Sombra And Steve's Vegas Vacation

by naturalbornderpy

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Comedy, Random
Length: 11613

After receiving an invitation to attend a gaming competition in Las Vegas, Sombra tries his best to convince his only friend Steve to accompany him there.

After receiving an invitation to attend a gaming competition in Las Vegas, Sombra tries his best to convince his only friend Steve to accompany him there.

Too bad Sombra isn't the best road trip partner around. Or friend in general.

Edited by spigo.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-07-11 23:48:40 UTC

Chapter 1: The Plan

It was 4:51 in the morning and I was having trouble staying asleep. It seemed as if my wife was having something of the same problem, as she’d managed to stir the bed covers not once, but three times in the last five minutes alone.

“Can’t sleep, hun?” I ran a hand along the covers and gripped something far hairier than I’d expected. “Vicky? Are you wearing a sweater to bed?”

I heard a low growl in the darkness. Never a good sign.

“As much as I’d love for you to keep groping me in the safety of the dark, Steve, I actually have some rather important information to share with you.”

Before Sombra had even finished uttering two-thirds of a single word, I’d already drawn back my hand and began rubbing it against the outside of the covers in a thin attempt to try and cleanse it. With my other—less dirty—hand, I fumbled for the bedside lamp and flicked it on.

“Damn it!” The light burned my eyes, but somehow not Sombra’s. His hard red pupils never left mine as he sat facing me on the bed, his completely exposed butt sitting directly where my sleeping wife should’ve been. I didn’t see her anywhere in the room.

“I’ve finally done it, Steve,” Sombra told me with a nod.

“You’ve done what?” Truthfully, I should’ve been more surprised by all this—being startled awake in the middle of the night by a pony and all—but, well, by that point in time I had over a decade with Sombra under my belt and, sadly, found there was very little that could surprise me anymore. Until he said…

“I’ve killed them all.”

I stuck a finger in my ear in an effort to clear it. “Come again?”

“I’ve killed them all. Every single one of them.” He tried for a thin smile. I liked his trademark frown more. Less visible fangs.

“Sombra, why are you where Vicky usually is?” The contents of my stomach had started bouncing around like Sandra Bullock during her time in Gravity. “Where is she? What did you do to her?”

His smile faltered and he narrowed his eyes at me. “You really want to know what I did? You really want to know where she is?”

I already had one hand out, prepared to grab him by the throat, when he finally answered.

“She’s in the bathroom, Steve. I even passed her out in the hall.” He flashed his sharp teeth at me. “As for why I’m here, I already told you: I’ve killed them all.”

When I heard a nearby toilet flush, I breathed a sigh of relief. Still, the way he was drawing this out was making me needlessly tense. “You better not be talking about my sons, Sombra.”

He chuckled a bit. “You mean Sombra Junior and Sombra Junior Mint? They are perfectly fine—most likely sleeping in their warm and cozy beds, crapping their pants like usual. No. They are not the ones I murdered most spectacularly this evening while devouring Funyuns and Mountain Dew.”

I was about to ask if we’d all wind up on the morning news in the next few hours due to whatever he was referring to, but I wanted to clear something up first. “For the last damn time, Sombra, I never named my kids Sombra Junior or Sombra Junior Mint. Those were what we call ‘suggestions.’ Suggestions from a clearly unhinged individual.”

Sombra frowned. Or at least frowned harder than usual. “You should be begging to use such a privileged name, Steve! Every kid in their school would scream out in terror after learning there was a Sombra in their class.” He snorted. “Did you know there’s not a single child or pony named Sombra since you released that stupid book of yours? Thousands of Twilights! Dozens of Discords! But not a single Sombra? What’s wrong with everyone?”

“Maybe parents are worried you’d track their children down Highlander style.”

“What did I tell you about making references I don’t understand?”

I rolled my eyes. “You practically live on a couch and you still haven’t seen Highlander?”

“I happen to take my nap schedule very seriously, Steve! You of all humans should know that! These bedsores aren’t merely for show, you know.”

By this point in time, Sombra and I had unknowingly been closing in on each other. Sombra looked close to snapping my nose off between his teeth, while all I wanted to do was lift him up off the bed by his big pointy ears. We’d formed a rather odd relationship over the years, it seemed.

“You two almost done in here?” my wife asked from the doorway. “I still have to vacuum off my side of the bed before I can get back in.”

This made Sombra smile again. “Come now, Steve. Let me show you the good news.”

I resigned myself. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

***

I stared at the TV screen for close to a minute and was unsure what I found worse: the overall jolly and congratulatory feel the videogame was trying to convey or the mind-numbingly idiotic way they’d decided to let someone know they had, in fact, killed and mutilated every single player on the map.

In big block letters, the text read: “CONGRATZ, PLAYR SOM-BRO69! U’VE KEELED DEM ALL! SPECIAL EMAIL ANNOUNCEMENT 4TH COMING!” The first two lines constantly dripped virtual blood to the bottom of the screen, splashing and pooling there in horrifically lifelike fashion.

Damn, I thought. The graphics of 2026 are getting scarily realistic. At thirty-five years of age, I could still recall the holiday season when Zelda 64 graphics managed to blow my socks off. I really had no idea what was coming ahead. I thought I’d better pick up sturdier socks.

Sombra took the time to grab his well-worn controller to showcase the wide-open and wholly decimated battlefield. He explained with visible glee, “The original game doesn’t let you peel the skin off corpses, so I had to download a cheat code. Once I collect ninety-nine of them, I’ve been told I can craft a new suit made entirely out of other players’ skins. I think it’s called ‘The Birthday Suit.’ Anyways, from what I understand the defense rate on it is terrible, but the fear it induces in others more than makes up for it.”

Sitting down on the couch—or Sombra’s couch, if one wanted to get technical about it—I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is what you wanted to show me? Death and dismemberment? Again?”

“But I’m really good at it! Ask anyone!” He had to think on that. “Actually, it might be better if you didn’t… on account that they’re all dead. But look, Steve! Look!”

“I did look, Sombra,” I informed him thickly. “I came, I saw, I looked, and now I’m going back to bed. Good night, sleep tight, and stop using your horn to pick the lock on my door. I don’t like to bring up my well-stocked bank account all that much, but you and I both know I could hire a team of two-hundred pound body guards whose sole job is to keep you away from me. I’m sure if I gave them a big enough cash incentive I could even convince them to poke your nose in an annoying manner while saying ‘Boop.’ Only if I was in a spiteful mood, of course.”

“But I haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

I felt a small patch of magic shove me back against the couch as Sombra swiftly exited the living room, headed toward the kitchen; his hooves clicked across linoleum before returning to soft carpet again. He set his personal laptop open in front of me.

“I got an invitation! A real one! They want me to participate and everything!” Sombra’s features softened and his tail began wagging behind him. The sight would’ve almost been cute. If we hadn’t done that whole ‘Birthday Suit’ bit only seconds prior.

“An invitation to what exactly?” I asked him.

“A videogame competition. And they’re only inviting the absolute best players and they’ve decided that I’m one of them.”

