At Your Service

by Deyeaz

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, DJ P0N-3, Twilight Sparkle, Anthro, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other, Romance, Original Character, Octavia
Length: 82248

Opposites attract. And drive each other to insanity.

{Rated Teen for swearing} {Anthropomorphic} {Labeled "Dark" due to mild racism/derogatory slurs, as well as some emotionally upsetting moments in time} {OC x Octavia shipfic.}

It's tough being different. The suspicious glances, the unusual stares, the rumours based off of gossip and not cold, hard facts. All of it stemming from how you look, or act.

Midnight Oil: while being very different, he seemed to be content with this status in mind. He was proud of his intellect, magic prowess, his line of work as a scribe for the Princesses, and his heritage as a unicorn Sarosian—A "bat pony", in a sense—living in Canterlot.

Octavia Philharmonica: A drop-dead beauty, extremely talented with the cello, well-known, and highly respected. She's a member of one of the most prestigious families in Canterlot, and utilises that status to elevate to the top.

And upon meeting each other, both hated the other to the ends of the earth.

When the former must serve the latter for two months after he had unknowingly committed a misdemeanor, will the two's hate for one another remain the same, or will tolerance and love claw through abhorrence's black veil?

Opposites such as these two will no doubt attract… and will drive each other absolutely insane.

Whoo, boy. I'm gonna have FUN with this.

This one was inspired by a few things, rather than a newfound love for Octavia - now my favourite background pony. This was partially inspired by the anime Toradora! and the book The Kite Runner. But this was mostly inspired by you guys. You guys are beautiful, and everything you do is great (Except clopping: Celestia frowns upon that shit.)

I also made the cover art. But if anyone has got anything that I think will trump mine, PM me, and I'll let you know.

Published 2013-06-19 23:10:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-01 12:04:57 UTC

III - Fun With Fact-Checking and Anxiety-Causing Interrogation

III - Fun With Fact-Checking and Anxiety-Causing Interrogation

Octavia had never felt so affronted in all of her life.

Standing before her, despite her reprimands and warnings, was the one pony in Equestria she refused to lay eyes on ever again.

"You?!" She roared as the female guard ushered Midnight Oil inside. "I thought I told you never to come anywhere near me!"

"I have to serve this crazy shrew?!" Midnight wailed in despair. "Of all the–! Faust, who art in heaven, please tell me this is a cruel joke!"

"They sent you?! You're Midnight Oil?!" Octavia paced back and forth, rubbing her temples. "Oh Goddess, no. No, no, no!"

"Hey, don't think I'm pissing myself with giddiness, too!"

"Come on, Midnight, in you go," Scorch ordered calmly as she nudged the Sarosian inside. Midnight swept the coordinates with watchful eyes. Oak dining table with four chairs, side kitchen with bar stools by the granite counter and the typical utilities, a splendeur living room with flat-screen television and two plush-looking couches with a glass coffee table, two bedrooms, and a large balcony with deck chairs. Every single aspect of the room was very elegant. It must have costed a fortune to live here.

"Miss Octavia Philharmonica?" Scorch started. "Private First Class Scorch Shot. I would like for you to calm down so that I can explain how this works."

"No! I will not calm down with that animal in here!" Octavia pointed a menacing finger at Midnight, who took on a look of offence.

"'Animal'?" he reiterated. "How about you watch your mouth, you trollop?!"

"Do not think that I'll take orders from a filthy rat-eating cavedweller such as yourself: you're to take orders from me!"

"Not when you're gonna be a pain in my ass!"

"Tavi, who's there?" called Vinyl from the kitchen.

"Nopony, Vinyl!" Octavia wailed back. "You're just hearing things!"

"Liar," Vinyl retorted. She stepped into the living room dressed in baggy camouflage shorts and a white tank-top, with a black eighth-note on the chest and her iconic opaque purple shades nestled in her messy electric-and-royal blue mane. "Octavia, I didn't know you could bring cute guys home."

Midnight seized up, cheeks roasting with a mild fire. 'Wait, cute?'

Octavia remained unfazed, as she goes on to say, "This is no 'guy', and it certainly is not cute: It is something disgusting that must be exterminated at once."

"Sweet Luna, lady! I'm not a cockroach!" exclaimed Midnight, annoyed at the emasculation.

"You might as well be."

"Tavi, it's rude to bad-mouth guests, regardless of race," Vinyl said rather critically, despite her light and care-free nature. "Come in, you two, take a seat," she beseeched Scorch and Midnight, a smile on her lips.

'That was a fast transition of emotions,' thought Midnight.

"Lay down newspaper before you sit down: I don't want you tainting my couch," Octavia barked at Midnight, who was gearing up to conjure a swarm of swears upon her.

"Tavi!" reprimanded Vinyl in a warning voice as she sojourned into the kitchen.

Octavia growled in frustration, along with immense anger. "Fine. Sit."

"Thanks," Midnight droned halfheartedly. He did as he was told, twiddling his thumbs once again. Vinyl had called Octavia into the kitchen, leaving Midnight and Scorch alone in the living room.

"You're doing well, considering the situation," Scorch told him.

"Yeah? It's taking all I have and then some not to tie her up in a computer chair and shove her into open traffic," admitted Midnight, sighing heavily.

Scorch snickered into her hand. "Will you be alright? It looked like she has no trouble being as derogative as possible."

"Yeah. I've heard it all before, so... I think I'll manage."

He felt Scorch's hand pat him in the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you can make it through these two months."

"Honestly, a year in the dungeons looks a bit more appealing than this." Midnight smiled for the first time since his sentence. He could only hope it wouldn't be his last. "But thanks. It was very nice of you to say that."

Scorch sighed, and rose to her hooves. "Well, I should be going."

"Nonsense!" Vinyl and Octavia said in unison, a tray of tea with four cups in the latter's hands.

"It's not often we have guests here," Vinyl admitted as Octavia laid the tea tray down on the coffee table. "So we make the most of it." Vinyl used her magic to pour the tea and evaporated milk into the delicate cups, the containers hovering over to each recipient in a periwinkle magic field.

"Thanks," the others said in unison.

"Sorry about our lack of introduction," Scorch apologized sincerely. "I'm Private First Class Scorch Shot, and this is Midnight Oil."

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," started Vinyl, getting situated on one of the two couches that flanked the coffee table. "So, Midnight, where did you say you were from again?"

"I don't recall ever saying where I'm from," Midnight said calmly, the tea soothing his nerves. 'Chamomile with mint,' he thought happily. "But if you would like to know–"

"–which we don't," Octavia shot in.

"...I was born in Hoofghanistan."

"Ooh! Sounds exotic," commented Vinyl, downing half of her tea in one gulp. "Which city?"

"Jalalabuck, in the Neighngarhar district."

"So you can speak the language, right?"

"Ponsi?" Vinyl nodded. "Yeah. That, and many more."

Octavia, hands shaking from being near something she abhorred for too long, grew skeptical. She set her tea down on the table and leered at Midnight in doubt. "That's highly unlikely. It's not possible for someone of your breed to converse in several different languages, let alone speak more than ten words of Equuish itself."

Midnight sighed in disappointment, rather worried about Octavia's lack of belief. "It is actually very likely... Octavia, was it?" The mare clicked her tongue at having her title rolled off the forked tongue of the Sarosian. "As a scribe, I have to know these languages, so that I can translate them to Equuish so that the Princesses can refer to them whenever they need to."

Mouth full of tea, Octavia spat out her liquid unceremoniously out of shock, unintentionally showering Midnight in a nasty amalgamation of cold saliva and warm drink. "...Ew," mumbled Midnight, wiping himself clean with a napkin. "Yeah, that's attractive," he murmured sarcastically.

"You? A scribe?" coughed an incredulous Octavia, not even giving the idea of apologizing a second thought.

"It's true: he is the princesses' scribe," confirmed Scorch. Midnight shrunk a bit into his spot on the couch, uncomfortable with all the attention he was receiving.

"I highly doubt that," scoffed the cellist.

"And I highly doubt anyone asked for your opinion," snapped Midnight, the others taken aback by his words. Octavia froze, not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. "You can even test me on them, if you're so unsure."

"Ooh!" exclaimed Vinyl. "Say, 'Turn up the volume on the speakers', in Prench!"

Midnight thought for a moment. "Montez le volume des haut-parleurs."

"That is tiiight!" squealed Vinyl, overjoyed. Scorch was slightly interested, but Octavia, although a little surprised, was unimpressed.

"Can you say, 'Hello. How do I get to the train station in Flankfurt?' in Germane?" asked the first class private.

"Hallo. Wie komme ich zum Bahnhof in Flankfurt zu bekommen?" reiterated Midnight in the language Scorch requested.

"Whoa. Not bad," Scorch commented.

"What about 'Shiny Shell sells seashells down by the seashore' in Neighpanese?" Vinyl's ruby-red eyes were wide in astonishment.

"Shainī Sheru wa kaigan de kaigara o shita ni hanbai shite imasu, repeated Midnight.

"...I want to buy him, how much is he?" Vinyl announced unexpectedly. Midnight, face burning with embarrassment, scooted away in his seat as far as he can: unfortunately, he didn't really get far, given that he was as far back in his seat as he could be already. "Gotcha!" Vinyl said jokingly. Midnight let out a breath he didn't realize he was withholding. "But seriously, that is really cool."

"Can you introduce yourself in Ponsi?" wondered Scorch aloud, sipping her tea.

"Salaam. Naam men ast Midnight Oil. Chihe tou ast?" Scorch clapped slightly. "Hello, my name is Midnight Oil. How are you?"

"Okay, fine, I believe you!" Octavia blurted as Vinyl applauded as well. "I believe that you're a scribe. Now stop showing off."

"Fair enough," Midnight sighed. "As long as you understand."

"So tell me, what's it like being a scribe?" Vinyl asked.

"Well... it's like being a news reporter of a special sort. I travel around the world with the Princesses whenever they have to meet someone important, I translate the foreign languages they speak to Equuish, then archive them for the Princesses to use later," explained Midnight. "I have to write fast enough to keep up with the conversations, I have to figure out who says what, I have to study the languages of the places I go and use them without fault–it's a pretty demanding job."

"What's the fastest you've ever written?" Scorch asked, curious.

"Hmm... I've managed to write eighty-seven words in a minute when we went to see the delegates of Saddle Arabia." Scorch's and Vinyl's eyes were the size of pinpricks, mouth slightly open in stunned disbelief. "They speak Arabuck very fast. I almost wanted to die from how magically strained I was."

"Wait... you've been all over the world?!" Vinyl screamed, eyes bright and mouth curled up in an impregnable grin.

"Y-yeah," stuttered Midnight, slowly getting anxious from the sudden questions. 'Wow, she's slow... but crap, this is not good.'

"Oh my Goddess, you gotta tell me about it! I'm just dying to know what it's like out there!"

"S-some places are really welcoming, like South Koltrea, Indoneighsia, Turkhay, Braytain; O-others, like Neighraq, Brayitnam, the Diamond Dog city of Sibarkia, a-are relatively dangerous. Revolutions, c-criminal activity, Communism, the like." Midnight's anxiety was slowly rising. He tried to drink from his tea to ameliorate his nerves, only to taste nothing but the dregs of a bitter cup.

"Midnight, you okay there?" Scorch queried. "Your breathing is getting shaky."

"I-I need to use the loo," he fibbed.

"Down that hall, first door on the left," said Octavia, as Midnight quickly got up and speed-walked towards the lavatory. "And don't you dare make a mess!"

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a bind!" Midnight called through the door. Beyond the barrier of the wooden door, Midnight could hear Octavia badmouthing him. As he turned around, though, all sense of anger was wiped away from his mind, welcoming fascination instead. "Whoa."

The bathroom was just as grandeur as the rest of their home. A cylindrical marble-carved shower and bathtub, closed by a translucent glass door and resting next to a baby blue porcelain toilet, which was placed in front of a wide-basin sink of the same colored porcelain. A large ovular mirror hung about the sink, the top lined with miniature incandescent lightbulbs. Next to the door was a laundry hamper, stuffed to the gills with dirty clothes. Towels hung on the shower door, fluffy, clean, and unused. Smooth light granite tiles made up the floor, walls, and ceiling.

'Hay, even the toilet paper holder is freakin' fancy.' Indeed, for aforementioned buttwipe dispenser appeared to be wrought from pure gold as it sat attached to the wall, between the toilet and the shower. Midnight paced back and forth in the spacious bathroom, waiting longer than usual for his breathing speed to return to normal.

"Say, Scorch," Midnight heard Vinyl start, "Does Midnight always wear that hat of his?"

"What? Oh, yeah."

"Why?"

"Geez, you ask a lot of questions. I honestly don't know. He's got a lot of trust issues. Either he had a really bad manecut or a dye job gone wrong."

"He doesn't look like the kind of pony to dye his mane."

"Either way, he never really takes that thing off in public. Weird, eh?" Midnight felt a thunderstorm of self-concern brew inside him, the lightning bolts of self-questioning banging into every iota of him.

"Have you tried talking to him about it?" Vinyl inquired.

"Not really: he's always around the library, with the Princesses on business, or locked up in his room. Pretty the only time he leaves is when he gets food from the mess hall." Scorch sighed. "Besides, he's really skeptical about somepony's loyalty, and he's very reserved, keeping to himself a lot. It's hard to keep up a conversation with him, since he goes silent whenever he thinks somepony's done talking to him."

"They don't know," Midnight mouthed as he slumped onto the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked like Tartarus, the dark shadows under his eyes heavily pronounced. Even his movements felt a little sluggish. "Good. They don't deserve to. At least… not yet."

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

"Midnight, you alright in there?" Vinyl questioned, worrying why he'd been in there for a while.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay," said the fidgety scribe. He had lost all track of time. He checked his watch: 10:21. He had been in the bathroom for over two minutes, unbeknownst to him. 'Gotta make it sound like I actually USED the pot.' He thought as he flushed the toilet, the sounds of several liters of water rushing through the pipes. Washing his hands and face thoroughly, Midnight patted them dry with one of the towels on the shower door before stepping out.

"Where's Scorch Shot?" The first class private was nowhere in sight.

"She went back to the castle," Octavia answered: she appeared to have returned the tea tray back to the kitchen, as it was not longer on the coffee table. "Important duties she had to attend to." She sat down next to Vinyl, who was giggling as she watched the last of the Saturday morning cartoons on the telly.

"So how do this community service gig work?" asked Midnight. "I just wait at your beck and call at all times for the next two months?"

"Correct." Octavia said. "I guess you're not as slow and stupid as I perceived you to be."

"Well, I did help you with your groceries and walk you home in the rain, so… yeah. There's not much you know about me at the moment."

"Well, that was awfully nice of a stranger!" Vinyl said, still focused on the program on the television.

"Perhaps, but I do know this: you're to be... what was it, Vinyl?" The alabaster pony whispered in Octavia's ear for a split second. The cellist nodded as she pointed at Midnight and announced with a menacing grin, "You're to be my female dog!"

Vinyl facepalmed, groaning with disappointment. "...Do you mean, 'bitch'?" Octavia nodded at the guess made by Midnight, who pinched the bridge of his nose. "Plus, I can't be female. I have the anatomical goods to prove it."

"That's debatable."

"...You piece of sh–"

Octavia clicked her tongue as Midnight thought of millions of ways to torture her for the insolent remark (unfortunately, not a single method of excruciation was legal). "I don't know... I would more or less call you a temporary slave, Sarosian."

"Slave, eh?" Vinyl grinned suspiciously. "He'll do anything… riiight~?"

"Wait, don't I get a say in the matter?" inquired Midnight, foreshadowing the demise that Vinyl and Octavia will unleash.

"No." The mares bluntly barked.

"Damn."

"Either way, it means more help around the place, right?" Vinyl said, smiling widely as she leaned back on the couch. "Octavia, what do you think?"

"Well… as long as he gets things done, and listens to my every command… I really cannot complain," answered Octavia honestly. "I just hope you're not useless, Sarosian."

"…I'll do my best," Midnight declared. "As long as these months goes by fast, I'll make sure I do the best I can." Those words were viper poison in his mouth, bitter and distasteful. But he had to swallow down his pride, and submit to the humility and loyalty of a common hound.

The Middle Eastern music of a sitar, hand drums, and tambourines rang out from Midnight's jacket. He withdrew the source of the sound from his jacket pocket: his ringing cell phone.

"Princess Twilight"

'What the–? When did I give her my number?'

"Excuse me, can I take this call? It's urgent." he asked. Vinyl's permission came in the form of a quick nod. Midnight pressed the answer icon on the smartphone and put it to his ear as he walked into the hallway again. "Hello, Your Majesty," he said in a hushed voice.

"Midnight, it's a conversation between two ponies," the princess of Magic deadpanned. "I want you to call me Twilight in private, just like you do with Celestia and Luna."

"Okay... er, with all due respect, Twilight, when did I give you my number?"

"You didn't: Luna gave it to me.

"Oh." Midnight felt that his privacy was ever-so-slightly invaded. 'Lovely, my number's getting passed around like some cheap skank at a frat party.' "You needed something, Twilight?"

"Actually, yes. There's a part two to your community service."

"If I have to call Octavia 'Master', I will have to shoot myself."

"…What? No. Me and the other princesses were talking about your consequence, and we figured out something that could benefit both us and you."

"…I don't do this community service and you act like I did?" Midnight sounded a bit too hopeful for his own good.

"Hmm... uh... nope." The sarcasm from Twilight was palpable enough for Midnight to practically taste it.

"Bollocks."

"What we figured out is that you can do the sentence laid out for you, and gain some friends."

Midnight perked up a bit at that last bit... The opportunity of having a companion other than a chimpanzee? He wouldn't give it up for the world! Oh, joy! Oh, Rapture!

But it was all but ephemeral, for he knew exactly what road Twilight was taking now. "You mean…"

"Yes. I want you to befriend Octavia."

Midnight froze, breath caught in his throat. He felt his eyes shrink astronomically, almost to the point of no existence. 'Befriend… Octavia?' The trio of words played over and over, a poorly-made record repeating itself as it spun pathetically on a malfunctioning phonograph known as Midnight's brain.

In his mind's eye, he could see two possible outcomes, two paths he could take that could affect the rest of his life. He saw him fulfilling his twelve months in the dungeon. Malnourished, dressed in shoddy clothes, his once-white hair a dull and lacklustre grey hue. He saw life after imprisonment. He saw himself losing his job, losing his home, his pet and only friend Jericho leaving him. Travelling from town to town, committing crime to get by, getting captured by the Guards he once held no grudge against after a foolish slip-up...and finally, death. By execution. No family or friends to comfort him, to children to carry on his name—he would leave this world all alone. This is what would happen if he said "no".

What he saw when he said "yes" was much, much different.

He saw himself keeping his job, his home, and his pet. He saw Octavia warming up to him, opening herself up to him like an oyster slowly losing its reticence to shelter its pearl from the world. He saw the two of them and Vinyl becoming the best of friends, doing everything together. He saw Octavia develop a crush on another stallion, announcing her love to him, and crying with joy when he reciprocated her feelings. He saw them at the altar reciting their vows, Vinyl with mascara and tears cascading down her face, Midnight holding the rings for them, overjoyed to witness his best friend be wedded. He saw the four of them, old and batshit crazy, acting maniacally in vain search of the nostalgia of youth as they drove around in golf carts, doing graffiti in public parking lots and destroying mailboxes with baseball bats and golf clubs.

Midnight wasn't clairvoyant: these things he saw may never happen. But he weighed down his options, took the good with the bad, and came to a conclusion.

"Hello? Midnight? You there?"

"Huh? Whah?" Midnight had almost forgotten that he was still on the line with Twilight. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"So, what is your answer?"

Midnight knew what he wanted.

"Okay... I'll do it."

~End of Chapter III~

Author's Note

One steaming pile of shit, hot and ready for your indulgence!

No, but really, I feel like this chapter was not the best. In terms of comedy, it's relatively funny, but it feels like it's lacking in other areas. Guys, I want you to notify me of all the crap that's wrong with this story: even if it's everything. When you find a mistake, don't be afraid to leave a comment.

IV - Twilight's Declassified Friend-Collection Guide

IV - Twilight's Declassified Friend-Collection Guide

Midnight hung up, the well-oiled cogs and gears in his head whirring and churning to calculate any foreshadowing of what was to come, now that he had said yes to Twilight's request. He knew what he was up against. He understood and welcomed any and all responsibility that was to be thrust upon him. But the question remained: 'What now?'

How would Midnight go about this? Was he to beat around the bush, tiphoofing closer to his goal by ever-so-slowly opening up to Octavia, showing kindness and love regardless of whether or not it was sincere and hoping she would respond in a similar manner? Or perhaps he should he just dive right in, become something like the most reliable butler to ever exist, until Octavia had no choice but to be kind and loving to him?

Both options, whilst good, were not good enough in Midnight's perspective. On one hand, he had no desire or ability to become a butler. On the other... it had been his first time in a very long time since he had had a friend, and it wouldn't have to be an adorable, yet poo-flinging, primate. He was at a massive impasse, torn between two choices and how to act on them, as well as what their results will yield...

"BONK!" yelled Midnight's phone, making him jump half a metre into the air as his mobile briefly vibrated once in his hand: a text message had just been sent to him. 'Holy crap, I have to lower the alert volume on this thing.' He quickly checked to see who it was from. He felt discomforted when he saw that it was huge block of words from Twilight, moments after their conversation '...Shit, she texts fast....'

From: Princess Twilight
When:May 5.1013, 10:34:18 AM
Subject: How to Make Friends

Hello, Midnight! It's me, Twilight! In this text, I'll be telling you the very basics of making a new friend. This will no doubt help you develop a strong and longlasting friendship with Octavia, and many more!

1:Honesty. It's never good to lie to friends. Always be as honest as you can be when something important. Besides, it's better to harm somepony with the truth than temporarily comfort them with a lie!

2:Loyalty. Show that you're reliable to your friends. Always be there for them and catch them when they fall. Stick with them to the very end, even if you know that they'll be the cause of an imminent failure!

3:Kindness. Nopony wants a friend that's a pain in their flank. Be nice, be helpful, be sweet, say "thank you" and "please" when necessary—but don't be a doormat! Be kind, not vulnerable!

4:Generosity. You gotta share. You gotta care. Being greedy and stingy is not going to get you anywhere in the long run. Give to those in need!

5:Have shame. Don't be brash and obnoxious! Try your best to be very modest, and only declare superiority when you know for a fact that you're the best!

6:Have a good sense of humor. If you can't laugh at yourself whenever your friends banter with you, they'll just think you're an uptight crybaby! Loosen up, take some hits, but again, don't be a doormat and let everypony insult you: hoof the line and get them to apologize if they go too far! But this applies to you, too. Know your boundaries when making harmless banter, or somepony's feelings will get hurt.

7:Show self-restraint. If you go flying off the handle for somepony's mistake or behavior, that can be what makes or breaks a relationship, so don't lose your cool. If it gets to be too much of a problem, just show them some ways to correct what's at fault with them. They'll figure it out for themselves later on!

8:Be social. It's no fun to have that one friend who doesn't talk at all. It's even worse to be that friend. Talk about anything on your mind, even if it's completely off-topic. As long as it's appropriate and keeps the ball rolling, it'll work!

9:Dress to impress. It's not at all okay to be a slob. Keep your house and your persona clean and well-managed!

10:Have fun! It's good to spoil your friends and take them out to places like amusement parks, theaters, restaurants, arcades—anything that generates an aura of camaraderie!

It looks like that's it! With this little guideline, you'll be making friends in next to no time!

Best of luck to you, Midnight!

...Maybe she was texting it first, then called me, thinking it was easier, but I probably hang up early, so she just finished her text; after all, she also knows that I'm a pathetic loner. Midnight was only taken random shots in the dark with a guess like that. The Sarosian locked his phone at the press of a button on the top, turning off the screen. He walked back into the living room, where Vinyl and Octavia sat patiently.

"So, listen, I was wondering..." he began as he sat down next to Vinyl, trying to follow Twilight's guide. "You guys want to... er, hang out, later today?"

"Absolutely not," Octavia snapped, arms crossed tight atop her bosom. She looked disturbed, eyeing Midnight severely as though he had a loaded firearm or a knife on his person.

Vinyl, however, was a different story entirely. A cheeky grin upon her lips, eyes brightening like holiday sparklers as she hollered, "Hay yeah! What time and where?"

'Well, at least one of them is fine with the proposal,' he thought. This was an immense step for Midnight, as he was leaving his comfort zone of solitude. To say it was going to be tough was an understatement."Let's start with some..." Midnight hesitated, thinking rapidly on what activities they can all enjoy. 'Quick, what do girls and boys mutually like?!' "...shopping? Then we can snag some lunch and go to the movies, if you like."

"Aw yeah, I am game! What say we start at about three o'clock later today?" proposed Vinyl.

"Did nopony hear what I just said?" Octavia interjected. "There is no way in Tartarus that I will be seen out and about with the likes of you, Sarosian."

"I have a name, woman. It's Midnight," the owner of that name spat.

"I know, but frankly, I just don't give a damn."

"Well, what will it take for you to go out and be seen with me?" asked Midnight, brow elevated in worry.

"How about he wears a dog collar?" suggested Vinyl. Midnight looked at Vinyl as though she had just announced that he was to self-destruct.

'Traitor!' he mentally screamed at her. Even Vinyl wished she could retracted what she had said, as she had mouthed "sorry" to the scribe. She really did want to do something with Octavia that didn't involve one of them compromising for the other's interests. The cellist, however, thought that the idea of a collar and leash—in and of itself—was not a bad one.

"Hmm... very well. He also has to stand three meters away from me at all time."

"What?! Now, wait just a–"

"Alright, Tavi!" cheered Vinyl, thrusting a fist in the air in celebration.

"Come on now! Does it really have to go like this?!"

Octavia glared coldly yet again at the Sarosian. "Yes, it does!" A slap, rushing at both an unfathomable speed and strength, crashed squarely into Midnight's face. The sound was like thunder, ringing through the whole of the apartment room as Midnight was knocked him off his seat on the couch and onto the carpet. It was a surprise to see his cap still on his head.

"OWWW!!!" he wailed as he slowly got up, disturbed by the sudden assault. Vinyl drew a sharp breath and reclined slightly, the sight of the extremely red hand mark on Midnight's left cheek too much for her eyes. "What is wrong with you?!?!" His pupils, extremely narrow and fierce-looking, were aimed directly at Octavia in intense abhorrence.

"Don't ask stupid questions. After all, you serve me and answer to me, not the other way around." Octavia casually, as though smacking ponies' light out was just another part of her routine.

Midnight had had enough. Never before had he felt such pure, unfiltered, inextinguishable rage surge through him than in that very instant. He wanted to yell at Octavia. He wanted to hit her. To beat her into a pulp. To put her in the hospital. Or six feet in the dirt, even. He didn't care if Vinyl would hate him for the rest of her life for doing so. He didn't care if his standing in society would be eviscerated in the blink of an eye. If it meant he would be in the dungeons for years due to a second assault charge on his once-clean slate. It would be worth ridding this planet of one more piece of its cancer.

Show self-restraint... don't lose your cool.... Reminded of Twilight's tips before things could get very out of hand, Midnight took the deepest of breaths one could inhale, counting to ten at a gradual rate. He felt his fury slowly deteriorate as he repeated his breathing and counting. After a third time, he was ready to talk comprehensibly.

"You're right, Octavia." Once again, it felt as though Midnight was being force-fed poison. But he had to suck it up, rub soil into the wounds, and push through. Octavia looked shocked, expecting him to go berserk and complain about all the mistreatment she was issuing unto him. "I do serve you, and I was in no position to try and stop you from getting what you want." It was salt in an open wound, but Midnight got on one knee, and bowed deeply before Octavia. "I'm here to serve you…"

"Serve me... what, now?" Octavia persisted rhetorically. Midnight didn't want to say it. He wouldn't. It would jeopardise any and all sense of masculine pride, which he needed loads of in this kind of society. "Go on. Say it." Octavia nudged Midnight in the face with her hoof. Vinyl was tittering in her hand at the subliminal humour behind what she was watching.

