Filetages Fatidique et Fleurs de Soie

Chapters

Un Lit Défait
Un Lit Utilisé
Stimulateurs
Enivrants
Un Lit Inconnue
Dessins
Devenir Populaire
Finitions
La Vie est une Passerelle
Épilogue
L'art de la Robe

Un Lit Défait

Beds somehow manage to become more comfortable the longer they are inhabited. When we roll into them in the dead of night they are normally only a negligible reprieve from the tired world. Although not uncomfortable we may still spend hours wrapping and unwrapping blankets, flipping pillows to their cooler face and generally rolling from side to side, all in attempts to find the best sleeping position without any being quite adequate. By morning however every inch of a bed is converted to being the very pinnacle of luxurious cosiness, so much so that we are loath to leave its quilted recesses. At dusk it is furniture of purpose, whilst at dawn it is the furnisher of indulgent pleasure, making it the bane of punctuality and arch nemesis to the best laid schedule.

Today was one of the great many mornings in which Fleur De Lis found herself wishing that her past-self had remembered any of this the preceding evening. Not that she actually had anywhere to be however, but rather the prospect of a lie-in was extremely attractive and at the same time made entirely impossible by the crushing hangover battering her being. Right now she would have gladly cut off her own head, in hopes the severance would dull the piercing spike working through her brow, had the rest of her not been throbbing with a persistent immobilising ache. The one small mercy was the fact that the curtains were set closed, shielding her from the oppressive rays of the rising sun and suitably mellowing the room’s light from burning her purple irises. In spite of her bodily resistance, movement was made necessary by the hot unpleasantness of her surrounding sheets, its waves pushing her downward into the mattress. Throwing off the quilt and rising, she was given the briefest of moments to feel relief at finding no unknown pony as her bedfellow, before nausea leapt from her stomach to strike her throat, forcing her to flee in the direction of the apartment’s ensuite. The toilet loomed up in her face as she dry-wretched ineffectually into it, adding nothing to the noxious mix already forming a stagnant pool in the receptacle. Confronted with the results of last night’s hazy debauch, her spluttering continued, sickness furthered by the aggressive scent filling her nostrils.

Never again?

‘Buck off’ she muttered in between coughs, whilst flushing away the murky contents. Her mind’s words were bad enough for being so cliché, but made worse for being a quotation.

Fleur recoiled to the sink, releasing cleansing waters into the bowl. Two faces stared back at her: one a confusion in the clear ripples, the other a shining image in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. The three ponies gazed into the depths of each other’s purple-rimmed eyes, the remnant sludge of mascara having formed bruises around their sockets. She sighed and her abused twins sighed back in unison as they collectively set to work washing away the caked stains set in their white fur. Their first selected tissue was quickly thick with the stuff, dark streaks cutting across the soft paper, and they levitated it to the room’s bin, hoof stepping roughly down on the container’s opening pedal. The silver lid crashed down, forcing her ears shut against her head as she tried to hold off the sudden noise slamming into her tender senses.

Buck!

Ignoring her mind’s inner screaming, she and her reflections returned to their activity, casting away a flurry of wipes to form a corpse pile in the bin’s base. A fresh pair of visages now looked into her: pale, ordinary, plain. One drained out, whilst the other she turned away, searching the cabinet’s guts beyond for painkillers. A cloud of disorganised pills hovered out before her muzzle, first being marshalled together by colour and then reformed in groups of similar shapes to no avail. Her attempts at arrangement in vain she chose a small selection and downed them with a dry forced swallow, foregoing the available glass lying stained with a pukey lip print as evidence of use last night, whilst willing the medication to make an immediate impact. Her aching joints nagged her to return to bed, but the covers were now a long trek away so instead she offered up a shower as appeasement, turning on the dial and filling the space with the sound of falling water. Soon enough an enveloping humidity followed accompanied by fresh nausea, but nonetheless fighting through this she rose and stepped into the pure raindrops, letting them sooth each spot they touched. Her mane fell flat around her shoulders, its pink stripes made heavy and straight by the current, whilst each knot formed in her body slowly slipped away under the droplets’ caresses.

Clouds of steam followed in Fleur’s wake, vapour trails rising from the snow of her damp fur in silver tendrils, as the bathroom’s door slid shut behind her. Pains now chemically held at bay, although her body remained somewhat ‘off’, she glided through the openness of the apartment, calmed mind set on a single goal.

Caffeine!

The garment strewn tip of the bedroom morphed into the living space, itself dominated by a low table groaning under the weight of half or truly empty bottles and a trio of sofas also draped in pieces of clothing, and then a kitchenette. All was minimalist in design and had been formed of clean ordered lines, now broken by a scattered storm of discarded detritus.

Caffeine!

To the disappointment of the increasingly desperate voice she first made for the fridge in search of something more hydrating or at the very least capable of wetting her arid palate. Wine bottles, a partially decimated six-pack and leftovers, exactly not what her still unstable stomach wanted to be greeted by, bid her a sickening welcome to the icy locker. Somehow her magic was able to work its way through the crowd, dragging forth a sole juice carton lost, alone and buried in the morgue of depleted consumables. ‘Zesty orange and cucumber’ proclaimed the label, as she went in search of a glass, ‘cut with undertones of lemongrass’. The vile drink had obviously been procured as a mixer, but right now water seemed a far worse prospect so it would have to do. All that was clean and available to put it in was a champagne flute.

‘Fleur De Lis what on Equis do you think you’re doing! That is a most inappropriate piece of glassware for such a beverage. Look at yourself, barely a week in Manehattan and you’ve already become a degenerate just as I and your father predicted.’

She sniggered at the scolding voice as she defiantly let the greenish-orangey liquid pour. ‘Cheers to you mother’ she giggled taking a sip.

Not bad, could do with some gin to give it some body though.

‘Shut up’ she sighed at her mind, forcing away the vomit-inducing images of alcohol. Desiring thoughts for fresh air beckoned her through the sliding panes which made up one of the apartment’s four walls, drawing her onto the long empty balcony beyond. Her forehooves crossed on the top of the outer railing and her head rested upon them, whilst she continued to drain the floating drink half-heartedly. Beautiful: the glittering skyline of imposing buildings, the glimmer of sunlight as it danced amongst them, even the criss-cross pattern of streets far below, it was all quite simply beautiful.

Or simply beautiful because it’s not Canterlot?

‘True Canterlot’s ugly, but this is such a brighter city. It has a spirit and a freshness so unlike that imperial cadaver. Maybe the grass here can really be greener.’

Well you’ve done such a great job making a fresh start after all haven’t you!

‘I’ve got my own place and I’ve met people...’

You’ve blown well over half your money and can’t remember half the people you’ve “met”. How successful will you be if you have to go crawling back?

‘Money’s not a problem, I can just do some modelling and…’

Once again great job starting anew by doing exactly what you were doing back home!

Fleur let out the heaviest of the morning’s sighs. The cool air had managed to dry her hair enough for it to be pulled up by the breeze and it now blew around her head like the currents of a river. ‘Why do I always have to be right?’ she muttered, polishing off the last of the juice.

Now more importantly: caffeine!

Back into the kitchen, except this time she made straight for the coffee-maker, meanwhile the offensively “inappropriate” glass landed in the sink amongst its distant kin. The machine was empty. A jar of instant granules came open, lid drifting in a pink aura, also empty. Every cupboard flew open, all devoid of what her magic sought. ‘For buck’s sake!’

Caffeine!

She huffed in annoyance on the cusp of screaming, making for the door, but on the way she was waylaid by the hall’s mirror. An exceptionally plain looking white unicorn studied her from the shined surface. ‘Maybe I should just fix my hair and makeup then…’

Caffeine!

‘Okay, we’re channelling hot mess then’ she conceded, ruffling her already untidy mane. ‘Straight down, find the nearest coffee shop and then get back before anypony sees you. Just in and out without any problems.

Just like all the ponies you’ve “met” here.

‘Shut up!’ Fleur exclaimed aloud, slamming the door behind her, with the sharp noise instantly making her regret having done so.

Author's Note

Title: A Bed Unmade (French)

Un Lit Utilisé

A low incessant hum continued to fill the confined space of the workroom, as it had been doing for the past innumerable hours, emanating from a by now severely overworked sewing machine. The relentless brightness of the space’s single ceiling bulb bore down on everything within the cupboard-like windowless room, illuminating shelves of closely stacked fabric, well-filled clothing racks and a pair of covered mannequins. Forced part way open doors and draws, all packed to bursting, pushed inward on all sides, making the already full cave even more cramped. At the centre of this madness sat the hunched shape of a light brown earth mare, set before a table on which lay an ever-whirring machine, its reciprocating needle noisily working through yard after yard of patterned cloth.

The sound was allowed to cease, as Coco Pommel rose from her work in a momentary reprieve, stretching out her spine and neck with an audible crack. Almost immediately she slumped back down in her seat, forehooves going to her burdened eyes, whose soreness told her they were probably stained a bloodshot shade of pink as opposed to their normal azure tone. Her head held heavy in her hooves, another sleepless night hanging leaden about her brow. She sighed deeply in the closed darkness, rewarded only with the staleness of dead air twinned with the fusty scent of a clothier’s shop. Through extreme effort she was able to raise herself once more, this time fully to her hooves, resisting the urge to slump a little deeper into full unconsciousness, again hearing the sound of jarred cracking from her back. Pushing her aching body onward, ducking beneath overhanging cliffs of overflowing thread boxes, she made her way towards the door, the space feeling like it were wrapped too tightly about her. She needed to get out.

Through the portal was a mellowed world, softly lit by the first rays of the morning sun, forming a glow around each window’s drawn curtains. The apartment was simply functional: a small cluster of rooms wedged on the corner of the building’s third floor, chosen principally for the sake of cost and little else. The premium nature of space was made markedly obvious by the futon, lying neatly made up as a bed and entirely uninhabited, dominating the centre of the bedroom/sitting room in which she now stood. This marked the apartment’s nexus, encompassed by doors to the bathroom, the kitchen, the outer corridor and of course the workroom (converted walk-in closet) from whence she came. Coco sighed again, this time inhaling greedily deep the fresher air, simultaneously appreciating the warm sunlight and facing down the fact that she had in fact once again worked through an entire night.

Well at least you’re back on the right track.

She shook her head releasing the remnant stiffness from her muscles, meanwhile at the same time she trotted around her bed’s un-creased covers in the direction of the bathroom. A new space, equally mildly lit with reflected lights from its shined tiles, enveloped her as she met herself in the sink’s mirror. Her twin, totally unsurprisingly, looked tired, just noticeable bruised bags falling beneath the pinkish hues of her irises. Mechanically the sink was filled, the cold splashing waters acting to blunt the marring marks of fatigue blemishing their faces and returning at least a level of her coat’s lustre. Her unthinking movements continued, comb raking her pale blue mane into its usual neatness, before doing the same with her tail. The repetitious steps of her morning routine drew her back into the bedroom, affixing her almost trademark purple collar and red tie about her neck before another taller mirror. A customary matching hairclip followed, adorned with a flower in full bloom, pinned in amongst the regular striped field of her mane, petals tastefully picking up the shades of her clothing. A new mare now faced her: her normally consciously constructed self which some had called pretty, but internally elicited only a quiet boredom.

So begins another day.

Around the shined glass in which she now viewed herself, and in fact providing the only decorations to the walls throughout the apartment, were stuck a myriad of sketched designs of outfits, some solidified in chosen colours, but most rather stuck in still fluid greyness.

How depressingly appropriate.

‘Not now. I’m in no frame of mind for that kind of thinking.’

Grey is neither here nor there. It is not a statement but mere background, trapped as neither black nor white or else it is a faded or stained version of either of the two.

‘Why when I’m knackered does everything have to become so gloomily absolute?’

Is it not so?

‘Maybe, but even if it is it certainly isn’t helpful to think so. Everypony’s got to start somewhere and it’s not like I’m not doing pretty well.’

Still going through the motions she turned her back on herself; completing the brief circuit of the rooms she could call her own as she strode away to the kitchen. Retaining her direction she made straight for the noticeboard covering most of one wall in the otherwise Spartan space, gaze ignoring her reflection in the various utensils and going to the calendar vying for position against a mess of notes, lists and reminders. All were in the same uniformly frantic scrawl and all insisted upon their own superior importance relative to each other, growing like ferns to create a dense foliage of paper. Coco traced the passage of days extinguished and buried by a crimson pen’s crossed lacerations, using the self-same marker to encircle her target.