Before I could finish skimming the open email on the laptop, he snapped it shut and awkwardly climbed his way onto the empty section of the couch next to me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t momentarily hit with a bad case of nostalgia. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall the last time we’d sat on the same couch together.

Sombra continued on in a hushed tone, “It’s going to be located in the place called Last Vegan; I assume that’s where the last vegan lives. If we’re lucky, we could still have time during our trip to track them down and stuff steak down their throat. Rare and bloody, of course. They may be fools beyond comprehension, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve good steak to choke upon.”

It took little time for me to de-Sombra what he’d said. Or what he’d meant to say, I guess. “You must mean Las Vegas. There’s a videogame competition there? Just how popular is this video game community of yours?”

He turned to me. “You know the actor Michael Fassbender?”

“He plays your videogame, too?”

Sombra barked out a laugh. “He did. But let’s just say he didn’t take it very well when I made him beg for his life before shoving a grenade down his pants. I’ve never heard anyone swear so eloquently after getting their testicles blown off.”

With a hand, I roughly jiggled my fingers around his mane, making sure to stir it up enough so that clumps would stick out in all directions. If there was one thing Sombra hated most of all, it was messy hair. And alicorns. And draconequi. But mostly messy hair.

“Knock it off, Steve!” Sombra slid as far away from me as he could and retrieved a hairbrush from some unseen crevice on the couch. He then ran it through his mane with more flourish and grace than even the most flamboyant of hairdressers could. “Here I am being all serious and all you’re doing is—”

I held my hands up in a calming gesture. “Fine, fine, King Messy Mane. I’ll play along for a little while longer. Just what does this invite thing have to do with me? Or you, for that matter? You’re actually planning on attending this thing?”

“Of course!” He looked almost hurt by that. “I have to show these other fatties and nerds—”

“I’m sure they’ll just love being called that.”

Sombra growled and tried again. “I have to show these other pleasantly plump and highly academic individuals just who the best mass murderer is! It’s been too long since King Sombra has shown the world his true killing abilities! So what better way to show them that than by sticking a well-lubed virtual chainsaw up their individual anuses and letting it rip?”

I chuckled. Once in a Luna-colored moon he did actually say something mildly amusing. “You ever thought about writing Hallmark cards with that silver tongue of yours?”

He scowled up at me. “Not really. You ever give any thought about not being so sarcastic and condescending all the time, Steve?”

“I would, but I’m afraid I’d go into withdrawal.”

With a hoof, Sombra prodded at an ear. “Sorry, what was that? I had a feeling you were going to say some ‘witty’ retort in return, so I tuned you out on instinct; witty in quotes, for the record. Truth be told, Steve, you’re about as humorous as dry toast if dry toast came in Steve-flavor.”

Before I could ask him to elaborate on his Steve-toast taunt, Sombra leapt from the couch and stood before me, lifting both brows. “So what do you say, Steve? Are you in or are you out? We have to get moving if we are to get there on time, so I’ll need an answer now. So chop-chop. Posthaste. No dilly-dallying allowed.”

“But I still don’t even know what the question is!” I told him tiredly. “Explain that to me first.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “I want you to drive me to the videogame competition. I want to attend and kill everyone that stands in my way. Virtually, at least. That is what I want you to do. Be my obedient human driver.”

“When is it?”

He gazed at the carpet for a moment, seemingly in thought. “In three days. At… noon, I think the email said.”

“Then what’s the hurry? Vegas is only five hours away by car. We could leave early on the day of the event and still have an hour left to check in.”

“I… umm…” Sombra looked stumped by that. “They… they want you to check in early if you can—days early. Has to do with seating arrangements, I think.” His jaw opened and closed wordlessly as he continued to think. “Also, they give you practice time if you get there early… different controllers and all. But I’m sure if we left in the next hour, we’d have more than enough time to get set up and get ready. I’m sure of it.”

I tapped my fingers on the couch’s armrest. “Could Taylor take you instead?”

The way his mouth popped open and hung close to the floor, it was like I’d asked him to give me a couple of the fries that came with his McDonald’s meal.

Irritated, I exhaled sharply. “What’s so wrong with Taylor?”

“He’s your cousin from Canada!” Sombra spat, as if that was answer enough.

“Elaborate.”

Sombra had to find the right words to continue. “He’s just weird, okay? He’s like… oddly friendly and nice. And I don’t like it! There’s no back-and-forth between us. I don’t even think he can get angry or irritated. You insult him right to his face and all he says is ‘Ain’t that the truth!’ and then chuckles like an idiot.” He pursed his lips and glanced at his hooves. “Although, I really shouldn’t be saying anything terrible about him behind his back… because he did take me to that laser arcade once and bought me an ice cream afterwards. And he does have this amazing way of scratching my ears that makes me momentarily forget how much I hate everything and everyone around me. Including Canadians.”

Sombra briskly shook himself back to normal. “I don’t care if your cousin’s available or not, Steve; I don’t want him coming along. I want you to drive me there. You owe me, remember? Remember?”

“Are you referring to that one time you found my credit card underneath the couch?”

“Yes.”

“The same credit card you stole?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that I did return it to you.”

I leaned back into the couch with a sigh, resting my head on the backrest. There was probably some excuse I could come up with right then and there that would shut this whole thing down before it got any further, but sadly I was still much too sleep deprived for very rational thought. Such was the life of a retired multimillionaire: two kids, a wife, the body of an out of shape mid-thirties male, and a talking pet pony that would never die nor do the world a favor and shut his trap already.

Could I let him go on his own? Stick him on a bus with a ticket and send him on his way?

I could see the news reports already. It would make what happened to Tim McLean seem like… actually, I won’t go there. Nevertheless, Sombra would most likely derail the bus the moment he got his packet of peanuts and couldn’t properly open them with his hooves. This I knew from experience. That’s why Sombra gets all his salty and sweet treats pre-opened and ready to go the moment they enter the household. I’m sure if someone would agree to pre-chew his food, he’d sign up for that posthaste.

After what felt like a very long moment of deliberation, I said something that I assume all husbands must mutter aloud sometime or later. “Let me check with the wife first.”

***

“I have no problems with it,” Vicky said as she strolled around the bedroom. “Just don’t let Sombra talk you into doing anything illegal. Or stupid.”

I let out a lone grunt in response. I had a feeling Vicky had been half-joking, half-serious when she replied, but to me it felt entirely plausible. Sombra always had been the harbinger of his own misfortune… along with every poor soul in the close vicinity.

A black hole of misery, I reflected helplessly. Sucking the life out of normal nearby planets while simultaneously throwing them hopelessly out of orbit.

“Doesn’t kindergarten start soon?” I asked. “Shouldn’t I be around for that?”

While Vicky made up the bed, she glared at me. “It’s June, Steve. And the kids have another year until they’re old enough for school. What’s the big deal, though? It’s a three day trip to Vegas of all places! You can’t even look forward to that?” She pulled the bed sheets up and tossed on the half-dozen pillows that sat overtop of them. Why we had so many unused throw pillows, I’ll never know. “It might be good for you; get out of the house for once. I know you’re not the biggest fan of public life after that book of yours exploded, but… maybe people have forgotten about you a bit?”