"M-m-m... ma...." Midnight took another deep breath. 'I wonder if one of the Royal Guards will use their spears on me if I ask them...' he thought. "...Master." It was lemon juice in a deep gash, stinging with the intensity of a venomous hornet. Midnight was kicking himself internally for cracking like that.

Octavia smirked smugly, arms on her chest again as she looked down on Midnight, the way a queen would look down upon her royal fool. "Good boy," Octavia taunted, motioning for Midnight to get down on all fours. "Move the table while you're at it." He reluctantly did so, and Octavia slammed a cushion down on his back before propping her hooves.

"Oof!" Midnight grunted, Octavia sighing and leaning back in her spot on the couch. 'Oh, Faust, no,' he whined internally, shuddering uncontrollably after having to degrade himself in such a way.

"So, Sarosian, what time did you say you'd be following our every whim?"

"Er, around three o'clock later today… wait, our every whim?"

Vinyl's scarlet eyes grew wide. "You mean, I get to boss him around, too?"

"Of course," answered Octavia with a smile. "What's mine is yours."

"Awesooome!" the unicorn squealed as she held her roommate in a grand bear-hug. Octavia, crushed by the compression of her roommate's arms and... generous assets, felt no choice but to reciprocate the embrace as well.

Midnight sighed in despair at how rotten his luck had become. "I have no bloody friends at all, huh?" he grumbled from his position on the ground.

"What?" Vinyl's joy had dissipated, concern substituting it instead. "Now, that can't be right. Surely, you have to have at least one friend, right?"

"Nope. Not a one."

"What about online? You look like you play tons of multiplayer video games and stuff."

"Online friends don't really count: after I play some games with ponies online, I hardly ever hear from them again. I only play with them again, like, once or twice every other month or so on different servers and games and such, but even then, they don't recognise me."

"Not even one friend?"

Midnight looked down at the ground. His fingers curled roughly around the shag carpeting. "Nope. Not one," he reiterated with great enunciation. 'Was she hard of hearing or something?' he thought to himself.

"Well..." Vinyl recalled her conservation with Scorch Shot, about how Midnight had trust issues and was not at all adept at social skills. She was unsure of how to close a conversation as delicate as the one she had gotten herself into. "How about... I be your friend?"

Midnight lifted his head up to look at Vinyl, not believing his ears for what he had heard. He saw Vinyl's hand stretched out before him. Her eyes were brimming with empathy and kindness. He took her hand in his. It felt odd to touch her hands: considering she was rather tomboyish, one would predict her hands to be roughed and calloused from playing sports and such. Instead, they were soft and smooth, almost like a blanket of silk, or velvet cloth. It's as though she's never had to work a day in her life.

He shook hands with Vinyl, his lips breaking into a smile. "That'd be lovely."

Quite sadly, Midnight couldn't support both his weight and that of Octavia's hooves with just one hand for a long time, so he hurriedly placed his hand back down so as to not let his arms grow tired too soon. "Goodness, tired already?" Octavia sighed in frustration. "But your servitude has just begun."

"Tavi, can't you go easy on the guy?" Vinyl queried. "I mean, after all, he is a big-time nerd. I don't think he's got any strength to hold up your chunky legs."

Were it anypony else, Octavia would have chewed their ear out nice and proper, and rewarded them with a slap harder than she had given to Midnight had they tried to cut her off. But it was Vinyl, one of the few ponies who she could confide in and call her best friend. A little playful banter from her ought to mean nothing. "Oh, alright," huffed Octavia, removing her hooves from Midnight's spine and shoving him away them them. The Sarosian rolled away like a tumbleweed in a cyclone, reaching the other couch with a cushioning bump.

Midnight clambered to his hooves, dusting off his clothes that had been battered by a mare's hooves and the cruel wood and shag floor. "Well, I'm gonna get going," he proclaimed as he walked towards the door.

"Wait!" cried Vinyl urgently. "Lemme get your number!"

Midnight thought about it long and hard. He could just flat-out say "no" and head back home. But again, he was also under Vinyl's jurisdiction, thanks to Octavia's approval. "...Very well." Vinyl's horn glowed again, and Midnight's phone floated towards her in a periwinkle cloud of magic.

"Wait, what's your password?" she asked once she had obtained it and turned it on.

"...6969," he admitted, feeling fire burn his face once more as Vinyl snickered at the completely immature passcode. Midnight waited patiently as Vinyl rapidly typed in her number into his phone.

"Quick, now call me!" she said as she chucked his precious smartphone at him. With his magic, Midnight worriedly caught his mobile. 'You're not supposed to do that!' he whined internally. He saw Vinyl's number in his phone, and he hit the green "call" icon on the screen.

The sound of heavy electronic music screeched from Vinyl's phone only seconds after the call. She disconnected the call, then saved Midnight's caller ID in her contacts. "Awesome," she commented.

"Now can I go?" he asked, his patience no longer existent.

"What? Oh yeah. Get home safe!" Vinyl called.

"Yeah. Goodbye." Midnight crossed through the threshold, looking back at the duo of mares. Vinyl was waving her farewells, a smile stitched upon her lips. Octavia, though, was a different story. Her eyes looked fierce and filled with hate as she leered at Midnight, a scowl upon her mouth, her arms still fastened across her chest.

Midnight shuddered yet again, this time with utter fear as closed the door without another word. He sighed as he mentally examined his calendar. "Not even one day down, and I already wish it was over." Not even bothering to flare up his horn, Midnight traversed down the stairs of the complex, never to be more eager to go home than now. "Good grief...."

~End of Chapter IV~

Author's Note

Ow, my head.

Hi, guys. I'm writing this to you from Germany before I go back to Libya. Hopefully, this chapter will suffice while I sleep on the plane ride back. huehuehue

V - Discussing The Origins Of A Pony’s Malice

V - Discussing The Origin’s Of A Pony’s Malice

Midnight had never been more euphoric to go back to his home in the astronomy tower. Opening the door and immediately stripping off his clothes, he clumsily scrambled up the stairs to his bedroom and crashed into his mattress in naught but his muscle shirt and a pair of briefs, glad that the ordeal was over... for now.

'That's right... We have to hang out at three....' he groaned internally, wondering why in the world he had even concocted the idea. Groaning externally as well, Midnight slithered under his blanket, his horn's magic yanking the balcony window's blinds shut, plunging the room into a minor sea of darkness. He wiped his glasses from his face and slapped them on his bedside table, followed by his piercing. Stressed as he was with the events of today, Midnight let this act as a catalyst in creeping into the tree of slumber's extravagant shade.

Hours later, the sound of Hoofghan music, along with the feeling of something remotely light bouncing on top of him, awoke Midnight from his uncommonly deep catnap. He opened his bleary eyes to behold the sight of Jericho waving his phone in front of his owner's face. "Thanks, pal," slurred the Sarosian as he took his phone from the chimp.

"Eep!" chirped the small primate, who scampered to the top of the metal four-poster bed and hung from the awning by his tail, swinging to and fro in a pendulum-like behavior. Midnight checked the number—it wasn't one he had saved in his contacts, that's for certain. Midnight tapped the green answer icon and put the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?" he greeted in a feigned tone of alertness and awareness.

"WHAT IN TARTARUS ARE YOU DOING, YOU PATHETIC TWIT?!?! COME DOWN HERE AND–" That was all Midnight wanted to hear, for he had hung up on the pony shouting on the other end: he knew who it was, and what she wanted.

Ear sore from the sudden shockwave of cellular sound, Midnight decided that it was time to wake up. Making some quick adjustments on his phone, he got dressed in a sluggish manner as he waited for the phone to ring again.

Sure enough, it went off once more. 'Twas the same number, yet this time a contact name was listed.

"Snarky Bitch"

Midnight slowly hit the answer icon again and put the receiver back to his ear. "...Yes?"

"... Did you hang up on me?" asked the cold voice of Octavia.

"Yep," he said shamelessly.

"...Why?"

"Well, why were you screaming like a madmare into the microphone?"

"I asked you a question, I expect an answer."

"Congrats, that is your answer."

"...Are you honestly talking down to the pony who's keeping you out of prison?" Midnight's blood ran colder than the polar ice caps as Octavia goes on to say, "Maybe I should give the princesses a call, and tell them of your illicit behavior....

"No!" Midnight was on his knees, dread poisoning his being. "Please don't! I can't go to prison! My butthole can't take that abuse!"

"Well, why aren't you here to take me and Vinyl out?" She stated. Midnight glanced at his alarm clock: three-oh-three PM. He gulped in great grief.

"Cripes! I'll be right there." Hanging up once more, Midnight slipped his earring and glasses back on his person, pocketed his phone and distributed a onceover of himself in the mirror: hat still on his head to hide his hair, black slacks, white short-sleeve button-up, and a black vest. "...Yeah, I'm ready."

With immense haste, he flared up his horn and vanished on the spot with a large green burst of magic and a pop, reluctantly teleporting to his bossy master.

Patience was not really one of Octavia's fortés.

It was hard for her to develop patience for somepony who was late to something, especially when it was something they had planned themselves. She was ever-so-punctual when it came to... well, all things, really. She liked things to be proper, precise, perfect… and unfortunately for her, her inept slave Midnight was making a mockery of her routine.

'Of all the ponies who I was given, it had to be that dirty, slothful cavedweller....' she internally growled, rapping her hoof on the pavement outside of her complex in agitation and immense, immense impatience. 'He'd better show, or else I–'

*POP!*

"You're late," she barked at Midnight as she lost her train of thought and as he appeared not ten feet from her, the unicorn forcing himself to get into a low bow.

"Sorry... Master. I was watching the news," Midnight fibbed quickly as he stood back up on his hooves.

"Really?" asked a skeptical Octavia, hands on her hips as her brow elevated in doubt. "The news?"

"Well, yeah. Rioting in Brayzil, ya know. Awful, just awful."

"Shut up," Octavia snapped, as she picked up a large dog collar from off the ground. It was wrought from stainless steel, and tethered to a length of strong black rope. "Bend over."

Midnight gulped, not liking the collar's presence in the slightest. "Must I really?"

Octavia pinched his ear and twisted with all her might, her extensive nails burrowing nastily into Midnight's cartilage. "Don't question the master: just do as she asks," she warned over Midnight's repetitive "ow"s. She undid the collar's latch with her free hand and forcefully slipped it over his head before closing the latch tight.

Midnight's horn lit up, and Octavia felt him removing her hand from his ear. "Can you not?" he suggested, massaging the ear that she had so ruthlessly impaled.

"Hey, Midnight!" Vinyl hollered as she trotted down the steps of the apartment complex in her clothes from earlier. "Glad to see you got here. Hope Tavi here isn't giving you much trouble."

"Nope," he responded reluctantly, for "Tavi" was leering at him, as if challenging him into saying a word about what really happened. "Hehe... none at all."

"Awesome. Let's go!"

"Wait," interrupted Octavia. She yanked Midnight down the road some yards until they came across a cart for two ponies. The strong steel bands of the cart's wide, waxed oaken wheels glistened in the afternoon sunshine, the slick cotton seats shielded from the sun's rays by a royal blue sunshade, the sycamore frame of the cart intent on guarding the rider's from the view of soliciting eyes of passersby. "You, pull that."

"Wait, what?" Midnight was flabbergasted at her demand. As previously mentioned by Vinyl, Midnight was, well... a nerd. No brawn, all brain, for what the scribe lacked in upper and lower body strength, he tended to make up for in wit and magical prowess. However, this wasn't the case at the moment; Octavia seemed bent on forcing him to shed every drop of sweat, every tear, and every liter of blood during his servitude to her. "Ponies have invented cars, you know. Why not just drive to the mall?"

"Less talking, more pulling," she responded as she threw the cart's harness at him, yet he let it fall to the ground, adamant in preventing the vilification of his already-plummeting pride. Octavia clicked her tongue out of impatience at her servant's persistence... until a sudden remembrance caused her to smile widely in sadistic pleasure. "Or should I resort to more... disciplinary actions?" At her hesitation, she knelt over and rummaged through the cart, withdrawing a riding crop from inside. Vinyl whistled low as Midnight gulped at the eventual anguish. The crop was an ebony masterpiece, both handle and neck decorated a brash black hue. At the end was a relatively long loop of faux-leather, treated with oils and waxes to toughen its surface.

Indeed, it was a force to be reckoned with.

"Y-you're joking, right?" he asked worriedly as Octavia clenched and unclenched her fingers around her handle of her lovely weapon. Vinyl was shaking her head when Midnight looked at her for confirmation. Out of fear of getting the tar kicked out of him, Midnight cravenly slipped the harness of the cart onto his chest, securing it tight.

"Good boy...." Octavia complemented darkly as she ran the whip's tip along Midnight's face, which was contorted into an expression of fear. "If you question me again, I may have to use this." Midnight felt his blood pressure rise, anxiety welling up fast. She then granted him a quick slap on the cheek before climbing gracefully into the cart and sat down. "Come along, Vinyl. There is fun to be had."

"Damn, dude," Vinyl murmured to Midnight as she went to enter the cart alongside Octavia and sit down on the soft plush seat. "You are whipped! Literally."

'Oh, stuff it," the male unicorn thought harshly, once his heart started returning to its normal pace. "To the mall, then... Master?"

"Yes, Sarosian. And step on it." Octavia flicked her riding crop at him, and he pulled the cart towards their destination.

...

Suffice it to say, they did not get far at all.

"Come on!" Octavia wailed, brandishing her riding crop at him. Midnight, being as skinny and nonathletic as he was, had no luck in pulling the little chariot to the mall at as great a speed as his master would like. "Can you not go faster, mongrel?!"

"A gamer's legs," Midnight huffed and wheezed, stamina and strength all but depleted, "can only do- *cough* -so much- *huff* -Master!"

"I don't give a damn about your gamer legs! Just use the bloody things to make us go faster!"

Ponies all around started staring at the sight of Midnight just barely dragging the cart. Despite the mahogany frame of the chariot, Octavia felt all eyes on her, unrelenting gossip flicking off their tongues and landing in their ears... and hers as well.

"That was Miss Philharmonica, was it not?"

"Is that a Sarosian she's got pulling that cart?"

"She's making scum to dirty work! How amusing!"

"I didn't know such filthy beasts were on sale! Ha!"

'Miss Philharmonica? No wonder she's not married!' Midnight thought in a conniving tone as he shimmied the cart further and further. ‘Wait a damn minute, I can use magic! What am I busting my flank for?!’ Horn shining with a bright green aura of magic, he targeted the cart before casting a spell on it. Midnight, worn out from having used magic during a period of low energy, could feel the carriage itself gradually getting lighter, as though all excess weight had been relieved from it. Within moments, a partially-recovered Midnight was hauling the carriage down the cobblestone streets as though it was naught but a little wagon.

“What did you do?” Octavia demanded.

“Relax, I simply put a Weight Reduction Charm on the cart so that I can pull it and you can stop yelling at me... Master.” He still detested saying that last word, but it was what he had to do.

“Way to use the old noggin, Midnight,” congratulated Vinyl.

“Yes, well... don’t get too excited about your little victory, mongrel,” Octavia said simply. She felt as though she ought to scold him for finding a way around her backbreaking, grueling work. But it was effective, and after thinking it through, she had no real reason to complain. “Step on it.”

“Aye-aye,” Midnight said, walking at a brisk pace towards the mall.

"Octavia..." Vinyl began, curiosity towards her friend's behavior getting the better of her. "Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

"Why is it that you hate Midnight anyway?"

Octavia turned to look at Vinyl. "I don't loath just Midnight... It's towards all those of his breed."

"Yeah, but... why do you hate his breed, anyway?" Vinyl pressed, wanting to know more. "What did they do wrong?"

Taking her seat, Octavia sighed deeply, her mind calculating a precise and worthy response that would help her companion understand her abhorrent nature towards Sarosians. “You know the tale of the Mare in the Moon, correct?”

“You mean where Nightmare Moon gets banished for a millennium by Princess Celestia and the Elements of Harmony?” Vinyl guessed. “Yeah.”

“Well, this is just from rumor and speculation, but a thousand years ago, when Princess Luna had become Nightmare Moon through envy of her sister and lack of appreciation from the ponies of olden times, Nightmare Moon had nopony following her when she had refused to lower the moon and make way for the sun. So, she had made followers of her own. She had used her dark wicked magic to transform the ponyfolk into.... into monsters like him.” Octavia jabbed a finger of accusation at Midnight.

“Nightmare Moon had managed to brainwash several of the ponies and turn them into hideous caricatures she dubbed ‘Sarosians’, in their horrid tongue they call Nocturne.” Octavia felt a carpet bombing of shivers rupture on her spine as she said those names in the same sentence. “The Sarosians went rampant. They followed Nightmare’s cold, harsh, and sadistic orders. They maimed, killed, raped, and stole from many ponies in that time, without even realizing that they used to be of the same kith and kin.

“Only when Celestia had banished Nightmare Moon did the Sarosians stop their rampage. They begged forgiveness, they pleaded innocence. And what did Celestia do?” Octavia’s fist curled tightly, the knuckles almost threatening to burst through the flesh. “She gave them mercy.” Without warning, she punched the wall of the carriage, startling Vinyl slightly. A dent in the fine wood finish signaled but a brief glimpse of the cellist’s fury. “She let them live, change their ways, even allowed them to live in harmony with the other ponies that they had wreaked havoc upon!”

“But you just said this was all from rumors and speculation.”

“Well... yes. I suppose there is no real credible fact that Nightmare Moon spawned those horrid things in the first place.”

“So, why not ask Midnight how Sarosians were created?” Vinyl suggested.

“Absolutely not.” Octavia barked. “I am in no desire whatsoever to speak with the beast about who his mummy and daddy are. If you wish to know, then you ask him.”

“Alrighty, then. But one more question.”

“Yes?”

“...Why else do you hate Sarosians?”

Octavia did not hesitate in answering that question for Vinyl. “Over twenty years ago, a short debacle between the zebras of Hoofrica and the Diamond Dogs and communist ponies of the frozen country of Ruffia had broken out. A typical economic spat. The zebras tried to make trade their wealth with Ruffia for their resources, but to no avail. Concerned with the two sides’ economic standoff, the Princesses sent our best diplomats to help tranquil the problem.

“My father had been there at the time, while I was still in my mother’s womb. He had worked side by side with the Sarosians and the zebras in creating an offer that Ruffia could not refuse: four billion Bits of fine Hoofrican jewels and gold, if Ruffia built freshwater canals from their icy mountains all across the arid land of Hoofrica. My father was so close to getting it, too. Just out of reach of ending a feud between two different sides. However... just when things were about to be wrapped up... a Sarosian had not only assassinated the president of Ruffia, but had also killed Hoofrica’s chief delegate.

“Even worse, he... he also shot my father.” Vinyl gasped at such a horrific climax. A wistful look of pain swept Octavia off her hooves, looking down at the ground in sorrow. “He had made off with all the gold and jewels. Not only that, but he had launched both countries into a war of a good, long twelve years.”

“Did... did your father–?” Vinyl began, only to be stopped by Octavia’s head shake.

“He survived. It was just awful to see him come home, sore and absolutely livid.” The unicorn pulled the cellist in for a massive embrace, patting Octavia’s back soothingly. “Going on about how Celestia should have wiped those damned nightcrawlers from existence.”

“Master?” Midnight said suddenly, coming to a full stop on the side of the road. His angst for that word was rising yet again, yet his temper was still kept under control. He had eavesdropped on Octavia’s melancholy over the clattering of wheels upon rock and the clopping of his hooves, and he did not like what he overheard.

“What?” Octavia barked, not at all happy that her servant had interrupted.

“I would advise you not say that word.” Midnight looked back at her to make eye contact. Octavia, so filled with pride and power, felt both of those fuel sources of hers rupture like a punctured balloon when she saw how he was looking at her. It wasn’t a look of typical anger. It was hate. Complete, total hate. Her blood ran cold as those daggerlike eyes pierced every inch of her. Vinyl, though not the target of Midnight’s horrific glare, gulped nervously.

“A-and why not?” Octavia stuttered. She had caught her breath at the realization: she had stuttered. Her? Trip up in a conversation? Never! Especially not in front of a filthy animal like Midnight! “It’s a free country, after all.”

“Just because it’s a free country does not justify words of that nature being thrown casually in conversation, Master,” Midnight continued coldly. “Do you know how much blood has been spilled over the past several hundred years due to that one little slur?” He removed the harness and advanced towards Octavia, clambering on top of the carriage until he was right in front of her. “Enough to make yours freeze.”

“I-Is that a threat?!” She screeched at him, mustering what courage she had and using it in that one outburst. That all collapsed like a house of cards in the breeze, however, when Midnight bent over until he was almost nose to nose with her. His eyes never left her, never wavered in the amount of acidic fury those green pools of acid generated. ‘Oh, Goddess, he’s too close! I can smell his stink! Urgh, it’s like sitting in front of a wet dog!’ “It’d better not be a threat!”

“No. But it would be better for your sake if you refrained from saying it, Miss Philharmonica. Ever.” He turned around and hopped off the cart. Vinyl and Octavia could only sit there in shock and fright as Midnight put the harness back on and scanned the area for a place to put the cart. “One day, you will say it in the most unfortunate of places... and it will come back to haunt you.”

“What the hay is your bucking problem, man?!” Vinyl hollered once she had been given a minute of silence to regain her voice.

Midnight leered at Vinyl this time, this time with annoyance rather than hate. Vinyl retreated a bit as he flashed his sharp teeth. “I don’t know if you know this, Vinyl. But I hate that word, and those who use it,” he snapped as he removed the harness once again. “We’re here. Come on.”

The two mares stepped out of the carriage, by that little scene. “Did you expect that to happen?” Vinyl asked Octavia.

“No,” she replied. “Honestly, who does he think he is, talking down to me like I did something wrong!”

“Technically, ya did do something wrong, Tavi,” Vinyl remarked. “Remember, everypony’s got a fuse until they explode; a line you don’t want to cross. I just didn’t think his would get so short after one word.”

“Well, regardless, he should know his place next time. Did you smell his odor?” she commented, the reminiscence of Midnight’s smell bringing her stomach to the brink of discomfort. “Urgh....”

“...I dunno. He smelled fine to me, considering he’s been sweating from all the work you’ve been putting him to.”

Octavia looked heavily perturbed by Vinyl’s contradiction. “Something may be wrong with you, my friend. Really.”

“Whatever,” disregarded Vinyl as they finally began moving towards the mall. “Let’s go.”

~End of Chapter V~

Author's Note

Haha! Another chapter complete! I can finally go to bed now! :D

Anyways, I sorta liked doing this chapter. When you find any mistakes in the writing, leave it in the comments, along with your thoughts on the chapter.

Sayonara, guys.

VI - "When A Mommy And Daddy Sarosian Love Each Other Very Much..."

VI - “When A Mommy And Daddy Sarosian Love Each Other Very Much...”

Midnight awaited the two mares adjacent him: had he not been tethered to a discomforting collar that could possibly be loaded with fleas from the previous mutt it belonged to, he would have waited by the door for them: the farther, the better, he would tell himself. Sadly, ‘twas not the case in this situation as he itched at his throat underneath the wrought steel of his confining accessory.

Octavia tugged the collar’s leash, dragging Midnight along until they reached the mall’s entrance. “You, stay put,” she commanded.

“Er, why?” Midnight questioned, not understanding what she was getting at at first.

“Ugh...” groaned the cellist, before firing a sneer his way. “No dogs allowed inside, of course.”

“First of all, I am not a dog: I was just goose-stepped by you into wearing a collar like a dog. Secondly, do any of you even have your wallets or purses?” Octavia and Vinyl’s trains of thought derailed from their tracks and crashed and burned aggressively; there were no survivors.

“Well, uh, hehe...” chuckled Vinyl, scratching the back of her head in embarrassment. “No. Neither did Tavi.” Octavia launched a look that screamed “Traitor!” directly Vinyl’s way, the unicorn recipient shrugged and confessed, “What? It’s true!”

“If you’re so smug about it, did you bring yours?” Octavia challenged Midnight. Smirking like a cheeky git, the Sarosian’s hand delved into his back pocket before pulling out a big black wallet from its depths. The wallet, fat with funds, was adorned with golden frames on the corners, and branded with an icon of some sort: a scroll with a complex arcane pentacle scrawled on its surface, with a quill of great grandiose resting in a stout inkpot next to it.

“Well, duh. I’m paying for you all.” With haste, Octavia plucked Midnight’s wallet from his unsuspecting hands. “Oi!”

“How much money do you have?” she inquired. She felt the wallet jump out of her hands and land back in Midnight’s, his horn’s aura vanishing as Octavia scowled at him. “You little-!”

“Hey, how about I count my funds,” he deadpanned. ‘Nosy shrew....’ he thought grumpily to himself as his fingers pulled out a large stack of purple five hundred-Bit notes, golden hundred-Bit notes, silver fifty-Bit notes, and red twenty-Bit notes from his wallet. Vinyl’s and Octavia’s eyes swelled up to the size of dustbin lids, pupils contracted into naught but minuscule dots. Midnight quickly shifted through his notes, counting each bill and totaling it all up in his head. “About... ten thousand Bits,” he finally answered, “with loads more in my account.”

“H-h-how much more?” Vinyl stammered, swept off her hooves by the sheer amount of cold hard cash the scribe was toting.

Midnight smirked. The girls were baffled by the immense profit he holds in just one hand. They’d be absolutely blown away by more than just that. “If I remember correctly... about, what, two hundred thousand in my account?” Vinyl’s jaw dropped almost comically as her posture went slack, arms hanging limply by her side. Octavia, unlike her friend, had a brow tweaked upward in disbelief, arms crossed upon her ample chest. “What? What’s wrong?” Midnight asked, disturbed a wee bit by their bizarre fusion of expressions.

“Whoa.... tha... that’s a lot,” Vinyl admitted.

Midnight’s cheekiness deflated as he forced himself to confess, “Yeah, but I can’t spend it.”

“What?!” Vinyl was flabbergasted as to why such a bountiful fortune was just left to gather dust. “Why?! You have loads of moolah just waiting to be spent, man! You gotta make it rain!”

”It’s either my savings, or it’s the money I’m wiring to my family over in Jalalaback!”

“Oh..."

“Come off it, Vinyl!” Octavia interjected, not buying it at all. “Obviously, he’s lying through his jagged teeth! It’s what Tartarus spawn like him do!”

“Jagged?” Midnight was offended by that bit, self-consciously licking the outside of his sharp pearly whites. “I take damn good care of my teeth, thank you very much.”

“I dunno, Tavi...” Vinyl said.

“What utter garbage...” scoffed Octavia. “I honestly suspect those notes are all forged.”

Midnight snickered tauntingly into his hands, his amusement from Octavia’s stubborn persistence overcoming his annoyance of her accusations. “You honestly have no clue. But whatever. Shall we proceed?”

“Fine...” Octavia huffed, as she and Vinyl entered first, leaving Midnight last to traipse through the glass double doors.

Canterlot Mall was, without a doubt, one of Equestria’s largest malls. Ten stories high, with each floor designated with a certain genre, such as music, furniture, food, clothes, and even a floor designated for sports and construction. Each floor was also about the size of a hoofball field, the escalators and elevators being an absolute must due to the vast walking distance one must take to get from one end to the other.

But, what drew many ponies into its grandeur insides was not just the merchandise it distributed, but the guise the very exterior of the mall took as well. The mall’s structure twisted and warped in a clockwise fashion, giving it a double helix appearance as its titanium and thick glass shell gleamed radiantly in the rays of the afternoon sun.

While others saw it as a magnificent place for shopping, passing time with friends, and other such camaraderie, Midnight and Vinyl—unbeknownst to the both of them—saw it as a perfect stronghold during a zombie apocalypse: fortified on the outside, and well-stocked on the inside.

