroat Equestrian financial sector. His proclivity towards transparency was just the weakness Upper Crust had been looking for to seize the opportunity to sweep several lucrative contracts out from under his hooves. Fancy considered Regal to be a friend for what it was worth, though true friendship was a rare and fleeting commodity to find at the top.

Either way, the column reading of tomorrow's financial section would not be on Regal’s side. Anything said tonight on the matter would easily be spun against him. It would be the final nail in the coffin for his current station in Canterlot, and Upper Crust was chomping at the bit to dance on his grave.

But this was the reality of high society. Behind the veneer of high Equestrian splendor waged a savage war for bragging rights. It was a foalish back and forth played by ponies constantly battling one another to gain an upper hoof for even the smallest success. Anything and everything was fair game to be traded, exploited, and tossed aside when no longer useful.

While Fancy Pants had simply grown accustomed to the proverbial bloodsport over the years, he found the predatory glimmer of entitlement in Upper Crust’s eye to be irksome. This called for a splendid word salad to spare Regal any further misfortune. He had almost settled on his spin when he was bumped, quite literally, out of his thoughts.

“There you are, Fancy Pants! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Hearing the familiar Prench accent, Fancy heaved a mental sigh of relief. He adjusted his monocle and rose his neglected drink with his magic to welcome the opportune arrival of Fleur de Lis.

The tall mare strode through the swaths of ponies without a care, parting them like the curtain of a fashion show walkway while sporting a puffy white and pink stalliongrad wool coat and bomber hat. A host of curious whispers followed in her wake since the fashion world was all currently abuzz with Germaney tube scarves, but it made no difference. Anything looked in-season on Fleur de Lis.

“Ah, Fleur. What a pleasant surprise.” Fancy bowed as Fleur curtsied for all to see. “I hope the party is treating you well.”

“But of course, my dear Fancy. I have always known your parties to treat everypony... well enough.” Fluer answered with a soft smile. She kept her face locked onto his, but her eyes perused the surrounding ponies. She didn’t ask for anything, but her intrusion demanded a response.

“Was there something you needed in particular?”

Her smile widened. “Oui, a small matter has come to my attention regarding the evening’s musical entertainment, but...” Fleur turned her head over the other ponies in the small crowd. Her wandering gaze stopped at Upper Crust, seeing her frazzle slightly from her stolen spotlight, “I hope that we could speak more privately.”

Fancy nodded in agreement and Upper Crust’s victorious smile sagged immediately.

“Of course, my dear. Terribly sorry, but if you will excuse me, everypony. Please do enjoy the rest of tonight’s festivities if I do not see you again.” With that, Fancy politely excused himself from the conversation.

Upper Crust snapped down on her tongue before she could scream. Seeing her headline slipping from her grasp, she floundered to find any objection to raise. Anything to get just the smallest of comments from Fancy would cement her victory in the eyes of the elite. She stepped forward, but a flash of Fleur’s flowing mane across her path cut her off from reaching her goal.

“Ah, Madame Crust. It is so good to see you again, but I’m afraid we will have to do the catch-up talking later.” Upper Crust tried to reply, but Fleur quickly turned her attention to the others before the banker had a chance to respond. “I do hope you will enjoy the snow tonight. Au revoir, tout le poney!”

With that, Fancy and Fleur trotted away in tandem, leaving the star banker without her entitled endorsement. With the main attraction gone, the other ponies dispersed to more important gossip. The irritation boiling under Upper’s crust found release in a less-than-subtle eye twitch. She turned her attention to the bar and ordered the strongest top-shelf wine to extend her patience.

Fancy Pants followed Fleur de Lis as she led him away from the bustling party. Several ponies tried to follow, but Fleur ensured they kept up a quickened pace to ward off their attempt to interrupt. The two ended their journey at the far end of the castle grounds near the entrance to the royal hedge maze. Fleur paused to look at the statue of Discord, admiring the recently remarbled spirit of chaos.

“So, I do believe I am owed a favor, mon cher Fancy Pants,” Fleur purred.

Fancy simply rolled his eyes. “While I do appreciate your timely arrival, there was no need for you to interject on my behalf with Lady Faire.”