Today’s the day, which would be a good thing if they were actually finished.

‘Not a problem, I’ll complete the costumes over the course of today and then deliver them to the theatre this evening.’

Very reassuring. They would have been done already of you’d actually got on with it.

‘It’s not my fault that their designs are always so vapid. If I could’ve done my own thing maybe…’

And we come full circle back to the issue of rudderless grey.

‘Enough’ Coco huffed; forcing herself to refocus on the day’s long pre-ordained timetable and flicking through its contents. Finally with a determined nod she concluded: ‘Now, coffee.’

Author's Note

Title: A Bed Unused (French)

Stimulateurs

*Ding*

A quaint metallic ring sounded from above the shop’s doorway, announcing Fleur’s entrance into the richly scented space. The equally delicious smellss of coffee, vanilla and cocoa began a perfectly orchestrated symphony in her nostrils, giving cue to her taste buds to excitedly prepare themselves backstage. Emulating the show’s stars, the largely deserted set was dressed in creamy fabric and dark oaken tones, whipping up homely images of hot chocolate, in turn complemented by a foregrounded central counter laden with baked treats.

This is certainly one to remember.

Better still was the scene’s sparse audience, a mere few scattered patrons either waiting on or nursing steaming mugs, with the rest of the city’s far saner population making the wise decision to remain in bed at this early hour. No interminable queue blocked her path to the counter, the usual annoyance in such establishments, and behind it the few required staff worked easily, making the room pleasantly quiet. At her approach a mint-aproned unicorn gave her an expectant smile.

The largest cup of sweet caffeinated goodness you have please, with extra everything.

‘I’ll have a…’ Fleur began, forced to pause in order to take in the vast menu boards on display. Crowded chalk lines scuttled across the dark surface, running rows of first drink types, then sizes and then advertising the various sugars, syrups, sprinkles and other extras which may be added to any beverage, words sprinting away to vanish in the distance. Anything within reason, and quite a few things which were not, lay within the bounds of possibility, but in turn choosing a route through such a maze was daunting at best.

She’s kinda hot.

‘What?’ Coco, sunk deep in her favoured high-backed chair in the shop’s corner, found herself snapped from thoughts of the day’s scheduling to find herself staring at an entirely unaware zebra across from her. Her eyes moved over her subject: an intriguing , black furred mare with a relatively slender frame, whose coat was criss-crossed with stripes of grey. The patterning was continued in her mane and tail, lying in an obviously unintentional tangle, whilst a pair of almost electric pink irises shone out from beneath the half-closed eyelids of her shadowy face. ‘Primarily she’s a train wreck, as exhausted as I am except likely from far more entertaining causes, and secondly I reiterate: what?’

You know what I mean.

Coco raised a forehoof to support her frowning head. It was going to be one of "those" kind of mornings, studded with self-questioning, and she had not yet even been able to impart the lucidity of caffeine to the mix. She took a deep breath, as if preparing for a real confrontation. ‘I’m not into mares this is just a response to sleeplessness and boredom. Again.’

And what of your opinion of Rarity then?

A storm of images of the ever-graceful unicorn flew before her vision, filling it with the soft contours of her snowy body. ‘Well I liked Rarity but that wasn’t like that.’

Really?

‘Yes!’

Care to tell me what you found so interesting about said mare’s flank then, bearing in mind you kept insisting on stealing glances at it?

‘Oh shut up.’

Or that of her rainbow-maned friend for that matter?

‘Seriously shut up!’

And by the way you seem to be staring at this mare’s flank right now.

‘Crap!’ She re-emerged to discover she was now settled in a highly cliché enraptured pose, hooves placed beneath her chin, gaze focused dreamily forward. Before her the zebra stirred, sending Coco’s embarrassed stare to the floor, shying from any meeting of their eyes. Peaking back upward after giving a safe moment of further avoidance, she watched the dark mare strut to the shop’s counter, collecting her drinks order and departing.

Still staring.

‘Shut…’

‘Large mocha-latte with a double espresso shot’ called out a server’s voice.

Fleur rose from the squashed sponge cake of cushions she was sprawled across, sliding reluctantly off the sofa her lounging form had claimed for the advantage of being able to lie unseen behind its hoofrests. Pulled upward by the called promise of caffeine, she attempted her best carefree saunter between the assembled furniture, similarly emulating baked goods in their plump softness, but only managed it for half the distance to the counter before the façade died in its tracks. A murderous stare hit her hard in transit, shot from a single pink iris, its twin being cloaked by the fallen strands of a dark striped mane, seemingly recognising but not recognised on her part.

Who’s she? Do I know her? Does she know me?

Questions bombarded her, raining a heavy barrage on her position and forcing her to let her own hair fall free to act as cover for her to duck behind.

Why’s she glaring? What have I done or is it how I look? Do I look that bad?

The unknown zebra mare passed her, heading for the door and bearing with her a tray of steaming disposable cups, leaving Fleur still off guard and no more the wiser as to the cause.

Somepony you can’t remember from last night or from one of the great many other such evenings perhaps?

‘Buck.’ That answer definitely seemed to fit; the category of those she forgot or were forgettable was after all pretty broad. The fact the zebra looked as wrecked as she felt also helped to confirm the theory. Even still she now felt exposed, having stepped beyond the degree of control that she preferred. Her lack of makeup, the unsmoothed mass of her roughly dried mane, each unresolved fault in her being clung tight to her, picked up by a haze of non-existent eyes all around her.

Ironic for somepony who’s made a living in the spotlight.

She needed to leave, left uncomfortable in her own skin, the sanctuary of her bed’s covers once again becoming an inviting prospect.

Just grab the damned drink and then get the hay out of here.

‘I’m not having this argument’ Coco insisted, again aiming to silence her mind as she approached the counter.

It’s hardly an argument if you know exactly how you really feel.

‘Do I?’ she attempted, trying to feel confident in the words, but knowing she remained unconvinced. The succeeding silence only furthered this, her inner voice not even bothering or truly needing to make a response. ‘I’m not having this argument’ she repeated, ‘I’m going to glut myself on caffeine, then I’m going to head home and the…’ Her focused thoughts were stopped mid-flow as she automatically raised a forehoof to collect the coffee and it bumped into a pale pink aura around the cup, sending an electric tingle up the limb. ‘Oh.’

Caught in contemplations of return to her quilted redoubt, Fleur halted as she felt a smooth something in her magic’s grasp. The something quickly disappeared as she looked to its source, meeting the depths of two azure irises, which like the retracting hoof of their owner also chose to fall shyly away to the floor. Before her around the counter stood a slightly built earth mare, pale brown coat set at odds with the blues of her mane, in total antithesis to the unsure bearing of her being.

‘I’m sorry we must’ve had the same order…’ the mare began in a near-whisper without completing her sentence, eyes coming up but briefly to meet Fleur’s once more.

She’s cute.

Slightly shorter than herself, this mare bore with her a prettiness which was hard to ignore, emanating from the refined elegance of her dress and form. Absent was the brashness or noise which often accompanied those ponies who chose to adorn themselves with clothing. The simplicity of her tonal collar and tie spoke softly as opposed to proclaiming their wearer’s importance at the centre of all attentions, instead rather accentuating the mare which lay beneath.

She’s really cute.

At this point Fleur snapped back to the reality that many moments had passed and she had remained motionless, awkwardly quiet, whilst her brain dumbly repeated variations of a set phrase.

Sweet Celestia she’s cu…

‘Sorry, my mind hasn’t entirely woken up yet’ Fleur managed, interrupting her own repetitive thoughts. The mare just about succeeded in locking their gazes again, in response giving a small sensitive smile.

So bucking cu…

‘Please feel free’ she continued, using her magic to push the cup forward, previous cravings for the life-giving drink somehow lost, ‘I’ll grab the next one.’

‘No no its all yours…’ the mare’s words trailed off, whilst she made a minor visible backpedal from the offering.

‘Large mocha-latte with a double espresso shot’ announced the mint-aproned unicorn, setting down an identical coffee on the counter and breaking the loaded silence which had again settled between them. He regarded the statues of the two mares, one gazing the other snatching glances at each other, with a raised eyebrow and then a small chuckle as he departed.

The arrival of the drink and the grinning server broke Fleur’s thinking, feeding the return of self-consciousness.

You’ve got your drink, now you can get the hay out of here! You’ve been standing here like an idiot making a scene for an age.

The feeling of being on show returned with a vengeance, squeezing her between walls of stares on all sides. ‘Well erm…’ Fleur shrugged, making her own smile as she turned to go, feeling a slight warmth as it was reciprocated by the earth mare. ‘She is pretty cute though’ she thought, making for the exit.

Caffeine, home, bed. Caffeine, home, bed. Caffeine, home…

‘I didn’t even get her name’ she continued to consider, defying her brain’s attempts to refocus.

It’s not like you actually met her or anything. All you did was stare.

‘True.’ She sighed, pushing open the door to leave, but as she did so she could not help but look back. To her surprise she again met the set of vivid azure eyes, the anonymous pale brown mare caught in the same position as herself: half-turned to glance back. As quickly as they reunited, they each took to timid flight, as if scared of their own reflection. ‘Maybe I…’

You’re reading way too much into a simple look. Don’t forget the current state you’re in, so she’s hardly likely to be checking you out.

‘True.’ Fleur sighed again, letting the door swing shut behind her as she walked away.

Author's Note

Title: Stimulants (French)

Enivrants

Street lamps, the stage lights of night time Manehattan, rained pools on the ashen pavement, sending ripples outward against the darkness. Morning had not yet come, but the evening was certainly past its prime and had the moon been visible, as opposed to hidden by threateningly blackened clouds, it would have lulled low in the sky, looking forward to respite from its vigil. Unlike the streets’ other nocturnal inhabitants, Coco’s steps through the glittering puddles were not focused on seeking fresh revelry, instead guiding her determinedly homeward, pushing back the considerable inclination to simply sleep where she stood.

At least the job’s finally sorted.

True though it was, she had delivered the costumes to the theatre and after several hours of further “necessary” adjustments they had been deemed complete, any satisfaction in that point was slightly muted by the fact that meant she was once again between employment. Not that it really mattered right now as at this moment her brain was entirely focused on her bed.

Almost entirely.

Again it was true. Somewhere at the back of her mind something was nagging at her and she could not quite put her hoof on what it was. For all intents and purposes she should have at the very least been content and looking forward to having the time to unwind, but such thoughts were markedly absent. She turned to considering her own designs, her usual method of dealing with such a lack, conjuring forth reams of silk and thread to dance themselves together into shapes. What she was without was a subject, a form with which to work and draw inspiration, but on scanning the street she found herself alone. Instead she looked inward, but what appeared made her falter, physically stumbling as the fabric fell away into the abyss. In her mind’s eye a tall unicorn mare materialised, pure white with the pink tousled stripes of her mane set alluringly across half her face. The mare tossed her hair to the side, revealing the gleam in each of her purple irises, matching the violet shade of two of the three fleurs-de-lis emblazoned on the finely sculpted contour of her flank.

Somepony’s fantasising again.

‘True’ she conceded, ultimately too tired to put up a decent argument.

So we’re finally accepting it?

‘No, I’m just not in the mood to argue. This is more of an armistice than a surrender. And so what if I am fanaticising? It’s not as if I’m likely to see her again.’ Even as she thought this however she felt a degree of sadness, making the source of the nagging feeling perfectly clear, if not any more understood. She had not really met the unknown unicorn, rather they had bumped into each other and she had proceeded to fail to meet her eyes or even speak above an awkward whisper.

Hardly an impressive introduction likely to coax a second thought from such a pony.

‘So why’s she stuck in my head?’ The mare’s image had now turned; sashaying away in illusory slow motion, to what in reality had been the coffee shop’s door, Coco following each graceful step, totally transfixed. The pink cascade of her mane, flowing lightly in an unseen breeze, flicked to the side once more, levelling her brilliantly purple eyes to strike her viewer.

She was more likely looking at the stallion behind the counter you know.