But that is not important right now.

Midnight was silent as the trio traipsed about the store. The eyes of the mall-goers wandered onto him, not due to his appearance, but by the collar he had been forced to wear. Discomfort and its corrosive venom seeped into the Sarosian’s bloodstream as he adjusted his shirt collar nervously, words of vilification transmitting between those with the gall to voice their thoughts.

“So, where would you like to go first, you two?” Midnight inquired, dying to get out of the shoppers’ lines of sight. “Clothes stores? Food court? Music shops?”

Vinyl and Octavia shared a long look at one another before they smiled in synchronized, congruent joy. “To the music store, awaaaay!” Vinyl cheered as she plucked the leash’s handle from Octavia’s grasp and flicked it like the reigns on a sleigh-pulling reindeer. Midnight twisted his head to lock eyes on Vinyl, an expression of disapproval plastered to his face as he erred an offensive “ahem”.

“Ahehe...” giggled a slightly mortified Vinyl. “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Midnight responded hastily, barely stanching his anxiety. “Come along, then, you two.”

The escalator rides up were spent in silence as they rode up to the sixth floor towards the music department. Only on their third escalator up was the impregnable tension cut to pieces by Vinyl saying, “Hey, Midnight?”

“Yes...” Midnight hesitated: should he call Vinyl “Master” as well? Or should he just drop the mannerisms and refer to her by her name?

Alas, he did not have to ponder on the solutions of that mystery for long, as Vinyl had proceeded to say, “How are Sarosians born?”

Midnight turned to face Vinyl, this time with a sympathetic smile on his lips. He knew that the notorious DJ would have to ask that question sooner or later, due to the little seed of doubt that Octavia had planted in her mind earlier. “You see, when a mommy and daddy Sarosian love each other very much–“

“No, you worthless twit,” Octavia berated as Midnight snickered away stupidly, “she means to ask how you wretched blackguards were spawned in the first place!”

“I knew that,” Midnight admitted, “I was just having a little fun with her, is all. Sorry, Vinyl.”

“It’s alright,” Vinyl said, dismissing the issue with a casual hand wave. “But yeah, what Tavi said. How were Sarosians first made?”

As they reached the peak of the third floor escalator and progressed to their fourth, Midnight began to weave a wonderful web of worthy words. “A lot of rumors and stories formulated from certain types of ponies–” he leered at Octavia as he said this, but only got a shrug and an aura of not giving a damn from the grey mare, “–but this lot of rumors and stories were proved to be erroneous due to extensive and strenuous analysis and reference.”

“...Huh?” Vinyl was lost in Midnight’s tsunami of advanced vocabulary.

“...The gossip was bullshit because I check my facts, I know my shit, and I don’t pull random words directly out of my ass,” Midnight simplified. Vinyl giggled, embarrassed by her initial reaction and entertained by his blunt, albeit funny, response. “Anywho, here’s how I figured out how Sarosians came to be.

“It was about the day I had gotten the position of scribe, back about nine years ago.”

“Wait, how old are you?” Vinyl quickly interjected as they reached the fifth floor and progressed to to the sixth, their destination.

“Twenty-seven," Midnight answered. “Anyways. When I gotten into town, I had overheard two elderly mares gossiping about me under their breath while I was in line at the supermarket. They were telling the exact same story you told Vinyl, Oct– er, Master." Octavia blinked, crossing her arms once again.

“When I returned to the castle, I went to Princess Luna and asked her if this rumor was true—if Sarosians truly were monsters that Nightmare Moon had created. She reassured my doubts by debunking that story with her recollection of how we were made.

“According to her, as well as Celestia, who had stumbled into the room at the time to get away from bothersome merchants who could only ramble on and on about their damn hats, Sarosians weren’t created by Nightmare Moon’s fury. Instead, they said that we are descended from dragons.”

The word “dragons” made both Vinyl and Octavia recede slightly, taken aback by this sudden discovery. ‘Dragons? Really?!’ the two thought simultaneously. 'Fire-breathing, pony-eating, village-plundering dragons?!' The duo's minds were racing a mile a minute to formulate a proper response to information of that caliber.

“Liar,” the both said in unison.

“Tch,” clicked Midnight. “Who would you rather believe? Two immortal princesses who are living out all eternity overseeing Equestria’s rise? Or two daft dead invalids with brains drier than the Sahayra Desert?” The gross silence from both mares signaled Midnight’s little victory. “Exactly.”

“But, how does that even work!?” Vinyl asked with a passionate shock as they had ascended to the sixth floor, the music department. “I mean, what do they do!?”

Midnight cleared his throat again. “Allow me to clarify. Dragons are capable of magic. There hasn’t been a lot of records about dragons due to how exceedingly dangerous it is to get near one, but a lucky few, particularly Starswirl the Bearded, have been able to uncover that, yes, dragons can do magic, just like unicorns and alicorns can. What these dragons can do that almost no unicorn can do is shapeshift.”

“Shapeshift?” Octavia erred, mildly intrigued about the topic they had stumbled into. The trio browsed the sixth floor for a bench to sit at, and after finding a good spot in the center, they promptly took their seats; while Vinyl and Octavia sat in the bench, the latter had forced Midnight to stand.

“Correct. Dragons who are sent into exile or presumed dead in the events of a raid gone wrong tend to go into hiding. Whether they’re desperate to escape being the runt of a litter or they grow curious of the lives ponies tend to lead, I have no idea. They utilize their magic and shapeshift into ponies, thus trying to adapt to life in equine society and blend in with our encompassment.

“Some are called out and deemed suspicious by the ponyfolk, thus forcing them to go into hiding again and try life in another town. Most usually manage to actually fit in with the ponyfolk. Eventually, they've even reached the stage where they fall in love with ponies and, uh... copulate.”

"Copulate?" Vinyl repeated, the word lost to her.

"They get freaky-deaky, alright?"

"You could have just said that. And plus, why not show us some more proof?" Vinyl was slightly skeptical as well, daring Midnight to cough up his answer.

"I've got the eyes of a dragon–" Midnight blinked the objects in question "–my ears look like their facial fins, Pegasi Sarosians have wings like dragons, we have their sharp teeth, and even their tongue."

"Their... tongue?" erred the cellist with distaste. Upon her reiteration, Midnight jutted out his tongue at her, to which she recoiled in disgust. Rather than a tongue that ended in one flat, rounded end, Midnight's ended in two, pointed prongs, much like a reptile's.

"Whoa!" Vinyl squealed as she suddenly grabbed his tongue, the pink muscle extended like a roll of measuring tape, ending at a staggering ten feet. Ignoring his slurred "ow!"s of agony, Vinyl let go of his tongue, and it retracted back into Midnight's mouth faster than a speeding bullet, making him yelp in anguish as it plopped unceremoniously back into his maw.

"What... the hay is wrong with you, girl?!" muffled Midnight through the hands that shielded and nursed his mouth. "Honestly, what possessed you to yank a stallion's tongue like that?"

"Hey, I got curious!" Vinyl responded defensively, cheeks reddening with mild heat.

"Curiosity has nothing to do with it!" he stated firmly, removing his hands and pointing an accusing finger at her.

“...So, what were you saying about Sarosians and dragons, bro?” Vinyl asked, more than destitute to avoid this topic for fear of greater mortification.

“Well, yes. But there’s more to it than that,” confessed Midnight. “Dragons and ponies have completely different chromosomes, the former’s being of a larger count and more magically enhanced than the latter’s, regardless of the dragon’s shapeshift. So, it’s relatively volatile for a dragon–pony offspring to be formed, due to the conflicting chromosome count and the magic properties of the dragon’s chromosomes. The chances of the offspring, or Sarosian in this case, being born is about twenty-five percent.”

“And... what about that other seventy-five percent?” inquired Vinyl, a smidgen of worry in her tone.

“...they die. Whether it be a stillborn—the most common one—or slaughtering due to the more unfriendly ponies being disturbed and filled with detest for this dragon–pony hybrid, they die.” Midnight looked positively grim, the way he said the vast majority of these hybrids dying bringing a sense of melancholy into him. Octavia looked forlorn, torn between her hatred for Sarosians and her standards on the euthanizing of innocent babies. Vinyl looked somewhat heartbroken as well, lip trembling at the thought of foals being executed just for being of a difference species.

“That’s... quite unfortunate,” Octavia finally piped up. “So how many of you lot are there to regular ponies?”

‘You lot? Really?’ Midnight thought as he sat on the floor with crossed hooves: his legs were tired from all that standing about. “I’ll be getting to that in a moment. We don’t have the insanely long life span of dragons, yet once a Sarosian is born, he or she has the exact same fecundity for foals as regular ponies, due to the Sarosian’s chromosomes being the same quantity as a pony’s. However, there’s a catch: the chromosomes, while still being of similar count, will still retain the dragon’s magical attributes, so there will always be a fifty-fifty chance of the offspring being a Sarosian or normal if he or she mates with an ordinary pony, depending on the dragon’s magical aspects transferring to the offspring to make a Sarosian or not, and the magical attributes will be passed down to the next generation.

“According to those statistics, there’s pretty much four Sarosians out of ten ponies total, with the overall population being 2.7 billion Sarosians to... hmm... about six billion, seven-hundred fifty million regular ponies in Equestria," Midnight completed.

“But that doesn’t explain why Sarosians prefer nighttime to daytime,” Vinyl asked.

“Hmm....” Midnight wracked his brains together to answer the mare's query. "I'd have to say that due to Nightmare Night overthrowing Celestia and briefly plunging the world into eternal night, Sarosians were just as affected as everypony else in the end. Unlike regular ponies, who relied on their food source being only organic fruits and veggies, Sarosians are omnivorous. We were more oriented on eating meat back in those days when we could get it. We adapted to the nighttime, our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and eventually we grew to see in the dark and could hunt at night. However, our prey was dying out as their organic food supply was dying due to lack of sunlight, so we were in the same situation as ponies only several days later.

“It also got much too cold for us to go outside, and with the ponyfolk being... er, unfriendly to us, we had to set up colonies in mountain caves or underground to keep warm, thus spawning the derogatory slurs ‘cavedweller’ and 'nightcrawler'. We were very grateful when Celestia came and banished Nightmare Moon to the moon with the Elements of Harmony. Both our produce and our prey became bountiful due to the sun growing crops for all to eat as the days and their warmth returned. Some of us did go out into the sunlight, but others had been so accustomed to the night and its darkness during Nightmare’s usurpation, that they hid from the sunlight and appeared only at night."

"Can Sarosians be all races? Like, unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies?"

"Yeah. Not only that, but there are different classifications for Sarosians.”

“Different classifications?” Octavia reiterated skeptically. “Define, mongrel.”

“Well, this doesn’t apply to all of us, but there are different categories of Sarosians. Think of it as...” Midnight scratched his chin, the cogs and gears of his brain whirled and churning to concoct the correct words. “...think of it like perks for specific ones. Upgrades, so to speak. Some of us are hyperobservant and have photographic memories. They can see and hear subliminal details way better than others, and they can remember every last thing about them; we call them ‘Recorders’. Some are able to pick up scents and smells much better than others and trace them back to their sources; they’re known as ‘Bloodhound’ Sarosian. Some, mostly unicorns like me, can actually get rare glimpses into the future every now and again; we call these types of Sarosians ‘Soothsayers’. Some are able to talk and make actual conversation to animals fluently, thus earning them the title ‘Encrypter’. Some can even mimic whatever anything somepony says or does precisely, acting it out to the T - even in the way it sounds. These Sarosians are known as 'Copycats'. See where I’m going with this?”

"And what stupid attribute, pray tell, are you born with?" Octavia demanded of Midnight.

"Easy: a Recorder. That's how my job of being a scribe isn't so hard for me." Midnight felt pride swelling up inside him at the mention of his ability. "I can rewrite everything that the Princesses say exactly, regardless of whether or not it was five seconds or even five hours ago. Anything that sticks out, yet no one else sees it, I can see it easily and remember it for a long time. Anything I read or watch is planted instantly into my brain."

“Wait, so can a Sarosian have more than one of these traits?” questioned Vinyl, more curiosity barreling through her at the force of a bullet train due to the phenomena that she was hearing.

“Well, yes. There are a few that are born with more than one of these traits. The only problem is that you can’t learn these abilities: they can only be passed down from generation to generation. Some other traits can pop up at completely random, totally rare times. The most abilities anypony’s ever had was the five I mentioned, and this was about 453 years ago, the Sarosian in question being a sage by the name of Star Lantern. So exalted was she for having all of these traits that she earned the name BexHadrim.” The confused looks of both Vinyl and Octavia made Midnight sigh and translate, “the Open Mind.”

“Okay, what language was that?” Vinyl wanted to know more, mind racing with thoughts and questions she wanted to ask Midnight.

“That was dragonspeak,” Midnight answered, happy to see Vinyl's interest in his species' ancestral roots.

“Like, Flyrim dragonspeak?! Fus ro dah and stuff like that?!” Vinyl’s eyes started widening, brightening like movie-studio floodlights. At Midnight's nod, Vinyl practically resonated a little *squee* as her mouth curled up into a huge smile. "Holy shit, that is so awesome!" the prestigious DJ squealed. Then, she suddenly grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him lightly, his glasses going somewhat askew. "Can you teach me?! Please! Pretty please!" Vinyl jutted her bottom lip out as she looked at Midnight with begging, helpless puppy-dog eyes.

"Er... I'll give it some thought, yeah." As she let go, Vinyl smiled so brightly that Midnight felt a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of joy, flood him like a town in a hurricane, the waters of euphoria washing and rinsing his soul in its untarnished and pristine rarity and beauty. Wow. This feels... pretty good. Is this what it feels like to help a friend?

Readjusting his glasses back onto his muzzle, Midnight quickly directed his attention to Octavia and said, "By the way, Nocturne isn’t some language Nightmare Moon just pulled out of her ass. It’s a name in dragonspeak that means ‘Night Wings’, due to a majority of Sarosians being pegasi.”

“Oh, shut it." Rather upset that she had been eavesdropped on by the collar-clad unicorn and that he had uprooted what knowledge she had of his worthless race, Octavia grumbled as she stood up from her seat on the bench, her rear sore from resting in one place too long. “Now, come along. You have things to buy for us,” she added loftily, a snarky grin stretched upon her lips as she yanked on the collar's leash.

Midnight groaned grumpily as he got to his hooves. “Oh... that’s right....”

~End of Chapter VI~

VII - Spawning Soft Spots for Smarmy Sarosians

VII - Spawning Soft Spots for Smarmy Sarosians

Ninety minutes.

Ninety, grueling, unwell-spent minutes.

Midnight would know: he counted them, much to his trepid chagrin. Prior to this crusade of the Canterlot Mall, he had ten thousand Bits crammed cozily in his wallet. Now, his money had been reduced to six thousand, mostly due to Vinyl’s and Octavia’s impulse spending on uncommonly expensive name-brand products, as well as the latter’s forceful nature in demanding Midnight to buy the things she wanted lest she report him for disobedience and thus dig him into a deeper hole.

“Oh, poor sweet funds,” pseudo-wept Midnight, kneeling down and stroking his considerably slimmer wallet with a tender hand like a lover would her dying soulmate. “They ravaged you like some defenseless mare in an alley, and yet they hardly knew ye....”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” dictated Octavia, half of their huge abundance of merchandise she and Vinyl had chosen being shrouded in Midnight’s lime-green magical aura. She yanked on the leash in her hand and dragged him off of his knees and onto his hooves. Vinyl, alabaster horn and the other half of their purchased items also encompassed in periwinkle-blue magic fields, gave Midnight a sympathetic pat on the back.

“So what was next on the list, buddy? Lunch?” asked Vinyl, slipping on her favorite purple shades and giving her new headphones a test run as she slipped the auxiliary jack into her phone and hitting the "Play" button. The blotting out of all sound was made evident as her ears were battered and walloped with intensified wubs and electronic music. “Whoa, these are rad!” she exclaimed, slipping the headphones around her neck.

Midnight was about to flat-out decline and reject any and all possible suggestions that both Vinyl and Octavia created: at this rate, they were to bleed him dry of all his money.

You gotta share. You gotta care, recalled the fourth tip of Twilight Sparkle’s friend-making text message in his head. Being greedy and stingy gets you nowhere in the long run.

‘Well, there’s a difference between giving to those in need, and getting robbed by those in need...’ Midnight thought exasperatedly.

...Just... don't be greedy, damn it! Alright? scolded Midnight’s conscience, one of the few things that had kept him company his entire life. It was both his help, and his hindrance.

‘...Fine... damn grey matter.’ As he forced a grin, Midnight’s face felt as though it had undergone a severe and irreversible case of unprofessional, mediocre Botox. The everlasting feeling of excruciation of his mouth curling into a fake smile stung him perpetually, just to keep himself from ranting on about how mares are like mosquitoes towards a stallion’s wallet. Especially when one of those mares was the necessary impediment between sweet freedom in the outside world and Canterlot’s unsanitary and unsafe dungeons. The latter, the Sarosian’s rear would be mincemeat in mere minutes. “Er, where do you guys want to eat?”

“Taco Belle!” squealed Vinyl in earnest, more than excited to eat those zestful vegan chalupas they distribute after weeks of never getting them, due to how fast they sell out.

“The Apple Garden.” Octavia couldn’t help but fantasise about those divine garlic breadsticks they serve, as well as their heavenly pasta, as though those noodles were crafted and cooked by the hands of Faust herself.

“...You do know neither of those are actually authentic Mexicolt or Itailian restaurants, right?” was what Midnight could have said... yet felt as though he would shatter their looks of euphoria in one clean and ephemeral, albeit devastating blow. Octavia, he didn’t give a damn about, but he was in no position to do such a thing to Vinyl. So, he simply left well enough alone before more horrible things could occur from his plausible slip-up.

“How about we flip a coin and find out where to eat, then?” he finally answered as he withdrew a simple one-Bit coin from his pocket, its gold and silver sides reflecting the fluorescent light of the mall’s lamps. “Heads for Apple Garden, Tails for Taco Belle.”

He flicked his thumb, and the coin escalated a meter into the air before plummeting back down into his palm. Instead of the silver side of the coin that was stamped with the New Lunar Republic’s crest and motto, the golden side of the coin, emblazoned with the Solar Empire’s insignia and motto, shone brightly in his hand. “Heads it is,” he announced. Vinyl sighed in defeat as Octavia adjusted her pink bowtie with a smirk, the trumpets of victory reverberating in her head.

More eyes lingered on the trio as they descended down the escalators towards the exit. But by the time they reached third floor—the accessories section—something in the corner of Midnight’s eye caught his fancy, and would not let go. “Hold on a moment.” Midnight walked towards one of the jewelry shops, dragging a protesting and baffled Octavia along. Midnight pressed his face to the glass window barrier that separated him from the object of his interest: a pair of small, narrow silver bands, embroidered with emerald stone clips that would connect the hinged ends together.

“Hairclips. 350 Bits each,” read the sign next to the dual accessories. Midnight’s daggerlike pupils widened in wonder, enticed by the sight of such high-quality jewelry. The lustre, the durability, those gems! Surely, he can be able to squander just a little bit of dough on himself if it meant acquiring those elusive clips!

‘Want. Want.WANT.’

“Oh, no,” interrupted Octavia, abruptly pulling Midnight out of his hypnotic daze.

“Please?” Midnight pleaded, pupils returning to narrow slits.

“No!”

“Why not?” he pressed on. “First of all, it’s my money, I can pretty much do whatever I please. Second of all, do you know what the last nice thing I bought for myself was?” A pause elicited from the both of them. “Underwear.”

“How gross,” Octavia muttered with a shudder. “That is far too much information from you, Sarosian.” She blinked a few times at what Midnight had earlier said. ...the last nice thing I bought for myself... “Wait, you were trying to buy this for yourself?” she queried, snickering slightly under her breath.

“No,” lied Midnight, averting his eyes away from Octavia as he held his breath and hoped she did not catch on. “I’m buying them for my mother.”

“Your mother? Really?” She raised a questioning brow, still sniggering away.

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I’d assume that she and the rest of your intolerable race suffered something terrible.”

“Yes. Taxes.” Midnight facepalmed. Hard. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groaned in exasperation. “And why does everypony like to assume my parents are dead? I’m not Batmane! My parents are not dead!” ‘But oh, what I wouldn’t give to be Batmane....’

“I dunno, Tavi, why not let him buy something for himself? After all, we bought a shitload of junk. Why can’t he spoil himself as well?”

‘We bought a shitload of junk?' thought Midnight. 'No, I bought a shitload of junk that you all made mebuy.'

“Are you saying that you’re siding with this beast, Vinyl Scratch?” Octavia appeared rather upset by Vinyl’s request, brow cocked high for the disappointment the notorious DJ would dish out.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Vinyl finally answered, putting an arm around Midnight's shoulders, thumping him on his chest with a fist and eliciting a small "Oof!" from the scrawny Sarosian. Octavia uttered a low growl, causing Vinyl to gulp anxiously as she peeled herself away from Midnight.

In the end, Octavia could only click her tongue in disdain and state, "Fine. Go buy your damn jewelry.”

Grinning widely, Midnight dashed inside the store. Within minutes, he stepped back out, his first purchase nestled inside a plastic bag that he gingerly held. “Thank you, Master,” he said in appreciation. “This gift means quite a bit to me– I mean, my mother.”

They departed, struggling at first with pushing their hefty merchandise through the doors of the mall. Some concerned staff members advocated the idea of hooking a luggage trolley to their carriage, to which a sweaty Midnight, an indifferent Vinyl, and a complacent Octavia all accepted... at the cost of fifty Bits.

“Thank heavens that’s over,” Midnight huffed, now 4400 Bits poorer. Closing the lid of the trolley with a shove and securing it with a cheaply-made lock that the mall staff offered, Midnight wiped his forehead of his exuding perspiration and heaved a great sigh: using magic for too long and for too many things would be relatively costly for a unicorn’s energy. He slipped the harness of the carriage onto his chest and waited patiently for Octavia and Vinyl to clamber aboard, recharging his stamina all the while.

“Go,” ordered Octavia. Sure, it was heavier to a certain extent due to all the junk they had loaded on the trolley, but at least it wasn’t too much of a hindrance for him to remove the carriage from their parking space and cull it down the road towards the Apple Garden. Midnight plucked his phone from his pocket and checked the time: 18:43. According to Midnight’s calculations, they should be there within fifteen minutes.

Said fifteen minutes elapsed, leaving the trio standing outside the unauthentic, yet still delicious, Itailian Apple Garden. After parking the carriage right in front of it, Midnight ripped his harness off and put it on the ground, awaiting Octavia and Vinyl to descend from their seats.

“Miss Octavia, is that you?” A voice all too familiar to Octavia cried out. The aforementioned pony turned around and gasped in surprise at who she saw.

Striding briskly across the street was a dusty-brown Earth Pony stallion, a mane and tail the colour of sun-bleached sand and a well-kempt chocolate-hued suit about his person as his legs traversed across the cobblestone road, forest-green eyes fixed on Octavia. “My my my! What a lovely surprise to bump into you on an evening such as this!” happily exclaimed the stallion, shaking hands with her and smiling.

The cellist’s cheeks began to flare and burn a brilliant shade of bright red, her lips cracking into a goofy grin as her hand was clutched tightly in greetings. "F-Frédéric?! H-how nice to see you!" she sputtered.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Frédéric, kissing the back of Octavia’s hand, producing from her a giggle one would only hear from a smitten schoolfilly. Midnight and Vinyl exchanged quick glances between the both of them, before sharing a smirk between each other due to Octavia’s actions. "Oh, hello, Vinyl, how do you do?" Frédéric then directed to the white mare, who jerked her head up suavely with a plain and simple “Sup”.

Frédéric’s gaze then fell upon Midnight. Between the sophisticated, gorgeous mare Octavia and the plus-sized, yet still very attractive femme Vinyl, Frédéric felt as though the tall and bespectacled Sarosian was the most wanton and out-of-place, from his serpentine eyes to his confining dog collar. "And... who might this be?" the brown stallion queried, tone tinged with concern and distaste.

Octavia’s thoughts screeched to a halt, thinking rapidly on how to answer his question. “That– er, He...” ‘Quick! Think, think, think! What would work? My pet? No, he doesn’t roll over! My slave? Sadly, no... my lov– Oh, Goddess, not that! Not in a million years! Wait, I’ve got it!’ “...He is my stablecolt!” she quickly lied. Well, a half-lie, since Midnight did drag her around in a carriage like a stablecolt would; nonetheless, Octavia’s answer still lacked verisimilitude.

Midnight, upset by her fib—and a bad one at that—was about to retort and correct her; yet when Octavia reared her head back and fired one of the most menacing glares she could muster at him, the words died in his throat, resulting in a rather feeble squeak that sounded as though a mouse had been quickly trodden on.

“He was a farmer back in whatever dirty, backwater wasteland he called a country when he got a nice, glorious buck to the head from an angry cow at a young age. He’s a hard worker, he’s just not at all very bright, and he’s rather slow. Isn’t that right, half-breed?” Octavia said that last bit through gritted teeth. She stared icily at him, her vicious orchid eyes screaming, ‘You’d better play the part, or so help me Celestia....’

Midnight gulped anxiously, vehement chills vigorously violating his vertebrae as he reminisced on Octavia’s glare. So, he did as he was implied to do. Forcing his eyes to take a chameleon-like imitation and veer off in different directions, he cleared his throat a bit and dumbly replied, “Yarp!”

Vinyl chuckled, as did a few other pedestrians, while Octavia displayed a smirk of success. “I see. Well, I’m glad to see that you’re keeping the inbreds in their place,” commented Frédéric with a snicker, provoking a silent, furious snarl from the Sarosian. “Say, I’m feeling rather... peckish. Don’t you?” Octavia whipped around and nodded fervently, smiling and blushing all the while. “Well, I say the Apple Garden is a splendid choice for the evening!” He made way for her to enter inside. “Shall we?”

“O-o-of course!” answered Octavia, accessing the door to the Itailian restaurant with Frédéric by her side, and Vinyl and Midnight trailing behind them.

“Who’s the stiff?” asked Midnight quietly in Vinyl’s ear, refocusing his draconic eyes to their original positions.

“That’s Frédéric Horseshoepin,” whispered Vinyl, the four of them waiting by the front desk as Octavia and Frédéric began making a reservation. “He and Octavia have known each other since they became pianist and cellist—in that order—for the Canterlot Quartet.”

“That little fancy band that plays classical music at all the parties here in Canterlot?”

“That’s the one. It had only been about a year ago when Octavia started having a crush on Frédéric.” Vinyl let off a little shudder. “What she sees in him is beyond me. I mean, you’re way cooler than that dude!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” confessed Midnight, slightly embarrassed by Vinyl’s praise.

“Maybe she’s just one of those fancy frou-frou Canterlot ponies through and through?”

“That, I can agree on wholeheartedly,” Midnight muttered through sealed teeth, firing an angry stare at Octavia behind her back.

“...By the way, and this is totally off-topic, but... what kind of music do you like?” Vinyl then asked.

“Me?” Their short wait was over as the four ponies were escorted to their table by the hostess. “Er... I’m mostly inclined to listen to rock: Metal, alternative, indie, and hard rock are amongst my favourite subgenres. But I dabble in a little bit of hip-hop and rap, some jazz, some orchestral, some electro, stuff like that.”

“Oh, cool!”

But I cannot—cannot—stand country and pop.”

Vinyl chuckled. “I can agree with you on that.” As they approached their table, she nudged Midnight’s ribcage, alerting him of what she had to say. “We’re about to sit down. Act... er, unnatural for Tavi.” Midnight nodded and, with a little concentration, forced his eyes to go askew again, earning another giggle from Vinyl.

“No, you stand,” ordered Octavia, regardless of their table having a fourth seat for the Sarosian to sit in. Midnight knew better than to argue against her, so instead of that, he simply sighed and barked out another, albeit weaker “Yarp”. The other three read the menus before them, eyes scanning for the food item of their choice. While Vinyl just browsed the menu in silence, Octavia and Frédéric simply conversed with one another while they chose what they would like, the former still blushing heavily from having to sit next to the pianist.

