Ye As Sew, So Shall Ye Rip
Ringing the Bell

Coco looked at the old gym they were standing in. It was set up just like Miles’ home. For the most part there were no automated devices, and the only way that Julia could talk through the entire building would be over the antiquated P.A. system. She did notice that while it was very much a space dedicated to working out that it at least had a decent color scheme going for it. The gym was laid out in green and gold, the old floor was hard wood, and the coloring of the wood was almost gold. The ring, where Miles was, was a rich deep green.

She watched as he seemed to shuffle and dance around while the other boxer did his best to hit him. Mickey had said that the boxer was a SouthPaw. She noticed that the boxer seemed to hit harder with his left, and that it made Miles have to block differently than he was used to. It took a bit, but she watched as Miles began to move differently, he was now going on the offensive, and soon he had the other boxer in the corner. The bell rang, and he separated from him. She walked over to Miles’ corner while Mickey was checking him and giving him a sip of water.

“You’re doing good Miles,” he said, “I thought having you face a Southpaw might be a good idea. Heard that our Russian friend might be one of those lucky sumbitches that can box just as well with either hand.”

Miles nodded, the bell rang again, and he stepped out. Coco watched as he moved forward, and the match continued. The other man was attempting to go on the offensive, but Miles seemed to have learned his movements. Eventually he hit the man with a hard right cross, knocking him down. When he did he stepped back, waited, and when the man didn’t manage to get up in time the match was called.

Miles walked forward, offering his hand, and the other man took it. He helped him up, and the two of them touched gloves.

“Good match,” Miles said, “Thanks for coming in today to help me train.”

The man nodded, “I got a chance to spar with the current heavyweight champion of the world, and I lasted for six rounds. Hey, that means that I can get into some decent matches. I’m fine with it.”

Miles gave him a grin, let him exit, and then walked toward his corner.

“So, Mickey, nice choice. The guy is going to be a major contender,” he said, “That’s all three sparing matches, and that leaves me about three days to get ready for the match itself.”

Mickey nodded, “It does,” he said, “Miles, I hate that this is the match that we’ve been given, but I know that you’re able to handle it. Hell, I’ve seen you take on some of the meanest sumbitches that ever lived. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about you. Everything I’ve heard about this guy all is the same thing, and all of it is bad.”

Coco looked at him, “Why is he allowed to fight if it is all bad?”

Miles shook his head, “He’s an olympic level athlete, sponsored by his home nation, and sponsored by their boxing association. The bylaws of our association states that as long as he abides by the rules he is allowed to box here.”

Mickey nodded, and looked at Miles who shrugged, “Deaths and disabilities do happen in this sport,” he said, “We try our best to make sure that it never does, but it does occasionally happen. The issue is that Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin has either disabled or killed every single individual that has boxed. I am not going to be one of them.”

Coco looked at him, worry evident on her face. The idea that this other stallion, this other man, would willingly hurt someone like that. She’d heard that it was common back in the pre unification days, but even then it was frowned upon. After all, Earth Ponies were needed to grow food, and an Earth Pony that was no longer able to walk, work the soil, or harvest the food was considered worthless. It was a cold time for ponies, and it wasn’t something that she wanted for Miles.

She wanted him to have the chance to retire from his profession as a whole stallion. She wanted him to be able to play with his foals, to watch them grow, watch as they fell in love, meet their prospective lovers, and give them away when the time was right. She needed him to be there with her as they grew old together, and she needed to live her life with him right up to the very end.

She didn’t want to see that end because of this other man. She considered trying to talk Miles out of it. It was his profession, but surely just handing over the title wouldn’t end his career, would it? There would be a chance that someone else would beat Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, and when they did he could fight them for the title again. But the truth was that she understood that wasn’t the way things worked. Even in the fashion world things were stricter than that. Competing individuals had to face one another, and if one of them bowed out that usually marked the end of their career.

Rarity had been a special case, but even she had nearly lost everything. If she hadn’t stepped up for Rarity, agreed to bring her the news that she won, and explained that she had an emergency then she was certain that Suri would have ended up winning. She certainly didn’t want that to happen. She didn’t want Miles to give up either. His opponent was obviously someone that cared little for others, but she knew that Miles would do his best, and she believed that he would do everything he could to keep from losing.