‘More words of wisdom.’ She shook her head, blurring but not quite getting rid of the distracting picture. It was high time she got home, aches beginning to rise in her libs in earnest to protest all continued exertion. Re-focusing on this far more achievable goal, even though her apartment still felt miles away, she reached the corner, pushing herself onwards.

The street she now found herself on was in stark contrast to the one before, with small crowds milling about, whilst taxis continually loaded and unloaded themselves onto the pavement. This was not her favourite route by quite a stretch, but it was certainly the quickest, her body’s fatigued complaints blunting any aversions she had, so she let herself continue, slipping surreptitiously between raucous groups of ponies. Bars and clubs arrayed to flank each side of the place explained the relative tumult, whilst at the same time staining the world in a myriad of colours. The revellers themselves were a similar confusion: a mix of styles, bearings and demeanours crammed together in a single spot. Studded shoes and pierced nostrils jostled against toxically electric tones of body paint, in turn vying for dominance with those who previously had probably been well coiffed and trimmed, but by now had fallen from their perfection. Earlier in the evening they would have all collectively held the chaotic beauty of a carnival, now however an ugliness was beginning to show through the cracks. Arguments broke out from nowhere, base guttural “compliments” shot back and forth, and at the edges the cracked sound of retching could be heard. To say she felt out of place, marked out by her sobriety and closed manner, would have been a severe understatement. Coco’s body reacted in the usual way, setting her eyes downward to avoid drawing attentions, whilst her shoulders came up in a slight hunch, as she continued to duck through the messy mass.

‘Go buck yourself!’

A sharpened form of a vaguely recognisable voice cut its way through the clamour to fall on her ears.

‘Seriously buck off!’

She was sure she knew the voice, slurring somewhat though it was, and her head swivelled on intrigued impulse to find its source.

‘Get the buck off me!’

Her searching gaze came to rest on a cluster formed around the doorway of a nameless nightclub (in lieu of a title its sign merely depicted a series of punctuation marks “cleverly” chosen by its owner) where a three-way shouting contest had developed between the bouncers, a group of patrons and at the same time amongst the patrons themselves. The cause of the argument was unclear, but everypony was intent on making sure their own indisputable opinion was heard by all those present, meanwhile at the centre was the mare who but moments before had been strutting through Coco’s mind. In difference to the dream version this mare wore her mane high in a pair of crazily long mohicans, looking like a cross between horns and fins, whilst about her ankles and neck were a set of spiked belts, the choker of the set adorned with a hanging padlock charm. Rings of black similarly surrounded the purple irises which had so caught her attention, making them even more obviously stand out from the snowy whiteness of the face in which they were set. Masked although it was the allure was most definitely still there. Coco had already stopped to survey the scene and now realised she had to catch her breath, unaware that she had been holding it.

Yay! On top of everything else today are we discovering hidden kinks?

‘Shut it.’ She diverted the oncoming train of thought before it could speed its course, choosing the alternative of the unfolding scene before her. The fighting groups had divided, the mare who was unknowingly so effectively holding her attention walking way, tracked by an orange stallion whose spiked mane made his head look like an ancient bludgeon.

‘Aww c’mon Fleur’ he mock pleaded, a definite jeering tone present at the back of his words.

‘Go buck yourself Ritz!’ the departing mare, evidently called Fleur, shot back. ‘You’re such an asshole!’

In a mixture of excitement and abject fear Coco realised that they were heading straight for her, forcing her backward to the edge of the pavement with nowhere further to retreat, hemmed in by the taxis behind her. The advancing pair were now lost in their conflict, staring daggers and muttering inaudible loathing at each other, drawing closer to their audience with each stomp. Try as she might Coco could not move any further and the collision she had already foreseen inevitably occurred, the white mare bumping heavily into her side.

‘Why don’t you watch where the buck you’re going!’ Fleur began, spinning her fury wildly on the spot to face its new opponent. Almost immediately however her face un-creased, her curled maw softening in the process. ‘Oh… Hi.’

Before Coco could make a response the orange stallion again chose to open his mouth: ‘seriously Fleur why you gotta be such a bitch?’

Rage not yet dissipated and attentions chemically stunted, Fleur resumed her spin to start a fresh offensive. ‘I’m the bitch here? I’m the bitch?!’ A pale pink aura pulsed violently into her horn, breaking a void in the assembled crowd, as her shouts reached a new crescendo.

‘What seems to be the problem here?’ a new voice boomed, heralding the appearance of a pair of Lunar Guards, bedecked in the silver armour and navy tunics of their office, arriving with such speed as to beat the rush of air as they touched down.

‘The “problem” officer is that this asshole doesn’t understand what buck off means!’ Fleur continued, never missing a beat in her rant, horn still flaring with energy.

‘That may be ma’am but I’m going to have to ask you cut the magic’ the guard droned bluntly, webbed wings flexing as he took up a defensive stance. His words went unheard however, rather inspiring Fleur’s uncontrolled anger to new heights.

‘Is she with you?’ asked the second officer, addressing the question to Coco and in the process reminding her that the rapidly deteriorating situation in front of her was actually happening.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no and a bit more no!

‘Cause’ if she is you should calm her down or else we’ll have to detain her.’

Coco looked to the furious mare, increasingly alone in a clearing in the crowd, sparks beginning to crackle uncontrolled from her horn. She watched the ring of leering faces, creating a contorted carnivalesque stage, all sharing muted jokes and grins. Finally she saw the spikey orange stallion, who was quietly slipping away into the surrounding multitude, a knowing manipulative sneer plastered across his face. ‘Erm… yeah, she’s with me.’

What?

Author's Note

Title: Intoxicants (French)

Un Lit Inconnue

The usual alarm clock of a drill making a concerted effort to crack open her forehead dragged Fleur painfully into the waking world. Actual consciousness lagged behind, stopped by fleeting hopes of returning to the sweet nothingness, meaning that she did not immediately recognise that the bed she now occupied was not her own. This realisation was slow to strike, coming out of the firm but un-sprung feeling of the mattress beneath her, but when it did it struck hard, snapping open her eyes and forcing her fully awake. The room revealed as she pulled back the covers was alien: simple papered walls set with a quartet of similarly plain doors and a pair of curtained windows, whose grey glow revealed an overcast day lay behind their fabric.

A hotel maybe? Buck!

The drill struck deeper, cutting in behind her eye sockets, making her wince as she rose to a seated position, clutching her face as she threw away the smothering sheets. Two things stood out as she tentatively reopened her vision. First her head felt remarkably heavy, as if her mane had been transmuted into something entirely different from hair. Second, and far more importantly, she was alone, the un-creased space beside her devoid of anypony.

Double buck!

Dejection fell down like a hammer to pound apace with her agonising headache in striking her being. She had awoken as the sole occupant of an unknown room, presumably a hotel in which she had been left, without any idea of where she was and with even less clarity as to how, when or in what company she had got there. Neither was this pleasant nor was this the first such occurrence. Only a crushing aversion to the thought of loud noise stopped her from screaming.

I dash through a portal into an unknown entry hall, fleeing from the rainstorm raging outside which in the briefest of moments has left me soaked to the skin. My body, already well and truly drenched, feels heavy under the added weight of water, my mane fallen flat and damply glued across my face. I shiver slightly as I toss back the leaden strands of hair, attempting to clear my sight, meanwhile the earth mare I have been intently following, brown coat darkened by a similar soaking, steps past me. She treads a path of damp hoofprints over the foyer carpet, making for a pair of silver doors at its centre.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Blocked by the orders of a red sign, she stops in her tracks and her voice sounds out her annoyance.

Foalishly I jump at her aggravated words, surprised by their suddenness, still severely off kilter as I sway slightly on my hooves.

‘Looks like we’re taking the stairs.’ She turns back, gesturing with a sigh to a second doorway, before leading me onward.

In my continued haze I don’t question, I just trustingly follow, coming to her side.

Now we are climbing upward, the drab grey stairway seeming more like a mountain with every sapping step. Pitifully I’m struggling by the third flight, my body deciding that this is the perfect moment to start giving up. I stumble over literally nothing, simultaneously losing my hoofing and tripping into a fall. A split second before I topple over however she is beside me, moving impossibly to catch my collapsing form. Half of me feels wretched, well aware of how pathetic this both is and must look. The other half more confusingly is in two minds, with part of it just revelling at being held by her, whilst another knows how desperate this sounds and is therefore in agreement with the depressed first half. Nowhere near lucid enough to pick through this mess, I’m stuck in conflicting limbo, unimpressively slumped against her as we continue.

Could’ve been worse, at least it’s a not a gutter.

The thought was not exactly comforting to Fleur, who was busy facing down having been bedded and abandoned for the millionth time, combined with the unholy union of a crippling hangover and drawing a total blank as to her immediate past. The last in any way “clear”, although that in itself was code for sketchy at best, image was entering some stupidly named club, with everything else between then and the present being an absence. Although in no way new and no matter how many times it had happened before, blacking out would always be mildly disturbing to her in the sense that stuff occurred and she was a part of it, but whatever there had been was lost from her existence. This impossibly managed to make the powerless place the past already was even more so.

Already over the hurdle of sitting up, Fleur swung her hind legs over the bed’s edge, preparing to go through the now routine process of easing her various ailments.

Meds, shower and then a coffee, followed by forgetting what has been forgot.

Her movements caught a bucket set on the floor, causing it to briefly whirl in a circle. Thankfully the receptacle was empty, but its presence seemed out of place if this was indeed a hotel. ‘I must’ve been really messed up when I rolled in here.’

No, ya think?! Well done Genius!

Her eyes were drawn to a cluster of objects on the side table, finding her four matching studded anklets, the choker which completed the set obviously lost to the night. Next to these, a water filled glass and a box of painkillers sat waiting for her on a coaster.

Well that’s a new one.

Although the act probably took mere moments on the part of the pony who had done it, it marked the first vaguely pleasant surprise of the morning, somewhat dulling the sharpened points of gloom hanging over her. She downed the pills, taking the first few sips from the glass, beginning to cleanse the long staled tastes from her mouth.

I’m seated on what may well be the most comfortable thing I have ever sat on, my whole tired body celebrating as it lounges on the padded surface. It is as if I have run a marathon and the strain has just caught up with me. The space wobbles, a reminder that I’m actually in motion, causing my gaze to lazily drift to the cab’s window. Night time Manehattan rushes past in a haze of brilliant colours, made doubly blurry by my spinning head and the speed of the carriage. As I look upward, tracing the imposing heights of light studded skyscrapers, I reach the clouds and they are broken by an electric crackle from within. There is a booming sound high above and the pane becomes immediately slick with water, smearing the paints of the canvas beyond.

The storm’s beginning in earnest outside merely makes the inside all the cosier and I find myself curling up on the seat in response. Before my head can hit the pillow however, I bump into a far softer fur coat, the form beneath it stiffening at my touch. Reluctantly I rise, stumbling over apologies to the mare who I’ve just inadvertently laid on, although truth be told I’d much rather just lay straight back down against her. I feel a hot red flush bloom across my cheeks at this thought, meanwhile for some reason I find the same embarrassed tone mirrored on her face. My eyes dart back to the window, my mind feeling silly, attempting to conceal it.

The droplet streaked world continues to hurry away behind us. By now I have long lost track of where we’re going, with each new street looking as alien as the next, but I don’t particularly care. The taxi lurches for a second time, in this instance far more violently, sending me sprawling across the seat. I once again bump into the mare, my head coming to rest against her shoulder, again feeling her go tense, but only for a moment this time. I’m slow to react and pull away, jumbled thoughts failing at the easy task of forming new apologies, but before I can I feel a foreleg gingerly wrap itself around my shoulders. At first my body is stunned, but it too quickly relaxes into what had been an accidental embrace. From the corner of my vision I catch the eyes of the driver in his rear view mirror, cap pulled down tight against the rain which has already soaked the rest of him. I receive a disapproving eyebrow raise from the stallion, but I remain unflinching. Instead I nuzzle deeper into her shoulder, enjoying the feeling of warmth between us, and let my eyes close.

Fleur had finally made it to her hooves, leaving what she had found to be a futon (and not a bed as previously assumed), casting further doubts on the hotel theory, and she now stood before a wall length mirror. The unicorn that looked back at her was a mess, pure and simple, eyes ringed by dark smudges and mane tangled in a thick waxy mass, gel having sat too long in its strands.