‘Oh my goodness oh my goodness oh my goodness oh my goodness–’ thought Octavia repetitively, heart racing in her chest. ‘He kissed my hand earlier. What a gentlecolt! I may never wash this hand again!’

Midnight, being the ever-hyperobservant pony he was, rolled his eyes at Octavia and her internal fangirling.

“What shall I get you four?” asked their waiter, a white Pegasus stallion with a blasted-back yellow mane. He sent down unto their table a large basket of their famous garlic breadsticks and a bowl of their delicious Ponaesar Salad, topped with ranch dressing and a myriad of croutons.

“I would like a bowl of lentil soup, please,” requested Frédéric, “as well as a capellini pomodoro and a bottle of some of your finest wine.”

The waiter began quickly jotting down the orders. ‘Pfft, what an amateur,’ Midnight thought, unimpressed by his moderate writing speed and—upon closer inspection—somewhat poor handwriting. ‘I mean, really, that’s just sad.’

“I’d like your classic fettuccine alfredo, please,” Octavia implored.

“Can I get a... five-cheese Ziti al Forno?” asked Vinyl, enunciating the dish’s name in an attempt to not get tongue-tied.

“And for you?” The waiter beseeched of Midnight, who was too deep in his beleaguering thoughts on the staff penmanship to respond.

“He’s not hungry,” Octavia quickly answered, nopony detecting the cruelty hidden in her tone.

*RRRRRR,* went the stomach of Midnight, snapping him out of his reverie and destitute on getting sated inside of it. ‘Oh, damn it all,’ he thought.

“...Okaaay....” said the waiter. “We’ll be right out with your food momentarily.” At that, he skimmed away towards the kitchen. Midnight reached his hand out for a breadstick, licking his lips in anticipation. Sadly, all his hopes and dreams were dashed as Octavia slapped his hand away from the bowl.

“Don’t touch!” she seethed. Midnight flipped her the bird, which went undetected.

“C’mon, Tavi, let him eat just one,” Vinyl beseeched her friend. “You heard his stomach, right?”

“If you wish for him to taint the whole basket with his filthy hands, by all means,” said Frédéric chuckling at his joke, Octavia following suit. Vinyl fired a dirty look at him from behind the guise of her purple shades. Midnight clenched his fists, resisting every iota in his body that begged for him to use his magic to turn Frédéric inside-out, or to cause him to spontaneously combust.

Just like with what happened at the mall and outside, Midnight became the topic of conversation on the lips of the dining ponyfolk yet again.

“It’s on a leash! Ahaha!”

“Thank heavens it’s on one, too: otherwise, it’d probably maim us all.”

“Mommy, he looks funny! May I touch him?”

“Preposterous! I won’t allow you to even go near such a dreadful abomination!”

Succeeding in overcoming his anxiety, Midnight didn’t really have enough middle fingers to offer to the whole lot of them.

The waiter returned, this time with his hands and rather dexterous wings laden with food and drink for all but Midnight. A plate of hot noodles drenched in seasoned white wine cream sauce was placed elegantly in front of Octavia, a bowl of warm lentil soup and a plate of angel-hair spaghetti doused with tomato sauce and diced vegetables descended calmly before Frédéric, and a platter of white steamy noodles blanketed in an amalgamation of cheese clattered cleanly in front of Vinyl. The large bottle of aged wine lands neatly upon the table as well. “Bon appétit,” the waiter said before returning casually to the kitchens.

‘That’s Prench, you git,’ Midnight deadpanned mentally. Still, he had to give him props: Neither Octavia or Frédéric caught wind of his slip-up, since the nicety of wishing somepony an enjoyable meal sounded similar in both Prench and Itailian.

Midnight’s stomach rumbled yet again, this time at a louder volume. Frédéric sighed in frustration, facepalming as he proceeded to say, “Can somepony please get the mongrel a dog bowl and shut up his stomach?!”

Laughter. Genuine, cold, cruel laughter. Those who heard Frédéric’s remark replied in that way as they glanced at Midnight, whose breathing was rapidly increasing, sweat beginning to trickle down his brow. He glanced back and forth, left and right, looking for a way out of this maze of ridicule—but to no avail. He was an animal locked behind the oppressive bars of a zoo’s cage, on display for all to see, mock, and comment on. He could not move, pace back and forth, or even protest: he could only sit still and take it, anxiety about to erupt like a volcano.

He was helpless.

Weak.

Pathetic.

He hadn't felt this way in so very long… and he hated feeling the same way again.

“That’s it.” Vinyl grabbed Midnight by the arm and yanked him down into the seat next to her. A vast majority of the laughter stopped. Octavia and Frédéric witnessed Vinyl scoop a spoonful of her pasta and stuffed it into Midnight’s mouth. “Chew,” she ordered. Midnight slowly complied, teeth gnashing and breaking down the Ziti al Forno. “Faster, damn it!” His jaw sped up, mashing the meal much quicker. “Swallow.” He obeyed again, pasta hitting his stomach satisfactorily.

‘Wow, that’s tasty...’ Midnight thought, happy that his hunger had been sated. Vinyl repeated the process again and again, feeding Midnight in front of everyone without shame or hesitation.

“Vinyl!” Octavia barked in a hushed tone. The restaurant-goers had their eyes fixed on their table, loose lips launching hushed whispers between them. “What are you doing?”

Vinyl removed her shades, setting them down upon the table and locking eyes with her friend, brows raised in a questioning pose. “Being a good friend... something at which you’re being horrible at.” The words were taken right from both Octavia’s and Frédéric’s mouths, whilst Midnight’s was being crammed with the food that Vinyl inserted. The Sarosian felt his anxiety from before gradually die down, his heart no longer dying. Her forceful demeanor softened, as her strong feeding movements slowed. “Have a breadstick,” she offered to him, plucking one delicately from the basket and breaking it in half. Midnight gingerly took one of the halves and slowly chewed it.

“Friend?” reiterated Frédéric, as though the word was lost to him. “How could you possibly be friends with that?” Vinyl ignored the pianist, her teeth biting into her half of the breadstick, the garlic seasoning enticing her tongue. Horn sheathing itself in another periwinkle corona, she popped open the bottle of wine with her magic and poured she and Midnight two glasses of it, the maroon gold splashing into the basin of the wine glasses smoother than silk.

Midnight blinked. He was not much of a drinker of alcohol, since he knew it was another way to kill off his brain cells, something he valued very much. He did not take Vinyl for a wine drinker either: he presumed she was more of a fan of the harder stuff, like vodka and whiskey.

Even if that were the case, that did not stop her from raising her glass to Midnight, a euphoric smile on her face and a subtle blush to her cheeks. “Cheers,” she said simply.

Midnight slowly felt his lips curl up into a grin as he grabbed his wine glass, clinking it against hers. “Ch... cheers,” he choked out, before they sampled a generous swig of the stuff.

The rest of dinner went surprisingly well for the both of them.

In the end, Midnight had to pay, again keeping up his “mentally handicapped stablecolt” façade in order to avoid getting reported by Octavia to the Princesses. Frédéric departed for his home—much to Octavia's disappointment—saying to them he had important business to attend to. They had decided not to go to the movie theatre, for nothing was being premiered that they hadn't either already seen or that they deemed interesting.

Plus, Midnight could bootleg all these films onto his computer and he had all the snacks he wanted, so he saw no need to pay twenty Bits for a midget-sized box of candies that would only last him about five minutes.

The trio pulled over at the cellist and DJ's apartment complex, the moon starting to poke out through the clouds and bathe the entirety of Equestria in its light. Midnight felt more alert, focused, his magical prowess strengthening due to the power the moon's ethereal glow emitted. It was an unusual phenomena for unicorns: their magic grows profound when the moon takes the stage. Seizing this opportunity, he unlocked their cargo trolley and encased their shopping bags in his acid-green corona of magic, before concentrating hard on their dorm room and teleporting their merchandise inside their apartment room on the third floor.

“Say,” Midnight began, looking at Vinyl, who produced a “hmm?” in response, showing her cooperation to what he had to say. “I want to say thank you, for being so kind to me tonight.” Vinyl could feel her face conflagrate with heat, cheeks practically glowing a hot bright red.

“D-Don't mention it...” Vinyl stammered as she and Octavia stood in front of their complex. “Did you have fun?” Midnight nodded calmly, easing whatever qualms she had about this evening. “Good. I did, too.”

“Vinyl, come along now,” Octavia requested, to which Vinyl complied. Midnight removed his collar, and hovered it towards Octavia with his magic. “Well, Sarosian, you almost made a mess of things.” Midnight clicked his tongue. He readied his ears for a good scolding, an eternal chewing-out from the cellist, whom he knew could go on for hours and hours poking at the most trivial of details... but it didn't come. “However, I do admit your feats of generosity towards me and Vinyl today were somewhat... er, admirable. And you did play along relatively well with the stablecolt charade.”

“Yeah. Thanks for buying all that stuff for us,” Vinyl said appreciatively, “even though we kinda, hehe, took advantage of you at the mall today.”

Midnight would have been mad, had it been anypony else, and would no doubt make them feel guilty for making him blow money on clothes, electronics, games, movies, jewelry, makeup, and other items that were deemed arbitrary to their lives. But, it was Vinyl and Octavia. He couldn't really refuse them; doing so would put his butt behind bars. Not only that, but... he rather liked working for them. The service itself was but a sidegrade to his life—he had the opportunity to gain friends like Vinyl and Octavia, at the cost of him having to make a complete, flat-out mule of himself. But he'd take that any day of the week.

“Don't mention it. It was... my pleasure. I'll, er, see you guys tomorrow,” Midnight said, turning around and heading home.

“Very well,” stated Octavia. “Oh, and Sarosian....” He turned back, seeing a smile—not of treachery, but of mild impression—on Octavia's lips. Midnight was a little surprised at the sight. Usually, her mouth was plagued with a grim frown or a sadistic grin. But to see her mouth curved up in a smile of admiration was something entirely new. He actually thought she looked... well, nice with it, despite how she’s mistreated him so much in the past day alone. It suited her much better than her malicious frowns. “I want you to dress properly next time you come to serve me and Vinyl. And shave as well: That goatee makes you look like a tosser.”

Midnight sighed. Dressing properly was his forte, an essential part of his job as scribe and something he could do without problem. But shaving was a different story entirely. ‘I like this beard, woman...’ he thought defencively. But alas, 'twas a thought, and nothing more. “Very well, then....” he grumbled, walking back home to the castle with his bag of hairclips in hand. “G'night.”

Octavia and Vinyl entered the building and made their way up the stairs to their room, glad that Midnight had the courtesy of teleporting all of their newly-purchased items inside. “You like him, don't you?” Octavia said coyly, taking Vinyl completely by surprise.

“What?” she said dumbly.

“You have feelings for the half-breed, correct?” Octavia simplified for her, a wry expression upon her face as she unlocked door #394 and casually stepped inside.

“What do you mean?” Vinyl blurted embarrassedly, cheeks flushing bright red again from the mortification. “H-He’s just a good friend, is all!”

“I didn’t hear a no~," sang the other teasingly.

Vinyl harrumphed grumpily whilst Octavia chuckled at her dismay. “Shut up, Tavi!” she whined. “I don’t even like him like that!”

“Sure….”

~End of Chapter VII~

Author's Note

And so, here is the result of several days of working on this chapter.

Honestly, I'm sort of "Eh"-ish about this, but this update creates a conflict.

Vinyl -> Midnight -> Octavia

What to do, what to do... (initiates ugly laughter.)

I pray this update doesn't disappoint.

VIII - An Expletive's Grim Foundations (Rather Reedited)

Letter from Deyeaz-senpai: So, guys, I had a friend overlook this chapter, and while he did like it, he saw that the fight between the thug and Midnight was rather one-sided, so I prettied it up somewhat by actually having them knock each other around a bit. And I know you're probably thinking 'But he's a unicorn, he's supposed to win unscathed!'

Regardless, I felt like Midnight felt a little too OP in this chapter. Happily, that isn't that big an issue anymore. Enjoy, dorks. :3

VIII - An Expletive’s Grim Foundations

Time was a very fickle thing. When one wishes for it to speed up during a moment of great monotony, it contradicts their desires and crawls at a snail’s pace. Vice versa applies as well, where the clock blasts off with the velocity of a space shuttle whenever somepony requests that it slows down.

Within the two months that Midnight wished would finish up, only four days has elapsed, and the situation with his exclusive service remained rather the same throughout: Midnight would awake hours after dawn had cracked, barely eat breakfast in a hurried manner, and rush off towards Octavia and Vinyl’s home. There was only one thing that was truly different about his current routine.

‘Man... Why did she make me get rid of it?’ Midnight complained in his head, scratching at his clean shaven face. Even though he had removed it but a few mornings ago, Midnight still mourned taking a razor to his goatee. He had grown rather attached to it.

“Oi!” called a deep voice. Midnight turned and saw Cirrus Storm speeding his way. He sighed in frustration as the Pegasus guard pulled over beside him.

‘Oh Celestia, this again....’

Cirrus caught up to him. “Now give it to me straight–”

“Ha. Gaaaaay,” bantered Midnight.

“What? Ew, no! Listen: are you seriously working for Octavia? The Octavia Philharmonica?!”

“For the last time, yes!” Midnight pinched the bridge of his muzzle, incredulous as to how this question was constantly asked of him by almost every male guard in sight. He had repeated his answer for what he felt was about the fortieth time. “Have the suds from kitchen duty gotten to you and made you daft?”

Cirrus ignored that bit. “You lucky dog, you!” Midnight groaned at the word “dog”: acting like one for three days and counting was far too much for him already. “But seriously, tell me this: she’s hot, right?” the Pegasus pressed on, his giddy smile profuse and bent on remaining on his face.

“She’s what, now?” Midnight was somewhat taken aback by the earlier question.

“Is she or is she not freakin’ hot?” simplified Cirrus somewhat impatiently, thumping Midnight on the back and almost knocking him down. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Fixing his glasses back up onto his muzzle, Midnight clicked his tongue and pondered on Cirrus’s rather... simplistic question. Did he think Octavia was attractive? He had to admit, she did have an appearance about her that many stallions—and perhaps some mares—would find alluring. Even Midnight had thought of her to have a breathtaking grace... that is until her true colors reared their ugly heads towards him. Still, had it not been for her animosity towards him, he’d have been more inclined to answer with an ecstatic “Buck yeah!”

This was not the case, however, when Midnight replied, “Well, she’s cute, but... her attitude could do with some serious work.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” asked Cirrus, bewildered by the response. “And why are you dressed up in your work suit?” Indeed, Midnight was donned in his scribe clothing: Black tuxedo pants, a white dress shirt, a black button-up designated for tuxedos, a silver pocket watch as big as a hockey puck in the vest pocket, white rubber gloves, and a black tie. In the middle of each arm of the sleeves was an black length of cloth, each one wrapped around the bicep like an armband and emblazoned with a sand-colored papyrus scroll with a red arcane pentacle etched into it, the golden tip of a crimson phoenix quill submerged in the contents of a stout blue ink pot.

“She wants me to serve her in something ‘presentable’,” the Sarosian answered. “And what I mean is that she’s been an über-bitch to me, Cirrus! Literally, since she laid eyes on me, she’s been making my life a living Tartarus: don’t do this; do that; shut up; you’re a dirty half-breed; you’ll never amount to anything.” Midnight ejected a puff of air through his lips in frustration. “Honestly, what you see in her is beyond me, man.”

“What, I just think she’s definitely worth hooking up with,” Cirrus admitted, a tantalizing image of a bikini-clad Octavia formulating in his mind. “Have you seen those perfect legs? And that plot?! Hot damn!”

“Can you not?” Midnight implored, irked by the Pegasus guard’s lustful gobbledygook.

“Hey, well, maybe she’s just a bitch to you, dude,” said Cirrus, shrugging.

“That’s most likely it,” concluded Midnight. “Anyways, I should get to their place before I get yelled at... again.”

“Their place?”

“Yeah. I work for Octavia’s friend Vinyl Scratch also.”

Midnight rather regretted having to admit that, for Cirrus’s jaw dropped almost comically. “You’re working for DJ P0N-3 as well?!”

“That’s her handle?” Midnight came across that moniker before, and was a little disturbed by it since the numbers and letters had to be pronounced rather than just simply saying “pony”.

“Dude, she’s hot as Tartarus!” Cirrus wrapped his arm around Midnight’s neck. “You lucky little pencil-neck, you, getting all the mares you want!” He laughed heartily, muscular bicep and forearm crushing Midnight’s esophagus in a mighty headlock, noogie-ing the Sarosian only to shuffle his knuckle on his hat and nearly dislodge it.

“Ah, watch it!” Midnight’s horn encased itself in an acid-green glow before removing Cirrus’s arm from his gullet. Fixing his hat and his glasses to their original positions, Midnight sighed in frustration. “I don’t ‘get’ mares because what mare would want to be ‘got’ by me?” As Cirrus blinked at the blunt truth of his words, Midnight stated, “Exactly. My kindness towards the opposite sex should not ever be confused with what you like to call ‘being a player’; most of all, while I like them, they don’t like me.”

Sighing again, Midnight finished the conversation with, “In any case, I have stuff to do that I don’t want to do. See you later.”

“See you later, Midnight.”

Turning on his heel, Midnight’s horn glowed brighter as he concentrated briefly before he teleported outside of the apartment complex. He entered the complex and made his way up the stairs towards door 394, before rapping on its sleek surface with a knuckle and stepping away.

Vinyl, dressed in sagging jeans, a white tank top, her infamous purple sunshades, and a red beanie, opened the door and greeted Midnight as she usually did: with a beaming smile and a cheery “Good morning!”, to which Midnight returned with a nod and a little grin.

“Where is Octavia?” Midnight inquired, praying she wasn’t in proximity.

“In the shower,” replied Vinyl, but something about her face betrayed the possibility that she wished to warn him of something.

‘Drat,’ grumbled Midnight mentally. “May I come in?” At Vinyl’s somewhat reluctant nod, he casually stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his long white tail and a little bit of effort. He stood in the middle of the room, the same pieces of furniture laying about the room as before, except much cleaner than prior his first visit here.

That was because Midnight had been tasked by Octavia to clean up their apartment. Since he had been serving the cellist and her DJ roommate, the Sarosian was constantly assigned large, arduous, sometimes trivial chores and errands. From cleaning, to taking them out to eat (Octavia didn’t trust Midnight with the oven), to doing laundry, to even incinerating the garbage: each responsibility was shirked by them and thrusted squarely upon his shoulders. He didn’t mind: magic made tasks of this magnitude loads easier. “I should get to work on cleaning, huh?”

“No need: everything here is spotless anyway, right?” Vinyl gandered curiously at the symbols on Midnight’s arms. “What does this thing mean? I keep seeing it, and I can only guess what it is.”

“That?” Midnight looked at the insignia and responded, “That’s... my Cutie Mark.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. The scroll, quill, and ink pot collectively show that I’m geared towards literature. Reading, writing, books, poems, et cetera.” Midnight tapped the red complex circle on the scroll. “This little pentacle on the scroll shows that I’m also really good at magic, especially since I’m a unicorn.”

“What about these little things in the pentacle?” Vinyl poked at three markings inside the circle, their locations making up the vertices of an upside-down triangle. Midnight withdrew from his pocket a pen and a napkin from off the kitchen counter before sitting down at the coffee table and drawing them out. Vinyl, wondering what Midnight could be doing, walked over to him and sat next to the Sarosian.

The first of Midnight’s drawings looked like a horseshoe, the open end facing to the left with a dot inside it; the second looked like a square with the top side missing, two dots lined up in a column on its right side; the third final one looked like a character in Neighpanese kanterkana script for “ru” (ル), but with a dot above the marking on the right.

“These are runes,” Midnight answered, hovering his pen’s tip in a circle around the three markings. “These are but a few of the hundreds of runes out there. This first one–” he tapped the horseshoe one “–is ‘puis’, which means power. The second one, this little incomplete square with the two dots, is ‘qu’on’, or knowledge. This third one–” he tapped the Neighpanese-looking character “–is ‘oubli’, or will. These three are required for unicorns to perform magic. Without power, how can your magic be strong? Without knowledge, how can you know how to perform magic? Without will, what purpose will doing magic bring?”

Midnight then encased these runes in circles, which he surrounded in an upside-down triangle. “This new addition—the triangle—represents balance. Since you have three crucial things in doing magic, you need the balance, the inner peace, to execute it.” The triangle was then surrounded in another circle, the vertices of the triangle connecting with the circle. In the middle of each of the triangle’s sides, Midnight etched two lines extending out at sixty-degree angles and touching the circle, so that the lines could form more triangles inside the circle. “This final circle represents control. Since you shouldn’t let your magic lash out and be aggressive, you should learn to practise control, and maintain your magic so that you don’t go about wreaking havoc.”

Vinyl examined his Cutie Mark’s meaning, fascinated by how Midnight had made the complexity of his special talent sound so simple. She looked over to Midnight and saw the smile on his face. It looked genuine, elated at the fact that he was presenting literature towards someone who appreciated what he had to offer. A very weak blush elicited from her cheeks before she looked back down at the pentacle. “That’s amazing.”

“You really think so?” Midnight’s grin widened slightly at the comment. Vinyl felt euphoria intensify at the sight of how happy the stallion in front of her was. Rarely had she ever seen such white teeth peek out from behind his lips before. She also noticed something: with his facial hair, he looked rugged and experienced like somepony who has seen every square inch of the planet more than once. Shaved, he looked younger without a doubt, with the energy to put a filly hyped up on sugar to shame.

'He totally oughta smile like this more often,' she thought, her cheeks burning a smidgen more. 'He really does have a great smile....' “Y-Yeah," she voiced aloud. "That’s really cool. I didn’t even know stuff like this was around until you told me.”

“Heh....” The sound of a door opening and closing brought the attention of both Midnight and Vinyl towards where it came from. Out from the hallway came Octavia. Rather than being confined in her tuxedo for when she could compose at concerts, she was instead dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a black sweater vest over a white dress shirt, a rosy pink bow holding her mane up in a ponytail to replace the bowtie she usually wore around her neck.

Midnight blinked a bit in surprise at this sudden change in wardrobe. ‘Well, she... fills out that shirt nicely,’ he thought coyly, eyes unable to help themselves as they wandered towards her somewhat large bosom.

"You're late," stated Octavia, a dog collar from her to Midnight's face hauling him out of whatever compromising thoughts he was having about her figure. Vinyl bit her lip, her chance of warning Midnight about Octavia's actions slipping out of her hands. "What were you doing?"

"I was, uh, watching the news," answered Midnight as he slipped it around his neck with reluctance and closed the latch, securing it around his gullet.

"Again?" said a doubtful Octavia.

"Well, it change every day, you see," deadpanned a sarcastic Midnight, to which Vinyl snickered quietly, undetected by her best friend and roommate.

Ignoring his jab at her, Octavia spotted the cap on Midnight's head, and proceeded to snap, "I thought I told you to get rid of that damn hat."

"And I'm telling you that there is no way that's happening. You can get rid of whatever about me that displeases you, but the hat stays."

"Everything about you displeases me," retorted Octavia. Midnight mentally cursed himself for walking into that one. “Is everything in the house clean?” she demanded.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Midnight sighed. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Now, let’s go get some breakfast.” Octavia slipped on a pair of high heels by the door before opening it and making her way out. Vinyl and Midnight followed suit, much to the latter’s hesitance, since he knew for a fact that he was to pay for it all.

As Octavia and Vinyl saw the doughnut shop, their destination, looming into view, their noses picked up the very delicious smell of marvelous baked confectionery treats wafted through the air, all crafted by the notorious Donut Joe and sending them spiraling into scent heaven, tummies rumbling with hunger. Midnight, stomach rather empty as well, could only sigh in content as the blissful aroma of freshly-baked doughnuts invaded his nostrils.

The agonising minutes of travelling to the doughnut were not in vain, however, as they pulled over in front of Donut Joe’s Doughnut Shop. As they stepped inside, the smell of the baked goods intensified dramatically, assaulting their nostrils without end. They didn’t mind: they adored this aura just as much as the next pony. Several of the customers sat in classic 50s booths with red vinyl seats and circular tables, or in lengthy stools at the counter of the shop. A jukebox blaring indie rock music sat cosily by a potted plant in the back of the restaurant.

The three newcomers took their seats on the stools, tails dangling behind them as they awaited the buscolt behind the counter. They looked up the menu, or down at the glass counters to hungrily examine the delectable doughnuts on display. "What to get, what to get..." mumbled Vinyl. Octavia stared at all the options she had to choose from, while Midnight knew habitually what he would get: a simple chocolate doughnut with a medium-sized caramel macchiato.

When Vinyl had finally decided what her most important meal of the day would be, she felt a hand tap her shoulder and a rather outlandish voice say, "Ey, lady, I think youse is sittin' in my seat." She and the other two ponies next to her spun around in her seat and looked at the speaker: a green Pegasus stallion dressed in black jeans, a white wifebeater, and a yellow bandana that clashed hideously with his short-cut orange mane. Gold chains hung limply around his neck, and gang tattoos blanketed his arms, giving him a roguish aura and a thuggish demeanor.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Vinyl, bewildered.

"I said, youse is sittin' in my seat," reiterated the thug firmly as his bloodshot eyes slowly filled with annoyance. Midnight's keen eyes detected a shining glint emanating from his mouth as he spoke, showing that he had gold teeth implants to boot. "I was in da bathroom, see, and youse took my spot while I was gone."

"Huh... You're right, we'll move over some," said Vinyl.

"Yeah, dat's right..." the other stallion then said in a hushed tone, "tubby."

"Excuse me?" Vinyl demanded coldly, sudden ire swelling within her.

"Youse heard me, lard ass!" the gangster hollered. The din of camaraderie from earlier soon died like a roach beneath the crushing weight of a horseshoe. Everyone, once calm and happy to be eating, now sat deathly still and silent as they watched the scene unfold. Even the buscolt, who was about to put a stop to the predicament, held back, in case he too would receive a taste of the thug's bitter backtalk. “Is all the blubber keepin’ youse from hearin’ me clearly?! Cuz if dat's da case, youse oughta eat a salad next time, thunder-thighs!”

"Keep your dirty tongue behind your teeth, you uneducated ruffian!" Octavia scolded as she stood to her hooves, anger fueling her as she stared at the assailant with fury. A seething, emotionally hurt Vinyl sat in the sidelines, trying to keep herself from standing up and beating their bully to an inch of his life, with Midnight comforting her and alleviating her temper.

"Stay outta dis, ya buckin' mud pony!" Octavia recoiled at that insult, those very words hitting her hard. Midnight turned around and watched as Octavia's lower lip quivered. He felt a horrid disturbance in what he saw, despite the satisfaction he ought to feel from her despair.

"What?!" she finally choked out, still offended by the gangster's previous assault. “How dare you?!”

"What, is you stupid as you is worthless?!" He leaned in closer to Octavia, who stepped back, broken by his terrible words. She had heard those words a long time ago, yet to hear them again was crippling to her emotional health, where she was almost the verge of tears. "Well, ya lousy workhorse?! Too buckin’ pathetic to answer me, huh?! Figured as much, ya shitty two-bit skank!”

Octavia's eyes finally started watering as her knees, weak and wobbly, crumpled beneath her as she fell on her bottom onto the laminate floors. Midnight witnessed this and, for once, he felt... empathy for the cellist; sure, the Sarosian relished in insulting Octavia and outwitting her, but he wasn't as heartless as to make her cry openly like that. "Sir, I think you should stop," he warned adamantly.

"I think youse should stop!" mimicked the thug in a whiny voice, gradually irritating the scribe before him. "I'll do whatever the buck I want!" He started periodically jabbing Midnight in the chest with a finger. "So I don't need to hear no lip from a scrawny-ass, weak little nightcrawler like youse!!"