The thought was nice, but highly unlikely; not when you were the only human in history to transport millions of talking ponies to Earth so they wouldn’t be snuffed out of existence. Over the years I’d gotten enough random hugs and nasty insults yelled at me to understand the ups and downs involved with my notoriety. Maybe I’d start combing my hair differently. Better yet, maybe I’d start wearing a hat.

“But… Sombra… in a car… five hours… with me trapped inside…” My argumentative skills had all but reduced to caveman-style gibberish.

Vicky sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her. I sat down and let her speak.

“You keep thinking about yourself, Steve, but maybe put yourself in Sombra’s place for a moment. What has he actually done since getting back from Equestria? Besides sit on your couch and eat all our leftover pizza and beer? During that time you married me and had two wonderful children—things that take up time. Haven’t you noticed how little time you even spend with Sombra anymore? You two used to be close—like scarily close—but that’s sort of come to an end recently.”

It didn’t take a purple smart alicorn to see where she was heading with this. “You think Sombra wants to spend more time with me. That’s why he wants to go on a trip together. Just the two of us.”

Vicky nodded. “Sounds like it.” Then she bit her bottom lip. “This trip could also be beneficial to us, you know. You could always talk to Sombra about his plans for life, however unexciting they may be.”

“You mean like getting him a partner? Getting him out of our hair?”

“Maybe. If that’s what it takes to get him off our couch and out of our house one day. If you’re not willing to give Sombra some loose boundaries, there’s a good chance he could remain in this house until he outlives us both. All the while sleeping on that ratty old couch of yours.”

I chuckled. The notion was both horrifying and completely conceivable at the same time. Sombra standing over my deathbed with a puffy pillow in his hooves—right before he performs the nasty deed in question, he whispers to me, ‘Tell me where the extra potato chips are, Steve, and I’ll let you go quietly’ before he holds the pillow over my wrinkly ancient face.

“You know what the hard part is?” I asked Vicky playfully. “Getting a partner to agree to a couple of minutes with Sombra alone without trying to leap out the nearest window.”

“Then make sure Sombra’s date is on the first floor of the building.”

We both laughed. Then we kissed. Then I sighed bitterly.

“Maybe the weather will be crap and force us to cancel.”

Nope. As soon as I flipped on the bedroom TV and turned to the weather channel, all I could see were pictures of bright shimmering suns and a scant few clouds in the Nevada area, plus a short news blip about some comet or meteoroid passing nearby. I was sure if my life had been written by Marquis De Sade up until that point, the comet in question would be landing on my head soon. One could only hope.

The door to the room nudged open and Sombra stuck his oversized head in. “Are we going or not, Steve?”

I turned to him with the largest smile I could muster. “We’re heading to Vegas, baby!”

His forehead creased. “I’m not an infant, Steve. I’m one thousand and eighty-five years old.”

Already we were off to a great start.

Chapter 2: The Road

“What is that thing on your head, Steve?”

In the house’s large car garage, Sombra was staring at me. The garage doors were open and the early morning sun had already warmed the floor beneath us. Stored inside the garage were three cars, one Jeep, two motorcycles, two jet skis hitched up to a small trailer, and an old fashioned ice cream truck I’d bought on a whim once. Needless to say, that bad decision was already gathering dust.

“Why are you not answering me?” Sombra asked.

I shook my head. “Sorry. Haven’t been in the garage for a while and forgot all the crap we’ve bought over the years. What was the question again?”

“What’s on your head?”

“What? My hair?”

Sombra grumbled. “No! On top of your hair!”

I yanked off the baseball cap I had on and glanced at it. I rarely watched sports, but had still needed a hat, so I settled on a Red Sox cap. “It’s a hat. And I’m wearing it to try and keep a low profile while we’re in Vegas.”

“Why?”

“Well…” I drew the word out so Sombra could try to put the pieces together himself. Only he never did. “In case you’ve forgotten, Sombra, I’m sort of… well known amongst people. You are too, most likely. Remember our little trip to Equestria? Remember that book I wrote after we got back that affords you all those nice hooficures every other week?”

He glanced away from me. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that.”

“Doesn’t matter. The only good news is that I never included an author’s photo on the back, or did all that many public appearances. You on the other hand…”

Sombra’s upper lip curled. “You’re referring to my appearance onGive Me Money, aren’t you?”

“Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.”

He exhaled sharply. “Whatever. I did fine. Better than fine.”

“No, you didn’t,” I corrected. “You were stumped by the first question and stalled for an entire fifteen minutes. It was barely even a question: what computer company is named after a fruit? What did you pick?”

“How was I to know it would be all Earth-related trivia?” Sombra spat back.

“You picked ‘carrot’! That’s not even a fruit.”

Sombra brought a single well-groomed hoof up to admire. “Didn’t matter in the slightest; like I needed that million anyways.” He paused to look at me. “Still, lose the hat. You’re not a hat human, Steve. Only bald or about-to-be bald humans wear hats. It’s a fact.”

The door leading to the house opened up and Vicky took a step outside to toss out the trash. She gave us both a double-take. “You both still here? Let me guess: still bantering?”

“Maybe,” I answered.

“Yes,” Sombra said.

Vicky didn’t dare add anything more and whirled back into the house.

I slapped my barely touched hat back on. “I don’t care what you say, I’m wearing the hat. Less notoriety that way.”

The moment I set my hat back on, Sombra’s hooves began anxiously tapping against the ground. Soon he started shuffling back and forth. “Steve! Steve!” he yelled. “Where did you go? You were here only a minute ago and now you’re gone! Steve? Steve!?”

He ran all the way to the end of the garage and back (visibly winded on the return trip), colliding with my leg as if I were completely invisible to him.

He leapt up and started pawing at my midsection. “You! Man with hat! You must’ve seen my friend Steve around here, yes? It was only a minute ago that I saw him! In fact, he looks just like you! The only difference is that he doesn’t wear hats! I repeat: he’s completely hatless. I think he might be dead! Or worse… dead and currently being used as a living room throw rug! I just hope they don’t spill coffee or grape juice on him! That’ll never get out!”

I couldn’t believe it. Tears were actually streaming down his face. He’d always been an expert at forming crocodile tears at the drop of a hat. Or… you know what I mean.

“Please! Mr. Hat Man! Help me find Steve before it’s too late and he’s eaten alive by wild hippos! No one thinks it’ll be a gang of hippos until it’s too late! They’re hungry, Mr. Hat Man! Always hungry! And now those hungry, hungry hippos ate my friend Steve and it’s all my fault!”

I had to use one hand to shove him away and another to grab my hat and fling it across the room. “Fine. No hat. Happy now?”

Sombra recoiled from me in alarm. “Wait. The man with the hat was Steve all along? How can this be? What type of sorcery was inside of that hat, Steve? Some cloaking device?”

Hanging my head low, I strolled toward the mouth of the garage. “I get it, Sombra. Joke’s over. A single baseball cap doesn’t make that much of a difference on a person. Got it.”