Fleur smiled softly and lifted her pristine hoof to suppress a dainty laugh. She fluttered her lashes and trotted quietly to Fancy’s side.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est, are you saying you truly enjoyed listening to their…” she turned a hoof in the air, searching for the correct word, “prattlings on?” the Prench mare inquired innocently.

“It is only a matter of time until you run into someone familiar with your penchant for pushing your luck.”

“Ah! I see what is going on here, cher. Perhaps you would’ve preferred I as mademoiselle Corn Acopia to, how you say, ‘save your sorry flank’’?”

Fleur plucked a long piece of grass and stuck it in her mouth and tipped the brim of her bomber hat like it had seven more gallons. In the same motion, She casually crossed a foreleg in front of the other while leaning against the carefully trimmed hedges like they were the walls of the seedy Saltlick Spitoon.

“‘Cuz I’ve tried gettin’ through to your high-falutin’ friends out there b’fore. Every last one-a-em thinkin’ they’re somethin’ special just ‘cuz of this here fancy smashy shindig goin’ down in the Princesses’ backyard. I don’t think they’d stand a second of talkin’ to an actual pony,” Fleur complained in Corn’s deep country-fried drawl.

“Now, now. That’s enough method for me, Fleur. Was there something you truly needed or did you simply whisk me away on a whim?”

Fleur chewed the grass for a moment more, and decided to swallow the blade before filing her characters away and shrugging noncommittally. She vaulted over the back of the bench and plopped down on the other side, resting on her back and giving less than a damn about decorum.

“Meh. Little bit of column A and B. And C. Might’ve looked into D more, but I’m not into that one. Club D is all sorts of bad.” She shivered while wincing. The mare shifted around slightly on the bench before flipping over like a cat, causing her hat to shift askew on her head. “But, seriously. Did you see the look on Crusty’s face when I swooped in front of her? Priceless!”

Fancy sighed in both relief and exasperation, finally hearing the real Fleur. Two decades of life had done little for her foalish tempermant despite having the full body of an adult five years her senior. The beautifully immature Fleur de Lis always enjoyed using and abusing her voice acting and her assets to mess with ponies.

“Seriously, Pantsy, I don’t know how you can stand these so-called ‘parties’.” She threw her hooves up to add the necessary quotation marks for emphasis. “A real party would have to at least be somewhere near enjoyable. This is just a bunch of unbearable brags with sticks stuck up their flanks trying to see who can pogo the highest.”

Fancy wished he was more offended at her crassness. It didn’t help that her mother had fostered it, or that a small part of him agreed with the analogy. Shaking off the unfortunate imagery, he refocused on the matter at hoof.

“Speaking of parties, I am greatly surprised to see you here, Fleur. Not that it is unwelcome—quite the opposite actually—but I thought you were seeing the first snow with your classmates at Celestia’s school.”

“I was, but then we ran into Mr. Melody. He wanted to pass something along. So! Wanna hear the good news or the bad news first?”

“From Steeplechase?” Fancy pondered what it could be for a brief moment and then grimaced at the family name, noting the absence of his usual live musicians from the Equestrian Society of the Performing Arts. After making a few mental connections, he hazarded a question. “Did he have any news regarding Octavia’s whereabouts?”

“Bad news first it is!” Fleur exclaimed and clopped her forehooves together. “He said something about the quartet getting stuck in Manehattan after a winterized cloud accident. Long story short, there’s an avalanche on the railway between us and the ESPA. Your go-tos are no-shows.”

Fancy sighed. It was the annual Manehatten Musician Match-up. That would mean his usual backups were in likelihood stuck on the wrong end of the tracks alongside Octavia and the rest of her troupe. Several musically gifted ponies were in attendance at this evening’s festivities, but he doubted anypony had brought their instruments on a whim. Besides, it would be highly inappropriate to request their services at an event they had paid to attend.

Fancy sighed. Damage control wouldn’t be too difficult, only tedious. Canterlot nobles had mastered the way of complaining about trivialities for weeks on end if everything wasn’t just so. The worst would be several days of backhoof compliments and talks about the scandalous silence at the most important party of the season, or whatever catchy name the magazines came up with. All would be forgotten within a month or two after another inconsequential matter took the nobles by storm, but it was a minor annoyance that Fancy would prefer to avoid.