Hardly a boast-worthy conquest at any rate.

That overall conclusion however fitted all the less the more she thought about it. The bucket and her present “style” were clear testament to the not exactly attractive state she must have been in when she arrived here, plus she was now convinced that this was no hotel room, but rather an apartment maybe.

You still seem to have been left though.

She decided that continuing to try and put the puzzle together with less than half the pieces in a solid form was probably a lost cause. Far more worthwhile was continuing to address what she actually could and then move back to, or instead ignore, her questions once on an even keel.

Step two: shower.

Presented with a one in four chance of success she shrugged, randomly selecting the nearest door. Some kind of storeroom lay beyond, too dark to make out its cluttered contents. ‘What’s behind door number two?’ The second was locked, confusing initially until she caught the light sound of falling water from behind it. ‘Not alone then.’ This was more of a revelation, both partly answering and furthering the querying jumble of her thoughts of her situation. It was strange to be faced with the reverse of having been carelessly dumped, but the parts fitted. This still left questions hanging over the abyss of the previous night, but it was something. At any rate the door’s closure blocked the path to any further conclusions, so what now?

Coffee.

I feel alone in a crowd. All around is a cordon of leering masks forming an impenetrable wall, every single one of their eyes locked onto me. Each of their judging stares bores inward, placing me on a podium against my will, whilst my mind rebels and my own skin clings uncomfortably tight around me. The choker about my neck somehow seems to dig deeper against my throat, an unpleasant feeling which is matched by the belts around my ankles.

I’m angry, although I seem to have lost whoever it was originally meant for. The sparks therefore become fire, igniting a large pile of kindling which has slowly built up within me. My rage is absolute, I hate everypony: I hate the staring crowd, I hate the two guards in their midst who keep telling me to ‘calm down’ and on top of this I hate myself. Why do I care about what they think? What am I even doing? Why am I in this position? These questions, vague as they are, fuel my self-loathing, long held back, its flames starting to lick across my flesh, and it hurts.

I’m alone. I shout my fury at all of them, neither in control nor totally aware of what I’m saying. Stupid as it seems I don’t care what’ll happen after this, I just want to scream. I need to let it all out, but even as I do it doesn’t get any better, rather I’m just left increasingly empty. Something nudges me and I wheel round, losing my vision’s limited focus for a moment in the process, wanting to attack whatever it is like all the rest. My clearing sight is met by a pair of almost recognisable azure orbs, my verbal assault being routed into silence in their calming depths before it can begin. The earth mare behind them, starkly neat in amongst the chaos, is also somewhat familiar. She’s beautiful. Again what is said is lost but she smiles and, although small and tentative, it bears behind it a care absent from all others. I really try and hope I manage to smile back in the same way, feeling warm inside.

‘You’re quickly becoming the bane of my existence’ Fleur grimaced at the juice box which hovered out of the exceptionally empty fridge before her. She floated a glass, of a far more appropriate style this time, to meet it, pouring out a helping of the greenish-orangey liquid to stain the clear container. Somepony had obviously made the same mistake she had and regretted it, the carton’s contents being only marginally dented by the purchaser. Her quest for caffeine had already failed, finding none in the limited space of the apartment’s kitchen, meanwhile this substitute was as just about palatable as before, on the cusp of vile but not quite there, as she took her first cautious sip.

Still a step up from water though. Barely.

Her steps retraced, glass in ethereal hoof, ending up by the previous room’s hooded windows. Veils pulled aside, a decidedly grey day did indeed lie behind them, rainclouds in the sky taking a deep breath as if considering whether or not to continue. The building she was in was one in a cluster of uniformly nondescript tower blocks, the ponies not far below either caught in the fluster of lateness or slow uncaring movements, both of which pointed towards late morning. Uninspiringly dull, she turned her back on it, seeing the space at her back in new light. The bedroom’s walls were not in fact plainly papered, but rather covered in groupings of pencilled sketches, some sparsely standing out in colour as if a rainbow had been detonated to send its stripes outward like shrapnel. The dotted points of colour congregated on all sides to shine inward as stars through the swirls of a shaded night’s sky.

Fleur approached the closest of these clouds of pictures, illuminating even in the overcast light of the day. They were designs depicting articles or full outfits of clothing exploring an infinite series of styles. Although internally she sought to deny it, part of her will for a ‘fresh start’, this was a pet passion of hers and she found herself tracing the experiments of the unknown hooves as they danced between pieces of paper. Concepts flared, sending out shoots to other pages where they blossomed, flowering and sent their petals spreading still further. Traditional lace details blended with sharp geometric forms, in turn merging with naturalistic graphics. The anonymous creator did not stop there, building atop these fluid foundations, forming accessories to stand alongside each creation. It was an intense form of channelled personal artistry, passionately flowing in each drawn line, exploded as gloriously unfettered possibility.

The click of a door opening in the background caught Fleur’s ear, absorbed as she was in the enthralling thoughts of another.

‘Oh… hi.’

A mare’s voice crept forward as she turned towards the noise, providing the first solid piece of information about her as yet unseen host. Azure eyes shone out from a pale brown face, seizing her in the same way they had roughly twenty four hours previous, staring, or rather stealing glances, in the same way they were now.

So bucking cute.

‘Cute’ was hardly adequate, but it was again about all her mildly stupefied mind managed to articulate, both genuinely surprised and a little captivated by the reappearance of this mare, now standing with mane wrapped in a towel and coat still damp from the shower before her. ‘Erm… hi’ her mouth replied, not much more eloquent than the voice in her head. The two silently looked at one another, a tension and the awkwardness of ignorance hanging almost tangible in the air between them.

‘I’m Coco, Coco Pommel.’

‘Fleur, Fleur De Lis.’

‘Yeah I know’ Coco began bluntly before her tone immediately switched to reproach herself for it. ‘Sorry, we kinda did introductions last night, but you were pretty out of it at the time so I didn’t think you’d remember. I mean, you couldn’t remember where you lived, hence…’ she trailed off, gesturing about the apartment as she did so.

Buck!

“pretty out of it” was probably a major understatement Fleur concluded, feeling a tad embarrassed in spite of having long figured that one out. ‘So erm… I guess I owe you a thank you. If it’s okay if I get a shower, do you want to go grab some brunch afterward?’ she found herself asking.

‘It’s okay, you really don’t owe me anything’ Coco replied, slipping back into slight timidity.

‘C’mon, it’s no biggy’ Fleur insisted, really wanting the chance to talk more with this intriguing mare whom chance had chosen to cast into her path for a second time, ‘my treat.’

Author's Note

Title: A Bed Unknown (French)

Dessins

‘… so yeah we ended up at mine, you fell into bed and were pretty much asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.’ Coco concluded her retelling of the previous night’s events, minus a couple of points such as awkward conversations with a severely inebriated unicorn attempting to tempt her into bed and then requiring the use of a sick bucket or her own sleep spent sprawled in her workroom’s chair, trying and failing to argue with herself that she really was not interested in the offer, returning to sipping from her teacup.

It seemed that her and her host’s concept of brunch varied greatly for this was the first of such meals she had enjoyed which had something akin to courses. Things had begun simply enough with a toast basket and plethora of jams from which they had both picked, moving onto plates piled high with pancakes doused in syrup, washed down with vats of coffee, and now they were concluding with a pot of tea and pastries. Although it was collectively rather carb heavy to say the least, owing to half the party being desperate to cure her hangover, it was all utterly delicious, she in part shocking herself with the scale of her own appetite and how much of it they were able to wolf down. Decadent yet delicate would be how she would describe the feast, along with being well beyond her price range for what it was if her brief glance of the menu was anything to go by.

This general description fitted the whole place pretty well actually. Even though its sign simply called it a café the establishment clearly had ideas far above its station. Within the single open dining space was décor very obviously playing at the idea of simplicity: light wooden tables covered in white frilled cloth, matched by homely curtains draping the windows and purposely exposed patches of red brick through the cream plastering of the walls all tried to produce the façade of a rustic house. The kitchen and wait staff had however obviously not been made aware of the attempted ruse, with dishes arriving in a highly decorated manner, itself impressive bearing in mind this was just glorified late breakfast, set down by servers who swanned about as if they were above everpony else in the room. Most of their fellow patrons were no better, with noses inclined skyward, whilst making extravagant gesticulations to embellish their conversations.

It’s all kind of out of your league.

It was not so oppressive as to be unpleasant, but nonetheless she could not shake the feeling of being out of place which her mind had so nicely summed up. More than ever her trademark collar and tie felt totally inadequate and sat tight about her neck. This overall sense of self was not helped by the beauty she was sat across from, Fleur being in the midst of pouring herself a second cup from the teapot. The unicorn had reverted back to the unmasked form Coco had first met her in, only a day ago in spite of it feeling far longer, visage cleaned of all stains of makeup, striped mane hanging loose and tousled, fallen low across her shoulders. She was simply beautiful, bearing with her an unpretentious elegance and purity in the soft contours of her form.

Totally out of your league.

Oh well done! Way t’ make yourself look like some stuck up posh pony!

Fleur had begun to regret her choice of café from the minute they had entered and her fateful decision was now gnawing at her. Thinking back to the last time she was here she certainly did not remember it feeling quite so pressured. But then again her last and only visit had been in the company of some old Canterlot friends who were right at home in such a place, as opposed to a mare with whom (if she was being honest with herself) she was rather desperate to create a good impression, or at the very least something a bit better than “drunken mess”. Atop of these concerns the last time she had felt decidedly more put together than she did now; having emerged from the mare in question’s shower and found herself entirely without either disguising makeup or accoutrement. It was a strange combination to feel simultaneously underdressed and at the same time overdoing it, as if she herself were responsible for the, in lieu of a far less polite term, “fancy” nature of the staff and clientele which surrounded them. Her mind however was well up to the task, revelling in its attempts to dampen her already modest hopes for this simple meal. Of course none of this was helped by the retelling of her chemically lost past she was receiving from her guest, having pushed her into recounting it, its teller somehow making the content more embarrassing as she sat across from her in perfect prettiness, the total antithesis to both herself and the rest of the room.

‘So erm… you been in Manehattan long?’ Coco asked.

‘A few weeks’ Fleur replied, ‘I’m guessing the Canterlot accent gives me away right?’

‘Kinda.’

‘Well yeah, a few weeks doing…’ she paused. ‘Well, truth be told, exactly squat’ she admitted after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I dunno whether I really came here with a plan, but if I did I reckon it’s gone astray.’

What are you doing?

Fleur could not answer beyond an internal shrug, in part as surprised as her inner voice about her honest confession, whilst being equally unaware of what prompted it.

Throwing yourself at the hooves of a beautiful stranger are we? How cliché.

‘You must’ve come here for something’ Coco encouraged, raising her cup to her lips in the process.

‘I dunno really’ Fleur considered, almost thinking aloud, ‘just something. I sort of felt trapped you know and needed to escape to somewhere, with here being where I ended up.’

‘What were you doing in Canterlot before?’

‘I was a model back home, still am really since I haven’t found anything better to do. To say I pretty much ran away from it is not to say I didn’t enjoy it though. The shows, meeting designers, lots of it was fun but there was just something…’ Fleur stopped again, unable to put her hoof on the right words, before continuing: ‘At the same time my parents were always in the background, which I know makes me sound like a little filly but it’s embarassingly true. Half the time they’d act all proud of their star daughter and the other half they’d attack me for “dishonouring” or “cheapening” the family, depending entirely on who I was associating with at the time. For instance they were over the moon when they thought I was seeing this utter tool called Fancy Pants just because he was old money like they are. That’s code by the way for stuck up and bloody boring, much like quite a few of the ponies in here’ she sniggered, enjoying the smile it brought to her audience’s face. ‘I suppose my coming here was just some kind of rubbish rebellion against them and everything else like them. Anyway, sorry for unloading on you like that. Yourself? You’re no local either.’

‘True enough. I’m from Fillydelphia originally and I’ve been here for a couple of months’ Coco began. ‘As for what I’m doing, I dunno really what to call myself. I’d love to say that I’m a designer, but I haven’t really made it that far yet so I’m less unimpressively just a seamstress. I mean, when I came here I was working as an assistant to Suri Polomare during fashion week, but I ended up… quitting that job, then Rarity threw me a sort of break making costumes for the theatre.’