"Hey!" Vinyl exclaimed, her vigour and rage returning. "Watch your mouth, you prick!" She was going to ready herself an army of put-downs, had it not been for Midnight standing up.

Once again, even though she wasn't on the receiving end, Vinyl wilted slightly as she witnessed Midnight's eyes leering at the offending Pegasus in utter hatred. "What did you just say?" Midnight asked rhetorically, his tone cold enough to bring winter's frozen chill to the immortal infernos of Tartarus.

“Shit, I must be surrounded in morons!” cried the gangster in annoyance, grabbing Midnight by the tie. “I called youse a buckin’ nightcrawler!”

Midnight removed his glasses and handed them to Vinyl. The perfect vision his corrective lenses blessed him with became short-sighted and blurred at a distance. “Hold these,” he told her, as she slowly accepted them and held them in her lap, the white pony worried about what was happen. Horn flaring a blinding glow of lime green, Midnight encased his assailant’s hand in his magic and peeled his fingers off his tie, all the while glaring at the punk venomously.

Externally and internally, Midnight looked ready to kill. No one just threw a derogatory expletive like that in his face and get off scot-free. Even if he lost, even if he was to be overpowered by the gangster’s shear strength, Midnight felt it was his obligation to face his newfound nemesis head-on, for a sense of honour was billowing in every iota of his being, tsunamis of integrity crashing about inside him whenever he reminisced on the damaged looks on both Octavia’s and Vinyl’s faces. Especially the former... it was true that Midnight disliked Octavia severely, yet... at the same time, he felt his heart break a little at the sight of her tears.

Loyalty, chimed the advice of Twilight in his head. Show that you're reliable to your friends. Always be there for them and catch them when they fall.

‘No stallion would ever make a mare cry like that and not feel guilt,’ he seethed mentally. Ill thoughts and emotions soon took over whenever his mind snapped back towards the Pegasus stallion who started it all. Adjacent to the two brawlers, all the doughnut shop customers—even the owner of the store Pony Joe himself—had taken to watching them, as though they were a thrilling programme on television, and the good part was commencing.

“You. Me. Outside... now,” hissed Midnight vehemently, dragging along the thug in his magic aura, the collar’s leash slipping out of Octavia’s limp, frail grasp.

“Ohoho, tough guy, eh?! Well, c’mon, then, motherbucker! Let’s go!” challenged the hoodlum as they exited out the front and turned a corner, entering an alleyway and reaching the area behind the doughnut parlour. It appeared like every clichéd alley one would see in a movie or read about in a book. A dumpster was overflowing with vapid garbage against the parlour’s wall. A little sewage drain was suctioning up all the rainwater from last night’s little shower. A rat scurried along hastily, hunting down what it deemed passable for its next meal. The towering buildings cast a cool cloak of shade upon the area, given how the sun was not yet at the peak of its celestial sojourn.

Before he even had time to react, Midnight felt something rocket ferociously into his muzzle, the subtle sound of bones breaking as his nostrils spewed blood like a busted fire hydrant, splattering grossly upon the asphalt floor as some of it diluted into the running rainwater that slugged disgustingly into the storm drain. Midnight recoiled from the blow his enemy dealt to him, staggering backwards. Shaking his addled head, Midnight charged recklessly at the gangster, not even considering the fact that he was still a unicorn, and simply possessed by the sheer hate that raged through him.

Sadly, his efforts to craft extreme bodily harm was put to a halt as the thug slapped his meaty mitts onto Midnight's throat, hefting him up into the air and planting him against the brick wall of the doughnut shop. "Damn, son, you suck at fightin'! It's like ya don't know what to do!" Jeered the crony raucously. "I'm gonna enjoy wastin' scum like you!" Midnight tried to pry off the bully's hands, but not only was he not strong enough to do it, but the asphyxiation was seriously affecting his magical power. His legs flailed ridiculously, kicking the thug in his abdomen and chest with no avail. He needed a weapon, something which he lacked and had left at home.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it, glinting slightly as it sat atop the dumpster not one foot from their current position. The glass neck of an empty bottle of hard cider. The way it simply sat there, just begging to be utilised, forced Midnight to calculate an escape plan. It was without a doubt within arm's reach.

Midnight would have but one chance at this. If he wasn't quick enough, he'd have to get Octavia to call a morgue. Wait, no, she wouldn't give a shit....

Doing his best to be as quick as a whip, Midnight snatched the bottle by its neck and swung it into the pegasus's head as hard as he could. Sure enough, the bottle's base shattered into a myriad of lethal shards, leaving the remaining upper half of it intact and tipped with malicious-looking points. Dropping Midnight, the thug stumbled back, blood leaking out of the side of his head from the blunt trauma. Midnight clambered to his hooves, coughing and heaving for air and greedily filling his lungs. "You bucking punk!" roared the bully, clutching his wound and wringing the blood from it, tainting his orange hair crimson. "You're dead!"

Midnight smiled a bloody smirk. Now free of his assailant's grip, he could use his magic on a more focused level. Horn glowing green, just as the gangster began to blitz the stallion with a cocked-back fist, Midnight stopped his foe from hitting him by encasing his tail in his emerald aura. "L-Lemme go, bitch!" the pegasus demanded.

“Do you know what you just said earlier? How disgusting and abhorrent that word was and still is?!” Midnight pressed on, his hatred never faltering. “That word is what you and every regular pony would holler as you massacred every last one of us!!” Midnight’s magical grip extended towards the goon’s index finger, which he bent backwards at a sickening angle, before twisting sharply and breaking with a nauseating CRACK!, eliciting a scream of anguish from the thug. “It was what you jeered as you greedily raped our wives and daughters!!” Another finger broken. Another screech of pain. Midnight’s voice elevated in volume and ferocity. “What you would smear all over the walls of our homes with our blood–” *CRACK* “–as you mounted our heads on pikes–” *CRACK* “–drowned our foals–” *CRACK* “–AND TOSSED OUR HACKED-UP CORPSES IN THE EVERFREE FOR THE MONSTERS TO EAT LIKE TABLE SCRAPS FOR A DOG!!!”

*WHACK*

Despite his seething and voluminous growls of anguish, the thug still delivered a tremendous kick to the solar plexus that sent Midnight reeling, with the bully chuckling moronically at his words. Midnight felt more and more enraged as each second of his stupid laughter snailed away. "Youse honestly think... I give a shit?" He laughed even harder at his jab, infuriating the Sarosian further. "Listen, punk. Everypony's got problems, but in the end, who's gonna help ya? Who's really gonna give a shit? Yer friends back in that diner? Please. They'd save their own skin 'n' hang you up t' dry." Laughing even more, he ended with, "Face it. Yer pathetic. And youse ain't worth their time."

With a small flash of concentration, Midnight blasted back the bully with magic, smashing him against the wall, far too offended for one to even describe. He wanted to speak up against him, to say that he was wrong. That that can't possibly be a verifiable fact.

But it was.

Oh... how it was.

Midnight, body chilled slightly from the loss of blood and by the truth of his foe's bitter words, let his breathing lower to a more natural rate, adrenaline evaporating and his heart slowing down to a casual rhythm as his magic aura swallowed the dumpster where he had gotten his broken bottle from. He pushed the dumpster against the bully, crushing him against the wall, eliciting a howl of pain from him: he had smashed it on his bad hand. "OWWW! Get me outta here!"

"Shut up," Midnight barked at him. "Somepony was bound to hear your screams. They probably went and got some parademics. Just sit tight." Normally, he would have felt nervous and undergone another anxiety attack had he been confronted by one or more thugs like that. He would have curled up in a ball in the corner, or run away to whatever safe place was available. However, given the terms of racial slurs being involved, the word “nightcrawler” became the spark that set ablaze Midnight’s oil of hellish rage.

Especially after seeing Octavia and Vinyl become so devastated by such horrendous sobriquets....

He walked briskly out of the alley and left the thug still calling for help. As he exited his arena with only a physical victory, he was only to be saluted with blank stares or shocked glances from the pedestrians that either loitered outside the doughnut parlour, or that went about their business as they cantered up and down the cobblestone roads. He could understand, given the sight of the broken bottle in his hand and the blood meandering down his face and dripping onto his unkempt clothes. But that didn't mean he was flattered by the way their eyes wandered upon him.

Ignoring the unnecessary attention, Midnight tossed the bottle back into the alley before sauntering to the entrance of the parlour and pushing through its glass double doors, yet he was still presented with the same rewards of blank glaring, stunned stares, and a crippling silence.

"Oh my Goddess, Midnight!" Vinyl yelped in worry, rushing over and checking on her friend. "Are you alright?!"

"Yes, I'm fine," he answered, blood infiltrating his mouth and infecting his tongue with its metallic flavour. "My glasses?"

"O-Oh!" she handed him his spectacles, which he placed onto his muzzle with a twinge of pain: perhaps that gangster had really done some damage there.

Midnight came over to Octavia, who was still watery-eyed, staring at the floor beneath her mindlessly. He pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket as he raised Octavia’s chin with a hand. She gasped at the touch: even though his hands were clad in gloves, she was vehement in not letting Midnight, of all ponies, to touch her. She felt her leaking eyes be dabbed dry with the handkerchief, Midnight paying close attention to her face as he did so.

‘Maybe Cirrus is right. She is rather cute, once you get past her animosity towards Sarosians,’ he thought, folding his handkerchief up. He couldn't help but examine her flawless fur and skin, her well-groomed charcoal mane, her small feminine muzzle and mouth, her white fangless teeth, and her large, hypnotising orchid eyes.

“W... what are you doing?” Octavia demanded, attempting to sound angry and disturbed, only to be audibly perceived as a saddened form of surprise. “I never told you to do any of this.”

“A butler does what he is told, right, Master?” Midnight said, to which Octavia nodded. “Well, a great butler does what he feels he must do to make his master happy.” He grabbed her by the hand and hoisted her up. It was great work, given that his clobbering had left him faint, and that Octavia’s legs were in an inoperable stasis at first. Eventually, she rose to her hooves, still mulling over what Midnight had said to her.

“Shall we go?” Midnight murmured to her and Vinyl. “I’m not really hungry anymore....” The two obliged mindlessly, walking out of the shop without a single purchase.

“Hey, kid!” yelled a masculine voice. Midnight turned to see Donut Joe, the owner of the parlour, toss a paper bag at him. He caught it with his magic and opened it. His glasses were fogged up with the warm air that the multiflavoured doughnuts inside it permeated. “Good job stickin’ up for your friends,” he said.

“Thanks....” Midnight said dully.

“Now scram. You’re scaring the customers,” said Joe.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Exiting the shop and handing the bag of doughnuts to Vinyl, Midnight slipped on the carriage’s harness yet again, this time with much more ferocity than prior their stop to eat breakfast. He was so... angry! Just the thought of that thug’s vulgarity and derogative monikers nearly made his blood boil! It made him sick to his stomach!

And what he said earlier... about his friends betraying him... it tackled his spine with a myriad of shivers.

“Midnight...” started Vinyl as she boarded the carriage.

“Yes, Vinyl?”

“Is that true?” she asked.

“Is what true?”

“All that stuff about that... that word?”

Midnight felt a twinge of annoyance surge through him, reminded yet again of why he despised such a moniker. “You heard all of that?” At her nod, Midnight sighed once more. He had nothing else to do to dumb down his emotions. How could he have been such an ass as to yell the foundation of the term “nightcrawler” out in broad daylight like that? “Yes. All of it.”

Octavia still had yet to climb aboard, leash in hand and a blank look plastered to her face. It appears as though the terms “mud pony”, “worthless”, “stupid”, and “workhorse” hit her hard. Midnight could only guess as to why those insults ailed her so. Former friends? Cruel classmates? Perhaps... even her parents?

All moments of guesses, however, were brought to a halt as Octavia walked over to Midnight and removed the collar from around his neck. Fresh air carpet-bombed the ring of once-confined fur around his esophagus. Midnight rubbed his throat with a gloved hand, the area relishing in his rubber-gloved touch. “Consider that as repayment.”

“For what?” inquired Midnight, bewildered as to what Octavia was repaying him for... and why.

“For being a loyal... pony...” Octavia had a hard time using that word to describe Midnight, given that she only viewed him as anything less than the common equine. “... to me and Vinyl back when that insubordinate rebel came in and... and said what he said.” Her mind flitted back to what that thug had shouted in her face, and she shuddered and gasped at the painful reminiscence. She shook her head to clear it of such dementing thoughts before saying, “So, as a reward... you no longer have to wear this dog collar.”

“You... you mean it?” Midnight said, heart soaring at the prospect of just one little ounce from freedom she served him out of the heaping tons of oppression she usually dished out.

“Yes. You stood up for the both of us back there with what you said and did.” Octavia swallowed hard, the next words she’s attempting to say becoming difficult to vocalise. “And... because of explaining why... I won’t call you ‘Nigh–’, er... I won’t call you the N word anymore.”

Midnight couldn’t believe his ears. Two good things in one day? It was too good to be true, too glorious to be even plausible. Surely, there’s a string attached somewhere in this proposition, a bear trap just waiting to cinch Midnight. “Is there a catch, Master?”

“Yes. I wish to see what’s under that hat.” Midnight clicked his tongue at how persistent she was. There was a good reason as to why he didn’t want to show anypony the mane he hid underneath his cap.

“Maybe later, Master,” he decided. He still didn’t trust her enough to actually reveal what he had hidden beneath the headgear. The rejection of removing his hat made him feel like a mare of Saddle Arabia, shrouded in the concealing clothes of her burka to avoid the lustful gazes of stallions, but he was adamant in not showing his hair.

“Come on! Why won’t you show me what’s under there?” Octavia demanded, a little upset by Midnight’s refusal.

His mind wandered off, going down the desecrated road of Memory Lane, down to a childhood he was not inclined on revisiting, where the crisp sound of breaking cider bottles, jeers of cruelty, and tears of sadness plagued him. Of enraged brawling between family and the magic flames of punishment brought about by failure. “It’s just a personal matter, Master," he said dully, his brain targeting memories far better than those of his younger years. "Nothing more, or nothing less. In due time, I’ll show you.”

“...Very well, then...” It required some willpower, but Octavia slowly raised her hand and extended it towards Midnight. “Do you promise that when you’re ready, you’ll show me?”

Midnight contemplated her question, brain working double time to erect a response. Aware of the idea of chaos theory and multiverse theory, where even the slightest errant twitch of a single molecule will yield a different result each time. Waiting any longer could bring impatience to Octavia, yet he was not accustomed at all to answering yes and committing a leap of faith like that.

Decisions, decisions...

…

...

…

…

...

…

He took hold of her hand and shook it after his contemplations came to an end. “Okay, then, Master,” he said slowly.

“Good. I’m holding you to it.” Midnight’s breath was caught in his throat as she smiled again. It was another smile of good will, rather than cruelty. It was another rare occurrence to see her grin in such a way. It looked... much nicer, to be honest. Midnight felt his face burn up a teensy bit, and he couldn't help but hope that his cheeks flushing weren't visible to the mare in front of her.

Octavia relinquished her grasp on the Sarosian’s hand and climbed up into the carriage’s seat. “Now, move it, Sarosian. To your house.”

“Certainly, Ma–” Midnight stopped dead in his vocal tracks, heart pounding wildly in his chest as though it wanted to make a mad escape from his ribcage. “Wait... what?!”

~End of Chapter VIII~

Author's Note

AVAST! 6000+ WORDS (of shit)!

I finished this up at the crack of dawn here in Libya, on a full bladder and headphones blaring Daft Punk, Mumford & Sons, and all that lot.

...And Lil B. Let's not forget the Based God. (#TYBG)

Please enjoy reading this as much as I did, guys. :3

EDIT: NOW IT'S FIXED. BUCK YEAH. *does the harlem shake*

jk... screw harlem shake.

Anywho, I fixed it so that Midnight's fight isn't as OP anymore. Maybe there's an even higher word count than before! :D

IX - It's Bigger on the Inside

Listen up, kiddies. Since some of you might have been left out of the loop, I had edited the last chapter so that the fight between Midnight and the goon wasn’t AS overpowered and one-sided. Even though it’s magic, Midnight STILL has to get his ass handed to him every now and again.

Also, my friend who usually reads over my work asked me if Vinyl was actually fat. I told him no, and he told me to point her figure out on this chart. I personally think of Vinyl as having a cello-shaped body in this one, so for anyone who is bumbling around with that little enigma, problem solved. :)

IX - It’s Bigger on the Inside

'My house?’

Midnight’s thoughts erred those words again, brain not willing to connect the dots. Normally, they would just mean a simple visit, dedicated to one friend who deserved it. But to him, it spelled a rather imminent doom.

Not only had the idea of them dining at their house been an absolute surprise to him, but he’d be unable to explain to both Vinyl and Octavia that he had a pet monkey, capable of running amok at this very moment. “W-W-Wait, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Midnight asked Octavia, hoping that it may have been a slip of the tongue.

“Have I ever not been sure?” she asked rhetorically, appearing rather cross with the stallion in the harness. “Just… go,” she sighed, riding crop held tightly in her hands. Midnight shivered at the black “beauty” she clenched within her ash-grey fist.

“S-sure,” he said, cracking under the presence of the crop as he adjusted his harness and pulled the harness, the pain in his muzzle making it partially challenging for him to concentrate on the road. Because of this throbbing annoyance, the walk to Canterlot Castle felt rather long as well, a fifteen minute time lapse shrouded under the obnoxious disguise of a forty-minute moment.

Only when they did reach the castle’s front entrance did Midnight breathe easy: safe would he be in the confines of his tower. Although, given the extra “baggage” he brought with him, he was slowly growing more ambiguous of said safety. Octavia would act rather harsh in more ways than one, commanding him and ordering him around even in his own abode. Vinyl would no doubt make herself a little too much at home, perhaps accidentally knocking something over. Or disturbing Jericho during his incredulously long sleep. Or even getting on his computer and finding his cache of… well, highly risqué images, saved in the dark confines of his hard drive.

Envisioning this terrifying possibility, he could only hope for the best as he pulled up the cart by his home.

“Whoooaaa!” exclaimed Vinyl, eyes wider than dustbin lids and brighter than movie-studio floodlights as they wandered up the monolithic length of the hundred meter-tall ivory minaret Midnight called home. “This is where you live?! It’s massive!”

“Yes,” Midnight answered, unbuckling the saddle and tossing it off, letting it flop and clatter noisily on the lush green grass beneath his hooves. The guards that patrolled the castle perimeters at this radiant hour couldn’t help but risk glances at the three ponies on the royal property.

They couldn’t help but think: Octavia Philharmonica and Vinyl Scratch, were walking side by side with Midnight Oil, the scrawny, unusually tall Sarosian shut-in with thick-rimmed glasses, nerdy obsessions, and disgust with equinity? Preposterous! Science has clearly gone too far this time! Surely, there was an explanation! Maybe they know next to nothing about each other? Perhaps he was just showing them to the Princesses… Yes! That could be it!

But alas, no such thing came to be as the trio talked with each other—like they were equals. Like they were friends. Octavia was less inclined to communicate with the Sarosian stallion, yet Vinyl was unequivocally gung-ho as she spoke with Midnight in earnest. They were even walking into Midnight’s astronomy tower, where he would bar himself from the rest of Canterlot’s established and sophisticated—if not snobby—society.

“Can we see the inside?” Vinyl inquired, fixated on the white stone obelisk in her path.

“Eh… uh…” Midnight hesitated, not willing to answer right away. After all, Jericho was by himself for the better part of an hour: he could’ve broken something, thus bringing about embarrassment for his first impression on the two mares who more or less kept him on a relatively short leash. But, that was just a possibility, not a definite. “Eh, sure….”

“Awesome!” squealed the techno-junkie, her royal blue and cyan hair bobbing as she ran to the entrance of the castle, hoping to get there as soon as possible.

“Vinyl, stop!” Octavia hollered to her, the white unicorn slowing her speed down before returning to them.

“What?” She said rather grumpily, bothered by Octavia’s reticence to allow Vinyl inside.

“Are you honestly contemplating on climbing all those flights of stairs to be graced with such an impoverished grotto like his?” the cellist argued, practically firing a dart tipped with toxic irritation directly into Midnight’s neck.

“Hmm… good point…” Vinyl concluded, unknowingly irking Midnight slightly further. “Yo, do you know how to get us up there?”

Midnight nodded, albeit with a bit of irritation at their bluntness. “Okay. Grab on,” he said, offering his arm to the two. Vinyl took it right away, waiting for something interesting to happen. However, Octavia was not at all inclined to commit to what she deemed was a rather bad idea. “Come on. You know you don’t want to walk up those steps by yourself, no?” coaxed Midnight with a glowing horn and a free second arm, Octavia’s jaw clenching slightly at his second to last two words. Prospects of what Midnight and Vinyl could be doing in their lonesome in the former’s house sent her almost reeling in disgusted horror, maybe of those aforementioned prospects being… well… explicit, unmentionable things that should only happen behind locked doors.

Even sophisticated cellists such as Octavia had perverse thoughts flit through their heads from time to time.

“Fine!” She cracked, grasping Midnight’s other arm with the hand free of their bag of steamy doughnuts. “But only to make sure the two of you don’t get any weird ideas!”

“Weird i…” Midnight stopped mid-sentence, both his face and Vinyl’s bombarded with a ferocious blush as they smelled what Octavia was stepping in. Making eye contact with Vinyl made their blushes even more intense. Shaking his head to clear it of any… er, raunchy thoughts, Midnight’s horn flared brighter before the three of them dematerialized on the spot, landing at the top of the stairs inside the tower, underneath the ceiling double-doors that would lead to Midnight’s house.

Midnight quickly peered inside, analyzing it to see if it was fit for visitors to enter. There were a few granola bar wrappers and a squeezed juice box that sprinkled the floor, but that was it. Midnight quickly levitated them and chucked them in the wastebasket that sat adjacent the television, no doubt planning on having words with Jericho afterwards about keeping the place clean. “Come in, you two,” he called from above.

Vinyl and Octavia entered the abode, the former more eager than the latter to intrude. Both were dumbstruck by the size, however: it was grand, much larger and wider than one would have presumed it to be on the outside. It was a little smaller than a common room, but it was spacious and sprinkled with Midnight’s furniture.

“Whoaaaa!” ooh’d and ahh’d Vinyl, mesmerized by the physical impossibility of Midnight’s home. “How does that even work?”

“Er… Space-distortion spell; makes it bigger on the inside,” confessed Midnight. “I was young when I got this place, so I couldn’t do it by myself. Princess Celestia was kind enough to do it for me when I asked her for a less cramped room, though.”

“How young were you?” pressed Vinyl.

“Seventeen or eighteen. After I graduated high school. Finally coaxed my parents into letting me out and have a feel for the outside world,” answered Midnight.

“Well, I must say, not bad,” murmured Octavia. “But I’m not impressed at aaaaAAAAAH, what is that?!” she wailed as she pointed at the furniture. Or, to be precise, what was on the furniture.

A brown two-foot-tall monkey sat on the white half-circle couch, legs crossed, sipping on a juice box as it watched a documentary on penguins, a small oval sapphire planted on the chimp’s forehead. He looked content and entranced as he watched the flightless monochromatic birds go about their lives, with the Hoofrican narrator go into detail about their routine. He turned to face the trio and smiled as he saw Midnight, his brown eyes lighting up.

“What is that grotesque little hairball!?” exclaimed Octavia again. The monkey, who was waving at the trio who had entered the room, gave the grey mare the middle finger, a blank look on his face as he did so. “Did he just–?!”

“That’s Jericho, my pet and friend. Be nice,” warned Midnight, cutting across Octavia’s rage, while the monkey nodded in the background. Midnight saw what Jericho was so fascinated by on the television, and he groaned: he recognized the narrator’s sweet, deep, chocolaty voice from anywhere. “Are you seriously watching that Morgan Freemane documentary about the penguins again?”

“Eep eek ooh ah ah ah!” replied Jericho in defensive anger over his favorite program.

“Yes, I know this is one of your more favorable shows, but honestly, this is just borderline obsession!” argued Midnight as he kicked off his horseshoes. “They’re just penguins, after all.”

“You can talk to him and understand him?” asked Vinyl, a mix of both amazement and confusion.

“Well, sorta.” Midnight placed his horseshoes on the square area of hardwood around the door, which Vinyl was kind enough to close. “I can tell what he’s trying to tell me by his tone, his attitude, and his hand motions. He can understand me in that sense as well, since I have loads of books laying around in my room.”

“So he can understand you because of all the books he’s read?”

“You can say that.”

“Eeh ooh ah eeh ooh…” Jericho grumbled, crossing his arms and glancing away from Midnight as the two ladies followed his example and placed the removed hoofwear on the hardwood before setting hoof on the carpet.

“Uh, no, you watched this documentary five times in the past two days. It’s like you can memorize it by heart if I told you too.” The Sarosian levitated a few pillows from off the couch and placed them on the ground around the coffee table. “I take it you ate breakfast, Jericho?” At the little chimp’s nod, he then pushed, “You think you can make room for seconds?” He pointed a finger at the bag of doughnuts in Octavia’s grasp.

"Ooh! Ah ah ah!" Jericho pointed in worry at Midnight's muzzle, napkins stoppering the blood that threatened to trickled clandestinely from his nostrils.

"What? Oh, this is nothing to worry about," said Midnight, attempting to dismiss the matter with a wave of his hand. "I just ran headlong into a wall to impress these two," he fibbed.

"But that's not what--"

"Of course it is!" Midnight knew he was screwing himself over little by little when he cut across Vinyl's retort. "Just go with it, he whispered to the two of them.

“Ohh, eeh ooh ooh ah ooh ah…” chirped Jericho, waggling his eyebrows mischievously as he pointed at the three ponies in the room. The stallion was the only one who blushed, as the two mares were left clueless by the monkey’s gibberish.

((No!)) Midnight said defensively in Ponsi. ((That’s not at all what’s going on! Get your head out of the gutter!)) Jericho waved a hand to dismiss the situation as a joke, tittering and chuckling in his other hand at Midnight’s flustered response. The mares behind Midnight only tilted their heads in bewilderment. “Honestly….” he groaned in Equuish.

“What is it?” Vinyl asked.

“N-n-nothing important!” stammered Midnight. “Just… eat your doughnuts, kids.”

“But we’re adults…” said the two females in stern unison.

“Just shut up and eat your damn food.” Midnight skulked off upstairs, his clothes still stained with his own blood. "I'm gonna go change...."

~End of Chapter IX~

Author's Note

Golly gee whiz, this is so fucking late.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Sorry if this chapter is garbage. Been trying to juggle my AP classes with TF2, art, Anime Club, etc. Try to enjoy, please. :3

X - The Joys of Trespassing (Into Your Host's Bedroom)

X - The Joys of Trespassing (Into Your Host's Bedroom)

Midnight came back inside his room, slinking out of his bloody and sullied dress clothes and tossing them nonchalantly into the laundry basket. He went to his little bathroom and blew his nose into a piece of toilet paper, the remaining dregs of violence-drawn blood spurting out and staining the white two-ply red. As he disgustedly chucked the used toilet paper into a trash bin, he slipped into some house clothes, all the while keeping his white hair concealed by his black cap.

He came back downstairs in a pair of charcoal fleece pajama pants, and a black-and-white panda hoodie, the doughnuts down below smelling all the more delectable. Vinyl and Octavia just looked at him as he entered the living room. “We can eat in the kitchen, ladies,” he offered, pointing towards the door leading to the aforementioned room.

“What are you wearing?” snickered Vinyl at the sight of the hoodie.

“Can it, this is the only thing I had that wasn’t in the wash,” he grumbled. While the two women entered the kitchen and sat in the two chairs of the table, Midnight followed suit, but sat crosslegged on the granite countertops.