He got out of the ring, and she helped him toward the locker room. Mickey seemed to understand that she had everything under control, left her to it, and headed off toward the office. They entered the locker room, and Miles stripped. He then walked into the shower, and she saw him turn toward her. There was a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked at her. His smile was one that promised wonderful pleasure.

“Want to shower with me?”

She grinned, and then she began to remove her own clothes. Her sweater was a long one that came down well below her hips, allowing her to wear the leggings she was wearing. It was being sexy, but classy at the same time. She pulled the sweater over her head, unhooked her bra, shrugged it off, and then she slipped out of the boots she was wearing. The boots themselves were something that Rarity had designed for her, and she had sent them as a congratulations present.

She hadn’t expected them, but they were exceptionally nice. She placed the boots by the bench her clothes were going on, and then she pushed down her leggings. There were no panties, no undergarments, just the leggings, and she was glad to be rid of them. She followed Miles into the shower room, and he turned on the hot water. She felt it as it sprayed her, and she felt him hug her against him. She lifted her head, her lips touching his own, and the kiss deepened. She worried for him, but he understood. He knew that what they needed was closeness.

She longed for his touch. They had claimed each other already, and this wasn’t him reclaiming her. No, this was an act of love pure and simple. He wanted to give her everything she needed. He wanted to make her as happy as she had made him, but the issue was that he had already done that. She was happy, far more happier than she had been alone, and that happiness also fed into the worry. There was a very real worry that all of it could end tonight.

Their kiss was hungry, passionate, and soon she was facing toward the wall, her hands pressed against it, bent over at the waist, and feeling him deep inside of her. She moaned as he filled her, and moaned at the presence of his hands on her cutie marks. He slid into her perfectly, filling her in a way that only he could. Coco was someone that truly believed in being loyal, honest, and believed in the connection that made life worth living. Right now that connection was thrusting into her, pulling her into each and every thrust, and making her quiver as her orgasm began to set in.

He was giving her a foal, he was offering her his life, and she had returned the favor and offered hers. As far as she was concerned they were married. She was his wife, and she always would be. There was no doubt in her mind that the two of them would spend the rest of their lives together, and she hoped that it was a lifetime that he was able to truly enjoy. The hunger both felt toward one another came together in the love making that was happening in this shower, and finally it ended. Coco loved that his wonderful tool was still inside of her, although she knew that it would deflate. She understood that it would most likely slip out of her, but regardless she enjoyed the feeling of still being connected to him.

She raised up, and his hands moved from her hips to her waist. He held her, and she felt him slide out of her well loved tunnel. He kissed her neck, and she softly hummed at the feeling of being so loved. She didn’t question why she didn’t find a stallion back home any longer. There wasn’t a reason to. Harmony had led her to Miles. She believed that the two of them were meant to be together. He was different, but his heart, his soul, was an Earth Pony. He was no stranger to work, to honesty, and to being generous when he could be.

She knew that her mother would have loved him, and her father would have tried to talk him into working the lumber yard he owned. Somehow she doubted that Miles would have done it. He had pride in what he did. It was brutish, but she could tell that he belonged in the ring. She hoped that his skill and talent would be enough. The thought of his talent made her smile. Somehow she could almost envision a set of boxing gloves as his cutie mark. The thought made her feel better. It’s likely that would be his cutie mark, and that meant that his special talent was boxing. If that was the case then his talent would help carry and protect him.

Slowly the shower turned into a real shower. The both of them cleaned one another, and then they walked out. The towels that were waiting for them were a little stale, but they were clean. She looked at the locker room again, and admired it for what it was. The room was large enough for several people, it allowed them to have some space, but at the same time it kept them close enough together that they could talk and joke. It was designed to promote good sportsmanship, and at the same time promote a herd mentality.

She grabbed her own clothes and began dressing. She knew that Miles was watching, and she was glad that today she decided to forgo her panties. Having him eye her certainly made up for it. She dressed, knowing that the seed he planted in her would leak out eventually, but that would be fine. It wasn’t like they were really going anywhere else besides home, and once there she would simply wash their clothes. Heading out of the locker room with her they heard Mickey talking to someone, and a few moments later he came out of the office.

“Miles,” he said, “Boyo, unless you want to deal with the press we’re going to need to go out the back.”

