Blue Velvet

The dull twinkle of Luna’s many bright children shone down between the swaths of dense fog that loomed over Manehattan’s midnight skyline. For such a sleepless and busy city, the streets got surprisingly quiet around this time—which meant that it was the perfect time for an introspective walk, something Honest Heart did quite frequently. Nearing the curb closest to him, he slowed his pace and glanced both ways up and down the wide Manehattan boulevard. There were no ponies coming, of course—anypony traveling at this time of night would surely be doing so on hoof, as few carriages save for those for business-related matters ran this late at night. Heart exhaled long, noting the thick cloud of vapor trailing from his muzzle despite the woolen scarf wrapped thickly around his neck. He crossed the street in no particular hurry, comforted by the tender clop of his hooves against the uneven cobble.

Coco Pommel…

He had heard the name in passing from his boss once before, but hadn’t pinned it on the shy regular he’d seen the previous day until the words were uttered from her own lips. Much to his boss' amusement, the stallion caught himself repeating the name under his breath for the rest of his shift, taking her parting words to heart.

I hope you’ll remember…

What had she meant by that? Was she going away somewhere, or did she think that Heart would somehow manage to forget the name of one of C’est la Vin’s only regular customers? He scoffed at that, his steady pace carrying him to the next bit of sidewalk and down a similarly barren stretch of walk. The many shops that normally bustled with daylight activity were, of course, as deserted as the streets, their doors sealed tightly and merchandise hung neatly in display windows for the next business day. A single streetlamp flickered in the distance, the many moths and other buzzing insects casting wild shadows against the sidewalk in front of him. He knew this street, though he was loathe to admit it, and after a few more hoofsteps the familiar-yet-depressing sight of his apartment complex signaled the end of his night walk. There were a few homeless ponies laughing and dancing around a storage drum set ablaze by their magic once the sun had set, and the screeching of two felines mid-altercation over a territory dispute echoed in the distance.

“Ah, yeah—it’s good to be home.” Heart’s grimace betrayed his true feelings to the cool midnight air, and he traveled up the two flights of steps to his room, a shiver passing down his back. A notice had been slipped between his apartment’s door and the threshold, and when Heart removed the key from his scarf and swung the door open the note was gently tugged into view by an emerald glow. Glancing over the page for a few seconds, Heart sneered and balled the note up before tossing it over the railing and into the alley below.

Heart’s apartment was the same as ever, but it seemed as though everything was awash in a gray filter that just didn’t seem to want to dissipate. Try as he might, the stallion just couldn’t get yesterday’s events out of his head. The many dark purple welts that studded Coco's legs and flank haunted him, the image of her quiet suffering burned into the back of his eyelids like a photograph.

“What if... What if she were lying? What if there was something else going on?” Heart muttered to himself, removing the scarf from his neck and tossing it against the temperamental fan in the corner of the room, which sputtered on for a few seconds before kicking it back into no gear and fizzling out completely. Consideration was given to the kitchenette, but Heart was too preoccupied to cook anything up. Throwing himself onto his unkempt bed with a groan, the stallion rolled onto his side and stared blankly at the wall on the far side of him. His thoughts drifted to Coco, her ugly wounds and her likely story. Something just didn’t sit right with him, and when he mulled it over for a bit longer, everything about her seemed suspicious that day: the sad looks he kept catching from her, the way she giggled in exorbitance, and those last few words that spoke to him of troubles and concerns unspoken. It was consolation enough that Coco was a regular; that she had established she had a reason for coming in every week and that nothing about that would change in the foreseeable future gave the stallion a bit of hope. Heart would make the time to talk to her the next time she came in, and he would broach the topic again—successfully, he hoped. He didn’t think Fertile Eyes would mind if he made small talk with the regular, or asked about her unfortunate injuries—after all, building good rapport with customers was the first step to being a good retail associate, and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

He couldn’t help but hope she was telling the truth, though, for her sake.

