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.