Miles nodded, glad that he hadn’t parked out front. Coco had wondered why he had decided to park around the back, but it made sense now. This was part of his life that was taking some getting used to. It wasn’t that she didn’t have to deal with the press in her career. Anytime there was a new wardrobe design, a new show, or a specialty fashion line for the casino that came out she was usually interviewed by the press. But it was different with Miles. They wanted to ask him about his training regiment, they wanted to know about their relationship, they wanted to know what brand of toothpaste he used, where he ate, what kind of mattress did he sleep on, did he use condoms, and a thousand other things that were not a bit of their business.

Somehow Miles seemed to have the patience to deal with it. He didn’t lash out at them, and instead he accepted it with a grace and understanding that she had known was part of who he was. Miles was without a doubt an Earth Pony everywhere that mattered. He belonged to her tribe, and she couldn’t be prouder of him. But that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want him to have to deal with the press either. They walked out the back, and Mickey waved at them as he moved toward his own car.

Unlike Miles’ old truck it was something that was electric. It was a car called a Tesla, and from what Mickey said it tended to be pretty reliable for the price. Mickey pulled out first, and she watched as he left, leading most of the press away. Miles then pulled forward and began to pull out onto the road. When he did something pulled up beside him. The motorcycle itself was older, and the woman riding it gave them both a smile.

“I’ve got to admit, your manager knows how to draw a crowd,” she said, “But I’ve long since learned that the best option is to give it a few minutes and wait. Sometimes I might miss something, but more often than not the real story hasn’t happened yet.”

Miles looked at her, “Miss,” he said before she held her hand.

“Jana Wellman, Rocky Mountain News, and I’ve just got a few questions. I don’t plan on asking about the brands that you endorse, or what your stance is on interspecies relationships. I honestly don’t care about that.”

Coco took a moment to really look at her. The woman was dressed in a pair of jeans, a leather jacket that covered her arms well, her helmet, and a pair of black leather boots. All in all she looked good for a reporter, and at least she was being far more direct than most of the ones they’ve dealt with so far. She respected that the woman wasn’t going to try to pry into something that didn’t have to do with Miles’ profession.

“I’ve got other things to do, but I can answer a couple, meaning no more than three, questions for you Ms Wellman.”

She gave a nod, took off her helmet, and her dark brown hair fell around her face. It was cut short, just reaching past her neck, but barely touching her shoulders. She gave him a grateful smile and took out a small tablet. Coco saw a stylus in her hand, and the woman looked at him.

“Mr. Malone, it’s been said that your opponent, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, has personally ended the careers of over sixty different skilled boxers. He’s known for being ruthless, merciless, and methodical when it comes to boxing. My question is are you worried about stepping into the ring with him?”

Miles looked at her, “No more than I am with anyone else,” he said, “The key to being a great boxer is to know that something terrible can happen, but to continue on anyway. A person can’t give into fear. The moment they do the match is over.”

She nodded, “Okay, can you tell me what you’ve done to prepare for match?”

He smiled, “I won’t go over my training regiment, but I can say that I’ve conditioned my body for more endurance, better speed, and more strength,” he said, “I’ve done everything that I could to be better than I was yesterday.”

She nodded, “And last, this is actually for your friend, Ms Pommel,” she said, “Would that alright?”

Miles looked at her and Coco nodded. It was the first time that a reporter had actually asked to question her.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll answer as best that I can, but I will not talk about our personal life too much.”

Ms. Wellman nodded, “That’s fine. Actually, my question is that as I understand you’re something of a fashion designer, and amazingly the two of you seemed to have clicked. What have you learned about Mr. Malone’s profession, what are you thoughts about it, and how do you feel that you will personally fit into it?”

She looked at her, “That’s three questions, but I believe that I can answer those. I’ve learned that his profession, while very demanding, is one that takes equal parts talent and drive. I’ve watched Miles, and he has both. I feel that the sport is brutal, unforgiving, but at the same time I have seen some of the best sportsmanship come from it. I’ve seen athletes congratulate each other, help each other up, and even support one another out of the ring. For me that means that this sport does a wonderful job of developing character,” she said, “And finally, where I fit into this is as Miles’ loving wife. I support his profession, and I plan on using my talents and skills to help create his training suits, robes, and such.”

