Written by The Descendant
His Majesty Prince Blueblood
Prince of Unicorns
Her Majesty Princess Celestia
Reigning Sovereign of the Equestrians
It's probably the doughnuts I'm currently ingesting at what can best be described as a "monumental rate", but I had the sudden irresistible urge pop you off a letter stating how terribly you buggered up the gala this year.
In case you were wondering the pleasant little unicorn you trod all over this evening was a personal friend of my Designate. That unicorn, Rarity (which is her name, by the way, in case you forgot it whilst staring at every haunch that walked by), is a shop owner, noted designer, and a holder of one of the Elements of Harmony.
In short, she's accomplished more in the last year than you've done in your entire miserably misspent life, you sad sack of sod.
Her element is that of generosity, one of the six elements which, I believe, is the same number of venereal diseases you're currently being cured of, correct?
It was my intent that, having let you meet her, you would either do one of two things, namely:
One, rise to the occasion and hold yourself with the grace and bearing of royalty. In doing so you would shine forth with the light of your ancestors, the Progenitors of the Unicorns, and show all whom gazed upon you the ennobled form of a monarch.
Or, two, be a total and utter knob.
Though I dared for one fleeting moment to believe that you would take the first option you, to the surprise of absolutely no one, dove into the second with the same foaming salacity with which you partake of those damnable "Big Haunch" magazines that you, despite my objections, continue to peruse.
Speaking of haunches, I can not help but notice the way your greedy eyes have taken to casting their wanton covetousness over my sister, your sovereign, the Princess Luna Revenio.
Mark my words, Blueblood, in the name of My Father, if I ever, ever, ever, see you staring at her in that manner again your title will be changed to "Blueblood the Gelded" swifter than you can say "royal prerogative" not that you're able to articulate multi-syllabic words, but you catch my drift.
No doubt you were anticipating this letter being a reply to your recent correspondence asking for an increase in your royal stipend and allowance. I shall forgo my planned response of "Go crawl under the nearest rug and lay there until you smother to death, you gibbering twit," with a simple, "No" you gibbering twit.
The purpose of the stipend is not (Surprise, surprise, my dear!) to pay for financing you ever-increasing horde of illegitimate foals, alimony, and "hush-hush" payments. It was instead meant to fund your lifestyle as you went about improving the lives of your people, namely my beloved subjects, the unicorns.
And for the sake of general knowledge, the term "lifestyle" here does not translate to "seeing how many body shots you're able to down in one evening before crashing your chariot into the side of the mountain". When I was informed of your accident I was terrified and worried sick
That mountain is very dear to me!
When I think on you, Blueblood, I wonder about your ancestors, the Progenitors of the Unicorns. I often ponder what they should have done had they been presented an opportunity to gaze into my Pool of Ends and see that their Royal House would devolve to the point where your bloated self should be their scion.
I guess that, rather than establishing a dynasty that would last for thousands of years, they would have taken the first opportunity to simply purchase some clever and sensible hats to disguise themselves and spent the rest of their lives as rock-farming earth ponies.
Speaking of rock farmers, one of my Designate's other friends comes from an old family of geoculturalists. This was brought to my attention by Twilight in an effort to divert me from having the pink pony embarrass herself with a telling of a recent fit of madness wherein she apparently threw a wild party attended primarily by sacks of flour and dust bunnies.
I can only assume from the description of the event and her crippling insanity that being present at that little soirée would have been infinitely preferable than having to sit through another one of your drunken retellings of your "benders", as you call them, and accounts of supposed (and rather unconvincingly fabricated) friendships with any number of celebrities.
As I sit here among Twilight Sparkle and her friends consuming what the foals today would most likely describe as an "epic" amount of doughnuts I am overcome with disappointment.
You are of course are familiar with disappointment, are you not, Blueblood? Examples of it are chiefly seen in the faces of the poor mares that you've given the "princely bequeathing" as you call it (though each time you chortle your way through its mention I vomit into my own mouth a touch). I am sure that one of the greatest gifts I could ever give to any of my subjects is to return to each of those unfortunates the moments of their lives that they misspent in your lustful embrace
All twenty-seven seconds of it.