The rest of the week went by in a flash, and though the amount of interested customers at work hadn’t increased all that much, it was a relatively busy week by the store’s usual standards. Fertile had given him another one of those business lectures on why confirming the price of an order with a client before pickup was important after a customer had walked away with an extra courtesy arrangement of two dozen Lady’s Slipper Orchids after the mare had insisted that she had been given a different price for her original order over the phone and that while she couldn't afford her original order, she needed something to bring back with her to her sister's wedding. Truth be told, situations like that were a common sight in the small flower shop due to the overabundance of flora and the under-abundance of buying ponies. He'd suspected over the course of his years at the shop that many ponies simply had taken to complaining for the sole purpose of getting way more than they should, but if his boss was privy to the methods he didn't make it known. Heart wouldn’t be surprised if he were told to take a seat and informed that the store would go belly up within the month, and he had exactly a week to look for and secure another job; the fact that the store was still somehow holding itself afloat was a miracle, and Heart considered the fact that he still had a job at such an unsustainable establishment a blessing.

Towards the end of the week, on a Thursday, Heart decided that it was about time he go to the market to pick up some things.

There were two major market chains in Manehattan that Honest Heart liked to frequent: Fresh Find's Select Goods, and Lady Marmalade's Local Market. Freshy’s was closer to the shop, and usually his first choice, but on occasion Heart could find some pretty good deals at Marmalade's. The walk wasn’t too much further than his apartment, but typically Freshy’s was his one-stop for all dietary needs. Laziness won out over prudence that particular day, and Heart found himself taking the familiar road to Freshy’s.

About half a dozen ponies could be seen perusing the many market stalls and colorful tents draped that were neatly lined up on the street corner, extending around and within the full length of the lot. Being the in-season for many fresh crops, scores of bright greens, yellows and reds could be seen in rows in front of many a merchant. Barrels were stuffed to the brim with bread that had been baked on the spot, something incredibly popular at Freshy’s, and groaning colts badgered their mothers with questions like “Can we leave yet? We’ve been here foreeeeeveeeeer!”, something that Heart found to be amusingly reminiscent of his own foalhood. Weaving through the sparsely spaced pony shoppers, Heart fell into the familiar routine of browsing and inspecting, looking for enough stock to last him at least until the end of the next week. Surprisingly enough, there were even a few stalls offering things like freshly-caught river fish and freshwater lobster, though Heart had no idea if anypony actually bought the stuff—he had only known one pony who had a taste for fish, and the last he had heard of him the colt was on trial, accused of trapping and trying to eat his neighbor’s cat.

“Step right up and get your hooves on THE tastiest selects this side of Equestria, folks. Wouldn’t you be interested in trying some of these deliciously ripe cucumbers, or taking a bite a bite out of these tender tomatoes? Why, they're so fresh and delicious that I'm having a hard time holding back myself!”

Something could be said about the way the traders at their stalls talked up their own products to such a degree over others despite the fact that almost every vegetable or fruit Heart had bought and eaten tasted almost identical to the next. Then again, he was no chef, so he supposed his palette wasn’t exactly the most appropriate sample. After a bit of perusing, haggling, and stumbling over ponies who for someinexplicable reason had decided to strike up a conversation in his blind spot, Heart found his saddlebags bulging with all manner of fresh ingredients ready for cooking and stuffing down his gullet as soon as he got back to his apartment. His purse was a little lighter than he would have liked, sure, but his hooves would thank him later, even if his wallet didn't agree.