As Sombra trailed behind me, he finally broke character and burst into a laugh. “And here I almost forgot how much fun it was annoying you. You know, Steve, you could’ve worn the hat. It was only making me jealous, is all. You get a road trip hat while I do not? Preposterous. King Sombra should get everything that’s coming to him. And more.”

I smiled. Since he wants it so bad…

***

“Ow! Owwwww!” Sombra whined, pulling at the sides of the Yankees hat I’d smashed over his head after getting seated in the car. After a short back-and-forth, I’d decided on the red Corvette to serve as our car. Considering I’d only driven it the once (from the dealer’s to home), it only seemed right to give it another spin. Now I had to make sure I didn’t smash the expensive bastard during the five hours it took to get to Vegas from there. It had been some time since I’d last sat behind a steering wheel.

“My ears, Steve! My ears!”

Always with the damn ears, I thought.

I looked at him in the passenger seat. “But you said you wanted a hat like mine, buddy.”

“Not when its sole purpose is to cause me writhing pain!” He continued to struggle against the hat over his head. Near impossible, it looked, given how his horn had cleanly pierced through its top.

Removing the keys from the ignition, I grumbled like Joe Pesci in Home Alone and pulled the hat off Sombra’s head before stabbing my keys into it. Three sizeable holes later, I handed it back. Now Sombra’s ears and horn stuck through it with ease.

“Better?” I asked.

“Better,” he replied and (someone up above, please help me) he actually looked a bit cute in that moment, like a dog wearing a sweater for some reason, or any animal that didn’t wear clothes normally.

I stuck the keys back where they belonged and flipped open the small notepad I’d brought along. My checklist for the trip. “Got your snacks?”

Sombra opened the glove compartment, currently stuffed with various crackers, chips, cheese, and the like.

“Need to use the bathroom before we go?”

Sombra rolled his eyes. “What am I? A toddler?”

I repeated the question.

Sombra sighed and exited the vehicle, marching into a nearby row of trees to relieve himself. I looked away and tried to recall how much migraine medicine I’d packed in my suitcase.

Sombra reentered the car. I asked him, “Couldn’t use the toilet in the house?”

He smirked. “No squirrels to piss off in the house, Steve. Or should I say… piss on?”

“No, you shouldn’t. And what did I say to you about trying to tell jokes?”

 Shrugging, he crossed both forelegs over his chest. “Can we get a move on already? I brought along some driving tunes if that would make things better.”

“500 Miles?”

“Not exactly.”

***

“Intestines exposed by violent thrusts… the innards removed, dissecting the guts… to rip through the skin, tissue, and muscle… cartilage shredding, draining blood vessels…”

And here I had no idea Sombra could sing so well. The term ‘sing’ still up for debate.

Like a small hairy child fueled by far too much sugar, Sombra bounced around in his seat and sung along to his tunes. “Cannibal Corpse,” I was happily informed before he started the CD. “I find their lyrics and themes oddly relatable. This one’s called ‘Frantic Disembowelment.’”

Before the merry tune known as ‘Frantic Disembowelment’ were ‘Decency Defiled’, ‘Psychotic Precision,’ and the all-time classic ‘Severed Head Stoning.’ I truly had no idea what was coming next, although the idea of a song titled ‘Shin Hit With Coffee Table’ or ‘You Didn’t Hold The Elevator For Me’ seemed unlikely.

“How many more songs are there on here?” I asked with a grimace.

Sombra stopped his frantic sing-along to settle down for a bit. “Songs? More like CDs, Steve. And… twelve more, I think?” His eyes expanded in a way I didn’t like. “You think they’d let me go on tour with them? I know all their songs by heart! I could… I could even be their mascot one day!”

The notion was oddly tempting: Sombra out of the house and on the road year round. But what were the odds of Cannibal Corpse stuffing their tour bus with an ratty old couch or stepping in front of thousands of fuming fans to announce the arrival of their newest member: a small talking pony with an intense love for cheese in a can?

I decided to change the subject instead.

“Why aren’t you wearing your seatbelt?”

“Hmm?” Sombra spun down the volume dial. “What was that?”

“Seatbelt. Now.” I glared in his direction. “My car. My rules.”

Sombra nodded once. “And what silly rules they are. We crash, so what? I fly through the windshield and splatter spectacularly on the ground and five minutes later I shoot out of that old toaster you keep tucked away in the linen closet.”

“Just because it happened twice doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. And you tend to screw around with reality quite a bit when you die. I’d rather avoid that.”

He said nothing in return; merely cocked his head at me with the faintest of smirks.

“Last time you came back one-third your normal size. Want to come back the size of a Lego brick next time?”

“I’m willing to risk it,” he replied coolly. “Seatbelts are for dorks, anyways.”

I slammed on the brakes and didn’t see what happened next. I definitely heard it, though.

“You imbecile!” Sombra screamed at me from the floor of the car. By the thud and scrape noise, I was sure his horn collided with the dashboard first before the rest of him did. “That hurt!”

“That was the point.” I started driving again, keeping an eye on him.

He sluggishly climbed back to his seat with a scowl. “I’m still not wearing my—”

I slammed on the brakes again, with the exact same result.

Following that, Sombra reluctantly agreed to wear his seatbelt. A minute later, he yelped, “Gas station, Steve! Pull over!”

I shot him a look. “Why? We’ve been on the road less than an hour.”

“For snacks, obviously!”

“I already gave you—” snacks, I was about to say, before glimpsing the mound of plastic wrappers already littering the floor of the car. In all reality, Sombra shouldn’t have been able to eat as much as he did, which led me to believe that he was somehow hollow on the inside, and any food ingested sat in his empty legs before being dissolved by pure hate later on. It would explain a lot, actually.

I was planning on arguing more, but noticed my gas tank near empty. Probably something I should’ve thought about before putting it on the road after so many years of being in storage.

“Fine. But don’t buy anything messy,” I warned him with a single finger wag. “Even if I never drive this car, I still happen to like it quite a bit. That means no meatball subs.”

“Yes, whatever. Understood.” Sombra stuck his head to the glass like some excited puppy. Then he made a loud Ohhhh sound at some fellow travelers standing outside the station, all holding drinks or ice cream cones.

“What was that for?” I asked him.

“Nothing,” he answered, climbing out of the car once I’d parked it alongside one of the pumps.

Four women stood in a row outside the building. I had to lift myself up in my seat to get a good look at the last one in the row, who wasn’t a human at all, but rather a unicorn mare. Sky blue coat with a green-colored mane mixed with streaks of cream. From the distance I couldn’t make out her cutie mark, but around her middle was a purse and around her neck was a thin, cheap-looking necklace.

As I went to the pump to fill up the gas tank, I raised a cautious brow. Had Sombra actually been checking her out? Could he actually be working towards his own goals as well as my own? It seemed too good to be true… because it was exactly that. In my mild excitement, I’d failed to take into full account the shady looking guy leaned against the shadowy side of the building, donned in a coat far too thick and long for Arizona’s ridiculous humidity. Sombra must’ve thought he looked near perfect for what activities he had planned that day. Too bad this was something I wouldn’t discover for myself until it was far too late.