My disappointment in you arises not from some misplaced sense of nobility or propriety, dear "nephew", but from an understanding of who you really are, who you had I should like to say have, but, well the potential to be.
Near me now is Spike, the summoner of my Designate. You will remember, if the narcotics you breeze through at a rate which challenges the volume of water cascading over the precipices of Canterlot on a daily basis have not already numbed your memory, that he is the most recent descendant of the line of a certain dragon I have spoken to you about before.
When you were a young foal how I used to love for you to come to the palace, and how you loved to hear the story of the dragon and how he helped your sovereigns regain themselves. Of how dear he was to me personally in those days when you and I could actually play at "auntie" and "nephew" with all of your other "cousins" around and listen to stories and have our little tea parties in the garden
Your mark, you'll remember (if you can shake yourself out of whatever drug-addled stupor you're in whenever this note reaches you), came about when we were off on an adventure to find some of the places I told you about in those stories. Your mark is, of course, a compass rose of gold and purple just like the colors of that beloved dragon
That, in my mind "nephew", is the truest depressing irony of this situation that a pony whose mark is that of cardinal directions could so thoroughly of lost his way in life.
None of your "cousins" in the other royal houses give me such fits. In recent years the House of Pegasi have concluded new terms with the peaceful peoples on our western borders, and the House of Earth has developed a new farming technique that will allow us to feed our people in a new abundance.
In the same space of time the Palace of the House of Unicorn, under your turgid gaze, has become known as "The Gold Mine" by the resident paparazzi of Canterlot and has been subject to a number of suspicious fires.
It is said among the Royal Guard that they determine their rank and status among themselves based on the horrors that they have witnessed in their loyal service to me. You should be interested to note that they consider being on your personal security detail for a few months equivalent to being in continuous combat with our enemies for seven years, including dismemberment.
Speaking of my Royal Guards, the point of having those few attached to you is to keep you from harm if by some random chance a rather deranged (and utterly uninformed of our political situation) pony should make the error of believing you are worthy of assassination.
Therefore, it is of utter importance that you do not send them on "beer runs".
There is deep inside me some cynical part that would like to whisper to the guards how not entirely unfitting it would be that, if you were assaulted and being pummeled mercilessly, that they should take some sudden interest in the local flora and fauna.
I would never let that happen of course. It would look terrible for pictures of the Royal Guard chasing butterflies to be found in the local papers.
Oh Blueblood, you must not think, upon reading this letter, that your "aunt" hates you. Please never think that. It's more akin to a general disgust at the thought of your existence, or revulsion at having to share the same continent with you. If it were possible for me to get grey hairs you, sir (and I use the term loosely), would be responsible for my sudden descent into a state of monochromaticism.
I I remember many things, Blueblood. Your old "auntie" has seen things beyond your comprehension to imagine. My remembrances of ponies now dead and gone for millennia are as fresh in my mind as the nights mere decades ago that you, as a foal, spent sick and racked with fever. I remember the heat that fell from you as you huddled against my side as I stood for your mother and father as they wore away with worry, unable to sleep for the fear.
I remember coming to them, in your room, the morning after you awoke. We had waffles, dozens you were so hungry. Waffles, Blueblood! Warm and slightly gooey on the inside! Waffles!
Where is that bright-eyed foal, Blueblood? Where is that dutiful and responsible child? Where is the adventurous colt with dreams and hopes I rejoiced in? Did he, in truth, die there in the dark? Did death claim him as he lay with his head resting on my flank, fighting for breath? Did he, like almost everypony else I've ever known and loved, go down the long stairs into the Well of Souls?
Are you, in fact, some demon? Are you some malicious spirit, claiming his body? Are you not unlike Nightmare Moon, who sought to steal my sister from me? If I thought that true, "nephew", I would have destroyed you utterly years ago my rage would have been unshackled and the very foundations of Equestria would have rocked with it. My enemies, the enemies of my people, waiting as they are over these mountains, would have cowered in fear in their tower as the sound and fury of my wrath broke the chains of the sky
But I know that is not true and I am left looking for more mundane reasons to explain your utter lack of sophistication.
