PiE/HiE Short Stories - The Earth/Equus Treaties

New Dornhover, U.S.A | Sprocket's Autobody Shop

"You sure you even know what you're doing down there?" Spunky Sprocket leans her head down, squinting at the Human that's half-buried underneath half of a lifted Family Van, in the midst of an oil change, trying to look under the vehicle.
"You've been down there a while. Doesnt usually take you this long."

"Don't usually hear you complain about that, Miss Sprocket." Comes the half-expected muffled cheeky retort, earning a swift kick to his boot from a hoof, Miss Sprocket tsking loudly.

"Oh, shut up, Brendon." She grumbles, glaring at what little of him is actually sticking out from underneath the vehicle.

The squeaky wheels of the dolly he's laying on reveal the rest of him as he pulls himself out from the undercarriage, reaching for the oil tray. Instead, he finds a yellow-furred hoof, attached to a spirited, red-haired mare giving him the stink eye. Despite the glare, there's an underlying playful smirk on the edge of her lips.

Spunky Sprocket, or typically just Miss Sprocket, looks down at him expectantly as she returns his stare. Some days, she'd wear a greasy jumpsuit and call it a day. She actually had a meeting with the bank earlier today, so overalls currently covered the nicer clothes she typically doesn't wear. Goggles still firmly sit on her head, helping keep her mane out of her face.
"Well?"

Sliding the oil tray in place, Brendon glances around. The cap just isn't budging. Needs some leverage.
"Wrench?"

"Hm." She raises a brow, her smirk slowly turning to a shit-eating grin.

Brendon sighs.
"Wrench, pretty please?"

"Look at you, remembering your manners."
A sudden, quick peck against his forehead, and she's already trotting over to the tool try to rummage for it. Her vibrantly red ponytail bobs about as she rummaged for a very specific, typically oil-gunked tool that had long been sacrificed for this one specific purpose. Brendon leans against his knees, watching her rummage through their tools.

Miss Sprocket was one of the few Ponies who took such a serious interest in the drastically different technology of the Humans, that she actually moved to Earth, swapped her shiny gold bits for cold hard american cash, and enrolled in enough mechanics classes to eventually open her own autobody shop. Very entrepreneurial, very demure.

As she had explained it to him before, there was just something about the smell of oil, the sound of a firing engine, the feel of sitting in a machine that was raring to go. Despite being an Earth pony, she had a pretty good handle on tools and actually handling things herself. But, still, it's a little difficult to run a mechanic shop on your own.

Brendon was her first and currently only employee. He had no idea she was even a pony until he walked in after seeing the Help Wanted sign stuck in the window, catching him by surprise. Three years of high school shop class was enough to get her to even consider him, and the lack of other applications sealed the deal.

Having hands definitely made Brendon the go-to for a few of the tasks Miss Sprocket simply was not a fan of, and consistent days of being the only two working in the shop, day after day, month after month, got them on pretty friendly terms. Keeping a decent work ethic, and trying his best not to call out, got that to very friendly terms. The line between boss and employee was slowly blurred, until it felt more like a pair of buddies running a shop together. Still, he called her Miss Sprocket. It only felt right.

Well, it was buddy-buddy, until a very particular New Years following a rather successful year, where they closed up in the evening, and went out for drinks to celebrate their good fortune. They hit a nearby bar, raising a glass to a good upcoming year. And then another. And then another. A few too many drinks were had. So, they took a cab home.

To Miss Sprocket's home, which was back at her autobody shop, where she lived in an apartment directly above its reachable from an outside set of stairs around the back.

They can't quite remember if they had more drinks, but they both remember one thing very clearly. They woke up in the same bed. Naked. Holding each other. Very hungover.

Following a long, embarrassing conversation about differences in role, their positions and boss and employee, their species, and numerous other topics, they agreed not to talk about it, and to try to maintain a professional relationship going forward, so as not to ruin the good thing they had going. She's a tough, take no shit kind of mare, so it was a bit of a hurdle for them to work through.

That lasted about half a month, before they found themselves in the exact same situation again, just this time without the drinks.

They tried one more conversation, but it was much less impactful.

And then it happened again about a week later. This has been ongoing for the better part of a year now. They don't even bother with the conversations.

Is it strange being in a relationship with ones boss? Probably. Did Brendon care? Not really.

The only rule they maintain is that the autobody shop is a place for work, so no shenanigans happen that would impede the company. This works for the most part, though the tension can run pretty high some days. Not to mention the constant, often dirty jokes, some flirtatious touching that bends the rule a little, and continuous staring at the other.

This is one of those days. It's Friday evening, with the weekend nigh, and they've been relentless in teasing each-other the entire shift.

She brings the requested tool, dropping it in his palms before letting her gaze linger, trotting over towards her desk to finish the days paperwork in her little side-office.

Even now, halfway underneath the customer's car, Brendon can feel her eyes on him as he tries to wrap up the last job of the day. An oil change, simple enough. Or it would be, if he could focus. If he leans the right way, he can see her from underneath the car through the open office door, hooves repeatedly fidgeting with the sleeve sof her overalls.