Ms. Wellman nodded, “Thank you both for your time,” she said, “Oh, and on a personal note Mr. Malone, I hope that you wipe the floor with Rasputin. He’s a bully, and like all bullies he needs to be put in his place.”

Miles watched as she walked back over to her motorcycle, which he realized was a 1996 Harley Davidson FLSTF Fatboy. She pulled on her helmet, got onto it, and soon the motorcycle roared to life and began to move down the highway. He grinned, shook his head, and started toward their home. They pulled into their home, and Coco knew that the next couple of days would be going by far too quickly. She wasn’t looking forward to the fight, but she knew that it had to come to pass.

Ms. Wellman was right about something else though. Grigori Rasputin appeared every bit to be a bully, and she was right that as a bully he did need to be put in his place. She would suggest the friendship angle, but that didn’t seem right. From what she had heard Grigori had done more than enough to not be forgiven. He’d hurt so many to the point that they would never recover. He needed to be stopped, and she knew that Miles had the ability to do it. She hoped that he wouldn’t have to destroy him, to completely annihilate him, but she understood that it could be a possibility. From what she had seen so far it appeared that Grigori Rasputin had no intention of fighting a normal match.

That evening both of them enjoyed a dinner that they made together. It was fish, freshwater catfish, with a simple cornmeal breading, some homemade tartar sauce, steamed green beans, a light iceberg salad, and a couple glasses of Sauvignon Blanc which was a crisp white wine with critius, floral, and sweet melon notes to it. They washed and dried dishes together, and then they made love in the kitchen on the counter, then the floor, then the table. Eventually they made it to their bed, and they did more of the same.

The next two days were much of the same. They ate together, she would join Miles for a run in his exercise room, they would make love, and occasionally they would watch some television while nude in the living room. Finally the day came that she had been dreading, and she followed Miles out to the waiting car. It was a limousine, and the inside of it was every bit as plush and posh as the limos that were used in Las Vegas.

The ride up was mostly uneventful, but eventually they arrived. She walked in with him, and they made their way toward the locker room. Once inside she saw Mickey who was busy making orders, having his assistants run back and forth getting everything ready. She watched as they moved with a precision that was exceptionally respectable. She was glad to see that Mickey wasn’t talking down to them. Oh, he was every bit their boss, but he was instead having them do their job, telling them good job on what was right, and telling them that they had to get this done quick.

“Miles,” he said, “It’s almost time.”

He nodded, and he changed. When he did Miles noticed that his robe matched his new trunks. He looked at Coco who smiled at him, “I wanted to give you something, for luck.”

He walked toward her, kissed her, and she moaned in the kiss for a moment before he stepped back, “Thanks,’ he said, “I’m sure that it will bring a lot of luck.”

The sounds of Gonna Fly Now began to play, and Miles looked at Mickey.

“Seriously?” he asked, “The theme song from Rocky?”

Mickey looked at him, “It’s supposed to be good luck, and honestly I want ya to have as much as possible. Now, let’s go kick some Ruskie ass.”

They began to walk out, and the three of them made their way down toward the ring. Coco noticed that the gryphoness that had been with Grigori was there, and she looked disinterested in them for the most part. Instead she seemed to be speaking in hushed tones to Grigori. She watched and stood near Miles, knowing that she would likely have to move to a seat in the front row. After a moment the gryphoness moved from her place at the corner and moved toward a seat on the first row. Moving toward her own seat she saw Princess, or rather President, Celestia sitting in the same row with her husband, and several members of the secret service were surrounding them. She was dressed in a white evening gown that looked as if it were practically painted on her. Coco gave Miles a kiss, and hugged him. She then followed suit and took her seat. Once she was seated another man walked out into the middle of the ring.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to tonight’s main event. In the right corner we have the challenger, known to many as the unrelenting machine, in the crimson trunks, weighing in at 215 pounds, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin. And in the left corner, in the the cerulean trunks, weighing in at 208 pounds, representing the United States, we have the Heavyweight Champion of the World, Miles Malone!”

The entire crowd seemed to go crazy around Coco, and she silently prayed that he would be okay as she watched. The man in the center of the ring looked around at them.

