As Ye Sew, So Shall Ye Rip

As Ye Sew, So Shall Ye Rip
A Coco Pommel Vogonverse Tale

Las Vegas Nevada - The MGM Grand

Miles “Tails” Malone held his head high as he walked toward the locker room. He hurt, everything hurt, and getting done with a sixteen round boxing match didn't make anything any better. Still, it beat working for Walmart or doing time at one of the McDonalds Farms. Given his life before he got into boxing, he is grateful that he never had to worry where his next paycheck came from. Fighting for The World Boxing Federation was lucrative business; his prize earnings were more than enough to own two moderately sized homes and a good car. He would never want to for food or shelter the rest of his life. He was also the WBF Heavyweight champion. The title earned plenty of prestige and lots of notoriety, most of which he slaked off to dedicate time to his sport.

The title defense he was just in left feeling older than he had felt in many months. Sure, he was defending his title almost every time he was in the ring, but the kid they threw at him this time was some lean and hungry turk by the name of Kevin Masterson. The kid had skills, no doubt about that. He was trained in Muay Thai, Capoeira, Zui Quan, and more traditional London Boxing. Miles had mastered these disciplines a decade ago, but this kid almost tore him apart. The bruises on his body, the bloody lips and blackened eyes were enough to tell him that maybe it was time to get of the ring before he got turned into a cadaver.

His Manager, Mickey Rooker, training staff and himself walked triumphantly down the walkway, passing through a throng of fans, cheering loudly about miles latest victory. The prize fighter couldn’t help but think that this crowd loves him now, but as soon he loses his title, the will act like they don’t know of him at all. The Press Corps waiting at the bottom of the ramp were worse, though. Camera crews getting in his face, reporters with digital audio recorders shoving the devices in front of his abused nose, the holograms personalities from ESPN, Fox Sports, NBC Sports, and CBS Sports shouting loudly over the crowd to be heard, it was enough to drive a man crazy.

He sat down and started to stretch. He felt another place where the kid had tore him up. Shots just above the kidneys. Legal, but something that would make other fighters not be so polite with you in the ring. He sat and waited for Mickey to come waltzing in, praising him on his job well done, and then take off to make sure that the World Boxing Federation actually paid the purse to them they were supposed to. He slumped into the bench of the locker room, taking inventory of his new injuries. His ears were ringing and last thing he needed at this point was a concussion. He had skated by on luck to have avoided catching one before now, but he was certain that his luck was going to run out one day.

When he heard the sound of footsteps coming, he was certain it was Mickey, or maybe even Jacob "Jukebox" Leibowitz, his trainer. Jukebox would turn up when Mickey got the business end of boxing done and needed Miles there to sign the check. (This being a professional sport, Mickey got ten percent of Miles earnings, but given what he’s saved over his eight year career, it’s pocket change to him.) Instead he heard a gasp. He looked up to see a humanoid looking horse- thing. A pony, one of the Equestrian folk. He'd seen a few of them around. Hell, the current president of the US of A was a pony. She walked toward him holding a bag of ice.

“There was a little man, and he said that you might need some ice... Are you okay?" she asked, her voice a sweet and innocent, like a young girls.

“I’m good,” Miles joked, "but if you think I’m bad, you should see the other guy."

The pony girl took a tentative step forward.

"Are... Are they forcing you to do this?" she asked.

He took a moment to really study her. Her short blue hair was actually very pretty, and she smelled of jasmine and honey. Her body was framed within a sports jacket and skirt, making her look the part of a professional. A WBF name badge affixed to the lapel of her jacket said her name was “Coco.” She was less curvy than many of the girls that threw themselves at him and she seems a lot more introverted than he was used to. She was cute, though, and the light blush on her face was beyond endearing. He gently shook his head.

"I'm just not much good at anything else. I'm able to win more times than not, and it's kept a roof over my head," he said.

He motions for her to come on over; she proceeds, although from Miles vantage point, he can see she is visibly quaking in his presence. She takes a space on the bench just to his right, looking at him with fearful eyes. She was twiddling her thumbs. Miles had the idea was nervous around him. Or maybe because of him.

"It sounds horrible. How often do you have to do this?" she asked.

“Once or twice every couple of months,” Miles replied, “They let me heal up and then send me out again. Just the way it is."

She looked at him and touched the ice to his now swollen eye. Miles hissed as the chill of the pack touched his wounded orbit.

“Does that hurt?” Coco asked.

“Stings some, yeah,” Miles reported, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Coco took a deeper look at the lacerations, the bruises and the bloody lips the prize fighter bore. She had a time reconciling an honest living with such self destruction. It was one thing when it was the guard. They did what they had to do to protect somepony, but this was purely for entertainment. There had been stories about ancient Equestria, and in those old times there would be Earth ponies made to fight one another for entertainment, but it wasn't anything like this.

She moved the ice to another part of his face and gently pressed. He held in the reaction as she tended to his wounds.