Midnight ate a doughnut with gusto, his stomach rather barren of food. It was satisfactory the moment it hit his tongue, slid down his throat, and entered his stomach. But he noticed that the atmosphere was rather awkward, as no one was talking and were all concerned about the food. “How are they, ladies?” He asked, hoping to cleave the intimidating silence of chewing.

“Pretty good, I suppose…” Vinyl answered, eyes still fixated on her food. “Although eating doughnuts alone feels pretty bland, for some reason….”

“Hmm… You’re right, Vinyl…. Oi. You.” Octavia’s blunt call and finger snap was more than enough to get Midnight’s attention. “Make us something else to eat with these doughnuts.”

“Are you serious.” Midnight’s deadpan easily screamed that he was not in the mood for Octavia’s shenanigans.

“Now.” The vehement command says it all. Octavia was inches away from snapping.

With a heavy sigh of discontent, Midnight slid angrily off the counter and sluggishly shuffled to the stove. “How do ramen noodles sound?” he questioned as he pulled out a pot and poured water from the sink into it before putting said pot on the stove and cranking the heat up on it.

“What flavour?” asked Vinyl, the thought of ramen exciting her slightly.

“Er… there’s shrimp, beef, and chicken, but I’ve got some vegan friendly flavours like tomato, hay, Caesar salad, and such.” With that, he pulls a large packet of hay-flavoured ramen from the pantry, and rips the packaging open, allowing the offwhite block of hard compressed noodles to flow outward into the pot. The water inside boiled and began to be siphoned up by the noodles. “Mind if I sing?” he asked, as he started stirring and preparing the ramen.

“No, you may not sing,” Octavia bluntly retorted.

“Singin’ anyway,” Midnight said over Octavia’s mutter of “Goddess damnit….”

“Ohayogozaimasu.” He started saying boastfully in Neighpanese. “Kyou wa, ramen otsukuri masu. Tanoshii desu ne? Jaa, hajimemashou!*

“I still masturbate while eating top ramen

At a faster rate in the bigger quantities

It counts as rape when I’m slurping at this unbelievable pace

I turn the temperature up all the way

Sweat up on my face.”

“If you give no effort, if you got no money

Then i got a cheap method:

Crack it open throw it in a pan and let it cook, bitch

Now that’s a real education; fuck books.”

“If you wanna make in college

Acknowledge all the flavors

That be droppin mad knowledge

On these pussy ass canned goods.”

“We got chicken and beef to boost the manhood

Anybody want a piece of me

Will have to get this ramen first

Start with the shrimp and the fire,

If you're fully blazed then this shit'll get you higher

Hah!”

“35 cents a pack, three for a dollar; unbelievable pricing:

That’s the future of a blue collar worker

And I’m talkin’ ‘bout ramen,

The shit'll fill you up when you're feeling like an Hoofricaaan,

Come back when you're in the state that I’m in,

And say ‘hi’ to my homeboy, Top Ramen.”

“Okay, ladies, soup’s–” Midnight was confused to see that nopony was sitting in the table behind him when he turned his head. “...on?”

~Meanwhile~

“Tavi, should we really be doing this?” Vinyl asked with a mild hint of worry in her voice as she and Octavia stood outside a door that was stamped with a plaque labeled “Bedroom”.

“Why not?” She answered back. “Besides, his mediocre singing was awful….” Octavia shuddered at the thought of his off-tune singing.

“He was rapping. It’s kinda supposed to sound ‘mediocre’ because there’s no real tune, just a rhythm,” Vinyl countered.

“Whatever, I still disliked it with a passion. Now, let’s dig up some dirt on him.” Octavia opened the door, and the two of them were swept off of their feet at the sheer sight of the room’s contents.

It wasn't messy, or disorderly. If anything, it was a neat freak’s wet dream. A book shelf on one side of the room had books ordered in an alphabetical style, all of them kept dustless and organised. The carpet floor had a maroon circular rug that sat beneath a king-sized bed of great length, furnished by crimson sheets trimmed with gold. The walls had a few portraits of a desert, a lone island in the midst of an ocean. There were some anime scrolls on the wall as well, as well as a smaller, cubic bedside table/bookshelf filled with reference books and manga next to the bed. Across from the bed was a desk bearing a large computer screen and a high tech computer tower, the computer chair looking plush and well sat in. There were a few energy drinks next to the tower. On the left of the computer desk was an oak board, peppered with hooks, filled with what looked like-

“-weapons?” Vinyl said inquisitively. Apparently so. It was a shelf littered with a plethora of sharp butterfly knives, exotic daggers, Oriental tantos and kunais, and a long Hoofghani sabre resting in the center. The end of the weapon’s hilt had an open-mouthed brass serpent, fangs poised to strike, and the side of the blade was inscribed with a foreign language, at least to Octavia and Vinyl’s eyes.

“Great. He’s worthless, obnoxious, can’t sing, and he’s a blade-swinging lunatic?” Octavia groaned. “Lovely….”

“Oh, come on, Tavi!” said Vinyl casually as she plucked a random butterfly knife from off the wall and undid the latch, freeing the two handles from sheathing the blade. “These things are cool!”

“They are not cool, they are dangerous, and you know it!” Octavia was pointing an accusatory finger at Vinyl for her pigheadedness.

“Oh, relax!” said a knife-swinging Vinyl. “Stop being such an uptight bit-”

“What are you two doing in my room?!” bellowed Midnight in an amalgamation of shock and anger. Given that he had been looking all over for them since their sudden disappearance, it was only a matter of time before he had realized where they had vanished off to. The two ladies jumped, the butterfly knife in Vinyl’s hand wildly flying out from her grasp. The renegade blade whizzed at a terrifying speed and bit greedily into Octavia’s index finger, drawing forth some blood. It would have burrowed deep into her chest had it not been for the handles that slowed its momentum. Her expression sank from the peaks of surprise to the trenches of anguish.

“OWWW!” Octavia wailed in agony as she clutched her hand desperately, shining rubies dribbling down the length of her finger and staining the carpet.

“Shit….” Midnight grumbled and rushed forth, dread gradually flooding in him as he placed Octavia in the computer chair. “Let me see it.”

“No!” She squealed, eyes squinted tight. “There’s no way I’m letting a dirty nigh–”

“Shut up, put aside your differences for a second, and let. Me see. The wound,” he said firmly. Reluctantly, a teary-eyed Octavia opened her palms and revealed her blood-soaked hands, her gashed finger being the root of all this pain. “Okay… it doesn’t look too deep. We just need to disinfect it and bandage it.” He opened a drawer in his computer desk, and pulled out a first-aid kit. “Now,” he said as he pulled out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, “this is going to sting, so bear with me.”

Octavia winced and let out a short howl of pain as the chemical commenced stinging the cut and dissolving the bacteria. Midnight then pulled out a gauze pad and medical tape, and applied them to the wound, sealing it tightly without cutting off circulation. “Are you alright?” Midnight asked.

Octavia nodded as Midnight wiped up the blood in her hands with a few napkins he kept nearby. It was only after he completed the cleanup that he realized how his hand was grasping hers. Caring, concerned. Like a mother would behave to her child. His face burned stupidly at the incident, and his brain went on the fritz when he noticed this. “G-good,” he stuttered dumbly. “Th-th-that’s good to hear.”

“You can let go of my hand now,” Octavia deadpanned. The Sarosian quickly obeyed, mortified beyond comprehension as he stood back up.

“G-Got it. Sorry,” he said. ‘Damn it, man, what is wrong with you?!’ he internally belated. ‘Why are you going red as a beet at a time like this?! Just… get whatever it is you’re thinking about out of your head!’

“Midnight, why is there lotion and a box of napkins next to your computer?” Vinyl asked suspiciously.

‘Oh, Goddess,’ he thought in defeat. ‘Think fast, big boy!’ “I, uh… I get dry hands when I watch emotional movies,” he bullshitted monotonously with shifty eyes.

“Sure you do…” Coyness and skepticism tainted the DJ’s tone.

‘Change the topic, damn it!’

“That’s not the issue, Vinyl.” Midnight cleared his throat as he picked up the fallen balisong. “The issue at hand is that knives aren’t toys. Not sure if your parents told you this.” He was the only one that snickered at his little jab. “Yes, with some time, you can learn to do some cool-looking and intricate tricks with them –” he made an example of his words by deftly turning his wrist with the safe handle of the balisong in his palm, flipping and fanning it with fluid and swift motions until he closed it shut, locking the latch and placing it back on the rack, earning an “ooh” of fascination from Vinyl at the complexity of his moves “ – but if you’re not careful, injuries like what Octavia has, or worse, will happen. Got it?”

“Yeah….” Vinyl grumbled, feeling as though she was being lectured by her father.

“So, what have we learned?”

“Not to play with knives….”

“Well, that, but I think something else was learned: don’t invade other people’s rooms. Honestly, this is a guy’s room: I could have had something embarrassing laying around like underwear or porn, alright?”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Vinyl interjected agitatedly. Her agitation was punctuated by a mild rumble of her stomach. “Let’s just eat breakfast, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s head downstairs,” Midnight buzzed nonchalantly, before adding: “and then, maybe I’ll consider letting you kick it up in my room, okay?”

The three returned downstairs to the kitchen and settled at the table, with Midnight settled cross-legged on the counter again, the trio greedily eating their ramen. Vinyl and Midnight were having no trouble eating their food, since the former and the latter had experienced many cram sessions in college where real food was next to impossible to purchase. Yet Octavia was having trouble eating with her injured right hand. With each attempt at trying to utilize her chopsticks, the gash in her finger prevented her from going any further than picking them up and only mildly twitching them in place before she winced and dropped them. She was half-tempted to take the bowl and plunge her face in, slurping in the concoction of noodles and broth with her mouth alone. However, being a mare of standards, she vetoed that thought and came up with a more sanitary one.

“You.” Midnight craned his head to look at her. He had a nagging inkling at what she was going to say. “Feed me.”

“Feed you? What are you, a toddler?” argued Midnight.

“Do it!” snapped Octavia. “It’s your fault that I have to ask you this in the first place!”

“Yeah, because I was the one who suggested that you two should snoop around in my room and play with razor-sharp and dangerous knives.”

“Well, you could have used your magic to heal this damn cut!”

“Uhhh… I just got the shit clobbered out of me this morning, sweetums. I’m in no position to heal myself.” Nonetheless, Midnight got off the counter and sat on the tabletop a foot away from Octavia, his seat transition rewarded with a grunt of complaint from both Octavia and Vinyl. Carefully tucking his long white tail in his lap, Midnight’s horn glowed a vibrant lime green, swallowing Octavia’s chopsticks in his magic’s embrace and grabbing a fair deal of noodles. “Say ahh.”

Octavia silently opened her mouth and ate at the web of noodles at the end of the chopsticks. Even though Midnight was using his magic to get the job done, he still felt rather embarrassed to be doing it. His cheeks flared red again, like when he was tending to her wounds.

Stop it! roared Midnight’s conscience in indignation. What are you thinking, man?!

‘What? I can’t help it. Despite being a complete stuck up bitch, she’s got to have some good features.’

That philosophy means nothing. It’s because of that thinking that ponies can manipulate you, use you until they’re done with you. Then they kick you to the side of the road like a dead raccoon!

‘Isn’t that view on the equine race too extreme?’

But not incorrect. She'll be no different. Just you wait. When you need her most... she won't even lifting a finger to help your sorry ass out.

So immersed was he in his inner conflict that he was paying no mind to the sound of Octavia screaming his name to get his attention, which she eventually got…

...after she punched him in the stomach.

The wind blitzed out of Midnight’s mouth with tremendous force, toppling him over onto the ground with a loud thud. Vinyl winced at the sound, while Octavia, although glad she got her message through, is reevaluating her choice of hitting him, since she had done so with her injured hand. “OW!” The two blared in pain.

“What the hell is with everypony getting injured today?!” Midnight hollered.

“I’m telling you that I’m finished!” exclaimed Octavia, for what might have been the fourth time. The chopsticks that Midnight had subconsciously handled had found their way up her nostrils thanks to his carelessness. “For Pete’s sake, listen when I’m talking to you!”

Midnight looked at the chopsticks that dangled out of her muzzle as she was ranting on about his “carelessness” and “stupidity” and other unkind terms. In the end, all he did was laugh like a maniac at how ridiculous she looked. “What the hell are you laughing at?!” Octavia squealed, as Midnight could only clutch his sides and chortle stupidly. Vinyl joined Midnight in his uncontrollable laughter. Octavia, finally realizing where the source of their laughter resided, removed the chopsticks from their position and threw them on the ground in a fit of rage. “STOP LAUGHING!”

~End of Chapter X~

*Translates to “Good morning. Today, we will cook ramen. It’s very exciting! Now, let's start, shall we?"

XI - A Spark In Oil Will Start A Fire

XI - A Spark In Oil Will Start A Fire

Late afternoon.

Octavia and Vinyl had long gone home, after much goofing around in Midnight’s apartment, the former had watched television downstairs with Jericho, while the latter had played on Midnight’s computer. However, as the sun had started to complete its sojourn in the sky, the two mares had realized that they should head home. They were to leave Midnight and Jericho to their own devices.

“Goodbye, Sarosian,” Octavia had said belatedly. “Return to my apartment at eight o'clock, or there will be Tartarus to pay.”

“Uh-huhhhh…” he droned monotonously. “Yeah. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Goodbye, Jericho!” Octavia then chimed in a rather warm voice. The monkey ran forth and jumped at Octavia, in which she had hugged the little simian. Apparently, they had bonded through their television marathons. “See you soon!”

“Ooh eeh!” The chimp screeched joyously as he leapt out of her arms and landed on Midnight’s shoulder.

“Heheh, she likes a monkey more than you,” mocked Vinyl playfully.

“Oh. Haa haa haa haa…” Midnight resonated dully. “Well, get home safe, you two.” He was about to turn around and relax on the couch, when he saw that Vinyl’s arms were outstretched. Her eyes were closed, and she was beaming as she stood there, arms ajar. “Are… are you reenacting a crucifixion or something? Because you’re not doing a good job at it. Your arms need to be more perpendicular.”

“No, you dumbass!” She rebutted, looking serious for a moment. “I’m asking for a hug!”

“Sorry, toots. I don’t like ponies hugging me,” he stated. Vinyl’s arms fell slack to her sides as an downtrodden expression tainted her face. “Oh, relax: I’m like that with everypony.”

“Okay…” Vinyl huffed in defeat as she slipped on her hoofwear and headed for the exit.

Once the door was closed behind them and they were a good ways away, Octavia snickered mockingly at the DJ’s poor misfortune. “Poor Vinyl, denied a hug by her one true love!” She jeered jokingly.

“Shut it, Tavi. It’s just a pointless little crush. It will die down in time.”

“I’m not surprised you have a crush on the likes of him. You can never really do any better, you know.”

“Wha-?! At least I’m not super buddy-buddy with a primate,” spat an offended Vinyl, cheeks ushered a mad blush. Octavia’s cheeks followed in her friend’s stead. Soon, the two of them commenced a back-and-forth argument between themselves on their way down the stairs.

~

“Ha-Choo!” sneezed Midnight and Jericho in sudden unison, the former washing the dishes and the latter eating a banana. “What the…” Midnight muttered. “Jer, I think somepony’s talking some mad shit about us.”

Finally letting his brilliant white locks cascade out from his cap, Midnight figured that he would read the rest of the day away until fatigue would get the better of him in the evening. Hunkered in his bed, the Sarosian grabbed the book from off his bedside table and continued to read from where he left off. A slightly exhausted Jericho sidled into his bed. It was a large basket lined with cotton, a tiny pillow the size of Midnight’s fist, and Midnight’s old navy-blue baby blanket with silk lining and a smiling full moon embroidered on it in the middle.

Why a twenty-seven-year-old stallion would still carry around and own something like that is a rather delicate and embarrassing topic to press upon.

Midnight was immersed deeply in his tome. It was a book he had read several times, one whose text he remembered syllable by syllable. The embossed title, Come In From the Cold, shined a faint silver in the light of the overhead reading candle. It was a second-person tale of how a colt, orphaned at a young age, is taken in by the country’s combatant’s guild and raised to be a stallion skilled in battle. As he ages in the the town that the guild is nested in, he also grows to acquire knowledge on how to combat evil and uphold good.

Midnight was continuing off from his previous location: the stallion’s coming-of-age ceremony, in the middle of winter. It was before the frivolity could commence in the grand mes hell, when the stallion was told by a scout that his best friend from when he entered the guild was lost on her way to buy him a present. So the stallion had set out to bring her back, in the middle of a snowstorm.

“What a way to grow up,” Midnight had once commented when he had read the book for the first time. Even if he had read it several times, he was still enthralled by the aura of adventure it emanated. The essence of tragedy tacked to it. The musk of romance that lingered in it.

~

“Quicksilver!!!”

You cry out for her name as much as your voice could allow, ears perked to hear her voice and legs ready to rush out to her location. “Where are you?!” You cry, almost desperately.

“I’m here!” It is faint, but you can hear her over the roar of the wind. “P-Please, help!”

Your legs act faster than your brain. They carry you forward towards her call hurriedly. The gnarling bite of winter pecks at you as you trudge forth, using pure power to both carry you through the deep snow and keep your legs from suffering hypothermia. The screaming blizzard is almost ready to sweep you up off your hooves. Your fingers are about ready to solidify into pure ice. You cannot even see three yards in front of you.

Only when you reach the edge of the town’s forest do the screeching wind and the mighty snow partially let up their assault. Your intense shivering from prior your entering the forest lowers, and the snow’s powerful descent slowly dies down. You spot a cave about several yards away, blocked by a massive boulder. “Quicksilver!!!” You holler the name of the mare you’re looking for. “Are you in the cave?!”

“Yes! H-Hurry!” As you sprint forward, you can see her face, plastered with terror, sticking out from a hole in between the rim of the cave and the boulder. Her tears had stained streaks out of the dirt that had been powdered on her cheeks from her time trapped inside. “Oh th-thank goodness you’re h-here!” Quicksilver stammered. She was beyond freezing in there, hugging herself for dear life and warmth. “P-P-please g-get me out! P-Please!”

And you thought you were having problems with the cold.

“Okay, calm down!” You say in the efforts to relax Quicksilver and come up with a strategy of releasing her. You finally reach for the sword at your hip, only to hit yourself in the nose with it as you try to draw it out. The hilt was frozen to the lips of the scabbard. “Damn it….” Your brain successfully concocts a plan B as you remove the sheathed weapon from your hip’s side and climb on top of the boulder and take a stand on the cave’s roof. You take the tip of your sword and slam it as hard as your frigid muscles can into a small gouge between boulder and cave. Not too much, though: you needed the right amount of torque for this to work.

“On three, you push and I’ll jimmy the boulder away!” You announce. “One… Two… THREE!”

Over the sound of you pulling down on the sword like the lever to a mechanism, you hear Quicksilver grunt once as she pushes against it. After a few seconds, the boulder only moves about an inch or so. “Again!” You say, grinning cockily at the progress. “One, two, THREE!” The two of you try again, exerting more effort than before. Eventually, the laws of kinematic physics take over, and the boulder rolls off a few more inches, just enough for any pony to squeeze through.

You get off of the roof and plop down on the snow below, back against the boulder. Even though the snow was slowing its descent, there was still metric tons of it on the ground. You didn’t care if your rear end was cold. Even with Quicksilver’s help, your arms feel as hot as lead and as heavy as anvils. Calling that boulder massive was an understatement in and of itself. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” Quicksilver wailed, hugging you tightly.

“The things I go through for you, lady,” you mutter jokingly, panting lightly as you return her embrace. She was your source of warmth in the frozen vastness. “You owe me big time for this.”

She removes her head from your shoulders and looks into your eyes. All of a sudden, your heart started thumping. Like a drum played furiously in the midst of a grand festivity. Your face reached horrifyingly blistering temperatures. You could melt an iceberg with the heat your cheeks radiated. You see that hers look much like how yours felt. You inspected every aspect of her, now that you were close. Her green irises, her storm-hued fur, her soft-looking lips, her slender arms, her modest breasts—Your eyes dart here and there to drink it all in.

~

Midnight stopped reading momentarily. His own heart was lightly racing, beating at his rib cage. He closed the book with his thumb still on the page. “What the hell…?” he murmured in concern. This wasn’t what happened when he had read it before multiple times. So why now? What had set off this alarming response to a scene that Midnight was so accustomed to?

Shrugging it off as just Octavia and Vinyl being the obnoxious root to this mess and on his nerves, he reopened the book to where he was left off. “Maybe I’m just losing my mind…” he huffed.

~

“I guess I do...” She plants her lips onto yours, her hand on the back of your head. Time dilated. The seconds devolve into minutes, hours, even days. It was corny, but it was true. She sits in your lap and continues kissing you. Your initial shellshock melted away as you took initiative. You place one hand on her hip and the other on her back, frozen pinkie finger clumsily twirling her silver Prench-braided mane. She moans slightly in your mouth, and your brain simply shuts down from the pleasure the both of you share.

She pulls away. Your faces are both extremely bright and blazing, the two of you mildly panting for air. “How… How long have you–?”

“Quite some time now, actually,” she answers. “Back at the ball during the summer two years ago.”

“Wha–?” You remember. The ball. Her asking out her previous crush to the ball, only to be turned down for somepony else. The two of you ditching the ball because how the both of you “were too cool for it,” when in reality, neither of you could get a date. Camping out under the stars with a bottle of swiped alcohol from the party, making ridiculous shadow puppets via candlelight and tent wall. Sharing drunken stories about each other. Gossiping as the liquor spoke for you. Eventually passing out and waking up late in the morning, cuddling together and with awful hangovers.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You finally sputter. Quicksilver smiles warmly, and your heart leaps a bit in your chest.

“Well… I was terrified. I was afraid of jeopardizing the friendship that you and I share. If you hadn’t said yes, what would have become of us?” She looks rather upset. “I didn’t want to do that. And I’m positive that what I just did was not at all acceptable.”

You start feeling some remorse. She didn’t want to tell you because she cherishes the relationship she currently has with you. And for two years, she had kept it bottled within. Two years, unrequited love and desire were all she had to keep her going as she watched you, tried everything she could to spend as much time with you as she could push without coming off as clingy. You feel like an idiot. Never noticing the signs. Never acknowledging her subtle passes at you.

Never really coming to terms that maybe you had feelings for her.

You hold her tight again, earning a little gasp from her. “Don’t say that. I wouldn’t do that to you, Quick. I would never do that to somepony like you.” She embraces you again, almost ready to burst into tears. Not of melancholy, but of euphoria, as she burrows her face into your shoulder once more.

Finally coming to terms with the feelings stirring within you, you look at her cheekily. “However… I wouldn’t say your debt is repaid yet.”

She looks a bit shocked at what you said, but upon getting it, her face looks coy and mischievous. “So… what’d you have in mind as… payment?” She runs her soft tongue over her lips, almost hungrily.

~

Midnight slammed the book shut, eyes as tiny as pinpricks, heart hammering ridiculously in his chest. He got out of bed in frustration and paced quietly around the room. After all, Jericho was still sleeping. “Why? Why, damn it?” He hissed, peeved at why this was happening, mind working at several miles per minute to find the answer.

No answer came to him in the end.

“I-I must be tired after all. I guess I’ll j-just go to sleep.” Midnight strode to his bathroom, opened the mirror cabinet over the sink, and pulled out a small orange vial of fast-acting sleeping lozenges. He popped the little pill in his mouth and washed it down with a heaping amount of water. As he lumbered into bed again, he put the book and his glasses on the bedside table again before turning off the light. He used his magic to seal the curtains of his bedroom balcony window, shrouding the room in shadows.

He felt his body grow heavy, his brain’s constant churning slowing to a halt. He was hoping for another dreamless night, and to awaken the next morning—no doubt extremely early—as if only a matter of minutes had flown by.

In the midst of all his hopes, however, a rather interesting and highly out-of-place image inserted itself intrudingly into his mind's eye.

It was that scene from the book. Where the protagonist saves Quicksilver, and they share a kiss moments afterwards. He saw himself as in the protagonist’s place, and Quicksilver was somepony he never expected to see in any fantasy of his in his life.

Octavia.

Octavia sitting on him.

Octavia kissing him.

And him kissing her back.

“AHHH!” Midnight bolted upright, a cold sweat oozing down his face and neck. His heart rate had transcended the normal velocity and had practically entered sonic speeds. Jericho jumped in his bed and began screeching angrily at Midnight for his sudden scream.

“Sorry…” apologized the Sarosian. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep….” He had caught his breath, yet his nerves were kicked into overdrive. He strode over to his computer desk and pulled out a box of lights from the drawer. He popped one out, grabbed the lighter next to it and went outside onto the balcony.

The night was peppered with Princess Luna’s glorious stars, each shining hot and bright with the full moon that rolled along peacefully across the sky. The city lights from his location looked like a spider’s web brilliantly sparkling with dew in the light of the sun.

“Goddess damn it,” he swore in agitation, before putting the butt of the cigarette between his lips, lighting the end ablaze, and taking a long draw. The nicotine and tar, while cut down to one-third of that of your standard cigarette, dispersed greedily throughout his lungs, before he exhaled the smoke exasperatedly. “What is wrong with me?”

His mind bellowed “stop,” yet his heart cried “proceed”, as he imagined that scene from the book again. How he had envisioned himself and Octavia kissing like that. His face felt hotter than the light’s withering tip as his mind reluctantly replayed it over and over again. His heart throbbed again as he fantasized about the two of them.

He flicked the ash off the end and watched it disperse with the light breeze in the air. Knowing only one way to get to the bottom of this situation, he pulled out his phone from his hoodie pocket and texted Princess Luna about his problems.

Me: Hey.

He waited for a response.

“Luna: Good evening! How come you are not online? I thought we could partake in some more online gaming!”

Me: Believe me, we will soon. Listen, I have something to ask of you.

Luna: “What is it, my little pony? Is something wrong?”

Me: Well… I guess. Something weird is going on with me. There’s a certain somepony on my mind. When I think of her… my heart just goes nuts. Like a caged animal. My face gets to feel hot just imagining spending quality time with her. What do you suppose that is?

…

Luna: “...For somepony with an IQ of 216, you are quite dense for your age, Midnight.”

Me: I’m being serious here. What is it?

Luna: “Well, it’s obviously love, you dolt.”

Midnight’s jaw went slack. The cigarette in his mouth plopped unceremoniously onto the balcony ground. ‘Love?’ He murmured worriedly, eyes glued to the bright screen of his phone. He thought of Octavia again, just to confirm. He imagined hugging her… cuddling… holding hands… kissing…

“Naaaah,” Midnight scoffed, stamping out the the grounded light. Picking it up and flicking it into the bin next to the window, he went back inside to brush his teeth. “It's probably that book working up some nerves. Totally nothing to worry about...”

'Besides... me and Octavia? Together? I wouldn't even touch her with a twenty-nine-and-a-half-inch pole.'

Unfortunately for our surprisingly boneheaded protagonist, he had no idea the terrors he and Octavia were to face.

~End of Chapter XI~

Author's Note

Done! A lot faster than I thought I'd be! I thought I'd take 3 months again. ._.

In any case, enjoy, guys! Just something I wanted to crank out before AP exams begin.

XII - The Art of Gambling Your Dignity

XII - The Art of Gambling Your Dignity

The next few days dolled on. It had been a fortnight since the issuing of Midnight’s punishment, and while he had initially hated Octavia, and she him, it seems that a détente had been established between the two ponies. Their greetings, once riddled with venom and contemptuous undertones, soon sank to a state of aloofness. They weren’t jumping at one another’s throats like they used to, but they still took verbal jabs at one another. They weren’t so much acquaintances as they were... "frenemies."

Vinyl was rather happy by this change. She was happy to see that they were slowly warming up to one another. Granted, Midnight still had to do most of her and Octavia’s errands and chores, but at least they pitched in and lended a hand with them every now and again.

