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 was surprised that the massage had actually helped. His muscles didn't feel as tight, and it really was like the two sisters had magic fingers and hands. Aloe had offered to give him Coco's number, but he declined. He wanted to do this right, getting to know her the old fashioned way. Jarred had told him before that a girl respected a man better when he worked to get to know her. He did learn where she worked, and right now he was heading toward it. He passed through the crowded casino floor, making his way to the Grand Garden Arena, the place where many major concerts were held in the casino; it was also one of the few places where honest show girls danced to entertain the hundreds of thousands of tourists that visited Vegas each year.

Finding the concert hall, he inquired several of the casino staff where Coco’s office was. The first two members he approached spoke little English. The second spoke some English but not well enough to tell him what he wanted. The final member, an older man wearing a casino uniform and a name badge labeled, “Glen Forrester,” told him that Miss Pommel’s office was in the right wing of the main stage. Miles thanked Glen and began his trek once more.

After bounding up a small set of stairs that led to the right wing of the stage, Miles proceeded to head backstage. There was still activity, even if the shows had long since ended. Many of the chorus girls were still here, putting on shoes and adjusting gloves on their hands (Miles noticed quite a few of the chorus girls were Helpmates, a revelation in itself.) He was approached by a number of the ladies there, asking if him if he was searching for something. A buxom brunette with dazzling green eyes asked if he was looking for someone. He didn’t deign to answer her; his sole focus was on finding Coco’s office. Seeing a door that wasn’t part of the assorted dressing rooms at the far end of the corridor he was in, he swiftly made his way to it.

The door, made of mahogany with a shiny brass knob, bore a silver plaque indicating this was the office of the head costumer for the casino. Under the plaque was a silvery name plate reading, “Coco Pommel.” He walked up toward a door that lead into her office. He knocked, but there wasn't an answer. Trying the knob, he opened the door.The sounds of soft jazz filled the room, the smell of double chocolate fudge scented candles wafted through the air, but it was the sight of the nude anthropomorphic fox girl that caught his attention. She covered herself up and and blushed hard. Her silvery coat of fur was in deep contrast to the deep blush forming on her snout. She had verdant green eyes, one of those eyes getting covered by a wisp of platinum hair and was sporting naught but a pair of plain cotton underpants. The vixen gave a sort of both surprise and derision.

With the young fox maiden was his mark, Coco. She was making adjustments to the vixen’s costume, the kind that the chorus girls wore when on stage. The sheer number of rhinestones and petticoats told Miles this was a very well designed and tailored dress. His attention was arrested, though, by a fuming Coco. She had looked up when her client gasped at the sight of Miles coming in. To his own discomfort, he had barged in while the vixen was in a state of undress. The stern look she affixed to Miles was something that could make even the sternest of Marines cower into a fetal position.

“What are you doing?!” Coco demanded, “This is my office and I’m with a client! Didn’t you see the door closed?!”

“Oh, my! I... I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. No, please don't get up.” Miles stammered.

“Cocolicious,” murmured the young vixen, “just who in the name of Jerry Bruckheimer is that?”

“It’s nobody, Cheri” Coco growled, “don’t worry about him.”

She walked toward him, her grabbing his collar and jerking him back until she had him outside of the her office.

“I can't believe you! You fight in some brutish sport, and then you come marching into a closed office and leer at some poor girl!” Coco roared, “You must be some kind of pervert!”

He looked at the angry woman before him, and he tried to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say. He didn’t want her mad at him, and he had stepped right into it by just barging into her office.

“I swear that I’m not a pervert, and I promise you that walking in here while your- client, was in a state of undress wasn’t my intention,” he said.

“What were you doing then? My office is in the main dressing area,” she said evenly.

It was starting to go downhill and he knew it. He wanted to get to know her, and now she was thinking that he was some kind of Peeping Tom. That wasn’t what he wanted.

“I- uh,” Miles started, “I actually, wanted to talk to. For yo- To you. I want to talk. To you. I uh-”

“Stop,” Coco commanded, “just stop.”

Miles shut his trap, noting that she stopped him from making a larger ass of himself than already he had done.

“Listen,” Coco breathed, “you seem like a nice colt, despite your rather archaic and brutal profession. I do have to wonder why you want to speak to me. If you look around, there are plenty of pretty fillies and beautiful mares that I’m sure would capture your fancy for the night.”

“Well, as tempting as that sounds,” Miles admitted, “I don’t really feel comfortable around-” he sweeps his hand at the slowly assembling ladies of the chorus line, “these- uh, fine ladies.”

