If You Give a Little Love...

by Quillamore

Act II, Scene 5: Cards on the Table

I want you to know that there’s somepony out there who truly appreciates the struggles you’ve been through. As long as you know they exist, that’s good enough for me.

If Coco had been seeking refuge from her worries that fateful night, she slowly began to realize, she should have never opened that door. She should’ve left it closed, assumed it was a typical Manehattan salespony hounding her. As if she didn’t have enough on her plate to consider, flickers of the past were going through her once more, blending alongside her fear for the future into one single, uncertain timeline filled with assorted mishmash that only had one thing in common with one another: to make sure the already weary mare wouldn’t be getting her peaceful refuge any time soon.

She wanted to sleep, but she didn’t. Fortunately, the intruder was considerate enough to come on the one Friday the cast had off, making it so that, for all the troubled insomnia she may be having, it could always be remedied by sleeping in, explained away by the already busy experience she’d had moving herself in. Unfortunately, that would mean that she couldn’t just go to the posh café he’d sent her to on the way back from work. This would mean that she’d have to come up with some decently good excuse to Babs and Bambi from suspecting something, or so she reasoned. Whatever kind of suspicious behavior this secret admirer may have been planning for her, there was no way those two could know, and especially not the elder of them. Bambi had already helped her out so much; there was no way she could burden her again. After all, she’d already begun to rely far too much on Scene, enough to drive him away for good.

A half hour came and went, and Coco did nothing but glance aimlessly across the newly painted, fancifully patterned wallpaper decorating her room. Seeking to distract herself from all her other muddled thoughts enough to put herself to sleep, she instead chose to think about how Bambi could’ve possibly gotten rich enough to afford this nice condo with the spare room. Were Manehattanite reporters just paid that many bits? She couldn’t have been moonlighting as a superhero or anything, because Coco had never seen her suddenly run off anywhere or brush her off in some other way. Did she have another job other than her writing, some backup career that studying journalism would prepare somepony for? A lawyer newsmare sounded good enough. None of the options were really viable or anything other than absolutely silly, but that was okay. For the time being, they would get her through.

And even if they didn’t, Coco was all too used to sleepless nights. They hadn’t plagued her in quite a long time, but working for Suri and being forced to keep the dark truth about her business from coming out paid a toll on her that nopony else could ever know about. Should Bambi ever come to doubt her morals again and ask her how she could sleep at night knowing that she had been one of the ones to make her sister suffer, however unaware she originally was of the fact, Coco would reply that Rarity’s advice at Fashion Week was the only reason she could. Otherwise, if she had never learned how to forgive herself back then, she would’ve been no different from the way Babs used to be, too afraid to even let her family know of the trouble she’d been in.

As her eyes finally began to droop about two and a half hours after the meeting, her mind shut down on the thought of the letter Scene had given to her before Babs had run away. It had seemed like eternities ago, but a small part of her had never forgotten. There was somepony out there who was genuinely fighting for her. She’d never expected him to be somepony like the mysterious, borderline creepy stallion she’d seen, but then again, she hadn’t really fantasized about it all that much. Maybe her expectations had been too high. Maybe, in her fatigue, she’d exaggerated his features and he really was just a regular pony out to help. Maybe, when she woke up the next morning, she wouldn’t see that orange flower on her dresser and its petals would fade away in her dreams like anything else, floating through the winds of illusion. A whole breeze trapped in the mirage, tender flickers of candlelight floating down like rain.

It would lack a certain satisfaction if it had only been a dream; it would be a little cliché; it would let her down softly. But considering the circumstances, it would’ve been the best maybe of all, for her and for everypony else caught in the web of lies she never thought she’d ever have to weave again.

****

Perhaps the first sign that Coco was about to go at this situation from an altogether too naïve approach should have been that she’d actually expected to sleep in on a Saturday morning in a new house with a small filly inside. While she’d still managed to eke out a few more hours than she would have on a workday, she still couldn’t help but feel a small tinge of annoyance at the tiny brown blur racing through her bed like a small dog.