Heart had just finished paying for everything when a flash of cream caught his eye, and he was surprised to find somepony he knew browsing the local selection—Coco Pommel herself, along with a friend, an older stallion with a charcoal coat and a pair of broken hoofcuffs emblazoned on his flanks. Heart raised a brow and absentmindedly stuffed the receipt he’d been handed in his saddlebag, staring at the mare and her companion in the distance for a few moments before being shoved aside by the next pony in line, who muttered some miffed string of curses at him for ogling in public. Ignoring the sudden influx of embarrassment visible on his cheeks, he decided to turn back the way he came and follow the pair for a bit, if only to make sure Coco's bruises were healing up nicely. Heart wasn’t sure what kind of relationship the two might have had, as the gray stallion observed enough distance between himself and Coco that they could have been anything from tentative acquaintances to temporary business partners. Curiously enough, every few minutes the stallion would mutter something under his breath to her, which in turn caused Coco to take a sudden interest in her hooves, ears flattening against her two-toned mane.

Telling himself that he had forgotten to purchase something in his rush to get home and was just going to double-check and make sure he didn't miss anything, Heart trotted along between two market stalls peddling apples before making his way over to Coco and her friend(?). They hadn’t noticed his approach yet, the gray stallion making friendly conversation with a sleazy-looking merchant beside a downcast Coco, and when Heart had gotten close enough to pick out pieces of the discussion, he met the gaze of the cream-colored mare who suddenly regarded him with some mixture of surprise, fear and just a twinge of happiness. Noticing the sudden change in atmosphere, the stallion turned to face Coco, and then Heart, the many wrinkles under his eyes and light stubble on his chin expressing very clearly to you the age difference between the two—was this her father?

“Huh? Got some business with me?” The stallion said, a professional smile gracing his muzzle. Heart shook his head and nodded to Coco, who couldn’t decide if she wanted to look directly down at the ground or scan the area for an escape route.

“Oh, uh. Actually, I just thought I’d say hi to Coco, since I hardly ever see her more than once a week.”

Coco’s eyes widen, and she turns to her companion. The elder stallion regards the mare with something akin to contempt before casting a sidelong glance in Heart’s direction. “...Is that so?” Having dropped his conversation with the stall owner behind him, the stallion stared down at Coco for what felt like an eternity before speaking again, his voice cool and dangerously low.

“Are you cheating on me, you bitch?” The vulgarity stings your ears, and you feel the fur on your neck stand on end as Coco’s expression grows even more exasperated, her lips struggling to form a coherent explanation.

“N-no, Scot, of course not! I just, well, you know that I-I like to go visit my sister every week, a-and—“

Coco’s nervous rant is cut short as a heavy smack resounds through the open air of the market. Coco is sent sprawling into the dirt, her cheek set ablaze by the sudden blow delivered by the gray stallion. “Don’t you fucking lie to me; know a liar when I see one. I work with liars all day, all the time, so don’t think you can pull one over on me, Coco.” Despite the nature of his words, the stallion is incredibly still, his tone even and his outstretched hoof still hanging in the air where it had collided with Coco’s tender cheek moments ago. The mare is silent, and absent are any sobs of pity or desperate mumbling.

“I’m sorry sir—it won’t happen again.” Heart stared in disbelief at the exchange, his jaw slack in the air. A quick glance around the rest of the market, which had grown quiet during the altercation, gave Heart the impression that he was the only pony at Freshy’s—possibly in Manehattan—who had noticed the spat. Though no words were spoken, the rest of the ponies in the market continued what they were doing after curious looks and a few nervous glances were satisfied. Movement broke Heart away from the resumed patronage of the shopping ponies, and when he turned back to Coco and her assailant the mare had already begun to pick herself off of the ground, the pretty red collar that typically hung around her neck now tattered and twisted at an awkward angle. This seemed to satisfy the gray stallion, who finally lowered his hoof and cleared his throat.

“That’s what I thought.” At some point in time, Heart’s confusion had turned to barely concealed anger, which then turned to surprise as the stallion turned to Heart, a wicked grin now replacing the steely grimace he had worn a moment ago.

“Mares, am I right?”