The pump made a bring! noise and I went inside to pay. Before I did, though, I joined Sombra in the candy aisle.

Sombra huffed out breathlessly. “So… many… ten cent candies…”

“Remember when we did away with the nickel?” I asked, as I lightly browsed around. “Everyone thought we would miss it, but… not so much.”

“Stop yammering, Steve!” Sombra barked, his eyes never departing the several rows of small sticky and colorful delights. “I’m trying to concentrate here!” His tongue popped out of his head like a panting dog. “You’re a millionaire, right? So… a thousand dollars… divided by ten cents would be…”

“Too much candy, Sombra,” I answered for him. “Even for you.”

“Never underestimate my abilities, frail human! There’s a reason there’s a burger named after me at Applebee’s! Oh, how the serving staff trembled when I ordered that burger with all other burgers inside of it. The Burger of Shame, it was to be known!”

I nodded. “I recall that incident, sadly. Remember when they turned off the lights above our table so other guests wouldn’t have to see?” I turned to him. “Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?”

“No.”

“That’s because I’m not. Anyways…” As casually as I could, I snagged a plastic bag off the rack and handed it to him. Without pause, he took it and levitated dozens of pieces of gummy candies and chocolate sweets inside of it. Twenty seconds later the first bag was fit to burst, so he quickly moved on to the second. I didn’t mind, though. I wanted him as docile as I could get him before asking him some… personal questions.

“What is it you want out of life?” I asked, as blunt as could be. “Once upon a time you were a King; a terrible King, no doubt, but a King nonetheless. And now?”

I let the question dangle hopelessly in the air.

“I’m retired.” Sombra didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. He actually looked more concerned about his third candy bag bursting onto the floor.

“Okay…” I had to think on which way to proceed. “So you’re retired! Swell! But being retired doesn’t mean you need to lie around all day doing nothing, does it? I mean… when was the last time you even left the house?”

“This morning, Steve. You were there and everything. How could you forget so soon?”

My palm hit my forehead. “That’s not what I…” I started again. “Look, do you really want to spend the rest of your life on the same old couch?”

Sombra’s candy collecting stopped for a moment. “No, not really. I was thinking every ten years or so, you’d get me a new couch.”

My palm hit my forehead harder than before. “Back in your Crystal Empire days, you had… partners sometimes, correct?”

His ears twitched on top of his hat. “You mean partners in war? Sure, but they were all equally terrible… once I turned on them, that is.”

“No, no. I mean…” This was becoming a lot harder than I thought it would be. For years I’d only thought of Sombra in two very basic ways: lazy and mean. Now I was forced to picture him in a completely different and terrifyingly new way. A romantic way.

In the middle of the aisle, I shuddered as if struck with a blast of icy wind. It had only been a single day after my book’s release that the Internet officially became ruined for me. Images, stories, blog posts… anything involving Sombra and I brought to horrible life right on my glowing computer screen. Had any of these so-called ‘artists’ even read that blasted book of mine? What alternate universe was it where Sombra and I somehow wound up together?

Then I was reminded there actually were infinite alternate universes and that I’d even visited one of them for a small period of time. Damn, I thought morosely. That means there probably is a universe somewhere in time and space where we’re together. But that’s still ridiculous. I doubt Sombra would even remember my birthday or our anniversary, and I wouldn’t stand for that, would I? I wonder who’d wear the pants in that relationship. I guess that would be a given, being human and all. More pertinent question, though: why am I putting so much damn thought into this non-existent scenario?

Sombra was nudging me. “I’m done, Steve. Now give me your magic card of infinite cash so I can purchase this and we can—”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life alone?” I hadn’t known what I was about to say until the words simply tumbled out. “You and a couch? You and some videogames? Stuffing yourself silly until the sun crashes into the Earth or until James Cameron dives too deep into the ocean and releases Cthulhu by accident?”

I had that James Cameron line on standby for weeks. I was clever sometimes, but not that clever.

Sombra’s muzzle looked split somewhere between a laugh and a pout. Only his eyes told me what I’d honestly wanted to see in him: uncertainty.

“But I won’t be alone,” he told me earnestly, “because you’ll be there, Steve.”

I shook my head. “But I won’t always be there.” He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off. “You’ll need to learn how to make friends on your own someday. Perhaps someone that could even become more than a friend to you; someone willing to spend time with you and accept you for who you are—faults and all. I found Vicky and I’ve never been happier. We have kids and now we’re doing that whole ‘life’ thing that so many people do. And perhaps it’s time that you gave it a try.”

Sombra’s jaw opened and closed as if on a broken mechanism. No words tumbled out. Eventually he retrieved a piece of candy from one of his bags to chew on. “You’re talking about sex, aren’t you?”

I groaned. “Well… yes, I guess sex is a part of most relationships, if you want to be so blunt about it. Do you have an interest in relationships anymore? Or simple sex for that matter?”

A sly smirk touched his lips. “I’d have sex with most anything as long it came alongside a land deal. Ponies are well and good, but property is always better. Did you know I was once engaged to a Prince for over a month, all so I could claim his summer home following our divorce?”

“Wait. You’re gay?”

“Gay for summer homes with breathtaking views of the countryside.” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m not gay, you fool. Only willing to do what is necessary to claim more power and wealth. I managed to put up with you to get at those deep pockets of yours, did I not?”

He waved a hoof. “If you want a solid answer, Steve, then let it be known that I enjoy the company of mares most of all. Ones that don’t talk too much. Or make eye contact. Or breathe too loudly. Bonus points if they make pancakes. You know, the ones with chocolate chips in them?”

“Listen, I’ll give you a thousand dollars to have a conversation with that mare outside. Doesn’t matter how long, but it needs to be civil. Think you can do that for me?”

Sombra pursed his lips. “A thousand dollars? That’s it? I spend more on hair products in a single week.”

“Ten thousand.”

No comment.

“Twenty thousand.” I’d like to believe I would’ve stopped there, but I’m not sure if that’s true. It was basically like taking money out of my left pocket and sticking it in my right. At least in this scenario it was Sombra that would be spending his own money on himself and not him simply asking me for more.

“Whatever.” Sombra strolled around me with his floating bags of candy in tow. At the end of the aisle, he did a little spin toward the beverage section. “Buy me a Slushy first, Steve! I can’t very well talk with a dry throat, you know!”

***

I was momentarily amazed. I truly was.

After I’d paid for the gas and all the snacks, Sombra had shooed me away as he went to the group of girls near the entrance to the store. As I entered the car, the three human females shuffled a few feet away from the one lone unicorn mare. If I had to guess, they also thought it cute when two ponies made simple pleasantries.

“Sixteen… fifteen…” I counted down from twenty out loud. Ever since introducing ponies to the human world a decade back, I’d been secretly timing Sombra whenever he happened to meet someone new. The average time before he said something wrong had been twenty seconds, give or take if he had some form of food in his mouth. “Eleven… ten…”

Sombra turned to the three human females and said something that made them all laugh. Then he broke open his bag of candy and offered them all a piece. I’m pretty sure this was how all those episodes of The First 48 start, I thought, in the driver’s seat of my stifling car. Lastly, he offered a piece to the lone mare, who accepted it with a blush.