“If you don’t wake up,” Babs threatened, “Bambi’s going to hog all the strawberries and we won’t get fruity toppings on our waffles!”

“But you don’t even like to put stuff on them,” Coco mumbled incoherently. “You only take them with blueberries and syrup; put the brownie mix on top, what do you care if there’s no marmalade?”

“We’ve got cartloads of marmalade, way too much to know what to do with. But if you keep snoozing off like this, you won’t get yer strawberries and you’ll be sad all day.”

Celestia knows I could end up being sad all day even if I do get them, Coco couldn’t help but think to herself. Even after Bambi’s talk yesterday about keeping secrets from my family, I might end up having to do just that. Figures a new one would pop up right when I thought I finally had nothing to hide; they always do have a way of catching up with me.

This time, however, would be different—because this time her family’s honor was riding on it. No matter how rich Bambi might have had to have been to afford this condo, there was no way she could have the same influence Rarity had. She may have gotten lucky once, but that type of lightning couldn’t strike twice. The next firing, she wouldn’t be able to get her hoof in the door quite so easily. That is, assuming she’d even be able to do so in the first place, considering her track record.

Here I go, her inner thoughts coached her once more. No point in pretending I was ever the pinnacle of honesty to begin with. I just have to get through this day and maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to keep to any more of these tricks. Maybe this will be it and I can finally be the mare I say I am for once.

That wouldn’t quite be as good of a maybe, because that would still mean acknowledging somewhere in her heart that this stallion that already gave her the wrong kind of chills wasn’t a figment of her imagination after all. It would mean affirming his existence, and that quite simply didn’t allow her to avoid the problem. But in the grand scheme of life, if he left today and never came back, it would end up seeming like the two of them had never met in the first place. It would drown in the stream of memory and never submerge again.

Just like the other maybe, though, it was interrupted all too soon, this time not by the tiring sensation of waking but rather by the normally soothing presence of her own filly.

“Hey, when did you change your mane, anyway? Didn’t notice any difference yesterday.”

At that moment, she realized what was perhaps the first succession of fatal errors she’d made only minutes from waking: firstly, that she’d left the incriminating barrette in her mane as she slept and second, that she’d allowed one of the few ponies who’d notice such a minute detail so quickly to see her wearing it. Of course somepony destined for a future in hairstyling would pick up on such a change.

“Oh, this?” she suddenly responded without thinking, later cursing herself for giving possibly the worst reaction to the situation. “I thought I’d change my style up a bit today, that’s all. Somepony from the show gave this to me, and I thought I’d wear it, humor them a little.”

“But I thought you weren’t workin’ today,” Babs observed, growing ever more skeptical of Coco’s meager efforts to play dumb. “It’s nice that you’re wearing it for them, but they won’t even see you. Seems pointless to me.”

“Actually, I just got called in for a meeting today and I’ll have to head out in a few hours. I know you were looking forward to a free day today and I’m really sorry, but it’s with the, um, producer, and…”

As if she couldn’t act any more suspicious, she was already beginning to trail off, something that didn’t usually happen until at least ten minutes into a bluff. Perhaps with it being so long since she’d had to work in disreputable fields, Coco was losing her touch when it came to hiding the truth. Even back with her parents, she wasn’t usually this scatterbrained, or at least, she wasn’t when it came to working for Suri. Normally, she wouldn’t even take such a huge risk as to deliberately make up information like she did with the detail about the producer; in actuality, she had no idea who she’d meet up with. But somehow, all her instincts had told her that this was the best course of action. Bambi and Babs would assume she was clearing up the issues she had with him, something they had already urged her to do many times, and as such would suspect nothing. She just wouldn’t tell them anything directly after the dinner and make a meeting with Mosely Orange during work the next day.

It wasn’t the best fate she could imagine on them, of that Coco was sure. But wasn’t it at least better than an outright lie, something that for whatever reason she couldn’t quite pull off? They would never have to be the wiser, peace would come back, and if it didn’t return right away, she would keep living until it did. Anything was better than that scrutinizing look on her filly’s face, wondering for once if the one she trusted more than anything really lived up to her promises.