“I don't think I've ever seen anypony this beat up before. You… Are you sure this is something that you’re okay doing?” she asked.

“I think so,” Miles replied, “my ears are ringing, which may be the sign of a concussion, but otherwise I’m good.”

He felt her move the ice again, this time to a growing lump on the side of his forehead. The kid had almost pulled an illegal move, but he corrected it in time to keep it still just barely legal. The end result was him catching a grazing hit. He could feel the swelling, and it felt like the goose egg lump he had gotten contained its own heartbeat. The ice was helping to numb it, but he could feel still the dull ache echoing through the lump. So far he had noticed something far different about her than he had noticed about the other girls that tried to hang around him. She wasn’t trying to fling herself at him, and she wasn’t trying to come on to him. Instead she actually seemed worried about his well being.

“Oh thank Saint Patrick you’re still here!” a voice said from the doorway.

“Hi Mickey,” he replied.

“‘Hi Mickey.’ That’s all I get? I just got the WBF to give you the full purse, no fees removed, and all I get is a hi Mickey? That’s cold Miles, even from you, that’s cold,” Micky said.

Miles turned his head to see his manager. Mickey was shorter than him, actually shorter than several of the guys that boxed or worked with the WBF, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in personality. Mickey walked toward him and held out a thumbprint scanner.

“I’ve already taken my cut, we just got to have this transfer to your account and then you’re set,” Mickey said before he looked at Coco, “By the way thanks for looking after me Boyo. He can be a lost cause.”

“I was happy to do it,” she said looking at Miles with a gentle expression, “I just hate that he has to take a beating to get paid. It seems so barbaric.”

“It’s a damned sight more civilized than that Rollerball Nonsense. Those daft bastards usually lose one or two players a night. Terrible sport, and not enough money in the world to make me want to be a manager over one of ‘em boys,” he replied.

Coco shuttered at the thought of ponies being so hurt they couldn’t play anymore. She felt a large hand gently touching her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Miles said.

She shook her head, moved his free hand up to the ice pack, and stood up. She gave him a polite smile, and turned around.

“Stallions, only stallions could be so bullheaded to think that beating the stuffing out of each other for bits is a good idea,” she muttered as she left the room.

Miles kept his eyes on her, watching as she disappeared. She was so different from what he had seen. There hadn’t been another girl like her before, and to be honest he liked the way she spoke her mind, but she did it politely, sweetly, and it wasn’t until Mickey told her about Rollerball that she finally seemed to lose a little composure.

“Never could understand women, and those Equestrian women, girls, whatever are even harder to figure out. It’s like someone decided to add a bit of extra ‘what the fuck’ to the mix,” Mickey said.

“What are you talking about?” Miles asked.

“They’re hard to read. With one of the normal girls that try to get around you it’s easy. She wants to be in the limelight, get a payday, and maybe catch a pretty hard screwing from the heavyweight champ. Not that you do that me boyo, but that’s what they want. These Equestrian girls are different. I can’t figure out what she’d want,” Mickey said spreading his hands.

“Maybe she just wanted to help,” Miles offered.

“Sure, and maybe I’ll finally find the end of a rainbow and see a pot of gold. Trust me boyo, when it comes to a woman, they always want something,” Mickey replied.

“Mickey,” Miles snorted, “you are simply primeval.”

“Yea, whatever, mate,” Mickey replies, “are ya gonna take your money or not?”

Miles looked at him, pressed his thumb to the scanner, and heard a chirp. Once that sounded Mickey pocketed the scanner and gave him a nod.

“You did good tonight Miles. The purse was two hundred thousand credits, after my cut you’re taking home a hundred and seventy thousand. It’s not bad for night’s work,” Mickey said, “So, you want that I should book the train for you tonight?”

“Naw, I’d like to stay a night here in Vegas. Maybe take in a couple of sights, see what the fuss is about,” he said.

“Just be careful mate. I don’t know too much about those Equestrian girls, and I don’t know what one of ‘em would be like in the sack,” Mickey replied.

“Really? You’re going there?” Miles asked.

“Boyo, you’re a young man, in his prime, a heavyweight champion, and you’re fairly easy on the eyes when you’re not all beat to hell. If you’re not going there then there’s something missing or wrong. Anyway, I’ve got to check in the stats, see what kind of match to set up, and get your next one set for a couple of months down the road,” Mickey said before he left.

Miles sat there, holding the icepack, and thinking about the mare who held it against him for a while. There was quite a bit that he wasn’t sure about, but maybe bumping into her and striking up another conversation was something he was sure he would enjoy. He got up, walked toward the shower, and stripped off his shorts. The hot water felt good as it hit him. He could feel the hot water reawakening the soreness in him, but it was also relaxing the muscles that had bunched up together in the fight. The thoughts of Coco flashed in his mind. He stood there, feeling the hot water splash on him, and he was wondering what he could talk to her about.

I guess that I could be kidding myself, but then Jarred always said if you don’t take a chance then you don’t get a reward, he thought as he finished his shower and walked back toward the locker room. He pulled out the t-shirt, briefs, jeans, and old combat boots that he had.