The gray pony snickered in Heart's face and beckoned for Coco to take the receipt from the merchant who'd watched the entire exchange with an unfazed expression. The words that threatened to spill from Heart’s mouth were forgotten in an instant, and the bile building in his throat subsided as the two walked away from him without so much as a second glance. A dull throbbing assaulted Heart’s senses and he realized that his heart had been pounding in his chest, the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins forcing him to wobble over to the market stall where one pony struck another only seconds before.

“W-what was that all about? Did you see that?” Heart practically shouted at the sleazy-looking stallion from before, a short yellow pony with a cropped orange mane.

“That ain’t got nothin' to do with me.” His eyes widening in surprise, Heart slammed a hoof down on the wooden stall in front of him, unsettling a few pieces of merchandise.

“Nothing to do with you? Nothing to do with you? You see a mare smacked to the ground and it’s got nothing to do with you?” Though the intensity in his voice that was building with every word wasn’t enough to push Heart to physically accost the merchant, the stallion behind the stall pushed Heart back and onto the ground, where he fell to his rear with a dull thud.

“Listen kid, you’d better watch who you’re talkin’ to or that mare won’t be the only one eatin’ dirt today. Now, I don’t know if you’re from around here, but in Manehattan there are some very influential ponies that you do not want to mess with, and one of them is that stallion over there—Scot Free.” The merchant pointed towards the larger of the two ponies making their way out of the market square in the distance and then stretched his hoof out to straighten the products on the counter before him. “He and his family own about half o’ Manehattan, and he’s got the chief of police in his saddlebags, so to speak; you won’t find anypony that knows what’s good for ‘em messing with a guy like him. If you want to stay outta hot water, you’ll do the same—no mare’s worth going up against odds like that." Finishing up his explanation with a bored expression, he coughed once before affixing Heart with a glare. "Anyways, if you’re not gonna buy something then beat it.” Rising to his hooves, Heart returned the foul look before dusting himself off and heading in the opposite direction, and though he briefly searched the departing crowd for Coco and her companion, Scot Free, he eventually concluded that they had long gone and hurried away from Freshy’s, eager to get far, far away from the market and the cold stares of apathetic ponies.

With a bit of force, and a heavy shoulder, Honest Heart’s front door squeaked open, allowing the musty scent of the decrepit apartment to wash over him. Ordinarily, the sight of his place’s dreary state was enough to sour his mood in a nanosecond, but there was an odd comfort to be found in the familiarity of it all; there were no mares being struck, no merchants being heartless, and there was no talk of untouchable, corrupt villains. Heart had barely taken two steps before collapsing in his bed, shrugging off the groceries at his side and letting them fall to the floor—he’d pick them up later... or something. Though the last thing he wanted to do was replay the events of his encounter with Coco and Scot at the market in his head, he just couldn’t shake that mental image of Coco, lying on the ground with that dull, lifeless look in her eyes. The way she’d apologized—addressing her presumed coltfriend as sir—made Heart’s skin crawl. A sickly groan escaped his lips and Heart buried his face into his pillow, muttering degrading comments to himself.

Stupid.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you say anything? You remembered, her, right? Coco Pommel, the pretty cream colored mare with the two-toned mane?

Why didn’t you save her? You were right there.

Coward. You don't remember her at all.

“ShutupshutupshutUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!” Heart screeched at no one in particular, his cries thankfully muffled by the soft fluff of his pillow. His hoof thumped limply against the stiff mattress and, after a few more slaps, he slumped against his covers in defeat.

Restlessly, Heart fell into a slumber later that night, his mind plagued by the image of that smug, shit-eating grin Scot flashed at him in the market.

Work was slow. For the remainder of the week, nothing eventful or out of the ordinary happened, and though a second week came and went, Coco was nowhere to be seen. Vaguely, Heart registered the desperate rambling of Fertile Eyes in his ears as he droned on about how Heart had somehow managed to chase off their one and only regular customer, but for the life of him, Heart could only muster enough energy to stare listlessly at the front door of the shop, awaiting the arrival of a certain cream-colored mare he was unsure would ever grace his shop again.