“Oh,” Babs finally spoke in realization. “Good for you, then. For getting to talk to him, I mean. And you probably worried yourself to death last night trying to make yourself look good to him and forgot to wait until morning to put your new barrette in. Why didn’t you just say that in the first place; could’ve saved us all a lot of confusion.”

Because I couldn’t, Coco thought, unable to reply with what she truly wished to say. I can’t lie to you, but to tell you the truth…I’m sorry, Babs. I just hope I can make it up to you. I just hope you’ll never have to know what I might be getting myself into…

Within that which would seem like any ordinary family breakfast to anypony else was a hidden web of not-quite-deception, of hidden realities, of pains forced to be internalized. Coco would keep the family glued together as best she could; she couldn’t afford for it to break once more. But doing so could mean placing unspeakable pressure onto herself, pressure that couldn’t be fixed with laughter and strawberry waffles, pressure that could never be vented onto anypony else. Not Bambi, not Babs, Scene perhaps in a different time.

No, Coco corrected herself. Things aren’t any different than before. New house, new life, slight friend problem, that’s it. I’m just getting too far ahead of myself. Nothing’s happened yet. Everything can still be the same.

Maybe today, nothing will really change at all.

Maybe I really am too much of a worrier after all.

Still no certainties, no matter how hard she searched for them. Had it always been that way? She already knew the answer, for it was the only one her mind could provide, the one left to overwhelm her mind with every question she had.

Maybe.

****

Maybe Suri has a way to solve everything for once, Scene speculated as he walked down the very same streets Coco had just a few short moments ago, his own mind filled with his own maybes. He loathed the thought of having the pony who should be his worst enemy become his best chance for making it through, but at least that possibility would be much less painful to everypony involved in the long run. Even though he’d told her everything and he wasn’t quite sure she was on his side, he knew her well enough to say with certainty that just the story itself wouldn’t be enough for her to break ties with Mosely. If she saw a pony in a vulnerable position with a dirty secret, Celestia knows she would mine it for all it was worth. There was no way she’d cut him out of her life without taking advantage of all it could bring her, whether that would be directly helping him for once or blackmailing him for some other ulterior motive. Either way, Scene could say without a doubt that Mosely definitely deserved what should be coming to him any moment now.

Sure, his pride would be wounded. As he had left Suri’s apartment on that day that seemed like eternities ago, he could feel the cracks tearing it apart. But pride could be repaired easily enough; ponies couldn’t. If telling Suri the truth would keep Coco away from that ominous something he kept suspecting Mosely would do to her, it was worth it. It would all be worth it someday.

So, with his part of the job done for now and with the danger that would inevitably come out of him showing off too much of his newfound depression to his coworkers, he figured it was time to push it aside, if only for a moment. As much as he would’ve liked to claim the idea of moving on as his own, it had actually come from an encounter with the styling department two days before: as discreet as Scene had tried to make his avoidance, one pony had caught onto it almost instantly. If it’d been anypony else and if he hadn’t felt so morally tired with it all, he might have been substantially concerned. But if there was anypony on Bridleway who could keep a secret in spite of the glitz and gossip, it was Remy Ciseaux.

Remy, from Scene’s initial observations, was somepony not at all suited to his assigned talent, with his general lack of extroversion and awkward demeanor unbefitting of such a glamorous lifestyle. To say that he wasn’t a regular at the wild after-hours parties the crew shared would be an understatement. Unlike many of the new employees on the production, he almost prided himself on staying in the background, never craving any more attention than was given to him or even really making small talk. But he could give his peer one thing: he certainly fulfilled the stereotypes when it came to listening. As odd as it would seem for a stallion to confide everything in a hairdresser, somehow that was the least embarrassing thing on Scene’s mind.

The two acquaintances were just now crossing over into Manehattan’s theatre district, an odd place for them to find leisure away from their respective jobs, but still sparsely populated enough for them to really unwind. It was nearing seven ‘o clock and as ponies crowded into the venues to see the latest shows, the restaurants were slowly dwindling in patrons. Rows of them clustered around theatres and souvenir shops in futile attempts to lure residents and tourists alike from the larger appeal of the plays, but there was no use. At this time of the night, entertainment far outweighed nourishment.