The old boots had been a gift from Jarred about three years ago. Something he had actually wore while in Afghanistan years ago. He was surprised at how well they fit, and a moment later he was up and out of the locker room carrying his duffle bag, that he had placed in the locker, with his robe and shorts in it. He turned the corner and saw a far too familiar sight. Gavin Davenport, one of the most annoying managers he’d ever met. He could see the overly styled brown hair on his head, the charcoal pinstripe suit, and the bleach blond on his arm.

“Champ! Hold on for a second! Man, am I glad that I found you!” he said.

“Yeah, look I’m kind of tired. I was just going to head up to my room,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah I understand, but what I can't understand is your bumming around with that damned Limey wannabe bastard. Kid, I could get you a lot better deals, and a hell of a lot better press. You might be thinking that you’re making bank right now, but I could get you well over double what you think you’re making,” he said.

“I’m sure that you’re good at what you do, but I've known Mickey for a long time. Look, I really need to go. I’m sorry, and I hope that you have a good evening,” he said.

“Wait, wait just a moment kid. I promised Bubbles here that she could meet the champ. You don’t mind do you?” he asked.

Miles closed his eyes, tried very hard not to groan in exasperation. He opened his eyes and was suddenly greeted with two very excited, and sparkling, blue eyes. Peering at him was a top heavy young woman, sporting a spool of bleach-blonde hair, and wearing a midnight cocktail dress that left very little to the imagination. Candy Apple red fingernails tapered to a point on her fingers and the shoes she wore could have paid the rent for a family of five in any apartment in LA. She smelled faintly of cigarettes and super glue, an odor which in Miles injured state made him slightly disoriented. He stepped back as she giggled at him.

“It’s so nice to meet you Mr. Champ, hehe! Although I don't know if you like to be called Champ, Miles, or maybe tonight," she tittered, "because I could so call you tonight!”

“Yeah, about that… I’m not… Look, it’s very nice for you to offer, but I’m going to decline,” he said.

“But… Don’t you like me?” she asked.

Miles sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration, and said, “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice girl, and all, but I don’t know you enough to know if I like you. You’re pretty enough, I guess, and if I were more inclined I would take you out on a date in less than a heartbeat. But I kind of have my eyes set on somebody else. Besides, it kind of looks like you might be with another guy.”

He politely bowed out, walked away, and he could hear Davenport saying something to Bubbles that sounded less than flattering. It was the sort of language Jared warned him would result in a mouth filled with soap. As a principle, Miles treated all women with respect. It was what jared taught him, and it was generally easier to navigate life if he treated the females in his life with respect. Fewer headaches that way and Doctor Reynard, his primary physician, was less surly and cantankerous when he spoke with her in a civilized manner. He believed Gavin was never given that particular lesson.

The walk toward the elevator was a short one. He didn’t dare walk out to the public elevator. The last thing he wanted was to be mobbed by the fight fans still hanging around. He didn’t mind signing autographs every once in a while, but when he did it was when the WBF would host a meet and greet with the public. He’d been to his required number of them this year, and right now he just wanted to drop his stuff off, and maybe, if he could, find that girl he had talked to earlier.

Once he was on the floor where his room was he walked to it and used his thumb print to identify him as the occupant. The door clicked open and he walked inside to find the smell of jasmine hanging in the air.

“Mr. Malone, my name is Aloe, my sister and I was told to be waiting here to give you a full massage when you are ready,” a sultry French sounding voice said.

“W...what?” he asked as a light pink with blue hair Equestrian walked out. She was wearing a pair of gym shorts, a tank top, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail.

He heard the sound of another one walking out and watched as a matching blue Equestrian with Pink hair walked out wearing the same outfit.

“Okay… Look it’s nice that the casino hired you two and everything, but I really, and I mean I really, don’t want anything,” he said.

“Our services have been paid for, and it is wrong to accept payment without performing services,” Aloe said, “Isn’t that right Lotus?”

“She is right, do you really want us to feel like we’re stealing?” Lotus asked.

“N… no, but I don… Look, I don’t want to mess around. There’s a girl that I want to get to know, and I wouldn’t feel right doing something that would make me feel guilty,” he replied.

“Feel,” Aloe said

“Guilty?” Lotus asked.

“I’ve heard stories about the casinos hiring girls for… reasons… when it came to celebrities,” he replied.

They looked at each other, then at him, and then back at each other before tittering.

“If that is what they paid for then they are going to be disappointed. We only perform massage, nothing else,” Aloe said.

“Besides, the only ones we lift our tails for are our coltfriends. Not that you aren’t a cutie, but we’re in committed relationships,” Lotus replied.

“Oh,” Miles responded, “well, when you put it that way…”

“You did say that you are interested in a filly right?” Aloe asked.

“Perhaps we could give her a massage as well,” Lotus replied.

“After all there is two of us, only one of you, and it could be the ice breaker you need,” they said together.