‘Oh yeah, I know Rarity’ Fleur interrupted, having taken some of her outfits down the catwalk, although the statement was redundant as anypony with even the vaguest interest in fashion had heard of Ponyville’s ever-rising star.

‘So yeah I’ve just finished my third show’s worth of costumes, which is sort of a compliment I suppose but I dunno’ Coco sighed with a shrug.

‘I couldn’t help but check out some of your stuff back at your place’ Fleur considered, mind’s eye cast back to the absorbing designs which dotted across the apartments walls. ‘They were all really impressive.’

‘Thanks, that means a lot.’ Coco gave a small appreciative smile. ‘They’re just sketches though so it’s not like they’re going anywhere. Plus most of them aren’t even finished, stuck being… well, grey.’

Fleur thought over the brief snapshot of the images she had snatched, whilst all things considered not being in the best of sorts, having been touched by the intense artistry of each one, their styles fluid and their then unseen creator’s hooves gloriously unfettered in their experiments. Collectively they were raw and impassioned, already in bloom, with the potential of growing far further if nurtured. ‘Don’t talk like that’ Fleur found herself saying in a forceful tone, the designer’s disparagement of her own work having struck a chord. ‘Scratch “impressive”, they were bucking brilliant and anypony with any ounce of sense would leap at seeing them brought to life. Grey… is just another word for possibility, unrestricted at neither extreme.’

Coco felt a pink flush cross her cheeks, but internally she was aglow. This new light would not be put out, even as the pair of them received a long cold stare from a waiter in response to Fleur’s blurted vulgarity, she merely giggled along with her unicorn host, foregoing her usual routine which would have been embarrassed or apologetic. ‘Thank you so much’ she repeated, the praise given, although in the great scheme of things being but slight, at this time and from this mare being extremely touching.

‘No no’ Fleur brushed her words away with a wave of her hoof, still grinning in mirth as the joyless server stormed elsewhere, ‘I really mean that.’ In the succeeding split seconds they sat in silence, though it did not fall heavy between them, caught up in each other’s smiling looks and their own thoughts, until after strangely protracted mere moments Fleur continued. ‘This is probably gonna sound really sudden, but why don’t we just do it?’

‘Do what?’ Coco just about managed suppressing a variety of meanings for ‘just do it’ conjured by her mind.

‘Sorry, some explanation might help. Well, like you said you’re kinda between jobs right now and I’m between… anything, plus from the sounds of things you pretty much rescued me from a night in a cell, which believe you me I have no desire to do again, so I definitely owe you big time. So why don’t we put on something like a small show? I mean you could put a bunch of your outfits together and we could get your name out there.’

Coco’s heart was briefly sent soaring, leaping joyously into flight at the idea, before the realities of the suggestion cut in bringing her careening back to earth. ‘But what about models or a venue, not to mention who the hay would show up?’

For a second time Fleur waved her hoof dismissively, as if the objections were the simplest things in the world to swat from the air. ‘Not an issue. You can obviously count me in, there are plenty of ponies I know who’d either love to be involved or owe me a fair few favours and other than that I’ll see who I can get in contact with.’

‘You seriously shouldn’t feel you have to do anything you know. Last night really was nothing.’

‘Not true, but I want to anyway. It being a further thank you is more of an afterthought.’

‘But…’

‘No worries and no guilt, ‘cause there’s no reason for it’ Fleur continued, reading Coco’s hesitation perfectly. ‘So how about it?’

Author's Note

Title: Designs (French)

Devenir Populaire

‘… and then I said: “put in on my tab!” Ha ha ha ha!’

The uncontrollable guffaws were only shared by half the party assembled around the table, a few consumed by hysteria whilst the rest only conceded to polite laughter. Fleur was one of the latter, rolling out her well-rehearsed stage laugh for the millionth time in seemingly as many minutes.

So much for leaving all this crap behind!

She dutifully held herself in check in spite of her thoughts, this little get together after all not being for her own benefit. However as a minor note to herself: should she ever have needed to repeat such a meeting she concluded to hold it around coffee as opposed to a meal in some attempt to minimise the boundless tedium. Her gaze panned to her left, intentionally avoiding the apparently endless hilarity being enjoyed on her right, meeting the knowing sky blue eyes of the similarly light blue earth mare sat beside her, which with the addition of their single raised eyebrow managed to convey both contempt and a silent ‘for buck’s sake!’ about the situation. Roxie was particularly good at that specific look, this not being the first time by a long way that she and Fleur had shared it, the unicorn appreciating her capacity to always be down to earth no matter what was faced. The long-time Ponyvillian added a not so subtle eye roll for good measure, hammering the point of their shared thoughts home, disguising the act from the rest of the group by conspicuously running a forehoof through the shortened spikes of her violet and lilac mane, whilst at the same time converting a small escaping giggle into a cough.

Next in line on the much quieter side of the table, Twilight Sky, looking as much like the group’s token pegasus as Fleur was the token unicorn, held himself more in reserve, choosing to focus the entirety of his attention on the remnants of the drink he was nursing. Like Roxie, Sky was refreshingly grounded, particularly bearing in mind present company, but on top of this the two were remarkably similar in many more ways than the obvious physical resemblance, with him sharing both her generally pointed manestyle and eye colour. Their stories were of a muchness: both being once part of “the great” Photo Finish’s entourage (her the spa pony turned makeup artist, him the bouncer turned model), both picked up, elevated and then dumped by the same onetime employer. Neither were therefore part of the business’ normal clique, all too often steeped in a thick layer of pretention and elitism.

The mare on Sky’s left, completing the survey of one full half of the assembly, matched the steely grey pegasus in her staring into the depths of her glass. Unlike him however, for Amethyst Glow this was her usual modus operandi, as opposed to concealing any direct disdain for proceedings, or at least that was how Fleur had her figured. Amethyst was not quiet though per se, the consciously electric pink expanse of her mane, buzz cut short at the back whilst left extremely long at the front, attesting to her personality’s loudness, rather she was never the first or the most forthcoming speaker. That this stemmed from her upbringing (strict Canterlot like Fleur’s own) did not seem to fit, nor did an underlying shyness, the conclusion that she was a polite social drone running against the more than vocal opinions she seemed to relish expressing, not to mention that she too was a model. In any case when she did choose to speak her words were never wasted, saved until there was actually something worth saying, a feature sadly absent from a great many ponies, including several of those now necessarily present.

‘You’re too much Hoity, simply too much!’

Speaking of whom.

Corral Shine: a pink-furred Canterlot princess, quintessential spoilt aristocrat spawn, fourth of the company’s five models and more or less a total airhead. The mare was an old acquaintance, inevitable with the same hometown, same profession and associating in the same circles, and her nigh constantly bubbly demeanour was actually quite a lot of fun after a couple of drinks knocked off its sharp edge.

‘“put it on my tab!” Ha ha ha ha!’

Make that a lot of drinks.

‘Quite, anyway Fleur darling’ Hoity Toity (famed fashionista, annoyingly aware of his own eminence and centre of the mirth which had been engulfing half the group) began. ‘I’ve just realised the time and am frightfully aware that I’ve rather taken over proceedings…’

Well spotted!

‘… and we’ve not yet discussed why you’ve summoned us all here. So who is this designer I’ve never heard of?’ he asked, the physicality of the sneer held in his voice hidden beneath the rims of his ever-present sunglasses.

Stuck up bast…

‘Coco Pommel, previously assistant to Suri Polomare, so I believe a couple of you already know her’ Fleur answered, turning her address to the entire table and nodding to Amethyst and Corral in turn. ‘She’s been doing the rounds on Bridleway, doing the costumes for three of the past hit shows, having been talent spotted by Rarity,’ she continued, jumping through the required hoop of name dropping, ‘now coming onto the scene with her own stuff. I’m helping her put together a small show of it, just for industry insiders as a first look, and I’m inviting you along Hoity and I’d very much appreciate it if the rest of you would be able to help out.’

‘Well, that’s a relief’ Corral broke in, still smiling with a slight vacancy.

‘Relief?’

‘Well yes Fleur darling, I for one have been worried sick’ the pink mare continued, putting on a real show of the sickness of worry she had obviously been debilitated with. ‘I mean you disappear from Canterlot without any explanation and the next thing we hear is that you’re in Manehattan, having effectively moved in, and are on a multiple week long bender. It’s all sounded like something akin to "Leaving Las Pegasus" so it’s good to know you’re getting back into things.’

‘Yeah, it sounds like you’ve been giving me a run for my money’ Opulence, the group’s fifth and final model, added.

You wish.

Opulence was a “rebel”, or rather she liked to be seen as such, her desperation to be alternative plastering a constantly unimpressed scowl across her face as she attempted to surround herself in an uncaring air. She was the kind of pony who found the number of times she had been drunkenly arrested to be something boast-worthy, yet these and many of her other anecdotes were more the products of instinctive exaggeration than any reality. Another long-time Canterlot acquaintance, she had once been Fleur’s more or less spitting image, with the two being often mistaken for siblings (a feature played up by several photographers on shoots), but now all that remained were her pale violet irises. Not only had she stained the short cropped locks of her mane orange of all colours, but she had gone further to dye the entirety of her fur a deep blue, turning her form into a confused vomit of tones.

‘Fleur darling you know how awfully busy my schedule is’ Hoity drawled, ‘I really don’t have time to see the work of some nopony.’

If you or anypony else says ‘darling’ one more time, I’m going to bucking…

‘Oh I know Hoity, but I promise you won’t be disappointed’ Fleur said sweetly, ‘plus you ought to know that Prim Hemline’s already said she’s coming.’

‘I see.’ Hoity’s voice turned icy and behind his shades his grey face became a stony frown. ‘Where and when?’

‘The Manefare Hotel a week from now, I’ll go over more of the details in a moment.’

‘I’m sure I can make some time’ Hoity decided bluntly, ‘I’ll be there.’

Ha, gotcha!

Prim’s coming was true enough, although this had been achieved in a similar manner by stating that Hoity had already agreed to, the two heads of their respective cities’ fashion worlds legendary rivalry playing straight into Fleur’s hooves.

‘You can count me in’ Corral and Opulence chorused together, predictably trailing Hoity’s hoofsteps and opinion.

‘I’m available and would be very much interested to meet this Coco Pommel’ Amethyst quietly concurred.

‘A week, we’re doing this in a week?’ Roxie interjected, being the one with the most experience of the work it actually took to put on a show of any scale, even small, backed up by a similar questioning look on the part of Sky.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but I know we can pull it off and it would really mean a lot to me’ Fleur concluded, receiving nods from the pair of her closer friends to complete the consensus around the table.

‘Come on in and make yourselves at home’ Fleur smiled as she turned the key in the front door’s lock. She ducked to one side, letting her two compatriots slip by into the apartment.

‘Nice place’ Sky complemented as he trotted through the portal, Roxie just behind.

‘Thanks. The sitting room, or rather space, is just through there so feel free to grab a spot.’ She stopped mechanically at the entry hallway’s mirror, unwinding the tasselled length of her scarf whilst she made a quick check that her mane and makeup were still in order. Thankfully all was well, pushing aside the nagging worries which had beset her at intervals during the meal. ‘Drinks?’ she queried, bolstered back into her confident stride.

‘Please’ came both voices in unison, their owners each making space in the scattered piles of clothing in order to ensconce themselves on the sofas.

‘Sorry about the mess’ she continued, making for the kitchen, ‘it’s just been quite busy as you can gather. Equally sorry I’ve not had the chance to restock, so is beer alright with both of you?’ Accepting nods answered her and she levitated out three of the remaining cans, floating a pair to her guests whilst she cleared a seat of her own.

A quiet briefly descended amongst them, punctuated by the cracking of a trio of ring pulls and appreciative sighs following the first drafts of the chilled beverages, until Roxie chose to be the first to speak. ‘So Fleur, one question about this show thing.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Why?’ the earth mare asked bluntly, eliciting a sudden splutter from the pegasus as he tried and totally failed to simultaneously laugh whilst taking a second sip from his tin.

‘Meaning?’