“Oh?” Coco asks, slightly amused, “did I make an assumption? Are you a coltcuddler?”

“A what now?” Miles asked confused.

“You know,” Coco continued, “you play for the other team.”

Miles gave the mare a very confused look.

“You dig the spade?” She asked, only to get a look of further confusion, “You ride the dark phantom?”

“Still not following,” Miles said, “it’s like you’re talking but I don’t understand what you’re speaking.”

Coco sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance, then asked, “Are you sexually attracted to stallions?”

Now a look of recognition passed over Miles face, which Coco noticed was swiftly replaced by a look of mild resentment, “That, uh, that would be a no. I am not gay as far as I know.”

Coco gave him an visual appraisal. He wasn’t that bad to look at. He had a lean look, with tight muscle definition that showed through his comfortable clothing choices. He was taller than she was, tall enough where she needed to crane her neck in order to look into his eyes. And what eyes he had; a striking, steely, deep blue, nestled under a shock of dark blonde hair. His face was ruddy in color, but that could have been from embarrassment or exertion.

The way he stood, his shoulders rounded forward, the slight slump of his neck and head, and the inward way his feet were placed told her that the color of his face was most likely from embarrassment. She could see his nervousness, and it reminded her of when she worked with Suri. She had presented herself much the same way. She reached out, her hand taking one of his own, and she patted it.

“It’s okay, just take a moment,” she said.

His entire body seemed to relax a little. She could see some of the nervousness leaving him, but there was certainly some of it still there. She led him toward a bench near the wall. Unlike the locker room this wasn’t an old wood and steel bench. This had been designed with comfort in mind. The triple diamond pattern marking the creator wasn’t lost on Coco. She felt the plush velvet bench, and she gave a small smile to Miles who leaned his head against the wall behind them.

“I don’t even know how to begin,” he admitted after a few moments.

She studied him for a moment as he brought his free hand up and covered his face.

“You just say what’s on your mind,” she replied.

He breathed out, closed his eyes, and silently hoped that nothing stupid came out when he opened his mouth.

“I wanted to say thank you for being so nice earlier, and that I’d like to get to know you better. I know you’ve got a low opinion of what I do, and I can understand that, but I would like to get to know you. You know what I mean right?” he asked.

“I’m flattered,” Coco began, “and while you seem like a nice colt, I just can’t. Sorry, but I have lot’s to do and not a lot of time to do it in.”

“Oh,” Miles replied, casting his face down, “Okay.”

Coco wanted to scream. Here was a reasonably handsome colt, asking her out and she was turning him down. Suri had always said she too dedicated to her career, but this was actually hurting her to see this colt’s rejected face.

“Listen,” Coco added, “it’s not that I don’t want to go out with you but I have a lot of responsibilities here.”

“I understand,” Miles said, “I should get going then.”

Coco watched him as he rose from the sofa, and a part of her broke watching him whither away like he was. Life was unfair, Suri had shown her that, but it was Rarity who showed her that generosity could yield beneficial fruit. Not just for the gifted but for the gifter.

“Wait,” Coco said, almost shouting. Miles stopped, half turning to see her, “Yes?”

Rummaging through a pocket in her skirt, Coco produced a business card, “Here. I’ll have some time on Thursday after next. Call me; I’ll arrange for us to meet and we can- talk further. Okay?”

Miles visibly brightened up and said, “Sure. Uh, great! I’ll call you on, uh, Wednesday or something- Wait, do you have my number?”

“You know,” Coco said, “I don’t think I do.” She then whipped out her phone, took it out of standby, went into her address book and said, “okay, what is it?”

“Uh, what?” Miles questioned.

“Your number, silly!” Coco beamed, “You do have a phone number, right?”

“Oh,” Miles added quizzically, and then, “Oh! Right, my phone number.”

He gave her his number; she poked it into her phone and then gave him a bright smile. They parted ways afterwards, much to the consternation of the chorus girls who eavesdropped. A great many of them shared a look of grand disappointment. Miles couldn’t share their perspective; he gotten the number of Ms. Coco Pommel. There was now very little that could dampen his spirits.

He walked away from the backstage area, toward the hall, and right into the back of someone.

“Sorry,” he said offering his hand.

“Hell of a fight earlier,” the person he bumped into said.

Miles looked at the body he bumped into and recognized a face he had seen a few times before. The guy had never really talked to him before now, but here they were.

“You know, I’ve followed your career for the past sixteen months, and I’ve noticed something. That right hook and over arm throw has slowed down about half a second,” he said.

Miles rolled his eyes and started to walk away.