She looked good in those. Not that she didn't look good in her coveralls, but overalls gave the unique option of... handles.

"By the way, uh... I might need you to come in tomorrow." Brendon hears, catching his attention.

"Hold on..." He grunts, giving the edge of the wrench a whack. Finally, the cap pops off, an almost clear liquid pouring into the oil pan. Yikes.

Using his heels to drag himself out, Brendon slowly scoots out from underneath the car, leaving the pan to fill in the meantime. He grabs one of the bunched up cloths laid around him, wiping the errant oil that spilled on him as he peeks out. She's stood in the office doorway, leaning against the frame as he wriggles free of the undercarriage.

"Coming in tomorrow?" Brendon prompts, sitting up on the dolly.
"I don't know any tomorrows. The last thing I was coming in was --"

She picks up on it far too quick, cutting him off.

"Alright, that's enough of that." Miss Sprocket rolls her eyes. Fair enough, he's been making those jokes all day.

"Too much?"

"Too much."

"Sorry. What'd you have in mind?" Brendon relents, taking a second to check on the oil as it still freely pours out, making sure he grabbed a big enough pan.

"I just got the new brake pads, and I wanted to use this weekend to install them." She starts, slowly meandering towards him.

"That's what you went out to pick up yesterday, right?"

"Yep. Still got the boxes in the trunk, and wouldn't mind a pair of big, strong arms to help get them inside." She teases, getting much closer. With Brendon sat on the dolly, they're about eye level. A fact that Miss Sprocket is pretty interested in exploiting. She might not bat her eyelashes, on account she doesn't really get into makeup that isn't just oily or greasy fur. Nor does she really flirt with coy words, innuendos or other playful banter.

Miss Sprocket is all about proximity. She likes to get close, to get physical. Little kisses when she can reach him, standing close. Like now, she's only inches from his face, and she smells like... well, a mechanics shop. Oil, parts and sweat. When the Mare you're interested in smells like your work...

"Dunno how big and strong I can be, but I can probably drop those boxes on the floor on accident for you. What time would you need me in?"

"How sweet. Could you come by in the morning? I'd like to get an early start on this."

"Sure, I don't have any plans. This for your car, or that project car you've got sitting in the back?" Brendon nods back towards the corner of the shop. Half hidden under a sheet and partially blocked off by a few piles of boxes, spare parts and tools, sat an older car. Brendon didn't remember the model, since Miss Sprocket doesn't talk about it very often.

"I wish it was for that baby. No, my personal car is squeaking whenever I brake. Pain in my flank." She groans, before looking back to Brendon, smiling.
"Thanks. Glad I can count on you. And before you ask..."

Her words slow as she turns away, walking back towards the office. Her tail lifts, brushing against his face, flicking in the air.
"Yes, you'll be compensated for your time." A sly back-glance accompanies her words, before she's climbing back into her chair, leaving Brendon alone on the shop floor.

Miss Sprocket was pretty good about making sure Brendon was taken care of in when he came in outside his usual hours. But that?

He'd need to freshen up before he came in tomorrow. With a grunt, he shimmies back underneath the car, pleased to find nothing overflowed out of the tray in the meantime.

...

She never really specified a time, Brendon realizes, stood outside the autoshop at seven in the morning. Brendon didn't really get up to much, so it's not like he had anywhere to be this weekend anyway. A life of working hard and saving now, to relax later. Not like he suffered at work or anything, the way his job usually went.

Well, her car was still parked behind the building. A peek into her window confirms his curiosity -- there's some kind of booster seat on the drivers side, with extensions on the pedals. It's a funny visual, and she probably made them herself, knowing Miss Sprocket.

Since he's the only other employee, Brendon rustles out the hidden key tucked underneath one of the rocks just to the side of the lot. The in-case-anything-happens key.

Letting himself inside, the familiar, darkly lit shop floor welcomes him as he slings his pack aside, wandering over for the lights to bring some life to the place. For her own peace of mind, Miss Sprocket operated off appointments only, so the only car inside was her project vehicle, tucked away.

Can't exactly get the boxes from her personal car for her when she's not here, so Brendon has some time to kill.

He prepares one of the lifts, double checking the station and bringing one of the stocked toolboxes nearby for use. Rags, some cleaning supplies... and it's set.

He rings his hands, glancing around. Still quiet. He checks his phone. Seven fifteen. He's... gonna be here a minute.

Curiosity drives him towards the car half-covered. As far as he knows about it , it's a model she likes, but rarely has time to work on. Some kind of two door sports car. Brendon can see crimson stripes peering out from underneath the tarp, contrasting the yellow body. Interesting choices for color, but Brendon wasn't going to judge.

Kind of dusty though. He's about to draw a smile face on the window, when the door into the shop rattles open, startling him.