‘The whole point of you coming here, in your own words, was “escape”, which this seems to be a complete reversal of. Even if you have totally done a U-turn and changed your mind, which personally I doubt, you’ve got no reason to drum up business or publicity for a return as it hasn’t been that long and there’s a queue of ponies stretching round the block who’d love to have you modelling their stuff’ Roxie persisted, pleasantly to the point as always. ‘Add to this the fact that nopony in their right mind would spend any amount of time with Hoity of their own volition and I reiterate why?’

‘Like I told you already, I owe Coco a favour’ Fleur replied simply, ‘and her designs are seriously good.’

‘Nope, that doesn’t fit either.’ Roxie waved away the answer as quickly as it was received. ‘The way you told it was that this mare gave you a bed for a night which you can’t remember. You’ve done far less for some you’ve owed far more.’

‘Ouch! You make me sound like a total bitch!’

‘Sorry, not my intention, but you know what I mean.’

‘Isn’t it obvious’ Sky spoke up, having recovered from his semi-drowning, ‘she likes this mare. Am I wrong?’

Fleur paused a moment, caught before the two sets of blue eyes which now focused on her, before responding. ‘True she’s really cute but…’

‘Nope’ he cut her off, shaking his head, ‘if she were just “really cute” you wouldn’t be going to all this trouble. Instead you’d just have bedded her already, not a critique by the way, and that would be that, which I don’t reckon you have.’

‘That’s none of your business’ Fleur deflected, but immediately knew that her words had come out overly defensive.

‘So I’m right then’ Sky ended definitely, grinning.

‘Dick!’ she smiled, conceding his point.

The pegasus responded with a mock show of hurt and innocence. ‘Harsh!’

‘Just gonna say I called it’ Roxie added, wearing the self-same grin as Sky, ‘which side of the proverbial catwalk you’ve been treading has always been a sketchy thing up for debate.’

Fleur just shot a glare back.

‘Oh come on, need I remind you of how we met?’

‘No Rox, you really don’t’ Fleur sighed before turning to giggling, which then ran around the trio becoming fully formed laughter at the embarrassments of the past.

‘Soooo’ Roxie resumed once she regained control and had swigged more from her can, ‘what’s this Coco who you’re soooo desperate to impress like?’

Fleur sent another frown the earth mare’s way, sparking another fit of laughter from both friends. ‘Well erm…’

Something other than cute.

‘Coco’s pretty much amazing’ she finally began, although her hoofing remained sketchy.

Nice one!

‘On the outside she’s kinda quiet, but damn pretty with it. Loads of designers are usually prone to over doing it for the sake of attention you know. Coco in contrast is really understated and just simply beautiful. Underneath this though, past the obvious that she’s kind and funny and lovely and whatever, there’s this fire. You can see it in the stuff she creates, which is all truly fantastic by the way, this free burning passion, wonderfully fearless as well as talented. Coco’s just perfect’ Fleur finished, catching her breath and blushing, fully aware of how foalish her last words sounded.

‘Sweet Celestia it’s worse than I feared!’ Sky exclaimed, face forming into a façade of worry as he glanced over to meet Roxie’s eyes in a knowing look. ‘Fleur’s fallen for an artist. Real bad.’

Author's Note

Title: Becoming Popular (French)

Finitions

Coco’s saddlebags felt heavy in spite of the slight weight of their contents, their straps gripping tightly around her barrel as she walked. Multiple pressing matters beset her all at once, creating a noisy crowd of voices. Foremost amongst these should have been the simple fact that she had never before been where she was going, meaning that she was working out her path from remembered directions as she went.

‘So I turn right at… then straight on until…’

Surprisingly this would be the first time she had been to Fleur’s place, the pair having met frequently over the past weeks but always at her own apartment or elsewhere, thus her present task required a good deal of mental mapping.

‘… then left down…’

What if she doesn’t like it?

Coco’s eyes panned up to the street’s signposts, knowing full well that trying to silence her inner voice with any reassurance, no matter how well reasoned, was futile and therefore she chose to try and ignore it.

With all the extra stitching it’ll be too dark, whilst at the same time making it look like you’re trying to show off.

She pressed on regardless, moving further up town towards central Manehattan, the spires of surrounding buildings growing ever higher all around.

It’s not enough. Look around, how could anything you can do ever be enough?

Streetlights brought the traffic to a standstill, allowing her to cross through the parted sea of wagons. It would have been far simpler to take a taxi, but the lure of the morning’s sun had proved too much to pass up. She had woken up far too early, subconscious apprehension killing off her sleep before its conclusion, drawing her to the prospects of a thought-clearing walk.

What if it was a gift or meant something and you’ve wrecked it?

This desired end had obviously failed to materialise however, leaving her as tense as ever, doubts undeterred by her efforts against them. Finally she arrived, stopping before a great obelisk of glass and stone, each of its skyward-reaching floors ringed by airy balconies, feeling every bit as small in its shadow as she was.

Buck, buck, buck, buck, buck!

Shoals of loose clothing swam through the air, lifting off from the reefs of furniture on which they had long resided, the silken eels of scarfs chasing the flapping ray-like forms of jackets, in turn pursuing the whales of extravagant dresses. All the pieces hurried towards the recesses of cupboards and draws throughout the bedroom, forcing themselves into every crack of space that could be found, meanwhile the kitchen was a similar anarchy of levitating items. Plates and utensils in desperation threw themselves into sinks brimming with soapy water, before leaping into the folds of dishcloths to be marshalled further away. At the centre of all this stood Fleur, a waterfall of pink sparks spilling from the glowing tip of her horn, wincing as she focused all her power into her herculean task.

Hurry the buck up! How could you over sleep today of all days?

A towel glided through the bathroom’s doorway in a pink aura, coming to wrap itself around her in an attempt to dry her still damp form, fresh out from a rushed shower. A second towel joined the first, enveloping her mane and holding it high on her head, whilst her eyes glanced at the clock. ‘It’s okay, she’s running late, so I’ll still have time to put myself together’ she thought, trying to sound reassuring.

What’re you going to say to her?

‘Good question’ Fleur reflected in reply, dashing the query to one side.

You’ve got to say something today. There’s only one day left until the show, during that everything will be way too busy and there’s no guarantee of anything afterwards. So what’re you going to say?

‘I don’t know!’ She went blind as the towel fell across her vision. Weeks of meeting and organising, chatting and laughing about everything under the sun, yet she had never found a way to verbalise what was on her mind and now she stood on the precipice of her last chance to do so. ‘Celestia, I sound like some filly with a crush!’

‘I reckon she likes you too ya know.’

Sky’s words rang in her head. ‘You could’ve been a bit more definitive you ass!’ Was "like" enough? Was "like"a true reciprocation of what she herself felt? What was "like" even supposed to mean? At the same time saying anything was a risk, both to what was already a fast friendship and the event on the immediate horizon. ‘Buck it!’

*Bing bong*

‘Double buck it!’

Coco rocked back and forth a couple of time on her hooves before the front doorway, taking in a large preparatory breath as she reached up to press the button recessed at its side.

*Bing bong*

Air escaped her lungs in a long drawn out exhale; tension which had built up in the few minutes spent priming herself in front of the portal leaving her with her breath. From within there was a brief pause, followed by the clatter of approaching hoofsteps and then the door swung inwards, allowing light to stream out to meet her.

‘Hey!’ Set in a corona of sunlight, leaving her pure white coat shining and aglow, stood Fleur wearing a broad welcoming smile.

‘Hi.’ Caught as she was somewhere between her jaw dropping towards the floor and making a small eep noise and retreating, both reactions the unicorn had proven more than exceptionally good at inspiring in her, Coco was mildly impressed with the monosyllabic greeting she managed in return.

‘It’s lovely to see you’ Fleur continued, ‘come on in.’ She turned bidding her guest to follow her and letting her horn pull the door closed again as Coco did so.

They entered into the vast open space of the apartment proper, all clean lines and simple geometric furniture, with one wall of glass panes attaching the single room to the sky beyond its balcony. In contrast to Coco’s own small dwelling this was a veritable paradise, channelling the feeling of a Cloudsdale sky palace.

‘Drink?’ Fleur queried as they stopped in the midst of a central hub of sofas.

‘No thanks’ the earth mare declined, feeling as if she were on the tips of her hooves, like she was intruding into this divine unicorn’s realm.

‘Sure? Well please just say if you do.’ Fleur’s features remained warmly smiling, a slight glint reflected from the purple depths of her irises captivating her audience. ‘So…’

‘Oh right, sorry’ Coco quickly apologised, hoping not to have left an awkward silence in staring.

Smooth as ever!

She undid her bags, slipping them to the floor and then pushing them over to Fleur’s hooves. ‘Here’s what I came up with’ Coco said in explanation, attempting her own smile but being hindered by a fresh spike of apprehension.

A large part of Fleur felt like she had reverted back to being a little filly opening a Hearth’s Warming Day present, internally hopping joyously about as she opened the bags tentatively offered to her. She had seen most of the creations for the fast upcoming show, with a fair bit of jealousy in some cases, but not what she herself was going to be wearing, leaving her guessing as to which of the designs they had together chosen would be her charge.

Sweet Celestia!

What emerged in her magic’s featherlike grasp was nothing like she had expected. It was a dress, the slight elongated train cascading impossibly from the bag to succeed the rest of it making this fact clear, and it was something new, not being of any of the paper sketches she had spent a good day or two enjoying. Its overall form was something between an evening gown, its length falling to sweep the floor, and a lighter day piece, its body having both short sleeves and a high collar. Made from white taffeta, although simple, its most complicated structural element being its triple layering of hind skirts, it was at the same time amazingly intricate. Starting at the shoulder of the left sleeve to run in a spiral of satin stitch across the back, around the barrel and then splitting into three as it spread over half the hind section was a flow of black embroidery, matching the dress's fine lines in its movements. These silken details, denoting an age of work on the part of their creator, depicted a naturalistic yet not messy tangle of rose vines, sparingly punctuated every so often with the blooms of the flowers themselves. From a distance these intricacies would not be evident, instead morphing into striking dichotomously toned colour blocks swirling about the garment, a masterfully complex effect.

‘So, what do you think?’ Coco asked, breaking Fleur from her gazing.

‘It’s wonderful’ she replied, a tad in awe and still surprised by the until then unknown outfit’s arrival.

‘Do you want to try it on?’ the now beaming earth mare continued, ‘I’m probably going to need to make a couple of alterations so it hangs just right.’

She nodded and they moved across the invisible threshold into the bedroom where by foresight she had already set up a group of mirrors for use in tailoring, Coco retrieving her saddlebags as they did so. Now facing a trio of her own reflections she slipped into the silken folds of the dress.

‘Oh, there’s one more part to it.’ The designer disappeared momentarily into her bags, emerging fractional seconds later with a studded piece of jewellery, it taking Fleur a few moments more to recognise her lost choker, which in truth she had long forgotten. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but it was broken when I found it’ Coco clarified, looking slightly sheepish as she reached up, wrapping her forehooves around the taller unicorn’s neck in order to close the new clasp around it, ‘so I had a go at fixing it.’

Fleur caught the eyes of her mirror images, all similarly both blushing in and enjoying Coco’s embrace.

When are you going to say something?

‘There’ the earth mare concluded, taking a step back from her hoofiwork, ‘I thought the new gemstone would pick up your eyes.’ She looked at the floor, sheepish again as she spoke.

Fleur, choosing to ignore her inner voice, considered her reflections. The dress truly was gorgeous and the choker only added to its overall look, picking up the dark tone and images of the embroidered embellishments, whilst the deep purple charm stood out prominently central. The unicorn wearing it however was decidedly lacking, her face looking entirely plain beneath the untamed mess of her mane, inadequate for the outfit she wore.

‘Thoughts?’ Coco questioned, now in motion using a needle and thread to make adjustments, moving around her static subject.

‘I love it, it’s simply brilliant. I however am not. How do you want my mane and makeup for the show?’

Coco paused, stepping back around in front of Fleur. ‘If you’ll allow me?’ she asked, to which she received a nod, before reaching up with a forehoof to run it through the strands of her model’s hair. ‘Something like that maybe.’

‘What?’ Fleur exclaimed, next to no time having passed and no real difference being at all evident in her mirrored selves.