Frédéric, the stallion from their dinner night at Apple Garden, however, was not at all pleased with how nice and praising Octavia was being to “the creature” when he did a good job. Which, due to his “mental limits”, were trivial things like getting the tea tray, or buying the right tin of cookies at the store.

Yes, Octavia still had Midnight pretend to be her idiotic workhorse when Frédéric was around. The Sarosian wished she would just up and tell the truth, that he wasn’t actually braindead. He couldn’t keep up this act much longer. Sadly, those doe eyes of hers and rosy cheeks as she stared at Frédéric obviously screamed that there was no way the truth would be let out by anyone anytime soon.

Still, it wasn’t a catastrophic issue. Midnight’s rather clandestine revenge plans on Frédéric were made much easier under his supposed “retardation”. Magically nudging the carpet a few inches up to trip him, overheating his tea to where it would burn his tongue, or pushing his chair out of place before he sat down were big classics for him and Vinyl to snicker and giggle at. Better yet, Frédéric couldn’t pin those “phenomena” on him if he simply and stupidly stated, “Daaaah, no can use magic. Too stupid, yarp.”

Jokes like that, however, were a double-edged sword. While Midnight and Vinyl would laugh about Frédéric’s delusion of ghosts haunting the cafe or Octavia’s apartment, Octavia herself… well, she wasn’t as appreciative of it. After Frédéric leaves their proximity, she takes her Sarosian servant somewhere out of the way and scolds him for a good five to ten minutes.

That was where it got unusual for Midnight.

Initially, when he had first begun this horrid slave labor for her, he would shrug off her reprimands and murmur (bitter)sweet nothings to shut her up, calm her down, and get her to go away. Now… it made him a bit upset to see her brandish her disappointment at him. He would heed her warnings and lower the intensity of his cruelty towards Frédéric. ‘Even though I still think he’s a total prick,’ Midnight still thought begrudgingly, ‘and that he’s not right for you…’ Thoughts along those lines usually involved him shaking his head and questioning where in Equestria he got that silly notion. He shouldn’t give two hoots about who she ends up with, whether it be idiotic hick or uptight stiff. So why is he concerned about her future?

It was not just that, either.

He paid finer attention to each of her details as she talked to him. The mild amethyst eyeshadow, the thin and elegant eyebrows, her well-shaped muzzle, the obsidian length of mane trailing behind her back, with a wrist-thick stream of it over her left shoulder, and her soft-looking lips. His eyes took it all in, embedding it thoroughly to memory, only to go home after the end of the day and bang the back of his head on a wall, muttering “stop it” over and over.

‘It was that text Princess Luna shot me that started this.’ He couldn’t rule out the possibility that maybe Luna could have made an error, given that she had been on the moon for a millennium. Especially since most of her time is spent in her room in the castle, churning out approved and declined bills and legislation. He would need a genuine mare’s opinion, knowledge, and personal experience with the matter of the abomination of “love”.

‘Nonsense, I tell you,’ he mentally barked.

He couldn’t tell Octavia, as she might catch on that maybe he had so-called “feelings” for her. He couldn’t tell his mother or sisters in Hoofghanistan either, as his sisters would either gossip about it with their friends, and his mother would guilt-trip him so hard for not following Hoofghani tradition and not asking for her hand in marriage first.

He needed the opinions of Vinyl and Scorch Shot.

The latter, a member of the Royal Guard, would not be tricky, as he presumed she’d be at the castle gymnasium with Cirrus Storm at this time. The former, at the time Midnight felt like popping the question, was unavailable. She was busy at the apartment working on a new song. She would not want to be disturbed, surely. The other flaw with asking Vinyl would be to do it in a way where no misconceptions could be formed.

So he would go ahead and ask Scorch first.

The walk to the castle was its standard, bland stroll, with a small smattering of stink-eyes being shot at him here and there. The Sarosian wasn’t bothered by it; to each their own, he mused. Pushing the castle gates open and entering the archway that led to the gym, eyes carefully looking around for her.

“Heyyy! Midnight, over here!” Yelled a slightly scratchy voice.

“Yyyeah, that’s her,” he hummed.

An orange Pegasus mare, about a head shorter than him, came trotting up to him. The mane, voice, and burgundy eyes all confirmed Midnight’s expectations. “What are you doing here?” asked Scorch Shot.

True, the lanky Sarosian who never actually liked to go out much being in a gymnasium saturated with the stench of sweat and aura of body heat was indeed an odd sight for those in the vicinity. Particularly since that Sarosian was dressed in black slacks, a button-up shirt, and a suit vest.

Nevermind a sore thumb, he stuck out like a broken one.

“Well, I, uh… came to ask you something,” Midnight confessed. Although, with Scorch in naught but a headband, training bra and yoga pants, it was a bit hard for him to keep his train of thought chugging along at a normal pace. “Relatively important, actually.”

“Uh… Sure. Wanna sit somewhere?”

“The benches outside looked good.” They made their way to the aforementioned location and took a seat.

“So what’s up?” Scorch asked. Midnight thought out his question very carefully. One wayward twitch of the tongue, one misconstrued thought, one bad alteration in tone, and the results may not be what he wanted.

“So there’s somepony on my mind, for reasons unknown. I thought she was an ingrate… a snob… an overall brat with shit morals and behavior towards others not like her. But apparently… sometimes there are some weird thoughts and feelings going on when I’m near her….”

“...We’re talking about Octavia, right?” Scorch deadpanned.

“Ye-” His serpentine eyes shrunk in shock. “What the-? Damn it!” He growled as Scorch simply chortled. “So much for it being inconspicuous.”

“Well, there’s not that many ponies who you spend time with that act like that,” Scorch summarised. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t bother even being in the same room as them.” Midnight’s poker face masked the mild astonishment of her deduction. Her smile soon appeared as she then said, “But I think it’s cute that you have a little crush on Octavia! Weird, but cute!”

“Ew, please stop.” Midnight shuddered in horror while Scorch snickered at his reaction. “There’s nothing cute about her. Most of the time when I’m around her, I want to commit seppuku with a rusty harpoon.”

“One, that’s sounds painful and gross–” she began ticking off her list of things to say on her fingers “–and two, there’s got to be some feminine charm to her.”

“I assure you, there’s not even an ounce,” he scoffed.

“There has to be, if you’re tittering on about her like a schoolfilly in denial.” Midnight’s face flared bright as the heat seared through them. She was a damn sight smarter and wittier than he had assumed.

“R...Regardless, I want to know, right at this moment. Is this what everypony calls love?” He asked, almost a bit nervously.

“Why are you asking that question like you’re some heartless, unfeeling robot?” Scorch retorted.

“Because I am a heartless, unfeeling robot,” Midnight sarcastically huffed, earning a tiny laugh from the guard. “Guess I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Also, why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be asking yourself? Because this is the first time I’ve heard about this, and I can’t make a false assumption or wrong generalization without more proof. You should know yourself: you’ve spent two weeks with her.”

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts. I’ve got one already.”

‘And might I add, it is fiiine,’ he thought lewdly. While he may not admit it, around every mare he does indeed notice the lovely show that’s down below.

“In any case.” Midnight cleared his head of his compromising imaginations. “What about you? You probably have a crush on somepony, no doubt.”

“Me?” Scorch was taken aback by surprise, not by offence. “Nah. Too busy serving the princesses to notice anypony worth my attention. Vice versa, too.”

“Hey!” Cried a deep voice down the hall. Both Scorch and Midnight turned their heads to see Cirrus Storm coming down in a sleeveless tank and gym shorts. “Midnight, what in Tartarus are you doing here?”

“Gee, didn’t know I wasn’t allowed here at the gym,” he responded blandly.

“No, I’m not saying that. You just never come here.”

“True. I just had to ask Scorch here something. Right, Sco–” Midnight glanced over to see Scorch with beady pupils and a blush on her face more intense than anything before. A little dreamy smile irked upon her lips. “Uh… Scorch?” He nudges her back into the land of the living.

“Ah! Oh, h-hi, Cirrus!” She tittered, giggling at the end to punctuate the anxiety oozing from her. “W-what’re you gonna do today?”

“Oh, warm-up on the treadmill, a couple reps, then some cooldown on the exercise bike,” he answered calmly as he went inside. He seemed oblivious to Scorch’s change in attitude and behavior.

“O-okay! Cool! See you in there!”

Not Midnight, however. “Too busy to notice anypony, eh?” He sneered devilishly.

“I swear, if you tell anypony, I will beat on your skull until I hit tonsils,” Scorch venomously hissed.

“Mum’s the word,” Midnight whimpered. “So, of all ponies, it had to be Cirrus. Why?”

“...Hmm… he’s charming, in a sense. He’s funny, polite, and can be sweet at times, I guess.”

“...I’m funny and polite... at times!” Midnight snarled in rage. “What the hell?!”

“Uhh, that’s debatable.”

“Oh, shut it, you!” Midnight crossed his arms and pouted. “This is bullshit….”

“Relax, ya big baby!” Scorch locked Midnight’s neck in her left arm and noogied him with her right. “You’re still my friend. I just view your level of sexuality as equal to that of my little brother, or a lamp.”

“You’re not helping!” Midnight barked. “And please let go, you’re drenching my clothes in sweat.”

She did so. “Well, it least it doesn’t stink as bad as stallions’ sweat.” She put her chin in her hands as she started to stare off into space, mind churning viciously to think of the next words. “How about this? Let’s make a bet. We’re gonna have an endurance race on the treadmills. The loser has to confess their feelings to the person they love by the end of this month.” Midnight pulled out his phone and checked the calendar. Today was the nineteenth of May. The fifth was where his community service had been issued, and the fourth of July would be the final day the service would end. They’d have twelve days to do it.

“Sounds like a deal.” The two shook hands, solidifying the agreement. “But I’m pretty sure you chose a challenge that benefits only you,” Midnight grumbled. “What happens if one doesn’t do so?”

“That pony has to do one thing that the other says. Anything possible, they have to do it.”

“Okay… not too bad. I like it.”

“First, take off the vest and hat. You don’t need those for this.”

“I understand the vest, but the hat stays,” Midnight stated firmly.

“Come on, you wimp. It’s not like you have the worst manecut in Equestria!” Scorch tried swiping the black fitting cap off of his head, but no go. Midnight clung to it as tight as his fingers would allow. “Stop… fighting!”

“No! Stop it!” he belted over the straining.

“You don’t... look cool… with it on!”

“I... don’t... care!”

“Just.. give it here!” Alas, Midnight was still weaker than Scorch, and she had overpowered him and removed the cap, waving it high above her head. “Aha! Got it! Man, it’s pretty embarrassing being overpowered by–” Her jaunty cheers were dulled to silence as she looked over to her left. “–a… girl….”

Midnight looked down at the floor in defeat, the white torrents of his mane blocking his face from view and almost touching the ground. He sighed a bit, and grinned pathetically. “Yeah, I guess it is kind of embarrassing, eh?”

“Whoa…” Her first instinct was to touch it. It felt like gossamer to her fingers, sleek and flawless, cared for extremely well. Incredibly long, it reached to his lower vertebrae, almost half a foot above the base of his tail. Absolutely pure white, almost unreal. She looked at the dejected cap in her hand, and questioned how it could contain all of it. “It’s really cool,” she said subconsciously as she continued playing with his hair.

“Uhh… please stop,” he said plainly. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away. But she couldn’t help herself. It was actually a bit fun to play with.

“Why is it so long in the first place?” she inquired.

“Err... no real reason. Just didn’t want to cut it, I suppose.”

“Talk about laziness. I thought you were gonna say something about tradition or other… I mean, I could skip rope with this!”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he snapped in a worried hurry.

“Huh…” Scorch grabbed a hold of Midnight’s hair again. “Well, it will probably be in the way of the race, so I’m just gonna tie it up a bit.”

“...What.” Too late. Scorch was getting to work at braiding Midnight’s mane into one long trail of mane. “Ow! Watch it!” She messed with the bangs a bit, parting them before ending her procedure with a black hair band at the end of the braid.

“Done!” Scorch scooted back and observed her masterpiece. “What do you think?”

Midnight took out his phone again and looked at the self-shot camera. His eyes dilated, and his brows hiked up his head at the sight. She made me look like Edward Tailric… Can’t really complain…. “...I like it. Thank you.”

“Now, are you ready to get your ass whooped in that race?” taunted Scorch.

“Don’t get cocky, pal,” Midnight jeered as he removed his suit vest and put it back on the bench. The two stepped into the gymnasium and walked directly towards the treadmills. The stallions and mares looked over in curiosity at the white-maned individual, and going slack-jawed as they realized who it was. “Ready?”

“Whoa, what the-?” Cirrus came over, eyes widened. “Midnight, I thought you looked like a chick!”

“Shut it. Can you keep track over an endurance race between me and Scorch here?”

“Uhh, sure? Okay.” Cirrus cleared his throat. “Why, though?”

“N-no reason in particular!” Scorch stammered anxiously, eyes darting this way and that. “Just some friendly competition!”

“Okaaay. Start the machines, get all nice and stretched. We’re starting off at 5 miles per hour, and then up a mile every two minutes, until the cap of ten. Ready?”

“Yes.” They both said in unison.

There is no way in Tartarus I should lose. I have to tell Octavia that I “love” her? I’d rather perform an ice-pick lobotomy on myself. Midnight reprimanded himself. She’s going down.

I can’t, Scorch thought firmly. I just can’t tell Cirrus something like that so soon. I’m gonna demolish this dork and have him be the one to do it first. I’ll tell him at my own pace, thank you very much.

“Go!” The treadmills churned the tracks at a mild five miles per hour, a normal pace for the two of them to jog at. Soon, it moved to six, then seven. Their jogs evolved into gentle runs. On eight MPH, the two of them were building up perspiration, Midnight more than Scorch. Not surprisingly due to his choice of attire.

“Crap… my lungs burn,” he croaked. But he kept pushing and demanding his legs to trudge him farther and his lungs to take in more air. Scorch didn’t seem as fazed, but she was panting a bit.

“Feel the pain, love the pain,” she told herself. Nine MPH came and went, and they were almost sprinting on the ten MPH speed limit. The two of them were trudging forward like cheetahs dashing towards prey. Midnight’s breathing was ragged, and his legs felt heavier than lead. Scorch was exhausted as well, but she too pressed on, not demanding to lose to her rival at the moment. “How’s that *pant* burn coming along, *pant* pal?!” She heaved.

“You *pant* You’re one to *pant* talk!” wheezed Midnight. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t push himself to the levels that he needed to win. The eyes that stared in astonishment for his display of stamina was eerie to him. All the attention diverted to him was about to give him a panic attack. He stopped the treadmill and plopped less-than-gracefully onto the ground, panting and choking in the effort to catch his breath.. “Shit… *cough!* Oh dear… help! *cough!*” He laid on the ground pitifully in his own sweat and lethargy, as Cirrus helped him up.

“Not bad. I expected less, man,” said Cirrus. “That was impressive, by your standards.”

“Thanks *pant* a lot.” Midnight trudged over to the nearest water fountain and drank the water with immense greed. His throat rejoiced as the cool refreshing fluid soothed every iota inside. “Gah… that was murder by the end. See you all later...” He went back outside to put on his vest, but remembered that he was too drenched in sweat to even try. He slung it over his shoulder, fixed the tie that felt suffocating around his neck, and pocketed his old cap.

“Pretty good, man. But you still lost,” said Scorch matter-of-factly, leaning against the wall, “so you got to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah… I read you loud and clear.” Midnight turned around before he left, and asked, “What if I don’t love her? What if it’s all just my imagination?”

“You’ll find that out yourself, bub. Try spending time with her. That might help you find out.”

Midnight sighed in defeat. “Alrighty.” He exited the castle’s confines and walked over to his tower, ready to shower, change his clothes – and follow Scorch’s advice.

‘Faust, please smite me where I stand… I can’t believe I have to do this.’

~End of Chapter XII~

XIV - “You Never Write! You Never Call!”

XIV - “You Never Write! You Never Call!”

The smell of food was the first thing that woke up the sleeping Sarosian. He slowly arose off the couch, spine knocked out of alignment from the not-so-plush cushions. After cleaning up the blanket and pillow provided for him, he walked into the kitchen, nose seduced by the scent wafting enticingly before him.

“Oh! Good morning, sleepy head,” greeted Vinyl, wearing — believe or not — an apron. Granted, it had the words, “Act Like a Lady, Cook Like a Boss.” plastered to it, but the sight of rough-around-the-edges Vinyl Scratch wearing one was indeed a new sight for Midnight. Thankfully, the apron wasn’t the only thing she was wearing. She was still decked out in her pajamas: a pair of dark short shorts and a white tank-top.

In one hand, she was holding a frying pan loaded with six poached eggs, seasoned with grounded black pepper, sea salt, and a small pinch of cumin. Prench Toast sat in the other frying pan on the burner, as she tended to that with a plastic spatula in the other hand. She was bobbing her head to some sort of mental rhythm, beatboxing to it as she wagged her tail, swung her hips, and did a bit of a jig with her hooves.

Granted, he couldn’t help but be drawn in to her hypnotic hips. But he averted his eyes from her derriere and showed some restraint.

“Top of the morning to you,” replied Midnight warmly, as Vinyl gave him a piece of Prench toast and two eggs on a plate. “Thanks.” Once at the table, he took a knife and fork and got to work on his meal.

“No problem.” Vinyl got her own plate of her own food and sat across from him. She watched him eat his breakfast slowly. How he softly pierced the eggs and bits of toast and placed them slowly in his mouth. How he didn’t clamp his teeth obnoxiously on the fork, chewed with his mouth closed, and dabbed at the corners of his lips with a napkin every now and again.

She also noticed how his muzzle is fully healed from that fight he had with that thug. The fight she believed was to protect his honor. His, and hers, as well. She sighed a little bit at the reminiscence of his chivalry.

If he had been wearing a fedora during the incident, Midnight would definitely have tipped it.

“Hmm?” Midnight’s ears perked up. “Did you say something?”

Spooked slightly, Vinyl shifted uncomfortably in her seat, cheeks bearing a mild blush, before she said, “So, uh… how was dinner last night with Frédéric?”

Midnight stopped mid-chew and and swallowed before answering the question. “It was… alright. He’s not too big of a twat, now that he and I have talked about our differences.”

Vinyl snorted. “Is that so?” He nodded. “Well, glad you had fun last night.” A moment of silence. “So, how do you like the food?”

Midnight paused in mid-chew. He evaluated both the question, and the objects in question. He swirled the eggs in his mouth with his tongue before swallowing them whole. “The eggs are well-prepared, not too much pepper, and a nice touch with the cumin. Only problem is that there is a little too much salt in them. The Prench toast was very good, however. Proper amount of egg wash and cinnamon, and the bread was whole wheat. Really nice.”

Vinyl was brimming with confidence at his words. Her blush intensified a bit. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. Thank you for making breakfast.”

“*Yaawwwwn* There’s breakfast?”

The conversation concluded with Octavia yawning widely as she entered the room in a silk lavender nightgown, the hem barely covering her thighs. Midnight’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to her, and his face slowly burned at how stunning she looked, even if she had just woken up. He lowered his gaze before any of them could notice him visually undressing her, with the image almost permanently ingrained in his memory.

“Good morning, all,” hummed Octavia, reaching for her own plate of breakfast. “So, how was dinner, Midnight?” She asked after swallowing a piece of Prench toast.

“It was… bah,” he lied flatly, keeping up the illusion that Frédéric still hated him. He’d let that pianist tell Octavia the truth himself: Midnight did not feel like being a medium of amelioration for them. “There are worse ponies out there than him.” He shot at Vinyl the subtlest of winks, letting her know that he was lying for a reason.

“Oh?” Octavia, cheek full of egg, raised a brow inquisitively. “Well, it sounds a bit better than I expected. How was the couch?”

“It was alright, somewhat,” answered the Sarosian, rubbing his neck that stung with soreness. “Although… it was murder on my neck.”

“Ah. I guess that would happen, since you’re tall,” said Vinyl.

Pause, the silence only shattered by the clinking of forks and knives upon dinnerware.

“...And you still let me sleep on the couch, knowing that me being sore would no doubt happen,” grumbled Midnight.

“Better the couch than the floor,” argued Octavia calmly. Midnight rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Relax, just put some ice on it, get a massage, you’ll be fine.”

*CRACK! CRACK!*

“Or I could just do that,” Midnight said simply after cracking his neck and back, the loud rupturing of carbon dioxide bubbles between the bones sending tremors of disgust through the mares at the table. “Much better. Just some dislocation.”

“That sounded fucking morbid!” Vinyl hollered.

“Really, at the table?” Octavia snapped sharply.

“Yyyep.” Standing up, the Sarosian took his now-empty plate and washed it in the sink. At that point, his phone on the couch started ringing loudly. It wasn’t his alarm, but instead, somepony was calling him. “Hang on, I got it.” His magic swallowed the phone whole in an acid-green aura, and hovered the device to him. Drying his hands, he examined it before answering.

“Mother Unit,” was the name of the caller.

“Shit.” Midnight swallowed nervously. He had forgotten to call his mother back in Hoofghanistan as often as he liked, and it was coming back to haunt him now.

“Who is it?” asked Vinyl as she looked at the guise of worry on Midnight’s face.

“My mom.” He grabbed his phone hesitantly. He answered the call. ((Hello?)) He said in Ponsi.

((Ohhhh, Midnight!)) gushed his mother loudly in their native language. To the point where the stallion had to scoot the phone away a few inches to keep from blowing out his eardrum. ((How are you, my darling son?))

((I’m fine, Mama, thank you for asking,)) he responded. As the conversation carried on, Vinyl and Octavia looked at each other dumbfounded and confused by the language. The “khe”s, “zhe”s, “pe”s, and all his other gobbledygook characters befuddled both mares.

“You understand him, Tavi?” asked Vinyl.

“Not in the slightest,” replied Octavia.

((But in any case, what’s going on?)) His mother’s tone slowly grew serious. ((It’s like you’ve dropped out of existence! You never write! You never call!))

((Mama, I’ve been very busy at work,)) lied Midnight. It was only a little white lie, though. ((Traveling around the world, being a translator, and recording all of their lectures is not easy.))

((Oh, nonsense! Your memory can put an elephant’s to shame! Moreover, that doesn’t mean you can’t call your mom every now and again,)) argued his maternal figure. Midnight rolled his eyes.

((Yes, Mama. I’m sorry for not calling you sooner. How is everypony?))

((All of them are doing great. Your dad misses you.)) Midnight looked down at the floor, shuffling his hooves anxiously. Bringing his father into the conversation was rather touchy, as he and his dad didn’t part ways on the best of terms. ((He wanted to say goodbye to you before he went off onto a business trip for his automotive parts.))

((Oh? When did he leave?))

((A few days ago. Maybe he’ll keep in contact with you then?))

Midnight grinned as he replied, ((Yeah. I hope so.))

His mother giggled slightly. ((Listen. I feel like this might be a bit too soon, but… I was hoping you’d find time this month to visit us here in Jalalabuck. It’s a lot calmer here in the Neighngarhar district than when you left.))

((Oh. Well… I guess I can. I’ve got some free time this month. No delegations or paperwork for a little while,)) Midnight finally said. He could practically hear his mother beam on the other side of the phone.

((Really?! Oh, that’d be wonderful! I’ll let your brothers and sisters know right away! I can’t wait to see you! When will you be leaving?))

((Sometime next week, Mama. I’ll see you soon, okay? Love you.))

((I love you, too, darling.)) He hung up the phone and pocketed it.

“Sounded really interesting, Midnight,” Octavia said. “What was that all about?”

“My mom wants me to come visit Hoofghanistan and say hello to her and the family.”

“Family? You have siblings, then?” she then asked before sipping a cup of coffee.

“Yep… er, around thirteen of them.”

Octavia almost choked on her drink. “Thirteen?!” She screamed in disbelief.

“Damn, that’s a lot of sex!” Vinyl promptly wailed.

Midnight sighed exasperatedly. He figured they would react like that. “I guess I should have told you guys my mom had a habit of taking in orphans. So, no, my mom is not a loose floozy.”

“What?” The mares asked in unison.

“Yeah. She still wanted kids, even after me and my twin sisters were born. The problem is, my dad was not having any of that, and he got a vasectomy soon afterwards. Bummed out by it, she began taking in homeless foals from off the streets. Not just ponies, too. She’s adopted zebras, Diamond Dogs, even some baby dragons. I think after she hit the double digits did she realize enough was enough.”

“But how do they afford to live there?” Vinyl was a little concerned. “Food prices, electricity, water, gas?”

“Surely, with fourteen residents, a home will cave in from debt,” Octavia justified.

“Normally, yes,” responded Midnight. “But it’s actually quite cheap to live there now. Cheaper than living here, I’ll tell you that much. Besides, I’ve told you before that I wire them money. That’s to help pay for the expenses they can’t cover.”

“So how long do you plan on staying there?” asked Vinyl.

“Not sure. About a week or two. I want to go and do some sightseeing, buy some souvenirs, hang out with other relatives.”

“Wait, what about the order from the Princesses?” Octavia slowly grew stern. “After all, you’re still in my custody.”

Midnight sat back down at the table grumpily. He could only brood there in his seat, mind chugging along to justify leaving, if only for a while. Leaving would indeed result in an infraction of the order from the Princesses, and would get him tossed into a nice cozy jail cell. He’d need to find a way around this barrier of his. “Well… what if I could bring you guys along?” he suggested.

“I beg your pardon?” said Octavia, almost taken aback by the proposition. “You want us to go there?”

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” deadpanned Midnight.

“It doesn’t sound so bad,” defended Vinyl, calmly. “It’d be nice to get out of the country, you know.” She looked at Midnight hopefully and asked, “Do they have nightclubs there?”

“Yeah, they do,” he responded. Vinyl grinned and did a fist bump. Midnight turned to Octavia and said, “They also have concert halls. If you wanna show off some of your music, you can.”

“Well… I dunno, you make it seem a little nice, but it must no doubt be hot there.” Octavia’s interest was partially piqued, no doubt, yet at the same time, she still had qualms about going in the first place. “There’s also a huge language barrier.”

Midnight blinked in surprise. Even though he could understand them fluently, he forgot that both mares would be lost in translation trying to understand Hoofghani Ponsi.

“I’ll help you with that one, pal.” Midnight puffed out his chest. He wanted her attention, after all. “While there are some ponies there that speak Equuish, I’ll be your personal translator for those that don’t.”

“What about hotel costs?”

Midnight pinched the bridge of his muzzle and groaned. ‘Why did she have to worry about every little thing?’

“I’ll cover it all. The hotel costs, the gas, the train tickets — all of it.”

Octavia’s fretting look gradually waned away with each assurance. She warmly smiled at him as she said, “You really do miss your mom, don’t you?”

Midnight slowly blushed. He shifted his hooves nervously. “Y...Yeah. I haven’t seen her in a long time. Of course I miss her.” The back of his eyes burned a bit. “I want to see her.”

“Well…” She thought about this decision. It was a nice idea to go to a new country: something she could try on her bucket list. And Midnight really did want to see his mother, who he hasn’t even visited in a decade. Part of her wanted to stay, yet the other part pained her to separate him from his mother any longer. “I’ll be holding you to your word about covering the expenses,” she said. “But we can go.”

Midnight’s heart sang. He was finally going to see his family after a long hiatus of nine years. He forced every molecule in his body to keep from hugging Octavia, despite how tantalizing it was. “Y… You’re serious?” he asked.

“On one condition.”

Midnight tilted his head slightly. This attached string couldn’t be too detrimental to the situation: after all, he was still going to see his mother. “Sure. Name it.”

Octavia’s blush grew more intense.

And that was when Midnight regretted he said anything.

~End of Chapter XIV~

XV - A Sponge to Wipe Away the Past (Hoofghanistan - Pt. I)

XV - A Sponge to Wipe Away the Past (Hoofghanistan - Pt. I)

-A week later-

“‘On one condition’,” grumbled Midnight on the train to the station in Hoofghanistan. “One condition, my ass.” He could do nothing but look at the window of the zooming landscape, the trees, grass, and mountains gradually growing scarce and melting into the arid vastness of desert.