Now I am waxing poetic. It must be these damn doughnuts. They are unbelievably good. I'd seriously consider launching an investigation into these things but I do believe I'd rather stand here and moan with pleasure at each bite.
I remember other things, "nephew", like your ancestors, the Progenitors. I remember as they came down through the hills, my father calling them out of heaven. How we alicorns promised to guide them, the royalty of each of the three races, how the Equestrians became one race through our teaching and benevolence. How we promised to be as a second family to them how I became "aunt" to you and all your "cousins" for generation uncounted.
Had I taken the time to look into the future then, the timid foal I was, I would have had some scribe put into writing my duties, and have it checked by Royal Lawyers.
You are not the first of your House to have such worrying affect upon me. In a generation removed from you higher than you can count (Yes, dear, more than three!) a relation of your mother was such an enthusiast of bacchanalia that his actions make your current lifestyle seem like some sort of tea-totaling Puritanism.
I distinctly recall having to evacuate Canterlot to disinfect the city after one of his "better nights".
You will be happy to note that I cured him of his uselessness to the ponies he was supposed to be serving. There is a statue of him in the Market Square if you'd like to see him (and if you are still able to go outside in daylight).
You see, "nephew", that's what we do with our heroes we give them nice statues. He found himself out there, the pony he was supposed to be, in the mountains beyond the Everfree.
How would you do out there, I wonder? There's always room in the ranks of my Regular Army, the dirt-covered patriots who shield us from harm. I think it would be easier for you to determine your purpose, to recall your mark, out in the wilds and before our battle flags than in the nightclubs, don't you think?
Don't worry! I'm sure I can find somepony to fill in for you whilst you are out there under artillery fire! Why, around me right now are three unicorns I'd consider in a heartbeat! Even Joe, the proprietor of this shop, would be a better Prince of Unicorns! If I were to choose him you'd be out of my un-greying mane and I should have doughnuts!
You would think that my obvious choice would be Twilight Sparkle, as she is among the most wonderful students I've ever taught. But I have other purposes for my Designate, something far beyond a mere symbolic regency.
Of course, that brings us back to Rarity. Rarity, you will recall if you are not tripping out of your mind, was the reason I sent you this letter. You see, she knows her own heart it is in fact her heart that is reflected in her outward beauty. My Designate has provided me with enough evidence of what she is, in fact what all of these ponies she surrounds herself with are made of, that I would be most confident in replacing you with her. Princess Rarity interesting.
I'm sure there's a matter of protocol involved in replacing a prince, most likely some daft ceremony. I'd expect that there'd be letters of protest as well. I would put both of the letters in a manila envelope and send it down to Records to be filled as "Hamdingers" in a room marked "Beware of the Cockatrice".
This is of course all theoretical, and at the moment is undoubtedly being fueled by the pounding sugar high which is coursing through my body as I devour these decadent doughnuts. If I have even one more I'm probably going to knight Joe forget that, probably make him a landed lord. They are seriously that good.
Blueblood, if this letter has been very hard for you to take it is because I have such high expectations of you. I have suffered things that, no matter my current opinion of your ways, I would not even whisper to you sparing you the emotional damage that their telling would cause you or any other pony to suffer.
I have suffered these things because I love my ponies my little ponies who are so dear to me. I will not see my effort and their hopes squandered for the benefit of a spoiled stallion whom was once a gentlecolt.
I hope to see dramatic improvements in your status both as a prince, as a unicorn, and as an Equestrian within the next year, Blueblood. If I do not then, well, we shall have to begin "exploring our options".
I am willing to help you do this, to turn your life around, as I always have been. All of my experience, power, magic, and might are at your disposal to help you do this. I believe you can...I know you can. I am, after all, an eternal optimist.
And I do mean eternal.
Procer Celestia Invictus
Reigning Sovereign of the Equestrians
P.S. Do try to find a new outfit before the next gala. You look like you're trapped in the 700's. Enjoy the enclosed doughnuts.