“This match is scheduled as a fifteen round match of the heavyweight division. Per the rules of the World Boxing Federation it will be held under the London Boxing Ring Rules. Knockouts and Technical Knockouts will be allowed. Ladies and Gentlemen, LET'S GET TO RUMBLE!”

He stepped out and the referee neared the both of them as they walked into the middle of the ring. Compared to the both of them the referee was a short man, with a hairless head. He looked at them both.

“Okay, I want a good clean fight. Touch gloves, and then come out swinging.”

The touched gloves backed up, and Miles began to move. He noticed that Grigori was doing much of the same, until finally the Russian began to move toward him. He backed away, dodging the first attempt to hit him. He could tell what was going on. Grigori was attempting to get him into the corner. He wanted this to end quick. Miles didn’t follow his lead, and instead he managed to evade him. He waited for a moment and hit Grigori in the side.

The body blow was a good solid hit, and Grigori seemed angry. At that moment he lashed out hitting Miles. He expected to feel the same feeling he’d felt when he was fighting with the other Americans he’d sparred with, but instead of flesh it almost felt like he was hitting steel. The two of them began trading blows, and Miles felt each one. It was like someone had picked up a boxing glove, filled it with cement, and then began pounding away at him. He blocked as best he could, but he felt each and every strike.

He didn’t let Grigori push him into a corner. He didn’t dodge, and he fought back just as hard as Grigori fought against him. He felt the hits to his face, feeling his eyes swell, the way some of his teeth felt loose after his jaw had been hit, but he kept pushing. The bell rang and he moved toward his corner.

“You’re doing it Miles,” Mickey said, “You’ve already rattled him.”

Miles nodded, “Doesn’t take away from the fact that the man hits like a mule on steroids,” he said, “He does favor his right side though.”

Mickey nodded, “Yeah, and you’ve got to go after it. Hammer away at it, chip him down, and then knock his ass out.”

The bell rang again, and once more Miles moved forward. Any attempt at putting on a show was gone. Grigori didn’t want a show, he didn’t want to have a drawn out match, he wanted to end it now. He came out swinging, going straight for Miles’ head. Miles blocked it, barely, and returned with equal force. Grigori punched hard, trying to lay him out, trying to hurt him, and each punch felt like it was bruising bone. Miles struck out and Grigori lowered his head, causing Miles to hit the crown of his skull. He felt the pain as he hit one of the hardest places on the human body.

Unfortunately it wasn’t a place that had much give if the other person was well trained. He felt something in his wrist move wrong, and he knew that at the least he had sprung, if not broke, his wrist. He didn’t back up. He couldn’t afford to. Instead he kept going, fighting, and he felt a punch that hit his right shoulder. It was hard, and he turned with it, but it almost felt like it partially dislocated it. There was no doubt in his mind that Grigori was attempting to end his career. He fought back, hard, and kept going. Again the bell rang, and again they both went to their corners.

Grigori took a drink, spitting blood, and winched as his corner man commented on the match.

“It is like hitting steel,” Grigori said, “It feels like I am fighting a machine.”

The bell rang again, and once more they moved out to the middle. Blow after blow was made, and finally Miles hit Grigori hard in the right eye. He watched as the Russian stepped back, swinging wildly, and he watched as he covered his eye. He swung again, and Miles dodged it, hitting him as hard as he could. When Grigori’s hand went down Miles saw not only a swollen right eye, but a burn mark. Evidence of enhancements that had been used.

He lashed out again, hammering the right side, and Grigori blocked most of them, but not all of them. Finally the two of them managed a hit on one another, a massive one that caused them to stagger. Miles staggered back, tripped over his footing and fell. He heard another thud, and knew that Grigori had fallen as well. He could hear the count, but slowly he got to his feet. He stood, seeing that the count was continuing on Grigori.

He watched as it finished, and he noticed the pool of blood that was forming around Grigori’s head. The realization that the enhancements that Grigori had gotten had not only broken, but likely cost the man everything floored him. He watched as medics came out to look him over only to see the gryphoness he was with rush to his side. She checked him, and then she looked at Miles. Her eyes narrowed at him.

“You worthless American pig,” she growled, moving toward him, “I should rip your throat out!”

She made it two more steps before a familiar cream colored hand struck out and hit her hard in the beak, cracking it, and knocking her on her ass. Coco stood beside Miles, breathing hard, looking at the gryphoness.