“Two… one…”

I reached the end of my countdown and held onto my breath. Any moment now, I expected him to declare something outlandish. (“You’d look lovely in chains” had always been a trademark.) Only nothing like that happened at all.

The mare said something and pointed up the road with a hoof. Sombra nodded along and said something back, smiling gently as he did. That was when the mare asked one of her human friends for a strip of paper to write on and hoof over to Sombra.

“He got her number?” Spittle hit the dashboard in my surprise and I wiped it away with a hand.

Should I really be that taken back, though? Sombra had been a King at some point in his life. Important. Cocky. Arrogant. Ruthless. He always did get his way when he wanted it. Plus he was rich. That always helped when picking up girls.

Still deep in my pondering, I jolted as Sombra opened the passenger door and entered the car. He held his Slushy out to me. “Want it? I forgot about my cooler under the seat, so I really don’t need it.”

“Sure, why not.” The heat in the car had made me so thirsty, I drank some of it without hesitation. “So… how’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

I poked his shoulder. “You know what. That unicorn you were chatting up. I had no idea you could be so…” I was at a loss for words. “What’s the opposite of repulsive?”

Sombra barked out a laugh. “I can be charming when I wish to be, Steve. I merely told her she looked nice.”

“You must’ve done more than that,” I said, putting the car into drive and swinging back out onto the highway. “She gave you her number and all.”

“Oh, that.” Sombra glanced at the strip of paper on his lap and tossed it aside. “Yes, she did. Once I told her we were heading to Vegas and that she and her friends were heading there, too. For some wedding party or something. I kept on giving her the stickiest candy I had in hopes of sealing her mouth shut, but somehow she just kept on going. I should’ve asked her what type of toothpaste she uses that keeps her teeth so strong.”

I took another gulp of the large Slushy. “You could always look her up while we’re in Vegas.”

“I’d rather not.” He tapped his hooves together in an oddly calculating manner. “How’s the Slushy, Steve? Good?”

“It’s fine, I guess.” Out of the corner of my vision, I could see him still tapping his hooves together like some James Bond villain perched in a spinning chair. “You spit in it, didn’t you?”

“Nope.” He laughed regardless.

“Then what did you do to it?”

“Ever see the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?”

I didn’t like where this was going. “Yes,” I said slowly.

Sombra continued to giggle. “Well, those characters seemed to have a good time in Vegas, so why not follow suit?”

“That was only a movie, Sombra.”

“Is twenty dollars too much for drugs?” he asked, finally halting his tapping hooves. “I honestly have no idea, but that’s what the guy at the gas station was asking for before I put them in that Slushy you’re drinking now. You must’ve not been paying all that much attention after I spoke with that mare.”

“You drugged me!?” I screamed, staring at the steering wheel and my hands all at once, waiting for them to go blurry or start vibrating or something. “Just when I think I can’t possibly hate you any more than I do!”

Sombra leaned back in his seat like the smug bastard he was. “Relax, Steve. I took the same stuff you did. What good friends don’t go on extreme drug trips together from time to time?”

“I have to stop the car,” I said more to myself. “Stop the car and get my head on straight.”

As I lifted my foot off the gas, Sombra used his magic to push it to the floor.

Sombra laughed as he was pushed further into his seat.

“You can’t stop here, Steve! This is Sombra country!”

Then he laughed and laughed and laughed. And ate some candy in-between.

Chapter 3: The Arrival

We drove in silence for close to an hour. I found I was a tad too pissed off for words right then.

During that time, Sombra either stared at his hooves or longingly gazed out the window, blinking sleepily while murmuring to himself as slowly as some child pretending they were stuck in time for some reason. It was evident Sombra believed he’d been drugged somehow. Which he hadn’t.

And neither had I, in fact.

“I think I’m starting to feel something, Steve,” Sombra told me, as he continued to study the tip of his snout as though it contained the answers to all of life’s big mysteries. “It took a while, but… yeah, I’m tripping hard.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightened. “For the last time, Sombra, those were not drugs. Those were Flintstones Chewable Vitamins and I seriously doubt that makes that shady guy at the gas station any form of a credible drug dealer. He probably just took you for the idiot you so clearly are and took advantage of said idiot. You paid… what? Twenty dollars for two vitamin pills?” I glanced inside the Slushy I’d nearly thrown away once I’d been told it contained drugs. The pill was already dissolving at the bottom of the cup. “Would you look at that? I got Bamm-Bamm. Suddenly I feel like hitting things.”

“I don’t know, bro,” Sombra said unperturbed. “Then why do I feel so weird and dry? I must be overdosing. You’re going to have to pump my stomach, Steve. Or give me a shot of adrenaline directly to the heart. I saw them do that in a movie once. Do you have the necessary equipment in your overnight bag?”

“Bro?” I gave my head a shake. “Never mind that. Since when did you have a heart? More importantly, I doubt whatever you’re feeling is anything even close to an overdose. If anything, it’s your system registering actual vitamins and iron and finding it can’t handle being healthy anymore. Like when a junkie goes cold turkey and has withdrawal.”

At that news, Sombra perked up. “Withdrawal? So… if I go through withdrawal, I’ll get cold turkey to eat? I could get on board with that. Sure I could!”

I noted Sombra hadn’t put his seatbelt on again. The idea of slamming on the brakes and mashing him against the dashboard came to mind again, but another—far darker—thought soon swept over me: the thought of opening the passenger door and kicking him out of a car currently traveling eighty miles per hour. Sure, I knew it wouldn’t be enough to kill him off for good, but there was always the chance he might not find his way back home afterwards, right? Roam the wilderness until his dying breath? Or until some other poor sucker took pity on his hairy ass and picked him up?

I snorted. Highly unlikely.

I knew the Sombra that I’d come to understand would go through most anything to get his lazy self back in my house, up to and including public suicide (thus propelling him out of my old and dented toaster once again) or numerous appearances on popular talk shows in search of me. Somehow the notion of Sombra acting like the battered spouse and casting myself as the villain seemed like the most possible route he’d attempt. It would be like the plot to Gone Girl all over again.

Gone Pony?

“I really am like Bruce Willis in Armageddon.”

Sombra turned to me, finally done admiring his hooves. “What was that?”

“Bruce Willis’ character in Armageddon sacrifices himself in order to save the world at the very end of that film, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now. I’m sacrificing the best years of my life so the rest of humanity doesn’t have to deal with you. Only in this case, my suffering lasts an entire lifetime and isn’t over in the blink of an eye on some prop asteroid.” My shoulders slumped. “I’m literally suffering for the betterment of all mankind spending my time with you.”

In an odd move, Sombra laid a gentle hoof on my arm. “If it makes you feel any better, Steve, Armageddon was a pretty terrible movie.” He grinned a little too wide for comfort, causing me to grimace. “But don’t think about that movie now. Think about… I dunno, how about The Hangover movie? Lots of fun during that particular adventure, wouldn’t you say?”