Miss Sprocket is standing there in a messy tank top, her mane competing for the title of mess, the way it's splayed out in complete bedhair. She stifles a yawn, blinking at him several times. She looks like she just woke up, her fur uneven and sticking out in places. She looks like she could use a heavy brushing.

"...Brendon? What time is it?" She mutters loudly, rubbing at one of her eyes.

"Morning, Miss Sprocket. Seven... about seven thirty." Brendon offers after another quick peek at his phone.
"Got here at seven."

The door clicks shut behind her as she crosses the shop floor towards him, glancing around at the bright lights, squinting.
"...You are too spry for your age. Did you even have breakfast?"

He purses his lips, and that's all Miss Sprocket needs to see. She rolls her eyes, nodding for him to follow.
"Come on. I'll make you something. I'm starving."

"Oh, uh... thanks." Brendon quickly jogs after her, following her into the side-hall that leads upstairs and into her apartment. Compared to the shop, it's pretty small, but cozy is definitely a word to describe it. Probably because it was all built around the scale of a pony, everything looking half the size of the standard furniture. With a large window that overlooks the entire inside of the building hidden behind thick curtains, it helps the little upstairs home feel a bit roomier. She's got a couch, table... she used to have one chair, but after a few kids Brendon's visits, she picked up a second one. Her TV is crackling with chatter about the morning weather, and she's already got a pot of coffee going in her little kitchenette. There's another side door just past it that leads to the bathroom, and it's currently ajar.

Setting his jacket and shoes aside, Miss Sprocket shuts the door behind him.
"Hope you're alright with hash browns and eggs. Have a seat, it shouldn't be long."

"I could get a head start on the brakes, and... set them up or something. Get your car in the bay." Brendon tries to offer.

Miss Sprocket stops, giving him a stink eye. Her tone is firm, dry, and unamused.
"I'm making you breakfast, Brendon. Sit your flank down."

"Yess'm." Brendon nods, promptly sinking into the pony-sized couch. He takes up most of it. It's older, worn, and has a few patches where Miss Sprocket has repaired it herself, but it's not uncomfortable.

"Should've expected you to be here ridiculously early. You're always here even before we open whenever I ask you to come in." She starts talking aloud, the loud clatter of a pan being dragged out of a cupboard cluttering some of her words.

"You asked me to." He shrugs, idly tapping his legs as he waits. He won't mention the extra motivation of the rather sultry form of her request, still reminiscing the tail brushing his face.

"Well, I appreciate it, Brendon. Doubt I could run this place without you, honestly." She glances up at him, offering a rare, if tired, smile.

"You'd just have to hire another employee. You're a savvy business mare, you'd manage." He's dismissive, waving her away with a hand.

"Manage, sure. But then who will I incessantly flirt with all day?" She counters, raising a brow.

"You do have my number." A not so subtle offer, that gets a coy scoff out if the mare.

And an equally coy look from across the countertop, before she digs out a frozen bag of hashbrown from the fridge.
"I'm just supposed to bother you any time I want attention?"

"I am pretty fond of it." Brendon hums, crossing one leg over the other.
"...You want any help cooking?"

"Let a mare treat a guy, will you? Just sit there and keep looking pretty." She snips playfully, the frown on her face barely able to contain the tired grin. "Comes over early on the weekend and everything. I need to have a word with your mother, you're too damn polite."

"Wanting to meet my parents? We going official?" Brendon teases back, using the arm of the couch for support.

"Probably give your parents a heart attack knowing you're messing around with a pony of all things. And of my age?"

"A successful business owner that keeps me on the straight and narrow? They'd love you."

"One or two?" She asks, breaking off their teasing flirting to check how many eggs he'd like.

"Two would be great."

"You really don't have anything better to do on the weekends? I always feel bad for pulling you away with extra work."

"Nah, I don't get up to much. There's just one thing I like doing on the weekends."

"Oh? And what would..." She frowns as she realizes he's just staring at her with a dumb smile.
"Ha. Funny. You're in a mood today, aren't you?"

"I was invited under certain pretenses." Brendon leers, watching her.

Miss Sprocket sets the lid on the pan, trotting out from around the kitchen and towards Brendon, getting very close into his personal space. Half-closed eyes stare at his face, unamused.

"...Am I being too much?" He asks quietly.

She shakes her head, sighing loudly and dramatically, patting his leg with a hoof. As if consoling him.
"You have too much energy. Wait until after breakfast. Once I've got some coffee in me, we'll rid you of all that excess excitement you've got going on."

"Uh... okay." Brendon purses his lips. They'd flirt pretty bluntly, but even this was... a lot more on the nose.

"In fact..." She muses aloud, trotting back over to the kitchen.
"I'll need to wash up. If you're still feeling so generous, I wouldn't mind some extra hands to get my back."

Brendon is slowly losing the flirt war, Miss Sprocket gaining momentum as she continues to lay it on heavy. The final nail in the coffin for Brendon's lead is the slow, sauntering steps she takes as she walks away from the couch, her tail hiked up higher than usual.

They didn't get around to the brakes until well after lunch.