Scene had figured that, with all the pressure he’d unwittingly put on somepony he barely even knew to understand his situation, Remy at least deserved some sort of repayment. Surprisingly, the other stallion didn’t ask for much, just the opportunity to have dinner at a certain restaurant he’d been hearing about. The director, with all the sense he had, should’ve at least suspected it would be too good to be true.

But, as Remy stopped outside the entrance of Feuille d’Orangier, Scene couldn’t help but silently curse his bad luck.

“Isn’t this a little…expensive?” he asked his companion in spite of his high salary as a big-name director. “I mean, not to imply you’re taking advantage of me or anything, but…”

“I just assumed this was the kind of place ponies like you went to all the time,” Remy admitted. “I, um, I didn’t want to suggest a pizza place or something because I felt like that’d be ‘too low’ for somepony like you even if it is just to relax. And I’d been reading up on the sorts of places ponies everypony should know went, and this was high on the list, and we can split the bill if you’d like, and…”

“Don’t worry; this is fine,” Scene replied. “You did say I should treat myself after all. No point in just going to a fast food joint to do that.”

“Yeah, and I heard they have a special room here just for our troupe of Bridleway folks. Full of memorabilia for former plays and everything, or so they say. Honestly, I’ve tried to get the private lounge lots of times when I came here with my other crewmates, but somehow, there’s always somepony else who always seems to get here before the rest of us. Dunno who he is since he always requests the room under an alias, but he’s got to be pretty big-name if they never turn him away.”

“Yeah, must be some sort of legend around here if he’s always able to pull strings to get it.”

“Well, with an established director like you around, that’s all about to change. There’s no way he’s going to be here today, since we usually only stop by after plays. Never thought I’d get the chance to actually see it with my own eyes.”

“You sure do take this whole thing seriously,” Scene sighed with a chuckle. “I mean, it’s just a room, but hey, whatever makes you happy is good by me. Mind if I take a look at the menu while you make the reservation?”

“Of course not. Already heading over.”

As Scene watched Remy try to make small talk with the restaurant’s host for no apparent reason, the five-minute wait seemed to last far longer in its serenity. No sound or speech that really mattered to him was around; nothing but background noise and ambiance. Taking glances back and forth between the menu and the surroundings, he almost missed what was going on in another part of the restaurant. Even as he saw it, he still stared in disbelief, swearing that it wasn’t real, that it just couldn’t be. There was no way the one trotting forward just in front of him would stoop so low; he thought he had ensured that. He thought he had defused the situation through his utmost obedience and loyalty, but even that was for naught.

It was in that moment that he realized that Suri Polomare and Mosely Orange really were meant for each other in their own twisted ways. Both had the same infuriating slyness about them, always showing up just when he least expected it, just when he thought he was finally rid of them. What should’ve been a night to get away from all the drama his producer had heaped onto him was about to turn into its latest facet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see another pony opening the door to the exclusive room for Mosely, a mare whom he didn’t recognize at first. Looking back, he almost felt as if he couldn’t pick her out because he didn’t want to in the first place. And perhaps that would’ve been a better fate than the truth.

Underneath all the formal dress, hidden below the perfectly coiffed bun, the posh mare before him was still Coco Pommel. And here she was, getting all too close to the stallion who’d hurt her daughter more than anything, blinded by a not-so-blissful ignorance.

Comments

[Viper Pit]

some one needs to take that orange and juice him

[Quillamore]

8237987

While very true, I can't help but think that this sounds like it could be an Applejack-esque countryism.

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Underneath all the formal dress, hidden below the perfectly coiffed bun, the posh mare before him was still Coco Pommel. And here she was, getting all too close to the stallion who’d hurt her daughter more than anything, blinded by a not-so-blissful ignorance.

Poor Scene... all he wants to is protect Coco! But that damn Suri and Mosley are in the way!