//------------------------------// // Enivrants // Story: Filetages Fatidique et Fleurs de Soie // by Indulgence //------------------------------// Street lamps, the stage lights of night time Manehattan, rained pools on the ashen pavement, sending ripples outward against the darkness. Morning had not yet come, but the evening was certainly past its prime and had the moon been visible, as opposed to hidden by threateningly blackened clouds, it would have lulled low in the sky, looking forward to respite from its vigil. Unlike the streets’ other nocturnal inhabitants, Coco’s steps through the glittering puddles were not focused on seeking fresh revelry, instead guiding her determinedly homeward, pushing back the considerable inclination to simply sleep where she stood. At least the job’s finally sorted. True though it was, she had delivered the costumes to the theatre and after several hours of further “necessary” adjustments they had been deemed complete, any satisfaction in that point was slightly muted by the fact that meant she was once again between employment. Not that it really mattered right now as at this moment her brain was entirely focused on her bed. Almost entirely. Again it was true. Somewhere at the back of her mind something was nagging at her and she could not quite put her hoof on what it was. For all intents and purposes she should have at the very least been content and looking forward to having the time to unwind, but such thoughts were markedly absent. She turned to considering her own designs, her usual method of dealing with such a lack, conjuring forth reams of silk and thread to dance themselves together into shapes. What she was without was a subject, a form with which to work and draw inspiration, but on scanning the street she found herself alone. Instead she looked inward, but what appeared made her falter, physically stumbling as the fabric fell away into the abyss. In her mind’s eye a tall unicorn mare materialised, pure white with the pink tousled stripes of her mane set alluringly across half her face. The mare tossed her hair to the side, revealing the gleam in each of her purple irises, matching the violet shade of two of the three fleurs-de-lis emblazoned on the finely sculpted contour of her flank. Somepony’s fantasising again. ‘True’ she conceded, ultimately too tired to put up a decent argument. So we’re finally accepting it? ‘No, I’m just not in the mood to argue. This is more of an armistice than a surrender. And so what if I am fanaticising? It’s not as if I’m likely to see her again.’ Even as she thought this however she felt a degree of sadness, making the source of the nagging feeling perfectly clear, if not any more understood. She had not really met the unknown unicorn, rather they had bumped into each other and she had proceeded to fail to meet her eyes or even speak above an awkward whisper. Hardly an impressive introduction likely to coax a second thought from such a pony. ‘So why’s she stuck in my head?’ The mare’s image had now turned; sashaying away in illusory slow motion, to what in reality had been the coffee shop’s door, Coco following each graceful step, totally transfixed. The pink cascade of her mane, flowing lightly in an unseen breeze, flicked to the side once more, levelling her brilliantly purple eyes to strike her viewer. She was more likely looking at the stallion behind the counter you know. ‘More words of wisdom.’ She shook her head, blurring but not quite getting rid of the distracting picture. It was high time she got home, aches beginning to rise in her libs in earnest to protest all continued exertion. Re-focusing on this far more achievable goal, even though her apartment still felt miles away, she reached the corner, pushing herself onwards. The street she now found herself on was in stark contrast to the one before, with small crowds milling about, whilst taxis continually loaded and unloaded themselves onto the pavement. This was not her favourite route by quite a stretch, but it was certainly the quickest, her body’s fatigued complaints blunting any aversions she had, so she let herself continue, slipping surreptitiously between raucous groups of ponies. Bars and clubs arrayed to flank each side of the place explained the relative tumult, whilst at the same time staining the world in a myriad of colours. The revellers themselves were a similar confusion: a mix of styles, bearings and demeanours crammed together in a single spot. Studded shoes and pierced nostrils jostled against toxically electric tones of body paint, in turn vying for dominance with those who previously had probably been well coiffed and trimmed, but by now had fallen from their perfection. Earlier in the evening they would have all collectively held the chaotic beauty of a carnival, now however an ugliness was beginning to show through the cracks. Arguments broke out from nowhere, base guttural “compliments” shot back and forth, and at the edges the cracked sound of retching could be heard. To say she felt out of place, marked out by her sobriety and closed manner, would have been a severe understatement. Coco’s body reacted in the usual way, setting her eyes downward to avoid drawing attentions, whilst her shoulders came up in a slight hunch, as she continued to duck through the messy mass. ‘Go buck yourself!’ A sharpened form of a vaguely recognisable voice cut its way through the clamour to fall on her ears. ‘Seriously buck off!’ She was sure she knew the voice, slurring somewhat though it was, and her head swivelled on intrigued impulse to find its source. ‘Get the buck off me!’ Her searching gaze came to rest on a cluster formed around the doorway of a nameless nightclub (in lieu of a title its sign merely depicted a series of punctuation marks “cleverly” chosen by its owner) where a three-way shouting contest had developed between the bouncers, a group of patrons and at the same time amongst the patrons themselves. The cause of the argument was unclear, but everypony was intent on making sure their own indisputable opinion was heard by all those present, meanwhile at the centre was the mare who but moments before had been strutting through Coco’s mind. In difference to the dream version this mare wore her mane high in a pair of crazily long mohicans, looking like a cross between horns and fins, whilst about her ankles and neck were a set of spiked belts, the choker of the set adorned with a hanging padlock charm. Rings of black similarly surrounded the purple irises which had so caught her attention, making them even more obviously stand out from the snowy whiteness of the face in which they were set. Masked although it was the allure was most definitely still there. Coco had already stopped to survey the scene and now realised she had to catch her breath, unaware that she had been holding it. Yay! On top of everything else today are we discovering hidden kinks? ‘Shut it.’ She diverted the oncoming train of thought before it could speed its course, choosing the alternative of the unfolding scene before her. The fighting groups had divided, the mare who was unknowingly so effectively holding her attention walking way, tracked by an orange stallion whose spiked mane made his head look like an ancient bludgeon. ‘Aww c’mon Fleur’ he mock pleaded, a definite jeering tone present at the back of his words. ‘Go buck yourself Ritz!’ the departing mare, evidently called Fleur, shot back. ‘You’re such an asshole!’ In a mixture of excitement and abject fear Coco realised that they were heading straight for her, forcing her backward to the edge of the pavement with nowhere further to retreat, hemmed in by the taxis behind her. The advancing pair were now lost in their conflict, staring daggers and muttering inaudible loathing at each other, drawing closer to their audience with each stomp. Try as she might Coco could not move any further and the collision she had already foreseen inevitably occurred, the white mare bumping heavily into her side. ‘Why don’t you watch where the buck you’re going!’ Fleur began, spinning her fury wildly on the spot to face its new opponent. Almost immediately however her face un-creased, her curled maw softening in the process. ‘Oh… Hi.’ Before Coco could make a response the orange stallion again chose to open his mouth: ‘seriously Fleur why you gotta be such a bitch?’ Rage not yet dissipated and attentions chemically stunted, Fleur resumed her spin to start a fresh offensive. ‘I’m the bitch here? I’m the bitch?!’ A pale pink aura pulsed violently into her horn, breaking a void in the assembled crowd, as her shouts reached a new crescendo. ‘What seems to be the problem here?’ a new voice boomed, heralding the appearance of a pair of Lunar Guards, bedecked in the silver armour and navy tunics of their office, arriving with such speed as to beat the rush of air as they touched down. ‘The “problem” officer is that this asshole doesn’t understand what buck off means!’ Fleur continued, never missing a beat in her rant, horn still flaring with energy. ‘That may be ma’am but I’m going to have to ask you cut the magic’ the guard droned bluntly, webbed wings flexing as he took up a defensive stance. His words went unheard however, rather inspiring Fleur’s uncontrolled anger to new heights. ‘Is she with you?’ asked the second officer, addressing the question to Coco and in the process reminding her that the rapidly deteriorating situation in front of her was actually happening. No, no, no, no, no, no, no and a bit more no! ‘Cause’ if she is you should calm her down or else we’ll have to detain her.’ Coco looked to the furious mare, increasingly alone in a clearing in the crowd, sparks beginning to crackle uncontrolled from her horn. She watched the ring of leering faces, creating a contorted carnivalesque stage, all sharing muted jokes and grins. Finally she saw the spikey orange stallion, who was quietly slipping away into the surrounding multitude, a knowing manipulative sneer plastered across his face. ‘Erm… yeah, she’s with me.’ What?