Fancy Pants stood in the perpetual shade of the barren field like a lone king on an empty chessboard. Under the perpetual cover of the Pegasus city of Cloudsdale, the field was generally avoided by all. There was nothing here but dead grass, endless faint drizzle and the occasional puddle of spilled rainbow.

There would be no interruptions here, and no prying eyes.

He magicked a golden pocket-watch out of his waistcoat and double-checked the time. As a connoisseur of the finer things in life, he prided himself on remaining punctual. Only a minute or so later than planned, he heard a faint buzzing in the distance. He smiled.

Scootaloo was hunched over the crossbar of her wooden scooter, her tiny wings blurring as she propelled herself and her two friends forward. She skidded to a stop a few paces from the dapper white Unicorn and then took off her racing helmet.

“Uh... hay!” she said, partially succeeding at trying to sound nonchalant. “I showed up at two o’clock, just like you said!”

Fancy Pants raised a well-coiffed blue eyebrow.

“You brought friends.” His voice was utterly flat.

Scootaloo rubbed the back of her neck with a front hoof. “Is.. is that bad? It’s just we kinda always do everything together, and I know you said not to tell anypony, but I was so excited I just had to tell SOMEpony...ab- about...” She trailed off; the stallion’s gaze felt like the one Miss Cheerilee gave her when she broke a window playing hoofball.

Fancy Pants stayed silent.

“You don’t hafta pay them, too!” she offered.

Apple Bloom nodded eagerly. “I’ve been mighty curious ever since Scootaloo told us! I’m jus’ happy ta be taggin’ along!”

“Yeah!” agreed Sweetie Belle, her voice squeaking on the word. “I’ve always wanted to! I bet this’ll be a LOT of fun!”

Scootaloo stared imploringly into the stallion’s steely-blue eyes. “Can they do it too, Mister Fancy? Pleeeeeez?”

Fancy Pants pursed his lips in thought. This was becoming complicated.

“Can you all keep this just between us, then? Not a word to anypony?”

The three little foals all but fell over each other in their energetic agreement.

“Totally!”

“Yer darn’ tootin’!”

“Absolutely!”

Fancy tapped his chin with a front hoof. “And you know it might be a little rough on you, yes? You may get a little... messy.”

“I ain’t afraid ta take a tumble’r two!” said Apple Bloom proudly.

“I got REALLY messy at the last Sisterhooves Social, Mister Fancy!” added Sweetie Belle.

Fancy Pants let out a tiny sigh. “Oh, my. Such youthful vigour! Yes, very well. You’ve convinced me! It will be the four of us!”

The three fillies shared a triumphant cheer and a high-hoof.

Fancy ignited his horn and magically loosened his tie as his dress shirt magically unbuttoned itself. Soon every scrap of his clothing was in a neatly folded pile on a patch of dry grass.

“Now remember, my little Ponies... this will be our little secret, you understand? I have a reputation to consider.”

“We won’t tell, Mister Fancy!” the trio chimed in unison.

Fancy Pants grinned. “Marvelous. Then let’s begin.”

Two hours later, Scootaloo dragged her scooter along at a slow and uneven pace, supplementing the shaky, intermittent flapping of her tired wings with kicks of her right hind leg. Like her friends, she was covered head to hoof in patches of dirt from the field and the occasional bump or scrape.

“That was... pretty rough,” she groaned. “I’m sore all OVER!”

“He’s gotta lotta energy fer such an old guy,” agreed Apple Bloom as she plodded along next to the scooter.

“I don’t feel so good...” moaned Sweetie Belle from the scooter’s towed wagon, where she was sprawled on her side. Her pale white face had a distinctly greenish cast.

“I TOLD ya ta spit it out!” chided Apple Bloom. “It ain’t healthy ta swallow that stuff!”

“I got caught by surprise!” said Sweetie defensively. She let out a sour burp and then flopped back down in the wagon.

Scootaloo pondered for a moment. “Well, he DID agree to pay all of us in the end, so I guess that’s pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah!” said Apple Bloom, brightening. She turned to look at the three bags of bits sitting next to Sweetie Belle in the wagon. “This’ll be enough ta get those skydivin’ lessons we were talkin’ about! I’m telling ya - I got a good feelin’ about us gettin’ Cutie Marks fer flyin-” Apple Bloom caught herself, then winced.

Scootaloo frowned.

“...Sorry,” said Apple Bloom softly.

Scootaloo sighed. “S’okay. Skydiving does sound kinda fun. And I betcha I can steer better than you two!” She flapped her wings for emphasis.

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo shared a hearty laugh. Sweetie Belle let out a weak chuckle.

“This was a great idea,” said Scootaloo firmly after a few moments of silence. “We should see if any other rich stallions want to give it a try!”

Back in the Overcast Field, Fancy Pants lay on the dirt in the aftermath of his secret vice and sighed contentedly.

His ears perked up at the sound of soft hoof-falls, but he relaxed upon sight of his faithful old butler, Dobbin.

The elderly Unicorn trotted forward and stared down at this employer through a small brass-framed pince-nez on the end of his muzzle.

“If I may speak freely, sir,” he said, “this... tendency of yours is going to be found out some day, and it will raise no end of clamour in the Capital.”

Fancy Pants got to his hooves and turned to gaze out at the field.

The remains of a vast collection of mud-walls, mud-battlements, mud-towers, and pile after pile of ready-for-throwing mud-balls sat slowly drying in the gloomy air. It had been an excellent battle.

“If they find out, perhaps they’ll find out they like it,” he said, half to himself. “If there’s one thing last year’s Gala taught them, it’s that one can be a Pony of fine breeding and excellent bearing... and still not be afraid to get dirty.”

“If you say so, sir,” replied Dobbin, magicking up a brush to dust off Fancy’s hide. “But we ought to make haste. You have a hoofball game scheduled in Dodge this evening, a pie-eating contest there the following morning, and you must make your excuses before you go.”