“It doesn’t ever have to slow,” he didn’t finish since Miles held his hand up.

“Thanks but no thanks,” he replied.

“Miles, I’m offering you a chance to be on the same level as the new kids getting into the sport. Do you really think that the WBF is going to check everybody? I can get you the edge that you need. Think about that,” he replied.

Miles looked at him, and the name came back to him. Nick the Greek, Nicholas something. He’d seen him talking to some of the other fighters, some of them had followed this throwback from a bad mobster movie and gotten enhancements. He could see the confident expression on his face, the perfectly combed, and overly greased, hair, and the business suit he was wearing. All of it pointed to money, and it was money that other fighters had forked over.

He shook his head and started to walk around him.

“Look Mr….” Miles started.

“Mr. Leventis was my father. Just call me Nicky,” Nicky replied

“Nicky, I’m not interested. Sorry, but the one thing that can’t be taken away from me is my pride. I go out to fight, and it’s me, just me,” he replied.

He walked on past him, heading out, and then he heard a dark chuckle.

“It’s your funeral,” Nicky said.

He let the remark roll off of his back. Guys like Nick the Greek were parasites. They fed off of others, and he didn’t want to be the next in line. Besides, today was just too good of a day. He walked out of the MGM Grand, and looked up at the clear sky above Las Vegas. The sky was clear, perfectly clear, and a smile crossed his face. He heard the sound of a large electrical engine roaring. He looked to see one of the delivery transports for the city. There was that, and then there was the over the desert caravan. He’d heard about it before. Apparently some of the Equestrians had a city similar to Las Vegas called Las Pegasus.

They had hand delivered everything there on their backs. There had been a few humans make the trek with them, carrying what they could, and the money was supposed to be pretty good, but it was several days of hard labor. The labor didn’t bother Miles, but the idea of being in the heat for that long did. He looked around the city, and realized that for once he wasn’t in a big hurry to get home.

He could easily come back to Las Vegas to meet with Coco, and he knew that staying here wouldn’t make the next two weeks pass any quicker. So, reluctantly he walked toward the train station. There wasn’t enough script, or credits, in the world that would make him get on a glider. They were supposed to be safe, but the idea of being held in the air by plastic, aluminum tubing, and a twitchy computer. Nope, trains were far safer, and to be honest they had been in use far longer.

He neared the station and he noticed the people working in it. There was the automated Kiosks, but there was also a few booths with normal folks handling the tickets and travel arrangements. He knew that Mickey had most likely bought him a ticket and got the seven day pick-up for him. He walked toward one of the kiosks and noticed another Helpmate standing there. She had a pleasant smile on her face. She wasn’t like Coco or the fox girl she had in her office. To be honest she was more like a griffin. She looked at him, gave him as much of a smile as she could, which he was surprised he was able to tell it was a smile by looking at her eye brows.

“Welcome to Amtrak! How may I assist you?” she asked.

He walked toward her and read the name tag Sievty Longfeather. She was actually very pleasant, and besides having a Sparrow’s beak she was very fetching. He gave her a small smile.

“Actually my agent or manager, to be honest I’m not sure which one he goes by most often, should have reserved me a ticket. I’d like to pick it up,” he said.

“Of course sir, just scan your thumb print and I’ll check for you,” she said.

He did and he watched her as she worked. Her blue runner’s jacket, and short blue skirt seemed to shift slightly as she worked behind the counter of her booth. He caught a glimpse of her white stockings, and stopped staring after that. It wasn’t right. She let out a small laugh, something that seemed to come from deep in her throat, and glanced up at him.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about looking,” she said after she managed to control herself.

Her golden brown feathers slightly ruffled, and he could smell the hint of cinnamon on her breath as she looked at him. She gave him a small wink and then touched his hand. He felt it being pulled toward her, he started to protest before she put his thumb against the scanner and there was a beep.

“There we go,” she said printing out the ticket and handing it to him. He looked at her.

“We all look from time to time, but I’m guessing that you’re like me. I’ve got someone special that I don’t ever plan on hurting. Have a good trip Mr. Malone, and thank you for riding the rails at Amtrak,” she said.

He boarded the train uncertain of exactly what had happened. Instead he walked toward compartment, walked toward the bed, and sat down on it.

I will never, ever understand women, he thought.

Leaning back he let the sound of the train moving help him relax. It wouldn’t take that long to get back to Colorado, and when he did the first thing he planned on doing was sleeping in his feather bed. He missed it, and for a second, just the briefest of moments, he wondered if Coco would eventually get to missing the same bed.