“Hey! Equestria to Pantsy, you in there?” Fleur threw a spread of nearby pebbles to snap Fancy from his deep internal musings. Seeing she had his undivided attention, she threw another shot partially for good measure, but mostly for fun. “I said: can you hear the good news?”

“Oh, of course Fleur. You were saying?”

Fancy waited for Fleur to say something, all the while Fleur regarded him impatiently.

“Can you hear The good news?”

“Yes. Please do go on,” he reiterated cordially.

She flicked her right ear and furrowed her brow, growing annoyed at the continued silence. She finally gave Fancy an expectant look, exaggeratingly lifting a hoof up to her ear and leaning towards the party trying to listen to something.

“Fleur!” absconded, his patience in short supply with the party’s success hanging in the balance.

“Oh c’mon! You can’t hear that?” Fleur hoof-sprung up from her comfortable bench and muttered something about ‘frickin’ old donkey ears’. She gripped Fancy’s head with her hooves and forcefully turned Fancy’s head towards the direction of the party, cupping a hoof over his ears for maximum reception.

“Can. You. Hear. It. Now?” Fleur enunciated slowly to make sure Fancy Pants could make out every word. Fancy was about to scold Fleur until his focus was taken by beautiful music in the distance coming from the party. It was not just any music, but his usual quartet from the ESPA.

Following the audible trail, he drew closer wondering who was playing the usual set. Rounding the corner, he saw a sight he hadn’t seen since the royal wedding and gasped in shock.

Standing atop the stage usually reserved for his live performers in stark contrast to the carefully crafted Winter Rollout-themed decor and matching pearlescent grand piano stood a towering black and neon blue amalgamation of modern magitechnological engineering on wheels. He had seen contraptions like it often at fashion shows and less formal events, but unlike those more upbeat affairs, blaring pop music had been replaced by recordings of the classics by the Society’s best.

“See? I totally gotcha covered, Pantsy.” Fleur proudly puffed out her barrel victoriously and assumed a far more strict and imposing stance with her hooves firmly planted on the ground.

“Behold! I provide musik to fine ponies of Equestria,” Fleur boomed with a much deeper and imposing tone, and a few more syllables and v’s to the word ‘Equestria’ than necessary; a perfect match to her Stalliongradian style garb. “As you ponies say, ‘am I goot, or am I goot?’”

“A DJ?” Fancy questioned.

“Vernyy!” which Fancy Pants assumed meant yes as Fleur saluted firmly. “With best tunes in all your pastel land of fairies and good humor.”

Fancy sighed, catching Fleur off guard. She slowly lowered her hoof as Fancy passed by, shaking his head as he approached the stage. Looking around, there was seemingly nopony operating the device.

“Oh, what now?” Fleur moaned seeing Fancy’s apprehension towards her intervention.

“Fleur, if an adequate solution was as simple as playing records from my collection, wouldn’t you think I’d have a similar contingencies prepared for the evening?”

“That’s because you always need to overcomplicate everything. Besides, it’s not as simple as putting a record on...” Fleur pointed to the turntable as the quartet’s song drew to a close. The music faded and an electric blue aura enveloped the turntable and a nearby trunk. The needle withdrew from the record and the disk hovered from the mat and was replaced by a different record flying from the trunk. The glimmer faded and the Royal Canterlot Philharmonic began with the first movement of a well-known symphony.

“Cacophany’s Curated Shuffle Spell.” Fleur wiggled her eyebrows to punctuate the sheer awesomeness before them. Fancy nodded with a frown. “And I thought Hoity Toity was hard to please.”

“I’m sorry, Fleur, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but there really needs to be live performers to play at these events, or at the very least somepony managing the station.”

“Who said there wasn’t?” Fleur cleared her throat for her Lady Faire voice and prettied up her posture, daintily beckoning towards the crowd with her hoof. “Oh, Miss de jay? Could you come here for a moment?”