“Don’t you touch my stallion!”

The extras not needed in the ring were led away, the announcer stepped back in, and walked over to Miles. He raised his hand and looked at the audience.

“The winner of tonight’s main event, and still heavyweight champion of the world, is Miles Malone!” he exclaimed, “Miles, do you have anything to say?”

He nodded, “We did it Coco!” he shouted, “We did it!”

Moscow, Federated Republic of Russia

“FIVE HUNDRED MILLION FUCKING RUPLES! DOWN THE FUCKING SHITTER BECAUSE OF SOME MOTHERFUCKING AMERICAN!!”

Dmitri fumed as he threw the remote for his holostage across the room, looking a significant loss of revenue from their golden boy. The remote shattered into several pieces when it struck the marble countertop to the mini bar in his plush office in downtown Moscow. His major domo and several of his lieutenants in The Mafioso didn’t understand a word that was said; very few in his organization spoke English fluently and even fewer knew the vulgarities their boss tossed out like cheap borscht.

What they did know was that he was very upset, to the point of ending someone’s life, and that they had seen Rasputin get his ass handed to him. Sure, Grigori had managed to bring the pain upon the American, coming within a few steps of actually ending the man’s career, but the American was stronger than he looked, had no enhancements, and had deduced where their golden boy had been augmented. The damage to those implants likely would cost several arms and legs; Grigori was on a short track to finished boxing career and if the International Federation of Boxing didn’t ban him, the fact that he was bionically augmented would tarnish his career into perpetuity. No one would ever box him again. His earning potential was now jack shit, if even that. The man was now reduced to street fights and underground fight clubs, of which many belonged to a rival Mafioso group.

“ Dmitri roared, “”

“” spoke the major domo, “”

“” Dmitri growled, “

“” Kristiev said, “”

“No, it’s not,” Dmitri fumed, “”

“” the major domo said and filed out of the room.

“” Dmitri fumed, “”

No one in the room spoke; Dmitri’s mood had already proven volatile. If any dared interrupt the boss in his current dander, they might likely get a bad case of lead poisoning. Dmitri Visovic was not known for being very forgiving and was often in possession of a Heckler & Koch USP, an antique but very effective, on his person. A ten millimeter round to the head would give one a rather quick trip to a deep grave; no one in the room wanted to be the victim of their boss’s wrath. They were spared the tension when the phone in the room lit up; someone was on his private line.

“” Dmitri said, and everyone fled without looking like they were fleeing.

When the last of his lieutenants left the room, Dmitri picked up the phone, punched the lit up button that was call waiting and spoke. As the line connected, he switched from the physical phone for his holostage nucleus. To his disappointment, Dmitri only got a default avatar icon where the gryphoness' face should have been. Dmitri ground his teeth, then spoke.

“Anastasia,” he growled, “could you please explain to me why your boy was just handed his ass on a silver platter? And please, be descriptive. I want excruciating details on why I have just lost multiple millions of dollars on what you assured me was a sure fire bet.”

“I have no explanation,” the gryphoness said, her voice sounding strained, “Grigori was his physical and bionic peak. He should have torn that American down like so many bricks, in a methodical manner. The American- I think I figured out where Grigori was augmented and hammered away at those. He has- he has no sight in his right eye. The shit quacks that pass for doctors over here say his bionics in that eye are damaged beyond repair. The lung and diaphragm augments are badly damaged and somehow, his knee ligaments are shredded beyond belief-”

“Enough,” Dmitri demanded, “all I am hearing are excuses, excuses, excuses. Rasputin has cost me money, money that I used to build him up from that street urchin he was back in St. Petersburg, scrapping in the cage fights and underground boxing venues. That was an investment; an investment that just crapped out on me! Where is he?!”

“He- he is in coma,” Anastasia cried, “the ocular implant exploded in his head- Permanent brain damage-”

“Enough!” Dmitri screamed, “why aren’t you on visual? I want to see your stupid fucking beaky face!”

“There- there are no holostages in this hospital-” Anastasia cried, “Grigori is still in surgery-”

“” Dmitri demanded, “”

“” Anastaisa moaned, and the line went dead.

Author's Note

[Insert James Brown's "Living in America" song here.]