First it was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and now a mentioning of The Hangover. A pattern was emerging.

I asked him, “Did someone happen to have a Las Vegas-themed movie marathon before embarking on this trip of ours?”

“Maybe,” he responded quietly.

“If you only got an invitation last night to attend this convention thing, how’d you know to watch a bunch of Vegas-related movies?”

That seemed to stump him for a bit. Eventually he jolted back in his seat as if struck by some invisible friendship rainbow. “There was a marathon! On TV! And… the remote was all the way across the room… and… and I was too bloated to get up and change the channel!”

Huh. Made sense. Or some sense.

Sighing, I said, “I hope you’re not planning on comparing this whole trip to a bunch of unrealistic movies. There’s a big difference between what’s possible in real life and what’s possible on film. Say you somehow did buy real drugs at that gas station back there. What then? We drive to Vegas, pick up a hitchhiker, crash some parties, snort some coke, visit the M&M store and have a swell ol’ time?”

“More or less,” Sombra agreed with a nod.

“You know what would’ve really happened if you’d managed to drug me? I would’ve driven off the road, possibly died, and then you’d be out on your ass. No house. No cash. No couch—”

Sombra gasped. “What happened to my couch?”

“My wife sells it after getting a priest to remove all the ghosts and demons currently calling it home, then she kicks you out once she realizes what a fluffy monster you are when I’m not there to put safe distance between you two.”

“A-ha!” He pointed a hoof at my face. “So you do find me fluffy! He admits it! Sixteen types of conditioners later!”

“Don’t change the subject.” I tapped on the steering wheel anxiously. “So if this is The Hangover in your mind, then that makes me… what? Bradley Cooper?”

Sombra leaned toward me on his seat with a rather smug—as well as punchable—expression. “Come on, Steve.”

“Come on what?” I blurted.

“You think you’re a Bradley Cooper type?”

“You are?” I’m still not sure why I was getting so heated about such a ridiculous topic, but considering we had a good three hours of travel time left, I was willing to basically talk about anything. Stupid conversation was still better than another Cannibal Corpse sing-along. “So then I’m Zach Gali… Galifian—whatever his name is? That’s who you see me as?”

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you were actually funny. I was thinking more…”

“Ed Helms?”

“Who was that last guy? The guy who got lost at the beginning and only came back near the very end?”

I smacked him across the back of the head for that. I couldn’t help it, really. The hit was even enough to knock off his cap and screw up his mane again, causing him to growl his disapproval.

“You consider me a Doug-type person?” I snapped. “A character that’s only in the first ten minutes and last five?”

Sombra finished straightening his mane back out, then began on his half-eaten bag of candy again. “Why not? I’m almost certain that I’ll be running into some interesting character types while in Vegas. Then I will spend what time remains looking for you! ‘Where’s Steve?’ I will ask these new characters. And they’ll go, ‘Not sure. Do you really care, though?’ ‘Not really,’ I’ll answer quite humorously. ‘Want to hit the casino buffet instead?’” He smiled at that. “And as long as we keep mentioning you, it’s like you’re right there with us but you’re not! The best of both worlds!”

“You are so screwed if someone kidnaps you and tries to demand ransom.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I wouldn’t be stupid enough to pay someone to get you back. In fact, they’d have to pay me to even consider it.”

Sombra snickered. “Silly Steve. Oh, so silly. Weren’t you the one that originally said I moved at the speed of gravy? Why do you think I eat so much? To make myself near unkidnapable! Can’t kidnap what you can’t lift! Not without risk of lower back pain, at least. And what kidnapper carries around a forklift?”

I had to change the subject. I just had to.

“This big gaming competition… what do you get if you win? Solid gold computer?”

“Best Buy gift card.”

***

The rest of the drive was more or less of the same. Time and again, Sombra would leap from his seat and I’d do my best to try and settle him back down. It was unusual, I was discovering. Never before had Sombra shown so much interest in miscellaneous crap than since entering that car. Anything he could spot along the road, he’d scream at in astonishment: gas stations, road side attractions (“The biggest pothole in the state, Steve! We have to drive over it!”), humorous billboards covered in graffiti mustaches and unibrows, terrible wooden fruit stands, a lone clown in gaudy costume and paint giving out free balloons. (Okay, I also happened to find that last one a tad fascinating, but more in the accelerate sort of fascinating.)

“Pull over, Steve! My beef jerky supply runs low!” He chuckled at his own upcoming joke. “How can I be a jerk at the competition if I’m not stuffed to the brim with jerky?”

I wheezed out between clenched teeth, “This car doesn’t stop until we get to the hotel, Sombra. You had your breakfast. You had your snacks—two snacks, actually. You eat anymore and the tires on that side of the car will pop.”

“But what about second breakfast, Steve?”

Damn it, I thought. I never should’ve shown him those Lord of the Rings movies. Of course he’d gravitate towards hobbits: lazy, gluttonous, wind up on magical adventures they never planned on being a part of to begin with. Usually have one fake-out death scene each.

“Elevenses? Luncheon?”

I ignored him and for the first time considered turning the car around and heading back home. It was clear he was trying to stall us as best he could, but why? Especially after having spent so much time and energy convincing me to take him there? Perhaps most pertinent question of all: should I be worried about what might be waiting for me once I got there?

“I need a drink,” I admitted gloomily. “A strong one.”

We parked and entered Planet Hollywood well into the afternoon. Before we got there, I’d asked Sombra if he wanted to head to his convention building first, but he shut that down in a hurry. He said it was well within walking distance from the hotel. Another ominous sign, I thought. Sombra hated to walk to the fridge and back at home.

“Room 237, sir. Want someone to take your bags up for you?”

I glanced from the hotel receptionist to my single bag. “I’ll manage.”

The receptionist smiled, showcasing his sparkling white teeth. “You’re Steve, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” I replied, knowing exactly where this was going. “Name’s on the credit card and all.”

“No, I mean you’re Steve Steve. Pony-guy Steve. Steve from the book.”

My response was a single nod, followed by an abrupt turn in the direction of the elevators. That didn’t stop him from continuing, though.

“One question, if you’d be so kind?”

I stopped and hung my head. Upon reflection, I should’ve tried my original hat idea and seen how it’d gone. Maybe I’d find a cowboy hat while I was there and give that a whirl. “Sure. A quick one.”

“You still in contact with Bob? The man on the train from that other Equestria?”

“Haven’t spoken to him since his wedding to that mare,” I answered tiredly.

I heard the receptionist let out a single high-pitched chortle. “Sort of a weirdo, wasn’t he?”

Turning back, I said, “About as weird as everything else over there. We done?”

“Yes, sorry about that.” Then he raised a single finger as something occurred to him. “Before I forget! All of Planet Hollywood’s rooms are created with a single film’s theme in mind. Want to know which film your room was based on?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Ghostbusters.”

I gave him a weak thumbs-up. “I’ll take it. Who doesn’t like Bill Murray?”

***

Melissa McCarthy stared at me with a fiery expression in her eyes as I took a piss in our hotel room’s washroom. Why they decided to place that life-sized poster directly above our toilet was anyone’s guess. Why the receptionist had neglected to mention Sombra and I had gotten the Ghostbusters 2016 film instead of either of the originals was another question left hopelessly dangling in the air.