‘Yep’ Coco answered bluntly, seemingly absorbed in designer mode, returning to her alterations, ‘that’s it.’

‘Erm... okay, what about makeup?’

‘Nope, you look great as you are.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep.’

‘But…’

‘Seriously, you’re beautiful.’

Crap!

Coco felt herself burnt by a hot embarrassment, making her shrink back to working on the outfit’s train.

Couldn’t just stay quiet could you? Just 'cause she likes the dress you get all brash.

Eyes focused on her work, she hid behind her subject, moving upward to fix each skirt layer in turn, but quickly found herself stopping. There was a pervasive silence now between them and she felt its pressure as much as felt her own words as its cause.

Move things back to the show or something.

Her position suddenly seemed awkward, set at Fleur’s hind quarters, whilst the closeness of her working hooves to the mare she had just called ‘beautiful’ felt like it was taken without consent. The dress’s collar was now a much safer prospect and she retreated again to adjust it instead, consciously avoiding the purple eyes sitting above it.

There was now a silence, shouted between them, yelling out its absence to make its presence felt.

When are you going to say something?

Fleur’s body remained instinctively still, her eyes however were permitted movement, following the three mirrored designers whose normally pale brown faces had been turned a cuter shade of pink, currently shying away behind their work. A trio of unicorns looked back, a similar if lighter tone playing across their own cheeks.

You’ve got to say something.

The earth mares suddenly moved, leaving their hiding spot camouflaged behind the dresses’ skirts, coming back before their subjects, hooves going to further fix the collars of their created ensembles, but with gazes kept markedly down. Again accidentally in Coco’s hooves, Fleur found herself enjoying the feeling and at the same time thinking herself guilty for that being the case.

Just tell her how you feel.

‘Erm well… I’ Coco cut into the quiet unsteadily, ‘I really should say that this isn’t meant to be a show piece. I mean originally, at least conceptually, it kinda was, but I talked a lot to Sky when I was tailoring his stuff and Roxie when we were organising bits, with conversations inevitably going to you and your coming here to Manehattan.’ Her words continued: semi-considered before she spoke them, yet struggling over their thoughtful content. ‘It’s not that I’m not grateful for all you’ve done, 'cause I truly am, rather I don’t want to put you on the catwalk if that’s not where you want to be. So anyway I wanted to make this just for you, but not for it to be like a straightjacket, something that…’

Fleur bent down and nuzzled gently against the shorter mare’s head. Drawing back, for the briefest of moments she gazed into a pair of gleaming azure irises as they came up to meet her own, which then fell back shyly to the floor. She let her heart guide her forehoof as it rose, stroking Coco’s muzzle and guiding her eyes back to hers, before bringing their lips tentatively together, both sets feeling their way as opposed to being confident in their actions. This first kiss preceded others, each lasting longer than the ones before and speaking volumes where words had failed.

Author's Note

Title: Finishing Touches (French)

La Vie est une Passerelle

The space was in chaos, its infectious commotion fuelled by a mixed noise of colour and sound. This backstage world, although relatively small in comparison to those of a great many other shows, was nonetheless crammed with ponies, a couple of clothing racks and a rank of dressing tables, its curtained walls acting to hide this organised insanity from those outside of it. Models in pairs psyched themselves up before a corridor of similar fabric, departing in theatrical strides only to return minutes later, prompting others to move out in their place. Practiced clothing swaps were hurried through, then minor changes were made to accenting makeup and all was checked and perfected, the blur of motion remaining nigh constant throughout.

Central though she was in this in this inevitable mess, Fleur remained in a bubble of her own serenity, totally at ease in the face of all that surrounded her. She was both at home in and well versed in the ways of this realm, which to any outsider was a daunting scene at the very least. Initially having felt guilty for her light burden of but a single outfit (spectacular though it was) in contrast to her fellow models, she had settled into a supportive role, working alongside Roxie and helping elsewhere where she could. As much a veteran of these things as anypony else there, more so in some cases, she moved effortlessly, lending a hoof as and when required. At the moment she was concluding her work on Corral’s mane, bidding the always excitable mare a swift ‘good luck’ as she skipped away to do a second turn on the runway before the unseen audience.

Now finding herself in a lull, Fleur sat herself in the previously occupied chair, one of several in a row in front of tables and mirrors. A white unicorn looked back at her from the glass, not plain but unadorned, bared to the world in her fur yet not uncomfortable in it. Her gaze immediately moved on from herself, searching the reflected space behind her and instantly discovering what she sought: the beautiful pale brown earth mare who was the architect of all of this and so much more. Coco was as much a mass of frantic movement as all others present, checking and rechecking every item before they flew out to have judgement passed over them. The designer was obviously in her element, delight radiating from her surrounded by her creations brought to life, a fact that caused no small amount of happiness to her unicorn viewer, making every bit of effort spent (even that in conversation with Hoity Toity) infinitely worth it. Coco nodded Opulence away, a satisfied look on her face, brushing away a cyan strand of mane which had fallen across her perfect visage and turning as she did so in Fleur’s direction.

Their eyes met through the continued tumult of the room, Coco’s un-shying in their gaze, glittering with one another’s light. Fleur winked then blew a small kiss, enjoying the blush it caused but appreciating it more when the act was reciprocated her way with a warm smile.

‘Save it Fleur.’

The unicorn turned to the left in the voice’s direction, fixing its source with a glare, although a degree of embarrassment in being called out prevented it from full seriousness.

‘After the show the pair of you can get a room’ Roxie continued, grinning broadly. ‘Until then save it, you two are way too cutesy and it's throwing off my concentration.’

‘It’s true’ Amethyst concurred, being the light blue makeup artist’s present client and mirroring her on the cusp of laughter. ‘The both of you look like a couple of love-struck fillies.’

‘Quiet’ Fleur shushed them, sharing in their smiles but bringing a forehoof to her lips. ‘I really don’t want us to become a thing of gossip. Corral for example would make a big thing of it and I don’t want anything to poison this.’

‘I take your point, but if that’s the case you might want to be a little less obvious’ Roxie answered. ‘Just a suggestion.’

‘You two seem perfect together’ Amethyst added quietly, again under the attentions of an eyeliner brush, ‘it shouldn’t matter what the world thinks.’

Before Fleur could make a reply, a new voice, Sky’s, silenced her: ‘Fleur?’

‘What’s up?’ she questioned, turning to the approaching pegasus on her right, just in from the catwalk. ‘How’s the show going?’

‘Oh, it’s all good, hard to judge obviously but what response we’re getting is great! It’s just…’

‘What?’

‘Well, I thought you should know but now I’m not so sure…’ He rubbed the back of his neck with a forehoof as he trailed off, wincing and looking awkward.

‘Well you’ve started now you tool, so you better finish’ Roxie interjected with a smirk.

Sky hit back with a light-hearted glare of his own. ‘Well it’s just I spotted your parents in the crowd and I know for a fact that you wouldn’t have invited them.’

Buck!

‘What? How?’ Fleur at once felt a knot roll itself in her guts. At the very least it was silly, she was by no means a little filly like such foalish thoughts suggested and their being at a show in which she performed was not a new occurrence, but nonetheless this unwanted development set her on edge. It was not their presence alone which caused this, rather what it represented, her coming to Manehattan now an infinity ago being to escape from and in search of something more than her Canterlottian existence. Their attendance made it seem like her past was pursuing her, trying to pull her back. She was left frozen in place, suddenly made aware of the fresh disapproval her most recent decisions would likely elicit, whilst at the same time the concept of stepping onto the catwalk became like a surrender.

‘I don’t know, maybe somepony said something or they heard about this on the grapevine, but they’re here.’ Sky looked apologetic as he made the confirmation.

Buck, buck and a bit more buck!

‘What’s up?’ Coco’s caring voice appeared on the scene, the mare herself materialising next to Fleur with a concerned expression on her face.

A chorus of speakers answered in place of the muted unicorn, feeling embarrassed as the petty source of her apprehension was explained by others.

Not skipping a beat for thought and unmoving from Fleur’s side, Coco’s face was merely one of understanding. ‘It’s okay; I already told you that I didn’t want you doing anything that you didn’t want to.’ The shorter mare nuzzled the seated unicorn’s neck as she spoke, whispering: ‘it’s their loss; I already know how beautiful you are.’

‘It shouldn’t matter’ Amethyst said as she left for the long stage, not muttering but still only just audible, the words' quietness leaving doubts as to their reality.

‘Why does it matter?’ Fleur’s thoughts asked, as she looked at her mirror image, sitting amongst friends but more importantly with a brilliant and caring mare snuggling affectionately against her, whom she was both loved by and loved in return. She stood up, planting a kiss on Coco’s cheek and hovering the white taffeta dress from its rail.

Coco peaked around the corner of the folds of the curtained corridor, snatching a look at the show as it reached its finale. Although it was her clothes on the catwalk she was no choreographer, making its content as much a surprise to her as it was to the audience. Her fellow viewers like her were also hidden, sat in shadowy rows beyond the bright lights of the catwalk. Their features becoming indistinct in the darkness, they looked like the outlines or spectres of ponies, silent against the rhythm guiding those they watched. Their eyes occasionally flared with captured light, but remained black as they stared, considered and judged. Normally all this would have sparked her inner voice, always ready to express her doubts, but right now she continued to ride her personal high, silencing its critical eloquence.

The sources of this happiness all stood in motion on the catwalk. Her designs, weeks before merely being sketched lines in grey pencil, were now in colour and life, transformed from internal thought to reality. All the pieces flowed like the rainbow-coloured rivers which cascaded from the edges of Cloudsdale, ethereal and yet tangible, leaving Coco with a sense of accomplishment settled comfortably within her. Her creations however were at this moment less than secondary in her mind, mostly in the way of what she was really watching.

A wave of white occasionally broke through the more tonally diverse swell, immediately drawing her eyes in pursuit. Coco’s gaze continued to pounce on every glimpse, tracking the object of her attentions unceasingly, until finally it came through the crowd in full view. Fleur was beautiful, no other word quite reaching the heights of the unicorn’s splendour, as she strode confidently with the rest, seemingly unaware of the shaded jury beyond her oasis of light. Fleur reached the catwalk’s end, striking a pose loaded with a degree of suggestion, which caused Coco’s heart to kick up its tempo a few notches, before spinning round to continue her strutting hoofsteps, now against the tide.

Their eyes met through a storm surge of burning colour, ignoring all competitors for their joint focus, Coco watching a spark ignite in the depths of the purple irises she happily lost herself in. This time it was her turn to make a move in winking, Fleur letting her stage mask fall to return it and both continued staring into the warmth of one another’s smiles.

Then in a final flourish it was over, the tide reversing to flow back whence it came, bringing a score of wearied models returning to the cave of backstage. At once Coco was subsumed in a sea of praise and congratulatory hooves.

‘We did it!’ Fleur’s voice was a beacon guiding her through all others, pulling her forward until the two mares fell into a hug. ‘Congrats!’

‘Thank you’ Coco managed, overwhelmed by the sudden, collective and all-encompassing release of breath going round the whole room.

‘Time to take a bow’ Fleur smiled nodding back towards the catwalk.

‘Erm…’

‘Come on, you’re not going to stay hidden back here, this is your victory’ Fleur insisted, pulling against the designer’s hesitation.

‘Victory?’ Coco queried, not wholly enamoured with the idea of her stage debut and therefore deflecting.

‘Yes, victory.’

‘Thank you again, this has all been fantastic, but victory?’

‘Yes! Out there you’ve got Prim Hemline, Hoity Toity and a whole bunch of other big names. That was the point of this: making a splash and with them in attendance everpony is going to take notice. Although it would be nice, it was never about their approval, 'cause take it from me they’re tasteless, but rather getting it so your talent could speak for itself, getting your designs through the door which tends to be made pretty impregnable. So yes, victory!’

‘Thank you’ Coco repeated hugging Fleur all the tighter, whilst at the same time realising the height of the unicorn’s capacity for manipulation. ‘Remind me never to piss you off’ she giggled.

‘Unlikely’ Fleur concluded definitively, nuzzling lovingly into the smaller mare’s mane, leaving Coco feeling completely surrounded by her soft embrace. ‘Now, come on.’