Turning away from the stage, Fancy’s attention joined the many other ponies who were already gawking at the performer currently raiding the fancy food supplies. A spherical mishmash of hors d'oeuvres floating next to her, enveloped in the same electric blue magic of the shuffle spell.

‘Miss de Jay’ was wearing her signature dark amethyst shades and a well-worn black wool hoodie with the word “Pon-3” stitched in white across the sleeves. Her two-toned blue mane and tail were unkempt, matching precisely the amount of effort she had put into the rest of her appearance. Fancy wasn’t sure if the slight shock of yellow hue to her fur was her natural color or she had skipped a few baths.

Heeding the call to attention, She hastily devoured several random selections from the globe of salad and pastries, cramming a smorgasbord of conflicting flavors into her mouth all at once. She wiped away a slight dribble of drool escaping her stuffed cheeks and forced the rest of her food down in a big gulp, punctuated with a satisfied sigh. Her disgusted onlookers didn’t share in her contentment.

“I skipped dinner for this. Sue me,” she griped under her breath.

She climbed the stage joined the ponies on stage prompting Fleur to introduce the artist of the evening. “I present to you tonight’s entertainment. The mystical mistress of melodious mixing, DJ Pon-3, otherwise known as Vinyl Scratch!”

Despite her uncouth exterior, the young mare was still a lady and should be treated as such. He offered a polite bow to formally greet her as she drew closer, but she simply passed him by and climbed the stage without even acknowledging the gesture.

At least he thought so since she was difficult to get a reading behind he shades and tightly drawn hoodie. Regardless, the apparent slight was not lost on the other attendees with quiet conversations sparking from nearby ponies.

Fleur tittered nervously and leaned into Fancy’s ear. “She’s just a little bitter about missing out on the pizza at the school. I snagged a slice on the way out, but she had to get her equipment ready.”

Fancy regarded the ruffian DJ somewhere between curiosity and acute irritation. He hoped his silent reproval would at least catch her attention, but she was far more caught up in finding a place to put her spoils from the buffet. Fancy turned back to Fleur with a hint of incredulity creeping into his eyebrow.

“Trust me. Vy’s the best at what she does. Why do you think Hoity Toity always contracts her for his shows?” Fleur offered quietly with a wink.

Fancy glanced over to Vinyl who was now lounging on a matching black and blue, faux-leather folding chair placed near her setup. She flipped open a tech magazine while munching on nothing in particular from her wad of food. Fancy gave Fleur one last pleading grimace.

“Hey! Don’t take my word for it. What does your butt say?” she asked, pointing to his kingly three-crowned cutie mark.

“A discerning eye for talent doesn’t mean that I can simply look at a pony and divine their potential.”

“L’habit ne fait pas le moine,” Fleur sighed with a tongue click. She shrugged, giving up and leaving Fancy to his own devices. She commandeered a cushion from one of the tables for herself and joined Vinyl on stage. Immediately, the two students struck up a conversation with laughter and gossip while the records played by themselves.

Despite Fancy’s misgivings about the DJ, he conceded the fact that the event now had music playing. While records lacked the spectacle and classiness of the live musicians, the technology in Vinyl’s crisp sound system was probably the closest thing he could get on short notice. To his surprise, the shuffling spell seemed to bounce from album to album only playing orchestral ambiance present enough to be heard, but not distract for idle conversation.

Considering the circumstances, perhaps this wouldn’t prove more egregious to the nobles' sensibilities than the sound of silence.

Author's Notes:

This story is dedicated to the ever important "Audience of One". The one whose life may be made better with a momentary escape from reality. Whoever that one happens to be, I hope you enjoy this story. I will do my best to tell it. - Lord Regulus

P.S. This is also dedicated to myself since I need to reinvigorate my creative spark in life. A few years ago, a necessary but undesired career change killed my drive until now. I'm in a much better place, so public note to self, dedicate yourself to finishing this thing and maybe some Ahuizotl for Bronzedragon! - Rego

If you find a simple mistake in the GSP (Grammar, Spelling, or Punctuation), please let me know through a private message rather than leaving it in the comment section. Leave the discussions to discussions.