“So… where’s the rest of it?” was the first question from Sombra’s lips as I left the washroom. His eyes went from the single bed to the TV and back. “The master bedroom? The personal pool? The sushi chef? The crystal staircase? The fitness trainer I tell to go screw off and never return?”

At first I didn’t understand what he was driving at, but eventually it clicked—right around the time he began poking the bed sheets as if it were toxic waste.

I held a hand out. “This is it, Sombra, and considering I booked it less than eight hours ago, it really ain’t all that bad.”

“But there’s only one bed!”

“Yep,” I replied. “One bed and one couch. You’ve been sleeping on a couch for over a decade and another few nights on one won’t hurt.”

Slowly, Sombra wormed his way over to me with a look of both nervousness and confusion. “Did you… did you lose all your money somehow, Steve? Is that what’s going on here? Is that why you’re treating me like dirt right now? Dirt mixed with cow manure so it’s even grosser than regular dirt? Why can’t I even be normal dirt in your eyes?”

“I—” was all I got out before he pressed on.

“I warned you about that Lego collection of yours!” Sombra roared, pacing around the small room like a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s for the kids, you said! I’m a multi-millionaire, you said! I could never buy enough Lego to hurt my millions! It’s not even possible, so why get so worried about it?” He growled deep in his throat. “I found your hidden room, Steve! I know all about it so don’t try to deny it!”

Sadly, that last part was true. In my house I did have a secret room dedicated entirely to the kid’s toy. You try having near-unlimited funds and not buying something completely useless and regressive. The room in question had been built on an upper floor and up two long flights of stairs, therefore—in my mind, at least—making it near Sombra-proof. Turned out I’d been wrong.

“Are you insane?” he spat at me. “No one can afford that stuff! Lego is what turns billionaires into simple millionaires, you imbecile! Four hundred dollars for two thousand tiny plastic bricks? They’re criminals, Steve! Robbing idiots in plain sight! And all you’re doing is enabling them further!”

I lay down on the room’s only bed and covered my eyes with a pillow. Over the years, I’d found that not arguing back was the quickest route of shutting Sombra down when he was in a ranting mood.

I told him evenly, “Would you stop yelling at me if I told you Lego was planning a collection based off my book?”

“Really?” I felt him place both forelegs on the edge of the bed. “So… there’d be mini figures of me?” Even from under my pillow, I could imagine him grinning like a loon. “Would I come with a little cape and crown, too?”

“No idea,” I said. “I still have to sign off on some stuff. So far, there’s a ‘Steve’s Condo’ play set, a ‘Runaway Train’ play set, and a ‘Ruined Crystal Empire’ play set. That last one will cost more than the others—quite a bit more, in fact.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you blow up at the end and that’ll mean an extra thousand bricks in each box.”

His hooves left the bed and he stormed away from me. “Ha ha! Funny human joke from funny human! Hope you never get so hilarious that that funny bone of yours gets surgically removed overnight without you knowing.”

Sitting back up on the bed, I tossed my pillow at him to get his attention. “I still need a drink. You want a drink? I hear Vegas has a lot of those on hand and right now I could use one about the size of my head.”

He hesitated for only a moment. “Think they’d have one as tall as my horn?”

***

It turned out they had both in the main bar downstairs. While I got the tallest beer they served (considering it was Vegas it ended up being pretty damn tall), Sombra settled on an enormous colorful and fruity concoction based on a single merit alone: it was mostly red and reminded him of blood.

We sat at a small table in the darkened lounge area with most of the hotel’s casino area in full view. What I’d come to expect from Vegas and casinos in general held true: no windows to the outside world; loud noises and lights and free drinks for everyone spending coin; exit doors hidden or terribly labeled so chance of escape was lessened. All info I’d gained from random documentaries on TV years ago.

Thankfully, I’d never been much of a gambler in the past and therefore wasn’t all that worried about blowing the bank during our time there. Now I just had to make sure that no one informed Sombra about the meaning of “gambling” or “slot machines.” Since the moment we’d stepped off of the elevator, he’d had his weird glowing eyes stuck on the Discord’s Diamonds slot machine at the very center of the casino. “What fun is there in making cents?” its electronic voice buzzed out creepily. “When you can make THOUSANDS of dollars by playing Discord’s Diamonds instead?” Then it laughed and laughed as only the real Discord could. Or his recording could in this case.

I took another gulp of my beer and found it half-empty already. My headache from a few minutes ago had also disappeared, while my tolerance for Sombra had been miraculously renewed. “Want to see a show tonight?” On our table, I’d spread out a thin leaflet I’d snagged from the entrance area. Around ten percent of Las Vegas shows were performed by ponies now—mostly unicorns doing magic acts. “Ever heard of The Great and Powerful Trixie?”

“Nope,” Sombra answered in a grunt. He’d ditched the swirly straw that his drink had come with in order to down it faster. His muzzle dripped with thick, syrupy blood. “Any public executions we could watch instead? Hangings have always been great time killers. People killers, too.”

I shook my head. “Doubtful. But we’ll skip Trixie, I think. They got her playing at the Golden Nugget and they’ve always had trouble getting decent acts there—although her show does come with a free steak dinner and bread pudding dessert. Hmm. Tough call, actually.”

My eyes were still staring at the leaflet when Sombra abruptly bolted off his chair and behind mine. I sighed without looking his way. “What is it now?”

He used his magic to bring his unfinished drink down to him. “It’s that mare from the gas station,” he said in a hushed tone. “I don’t want her to know that I’m—”

“Hey! Hey you! Come over here for a second!”

The unicorn standing outside the lounge jolted before stopping. She turned to me and held a hoof to her chest. She mouthed: “Me?”

I nodded and she came over to our table. Sombra—reluctantly—exited from his hiding place and wiped at his mouth with a leg. “So… it’s you again. What are the odds?”

The mare chuckled politely. Sombra hadn’t been kidding. “I know, right? So many casinos… so many bars…”

If the word “uncomfortable” needed a mascot at the time, it would’ve been Sombra hands down; forced to talk with someone he had no desire to converse with or be near. Honestly, I shouldn’t have been so happy watching such plain misery unfold right before my eyes, but… well, I was. I just was. I never said I was a good person. Decent, at best.

“Staying in Planet Hollywood, then?” I asked to nudge things along.

She shook her head. “Afraid not. Meeting a friend, actually. Another member of the bridal party. I’ll have to introduce you both when she—” Her head whipped to the side as she caught sight of something. Her round face lit up in a wide grin. “Speak of the donkey, there she is! Oh, my gosh, I don’t believe it!”

It clearly didn’t pain Sombra to watch her leave, but who she ended up embracing seemed to have caused him some discomfort. I felt some clear discomfort myself.

Fluttershy’s eyes went as big as dinner plates as she noticed both of us behind her friend’s shoulder. Her lone travel bag tumbled to the casino floor.

And just like that the word “uncomfortable” had three whole mascots to pick from.