Author's Note

Title: Life is a Runway (catwalk) (French)

Épilogue

Everything was restful and soft. The whole world was a silken plateau: the ground below an expanse of a well-sprung mattress, the sky above the rolling clouds of a thick duvet and both were wrapped in the folds of pure white sheets. Golden streams broke in on the horizons, slipping between gaps at the covers’ edges to radiate a glow throughout the hidden space, hinting at a young unseen sunrise somewhere beyond it, although timelessness persisted within. Fleur’s eyelids fluttered slowly open into this paradise, not totally waking but rather drifting somewhere between the quiet realm of sleep and full consciousness, like she were in a living dream. Above her head sat the plump mountains of pillows, their fluffy peaks forsaken in preference of burrowing deeper into the all-encompassing subterranean warmth beneath the covers. Her body was weightless, afloat as she sprawled on her side atop the padded surface of the single extensive and cushioned continent.

She was not the sole resident of this world however; a fact that only added to if not alone created the perfection of their joint cocoon, her still half-lidded eyes being drawn to the shape lying beside her. "Cute" was a word that her mind had used far too often to describe Coco, but now more so than ever she found it appropriate as she surveyed the smaller earth mare nestled in the sheets at her side, with hooves curled up between them and head inclined towards Fleur’s own. Her gaze indulged itself, drinking in the pale brown form as it slumbered peacefully, lightly rising and falling to the regular sound of heavy breathing. The designer’s hair was an unkempt halo of blue and cyan stripes, allowed to forget its usual combed neatness in favour of being a carefree mess. It was only a small thing, but stood out nonetheless to the unicorn as a unique view of the other mare which was purely hers alone, hidden from all others. Settled in amongst these airy strands of mane, Coco’s tranquil visage, which so many times had timidly hidden itself, now stood confidently facing outward in their private haven. Fleur continued tracing the face’s features, passing closed lids, making secret the deep azure irises beneath, reaching a set of deliciously tempting lips, whose words and laughter played like an orchestra to her, curled in a tiny but infinitely warming smile, before moving onwards. Down across a body in total relaxation (devoid of all the stresses and tension that the outer world was so good at applying as leaden fetters), pausing at the plumed hat prominent on the slightly built mare’s flank, seeming more than ever a massive understatement of Coco’s talents, like so many of her features. Her gazing finally came to a stop where their tails met, intertwined in a spiralled swirl at the end of the bed.

A contented sigh brought Fleur’s attentions to return upward. Still seemingly deep in sleep Coco stretched out, but rather than curling back up into a ball she instead adjusted her position, unconsciously wriggling closer to her unicorn partner. Fleur just smiled, igniting the pink flare of her horn and wrapping the smaller mare in the gentle aura of her magic. Rather than risk the two of them bumping into each other she instead simply floated her love barely off the mattress, drawing her across what little distance remained between them and into the embrace of her hooves. Un-sensing of being levitated, when released from the mild magic Coco instantly snuggled into her partner, nuzzling into the soft fur she now found to be her pillow, meanwhile her forehooves extended around Fleur’s barrel to hug the taller mare back. The unicorn’s heart was sent soaring by the affectionate reaction, her own muzzle descending to lose itself in the velvet strands and mellowing scent of the other’s mane.

Fleur was content, more than that she was happy, as she tightly held the object of her affections and felt the action warmly reciprocated, feeling herself enveloped and at the same time surrounding, the two of them wrapped in one another. Each of them was a shield to their precious partner, backs as walls to the outside world, whilst they both nestled at their serene centre, in the warmth they together produced. Given the choice neither had any desire whatsoever to change a thing: any thoughts of being anywhere else, in any other company or as anything else being complete in their absence. Here was perfection.

Fleur was now adrift but totally unconcerned about her being becalmed, happy to let the moment and their cuddle stretch on indefinitely. There was no past here, there being no place for it, and the future held only promise while her senses remained consumed only with Coco. Whatever would come to follow this, not that such thoughts were of any particular concern to her at this juncture, could only be looked forward to, promising only more times such as this or even better still to come. Nothing was insurmountable that they could not overcome by their mutual support or else escape from back to one another. The far off distance was bright therefore, filled with freedom and un-daunting possibility. Here was safe.

The weight of sleep once again began to slowly creep up on Fleur, but before letting it overcome her she chose to lean in further from where she had been nuzzling, delicately brushing aside a couple of strands of cyan fringe to lightly lay a kiss on the forehead beneath. A set of azure eyes, half-lidded like her own, met hers as she drew back, revealing that their owner was an equal denizen in this dreamlike place. Coco reached up to steal a kiss of her own from her love’s lips, leaving both smiling as they gazed into one another until both drifted off, contentedly nestled in their shared embrace.

Author's Note

Title: Epilogue (French)

L'art de la Robe

No, that wouldn’t work.

A flurry of snowy papers flew away from her, loosed towards their floor-bound kin settled in drifts about the futon. All around was a semicircle of paper, forming a white halo about her seated form, surveying her kingdom and finding it wanting.

No, that wouldn’t work either.

A further cascade followed the first, cast aside as unworthy without any hesitation. Her court of mannequins looked on wordlessly, all dressed to impress but unhelpfully silent in their council, gaps in their insufficient ranks filled in by chairs pressed into service from the apartment’s kitchen.

No, too much.

The last of the sheets fell as one, collectively failing in their petitions for her favour. Her judgements were final, converting her throne room into a killing field, the mass grave at its centre filled with the bodies of those she once called her subjects, none able to live up to her now heightened expectations.

No, not enough.

‘For buck’s sake!’ Coco rose sharply from her throne, spitting away her words with her pencil, striking her head with a forehoof in annoyance. ‘Think! Why can’t you just think?!’ she exclaimed aloud to nopony in existence, exasperation forcing the speech from her mouth. She strode into the room’s chaotic epicentre, her steps quickly turning to pacing, first back and forth and then changing to circles of the well-littered space, treading a line between those vassals she had laid low and the cordon of her faceless retinue beyond. In what rapidly became repetitive circuits her gaze panned from side to side, aiming to view each article she passed then quickly repassed from every possible angle.

None of these are good enough. What’s missing? There has to be something, you’ve just got to find it.

Coco stopped before the first of her blank-faced courtiers, fabric adornments coming impressively close to giving the lifeless figure a form of personality. She stared down the blank eyeless visage, stare moving onward over its body, interrogating every inch of its still form for answers. None were forthcoming however. She cast her eyes across the mannequin, tracing from its top-hatted crown, the headgear itself set with a white ribbon holding in place a fan of black and white feathers, to its equally dichotomously pied waistcoat, flowing into the same starkly colourless stripes of a skirt covering its hind section. Additional embellishments stood out from this two tone scheme, like the antique silver of a watch chain, hanging semi-loosely from the waistcoat’s pockets, or its multiple chain-link bracelets, both of which were set with bone-like metal charms. They were pretty simple, but being her first real attempts at jewellery they were still objects of pride, even if that did count for exactly squat right now as she moved on to the next in the line-up.

It can’t be that stark.

Unfortunately "stark", or else "blatant" or "loud", would have all also been perfectly permissible descriptors summing up her new object of questioning. In spite of largely hiding the mock pony which lay beneath it, the long hooded cloak of this second outfit stood out as much as the first, or maybe even more so, in that it was made of a vivid crimson and black tiger-striped fabric. A dark chord neatly held the cape about the mannequin’s neck, woven strands ending in pointed cone-shaped beads. Drawing back the hood revealed a velvet inner lining of a deeper scarlet than the exterior, leaving it still comfortable to wear in spite of its weight, as well as a pair of long earrings. Such accoutrements remained an oddity in Equestria, making the outfit an even louder ensemble, but these went further than most, each consisting of an upper and a lower ear clip bound together by a trio of differently lengthed chains. From the bottom of the lowest row of links hung shined red corral pieces like stalactites in the same geometric style to those on the ends of the cloak’s ties. Again her jewellery was rather basic, but in not being delicate it added a sharpened attitude or edge.

It shouldn’t either be a disguise or too in your face.

A third figure now awaited her investigations, each adding to her wall of thoughts but none drawing out a conclusion. The view returned to being more monochromatic, filled by a granite grey tailcoat with a frilled black silk shirt beneath it, inner shadow also accented by a folded handkerchief just emerging from a front pocket and an equally jet black rose set in a buttonhole. The coat was still bright however, light glittering from it reflected by box studding bordering a large exploding graphic stitched across its back, depicting a comic book-like ‘Pow!’ in a jagged bubble, and run around its collar’s edges. Neither traditionally neat nor too aggressively alternative, it walked a fine knife edge between the two, each contrary facet acting to highlight the other.

She’d look bloody good in a suit, but it needs to be more than that. More can be done with a dress.

‘Why’s this so hard?’ None of the other outfits had proved such a resistant challenge, a diverse collection of designs being easy to choose in part for variety and dependent upon what materials she had available, but this was different. Of course the other pieces had also been helped by Fleur’s guiding hoof, adding a second pair of decisive eyes, with which for this task she was necessarily without. Thus far the unicorn had been entirely true to her word, leaving Coco feeling a tad guilty for the doubts she had retained even after gleefully agreeing to her rough plan, somehow conjuring a venue at the Manefare Hotel and a couple of fellow models from seemingly nowhere. They would still need a few more to pull it off and the guest list remained up in the air, but nonetheless Fleur had been amazing. More than these logistical miracles however she had generously given her the chance to create, to do what she truly loved, and now Coco was desperate to give back some small something in return. It was to this end that her mind was now struggling, having completed the rest of the collection for the coming show, nothing bar perfection being an adequate answer.

Coco turned her back on her court, departing for the privy chamber of her workroom. It was still cramped but at least there was now some small room for manoeuvre, with a fair amount of its previous contents put into service, allowing her easy access to her preferred chair (the sole remaining unused seat in the apartment), into which she let herself slump. She reached forward with both hooves, allowing her back to arch and her neck to crack as she did so, stretching out across the desk. Pushing aside the few remaining thread spools which littered its surface, she reached a stack of paper on its far side, grasp snaking back to deposit a blank canvas before her.

So to recap: something that’s enough to be special, but nothing so much as to be a ‘disguise’, that’s refined enough to be elegant and yet simply beautiful.

‘You make it sound so simple!’ she thought, scanning across the table for a pencil.

It doesn’t help that no matter what you put together it will just be surplus.

This was true, Fleur having absolutely no need of any adornment, adding an extra hurdle to her efforts, unwilling to cover any of her unicorn subject’s natural beauty. At the same time she wanted anything she made to be personal, as if she were trying to channel Fleur herself into the material, for the fabric to not just look good but to speak.

No small feat, particularly bearing in mind you can’t even say what you want it to in reality.

Coco sighed, pulling open each of the desk’s drawers in turn, still searching for an elusive drawing implement. The third drawer finally yielded what she sought, but alongside it she was surprised by the abandoned pieces of a studded choker: Fleur’s studded choker. ‘Oh buck.’ She had entirely forgotten about it, having planned to set about fixing the item of jewellery (broken by its then inebriated owner in her haste to discard it) now many days previous. ‘Well, at least that’s something I can actually get on with’ she considered, laying out the various parts in front of her. The buckle which held the collar together was a relatively easy fix, the holes which it threaded into being overly stressed from rough removal, although this would entail replacing it. Its studs also remained intact and she set about mending what she could. The far greater issue was however the disappearance of the padlock shaped charm which had once decorated its front, leaving the choker’s hoop that had held it markedly empty, and she already knew that she had nothing like it in her supplies to replace it with. Her mind moved fluidly with her hooves, hauling over her bits box for perusal whilst she affixed a more delicate clasp to the spiked collar.

Finished.

Coco sat back surveying her hoofiwork, stretching out the kinks which had developed in her spine. Now hanging from the front of the choker was a purple garnet heart, intricately wrapped in a webbing of silver wire which branched around the shined stone like rose vines, tiny thorns shooting off at intervals adding to the effect.

Not bad.

Her pause was only brief however; thoughts moving swiftly back to the blank slate laid out awaiting use. She set the jewellery to one side, its new charm still in view, and let the lines flow outward, spilled from her pencil across the sheet.

Author's Note

Title: The Art of the Dress (French)