“Get over it,” barked Frédéric from next to him. “You should be lucky that Octavia is being nice enough to allow you to even go in the first place.”

“Careful, buddy, It’s generally not a smart idea to irritate your only translator,” the other male snapped. “Keep it up, I’ll repay the favor by telling the next gun-wielding Hoofghani that you’d be glad to give his Beretta a blowjob.” Frédéric got a worried look on his face as he realized the possible future. “Capiche?” The pianist nodded nervously.

“Midnight, stop it!” Octavia hissed from the opposite seat. “You’re scaring him with your…. barbarism.”

“Yes, because severe warnings do belong in the Dark Ages.”

“What crawled up your arse and took refuge?” scoffed Octavia, face contorted in disbelief. “It’s only been a few hours since we got on the train.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t smoked for the past two days during us getting ready for this trip. Withdrawal is curb-stomping me in the groin right now,” growled the Sarosian in agitation.

“Well, surely, you could wait just a little longer,” she reasoned.

“I dunno, Tavi,” said Vinyl, momentarily slipping off her white headphones. “Withdrawal isn’t something that you can just casually leave alone.”

Midnight continued to fidget in his seat, irritable that the nicotine from his lights was being cleansed from his bloodstream. Gritting his teeth, twiddled his thumbs, reciting all of the digits of pi.

Nothing really succeeded.

Octavia noticed the symptoms of his ailment. Though she was not a chronic smoker or drinker, she was well aware of the addiction factors. She may not have experienced withdrawal, but she didn’t need an explanation on what it looked like. The Sarosian’s contracted pupils, twitchy hands, and irritability all announced that he was in agony.

Only on the thirty-seventh digit of pi did he finally snap from the pain of detoxification. “Okay, I’m losing what little sanity I have left.” He reached for his suitcase and burrowed into its contents for his packet of lights. “I have to go outside for a minute or two.” He walked towards the back of the train, mouth itching to swallow the nicotine stick whole.

He pried the door to the open back ajar, the wind whipping him slightly. He pulled out his zippo, flicked it alight, and held the open blaze to the end of the light, pulling at it with his lungs to get it to stay burning strong. Physiologically, his blood pressure was rising like a cork in water, but he was relaxed in a psychological sense. “Thank heavens….” he sighed, leaning against the rail cautiously.

The heat of the desert sun began radiating his head through his black hat. Rather than letting his brain bake in his skull, he took off his hat, and let his mane fly in front of him. He continued to peacefully whittle away at his cigarette, blowing smoke rings—or at least trying to, as the train’s slipstream of air shattered the smoke to pieces.

He stopped trying, and started panicking when he heard the door open and close behind him. “Sweet Celestia,” said an discomforting voice. Midnight groaned as Frédéric chortled into his hand. “You look like a little filly!” He chuckled.

“Screw you!” the other stallion barked. Frédéric was still laughing stupidly. “Stop giggling, damn it!” Midnight was slowly losing his composure, lips twitching. ‘Oh, Faust, it’s contagious.’ He finally broke down, laughing with him. It took a good moment before they both reached a less tensed silence. For odd reasons, he didn’t feel uncomfortable about his mane this time around. Maybe it was because he had already shown it to Scorch Shot.

Regardless, it felt better to no longer have to worry about it. The two of them leaned forward on the rail, looking at the tracks zoom beneath them. “Think she bought that little spat we had?”

“I think so,” responded Frédéric. “But in any case, sorry for heckling you like that on the train.”

“The apology is mutual.” Midnight offered a light to him, but Frédéric politely declined. “I have a feeling she’ll catch on. What did you tell them when you got up?”

“I told them that I should make sure you didn’t blow up the train.”

“Well, given that I’m Middle Eastern, I can see how they bought that.” Frédéric snorted at the remark. “So… you gonna tell Octavia any time soon?”

Frédéric blinked, the cogs in his equine brain churning. “I want to come clean,” he said in the end, after several seconds of strenuous thinking. “I really do… but I’m a little afraid. I’m not prepared for what Octavia would say. Mares are unpredictable, after all.”

“Not really,” joked Midnight. “Buy them chocolate, tell them they’re pretty, and you’ll be just fine.”

“Ah, if only it were that simple.” The sound of a door opening made them both jump, almost off of the train. They whipped around nervously to see–

“Oh, my Goddess!” giggled Octavia, Vinyl stifling her snickers behind her. “You look–”

“– like a mare, yes. I already heard the joke,” Midnight sighed, once the ladies’ laughter died down.

“I actually said ‘little filly’,” interjected Frédéric.

“Put a sock in it.” Midnight, putting out his fag against the rail and flicking it off the train, then said to the mares, “You came over because…?”

“Don’t be rude, half-breed,” retorted Frédéric, falling back into their ruse again.

“Thank you, Frédéric,” began Octavia, “but with this one, I can fight my own battles.” Frédéric looked downtrodden, in which Midnight fired at him a boasting, victorious look. “I came to inform you that we’ll be in Jalalabuck in five minutes, according to the conductor. We should gather our things and head out.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting us know.” Midnight then quickly glanced at Frédéric. ‘Are you going to tell her, or sit on your ass and do nothing?’

Frédéric seemed to get the message. With a burning face, he struggled to find the words to say, “Actually, Octavia… I have something to tell you. Could we… stay behind a little while?”

The charcoal mare’s cheeks was glowing the same color as the garnet sands beneath the train. “Uh… um, of course.”

“We should go,” Vinyl told Midnight, the two of them ready to return to their train cabins. As Midnight went to put his cap back on his head and sheathing his mane, Vinyl quickly put a hand on his wrist to stop him. “Leave it off…” she said, cheeks smoldering. “You look good without it on.”

Midnight paused, processing her words. He slowly lowered his hat down, and pocketed it. “Alright, then….” he mumbled. They returned to their seats. The way she kept eyeballing the hair was irking him: he knew exactly what she wanted. “You can touch it.” He deadpanned.

“Thank you.” She didn’t hesitate in her actions, immediately playing with his mane like a cat would with a ball of yarn. It was a good thirty seconds, give or take, before she realized she should stop. The passengers were beginning to stare. “Okay, I’m done,” she said, sitting on her hands to keep from reaching out and touching Midnight’s mane again.

“Well?” said Midnight.

“What?”

“Usually, after somepony fondles my hair, they voice their thoughts.”

“…It’s smooth. It’s like… I dunno, touching really fancy silk or something like that,” said the alabaster mare. Seconds later, Octavia and Frédéric returned from the train’s rear, the mare sitting with Vinyl grumpily, and the stallion with Midnight, almost defeated. “I take it the conversation went well.”

Silence. Both were of opposite levels of upset to speak. Octavia then leered angrily at Midnight.

The Sarosian noticed this, and retorted, “Oh, so this is my fault?”

“You should have told me sooner!”

Midnight opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He didn’t want to pick a petty fight with her. Not when he was about to reunite with his family. All he could do was swallow his pride and his fury in one go. “I’m sorry,” he grunted. “I guess I should have let you know. But in my defense, I feel like making a new friend isn’t something I should just announce to the whole world.”

Octavia scowled. She was still very peeved about being left in the dark, considering it was a topic between her crush and her workhorse. But at least the apology brought her boiling behavior to a simmer. “Okay. Just… I’d like to be notified of these things.”

“I had a feeling you two would be pals,” Vinyl interrupted. “I take it you two are joined by a common factor?”

Midnight and Frédéric looked at each other nervously. Internally, both of them were swearing profusely at this surprise question.

“True… Usually, there’s something you two ought to like for you to even remotely consider basing a relationship on,” Octavia said, amethyst eyes scanning the two of them.

“Uh… uuhhhh, fantasy hoofball,” answered Midnight. ‘No shame.’

Octavia and Vinyl looked at the both of them. “What.” It wasn’t so much a question, as it was a statement.

Frédéric was sweating from the pressure. “Er, yeah!”

“The sport where mares play hoofball in skimpy lingerie?” Vinyl said.

“Yep.” Midnight quickly responded. “It’s damn thrilling. Ain’t it, Freddy? Watchin’ them wrestle and wriggle around over a muddy ball.” The passengers who had stared at Vinyl during her mane-petting crusades, and then some, turned their heads in incredulity at his words, a few in interest, most in disgust.

“A-absolutely,” stammered Frédéric. “It’s quite fun to watch….” As soon as he trailed off, he hissed at Midnight from the corner of his mouth, “What are you doing?!”

“Just roll with it!” he growled. They looked at the mares anxiously, hoping that they would buy it.

Octavia’s and Vinyl’s eyes met, and they deadpanned in bland unison, “Stallions.”

Frédéric and Midnight let loose breaths that they didn’t know they were holding in. ‘That was close…’

The train came to a stop outside the Drawazah Train Station in Jalalabuck. The passengers gathered their possessions from the storage compartments above, and soon exited the Friendship Express. They felt the blast of the desert heat permeating the air, making them desire the air conditioned cabins of the train again. Midnight looked around for their pick-up. “She said she’d be here.”

“Who’d be here?” Frédéric asked.

“My mother,” he replied. He continued scanning the massive crowd around him, the ponies bustling about importantly to reach their desired destination.

He felt a finger poke him on the shoulder from behind. It wasn’t rough enough to be Octavia’s, it was too feminine to be Vinyl’s and Frédéric’s. “Gee, who could that be?” He said sarcastically, one obvious choice left for him.

He turned, and saw a mare a head shorter than him. She was wearing a white blouse with yellow threading, and a pair of denim mom jeans. She shared Midnight’s dark grey fur, fringed ears, and even his white hair. The only differences between them, other than gender, were the eyes and the breed. Her eyes were serpentine, yet they were a piercing azure color. Moreover, she had dark, leathery bat wings instead of a horn. ((I never could surprise you,)) she said to him in Ponsi, a feeble smile spreading upon her lips, and a tear almost developing in her eyes. ((I had a feeling you’d be too smart for anypony to handle.))

((Fret not. I’m still the same stupid kid you birthed and raised.)) Midnight grinned back, and swallowed the mare into his arms, hugging her tightly. ((I’ve missed you, Mama,)) he said weakly.

((I’ve missed you as well, sweetheart,)) his mother responded back, embracing her son for the better half of a minute. “Are these your friends?” she finally asked in Equuish.

Midnight was taken aback by the format of the question. Her accent was apparent, but it seemed her grasp on the language was strong. “You’re learning,” he said happily.

“But of course,” his mother replied. “I thought it would be quite fun to learn something new.” She let go of Midnight, and approached his entourage. “It is nice to meet you. I am Midnight’s mother.”

“A pleasure to meet you, madame,” Frédéric said, extending his hand to her. She grabbed hold and shook. “My name is Frédéric.”

“It is wonderful to meet you, Frédéric,” the mare replied. Midnight almost snickered. His mother hadn’t mastered contractions yet.

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” said Octavia. “I’m Octavia, and this is my friend, Vinyl.”

“Yo-ha, bro-ha,” Vinyl said nonchalantly.

The mare giggled slightly and said, “Please, call me Galaxy.”

All three newcomers looked at each other, and turned to Midnight. “I think I’m gonna like your mom,” announced Vinyl. Galaxy let another giggle escape her again.

((Let’s go, shall we?)) she said to Midnight. He nodded, and informed everyone that they were heading out. All four of them exited the station. Vinyl, Frédéric, and Octavia gasped in awe at how massive the city looked and how bustling the streets were. The pedestrians were greeting each other, talking animatedly and fervently with one another, playing cards, drinking cappuccinos in front of the cafés that frequented the block.

“Whoa…” hummed Vinyl.

“‘Whoa’ is an understatement,” Frédéric responded. “This place looks… fascinating.”

“This is… hey, where are they going?” Octavia noticed Galaxy and Midnight walking towards an archway next to the station. The archway bore a long set of spiraling stairs that burrowed underground. The three of them followed Midnight and his mother down below. Lamps were placed on the sides of the wall to permit visibility. Soon, the walls came to a stop, but the stairs carried on for a good fifty feet.

That was when their jaws really dropped. While above ground was a sight to see, writing home to loved ones about the underground city below Jalalabuck would not do this sight justice.

Homes, shops, schools, hospitals, departments, even a sports stadium: all of them were carved carefully out of the stone. The heat of the sun was definitely minimized, leaving everypony beneath the ground cool and sheltered. Grand lamps attached to columns that supported the city above brought luscious light onto the world below. Holes in the cavernous ceiling allowed underground greenhouses and gardens to flourish, or for fervent stargazers to read the beautiful lunar inscriptions in the night sky.

A closer look at the pedestrians and citizens showed that they were mostly Sarosians. There were a fair handful of unicorns like Midnight. Most of them, though, were Pegasi like Galaxy. But that was not to say that the city was not without diversity. There were regular ponies like Vinyl, Octavia, and Frédéric. There were also some gryphons, zebras, and even Diamond Dogs and minotaurs.

“Daaaaaamn,” Vinyl murmured, a grin slowly spreading. They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked towards a garnet-coloured SUV. Galaxy unlocked the trunk, and the four in her company placed their luggage in back. Octavia was especially careful with her cello. “This is gonna be loads of fun, Tavi, don’tcha think?”

“This… absolutely looks promising,” said Octavia, recovering from her stunned-in-awe status as all of them boarded the car.

Starting the car, Midnight felt his heart soar a little bit. He was elated and proud that she was liking his hometown. “It’ll definitely be fun. I promise.” Pulling out of their parking spot, he slowly lowered his hoof down on the gas, and they drove down the roads. Nostalgia seeped into his brain as he traversed down the meandering streets of the Neighngarhar district. Some of the pedestrians waved at them, or smiled at them as they passed, and they were glad to return the warm welcome.

“It’s been a week. I take it Dad is back?” asked Midnight.

“Why, yes,” responded Galaxy as Midnight pulled into the property of a large rectangular estate. “He and your grandmother cannot wait to see you.”

“We’re going to meet his dad?” Frédéric questioned.

“Yep,” answered Midnight as he shut off of the car and opened the trunk remotely. “You’re probably gonna like my old man, guys.” They exited the SUV, gathered their belongings, and wheeled them towards the house. Galaxy went and closed the gate of the driveway as they entered the building.

As the others placed their luggage by the stairs, Midnight walked briskly down the hall and wailed, ((Guess who’s hoooome?!)) into the bowels of the establishment. He couldn’t help it: he was going to see his brothers and sisters again after nine years of separation.

Sure enough, a parade of teenagers and young children came rushing towards him from the living room on the right. All of the eleven that appeared varied in breed and gender, but they knew their surrogate brother as soon as he announced his presence. They tackled him in one collaborative hug, the tall Sarosian going down like a felled tree. “AAHHH!” he screamed as his younger siblings began assaulting him with questions and heartfelt welcomes.

((Where’ve you been, brother?!))

((We’ve missed you!))

((Welcome home, Midnight!))

((What’s Canterlot like?!))

((Did you meet the Princesses?!))

((Of course he met the Princesses, you dork! He works with them!))

All of Midnight’s entourage, including Galaxy, laughed at the comical scene. The fallen Sarosian could only smile happily as he returned the embrace to all of his loved ones. ((Relax, little ones. I’ll tell you all during dinner,)) he said, placing the knocked-aside glasses back on his muzzle. The small children cleared the way and allowed him to chance to get up.

((Welcome home, Midnight,)) said a mare in the living room, putting down her magazine. Midnight recognised her constantly calm, almost nonchalant speech pattern. She had Galaxy’s blue eyes, leathery wings, and white mane, but the latter was cut short. On her left cheekbone was a birthmark. She was decked out in a black tank top, dark camo fatigues, and some punk accessories, ranging from ears decorated with piercings to a pair of spiked armbands. She went to Midnight and hugged him briefly. ((It’s been a while.))

((Hey, Night,)) he said to his sister. ((Great to see you again. Where’re Star and Dad at?))

((Star’s in the backyard with Grandma, picking mint for the tea. Dad’s washing up in the bathroom.))

Vinyl, Octavia, and Frédéric entered the living room, a little impressed by how well-kept it was. The couches were made out of long mattresses propped on the floor and walls, with a decent-sized television propped on a table at the end of the room. On the Middle Eastern rug was a decorative plastic sheet. “Dinner’s ready?” Midnight asked.

“Yeah. We just need to put it all on the plastic,” Night looked over at Midnight’s entourage. “I take it these are your buds.” She walked over to them. “Hello, there. I’m Night Glider, Midnight’s older sister.” They all shook her hand, Frédéric and Octavia in concern, Vinyl in intrigue.

“You got a twin sister, right, Night?” Vinyl then inquired, once the greetings were out of the way.

“She does!” answered a bubbly voice. Another mare walked in, sporting Night’s eyes, mane, and wings. She was instead wearing a light blue sundress, and her longer mane was in a Prench braid. Other than that, the two looked almost identical in body shape and facial structure. She walked over, clutching a handful of mint sprigs. ((Hi, Midnight! I’ve missed you!)) she greeted, giving his brother a hug.

((Hey, Star! Great to see you!)) he replied.

((Same, buddy!)) Star let go and approached his friends. “Hello! I’m Star Hopper, the other twin sister. It’s nice to meet you all.” She shook their hands. Vinyl got a shocking dose of vibes from Star that only a certain pink party animal from Ponyville really emanated. ((Grandma can’t wait to see you, Midnight! I’ll go get her,)) Star quickly said, before skipping outside through the screen door.

“What was that all about?” Vinyl asked. The grin on Midnight’s face only grew in intensity.

“She’s going to bring my grandmother,” he answered. They all got comfortable on the couchs. Midnight’s adopted brothers and sisters talked amongst themselves, played little games, and some even tried to talk with Midnight’s friends.

“Shamaa mo hai besiar zeeba, khanum,” complimented a little gryphon boy, only seven or eight in age, to Octavia.

“What did he say?” The cellist inquired.

“Gale said, ‘you have very pretty hair, ma’am’,” Midnight translated. Octavia blushed slightly, petting her mane self-consciously. She ran her hand over the gryphon’s tuft of feathers.

“How do you say thank you?” she asked of the Sarosian.

“Tashakor.”

“Tashakor, Gale,” she said to the gryphon, who grinned and walked off to play with his brothers and sisters. Midnight snickered at her accent. “What?” Octavia said, intrigued by his laughter.

“You just sounded like such a foreigner,” he answered. “It was great.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said… jokingly. They looked to his left and saw Vinyl sharing her headphones with another child, this one a Sarosian pegasus mare of ten. Frédéric was watching a game of soccer on the television with about four of the younger children. The others were in the kitchen helping Galaxy get the food on the plastic. “They look like they’re at home.”

“Mi casa, su casa,” Midnight explained simply.

“Here’s the lady of the hour!” Star Hopper announced cheerily, walking cautiously behind her an elderly mare. She was short, dressed in dark traditional Hoofghani clothes, and bore the family’s white hair. Hers was as long as Midnight’s, and she had a horn like him, but her eyes were neither his vivid green nor Galaxy’s ocean blue. They were milky white, spawned from cataracts plaguing her vision. She walked with a cane in one hand, and Star guided her in her other. ((Somepony’s here to see you, Gran.))

((I think I know who it is.)) The old mare carefully made her away around the plastic, avoiding knocking over the food and the children. She came and placed her hands on Midnight’s face, her sense of touch acting as her own personal sonar. She felt every nook with her gnarled, aged fingers: the shape of the eyes, the horn, the regrown goatee, the structure of his cheekbones. ((Where’ve you been, you snotty brat?)) She said jokingly.

The Sarosian in question laughed through choked-back tears, hugging his grandmother tenderly. ((I’ve been away from home too long, Grandma.)) He could feel her weeping into his shoulder slightly, her legs shaking in her attempt to stand up and withhold her emotions. “Guys, this is my grandmother, Nebula.” They all said their greetings. ((I’ve brought company.))

((Darn right, you have,)) she said, smiling at the presence of the newcomers. ((This nose is still sharp as a knife.)) They shivered in unison, getting the preposterous idea that she could see them despite her affliction. She walked over to Vinyl and physically examined her face. ((Hmm… pretty. A little rough around the edges, but quite a cute one. Definitely somepony to keep at your side.))

Midnight translated her words for Vinyl, but omitted that “rough around the edges” bit. With a grin, the alabaster pony nervously scratched the back of her head as Nebula moved onto Frédéric. ((Hmm. Ooh, handsome. Very handsome. This jawline is quite a sight to see—or not.)) She said jokingly. ((Loyal, talented... I think you picked a good friend, Midnight, my child.)) The grandson translated, leaving Frédéric blushing mildly in his seat.

“What’s with the blushing? You’re not crushing on my grandmother, are you?” said Midnight childishly, nudging his elbow into the pianist’s side.

“Shut it, you!” Frédéric barked.

Meanwhile, Nebula moved onto Octavia. The mare backed away from her initially, given her previous… “discomfort” with Sarosians. Nebula sensed this, and could only smile. ((Calm yourself, child. I won’t hurt you.)) After being relayed her words, Octavia relaxed and allowed Nebula to examine her. ((Ah… a beauty. I think she can be a bit of a jerk sometimes, but… I know she’s a real sweetheart.)) Octavia blushed after hearing the altered translation.

“Tashakor… eh, khanum,” Octavia said. Nebula raised a brow.

((And she’s clever!)) Octavia blushed ever harder.

((Let’s hope those are all true, Nebula,)) said a new voice entirely. The speaker was a stallion at a staggering six feet, eight inches. Dressed in a white button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves and dark slacks with suspenders. He had Midnight’s green eyes and horn. His white hair was cut short and slicked back, with but a few bang hairs jutting out, his full beard properly combed. His stomach was a little on the large side, but his arms were rippling with muscles, almost as thick as tree trunks; no doubt due to the several years of working on and repairing automobiles of all brands, models, and years.

((Dad… I’m home,)) said Midnight, almost anxiously. The father figure looked up at his son, and a smile peeked out from his beard. Midnight got up and went to him, soon to be grabbed in a mighty bear hug. ((You’re crushing me!!)) he squeaked.

The dad laughed heartily. It sounded much like how a grizzly would laugh as it trapped its prey. He let go of his son and put his hands on his shoulders. Midnight was only half a foot shorter. ((I’ve missed you, m’boy,)) he said. He looked to his friends, then he noticed Octavia and Vinyl. ((So, which one’s your wife?)) he asked teasingly.

Midnight’s cheeks seared slightly. ‘Me? One of them? Married? It’s weird, but it’s not like I haven’t thought about it every now and again… although, those thoughts usually involve one of them nowadays.’ ((N-Neither, Baba. They’re friends I brought home with me.))

((Ah, but you like one of them, don’t you?)) He continued. Midnight’s face grew ever more hot.

((Comet! Don’t yank his chain on the first day he comes back!)) warned Galaxy, bringing the last of the food to the plastic.

((Well… yes,)) he sighed, defeated by his dad browbeating him. “Guys, this is my dad, Comet Ash.”

The large stallion grasped Frédéric’s hand and shook it. “It is… big pleasure to meet you,” Comet said in broken Equuish. Frédéric’s hand was released from the vice grip, the owner massaging it and ensuring not a precious finger was damaged.

“Same to you,” Frédéric said with both feeble smile and eye contact.

Comet merely did a little bow to Octavia and Vinyl. “Thank you for coming to our house. Is very good thing that Midnight… eh, have friends like you three.”

“Oh, we’re just happy we could be his friends,” Vinyl said calmly. “So what do you do, Mr. Ash?”

“Oh. I am car repairpony. I fix all cars of all kinds,” the father replied. “Please. Call me Comet, like everypony else.”

“Sounds like fun, eh?”

“Sometimes. Is hard work, but is fun every… eh… now and again.” Comet turned to his son and inquired, ((So, how has working with the Princesses been?))

((Rough,)) Midnight answered. All of the family members were gathering around the plastic. He motioned to his companions to do so as well. ((Traveling, having to cram the language in the last few days, taking notes — it’s no walk in the park, I’ll say.))

((It does sound like a lot. But you’re a smart stallion,)) justified Comet, patting his son on the back. ((You could practically think circles around all of us when you were out of high school.))

Midnight smiled, as he used his magic to undo the lids of each pot and pan on the plastic. The aroma of the food bulldozed their senses. He began filling up a plate and a bowl for each individual, passing them out. There were plenty of dishes to accommodate both the carnivorous and the herbivorous. ((I’m glad that you have that kind of confidence in me, Baba. Especially since we had a bit of fallout when I left…))

Comet looked at his child, and let out a sigh seasoned with reminiscent woe. ((It’s water under the bridge. Both of us were just… itching to get into fights, I suppose.))

((Both? What happened at work?))

((Just… idiots at work! They either can’t properly organize each part correctly, or they try and steal from the store.))

“Is your dad alright?” asked Octavia, tone tinged with concern as she took a seat on Midnight’s right.

“He’s just peeved because there are a bunch of assholes–”

“Midnight!” reprimanded Galaxy, who motioned subtly to the children listening.

“Mama, they don’t understand Equuish. They’ll be fine.” Midnight returned to answering the question: “Just a bumbling band of idiots at my dad’s autoparts store. They either screw up something in storage, or they steal money out the register.”

“Huh…” hummed Octavia. “Sounds like a hassle.”

“It is hassle… er, what was your name?” Comet asked.

“Octavia. This is Frédéric–” She happily pointed to the pianist from Midnight’s other side. “–and this is Vinyl.” The mare in question next to her waved.

Comet hummed. “Okay… it is hassle, Octavia. I pray to Luna for… er, competent workers. Instead, I get idiots. I should pray for idiots, and see where that goes.”

The guests giggled slightly. “I think I’m starting to like your dad.” Octavia said.

“He’s a pretty cool guy. Granted, he scared the shit out of me and my sisters as a kid,” responded Midnight.

“Ohh, it was awful,” Night Glider commented. “Some ponies would be afraid of monsters in the closet, or the Boogeycolt under their beds. We’d be absolutely terrified of the very thought of our dad waiting in the living room when we miss curfew, or didn’t listen to our mother.” Laughs from the visitors.

Comet cracked another smile. “So… how did you meet my son?”

“Me and Freddy over here met Midnight through Octavia,” Vinyl said. She shot Octavia a look that basically said, “Please don’t screw this up, or we’ll be praying to Luna for our lives.”

The charcoal-hued mare cleared her throat. “I met Midnight in Canterlot. One day, it was rainy. I was leaving the supermarket and had forgotten my umbrella, so I was in a rut. He bumped into me as I was going home with some groceries. He was nice enough to offer to clean up my groceries and give me some protection to the rain, at least until we reached my house.”

She felt something tug at her heart. It was screaming at her to stop, but she knew she ought to proceed. ’Is this how it feels to confess? It’s feels like there’s some sort of… barricade. It’s almost a little scary to try and vault.’ She sighed, relieving any pressure, and continued on. “I… I wasn’t nice to him. I said awful things to him. Things that would make ponies hate me. Or themselves. Or do worse. But not Midnight. Even though he hated my attitude and how I behaved towards him, he put up with it. He still stood by my side.”

Octavia sighed again. “I don’t deserve somepony like him. But he’s still here with me.” She smiled warmly at Midnight. “And for that, I’m grateful.” The stallion, face searing, smiled back, heart fluttering like a congregation of monarchs.

Comet nodded, processing the information in his head. “You are honest. Is virtue I like best in anypony. We have saying here… sponge to wipe away past, rose to sweeten present, kiss to greet future. This is sponge, you admitting truth and being kind to Midnight. I am happy you and him met.”

“Tashakor,” she said. Comet snorted in laughter; he thought the two of them really were destined to meet.

“That’s sweet of you, Midnight!” Star Hopper interjected.

He looked up. “No, no… I was just being a helping hand. I mean, I bumped into her and spilled her groceries. I wouldn’t hear the end of it from anypony here if I had just left her there.”

“But still, it’s definitely gentlecolt-y! You must really care for her, huh?”

He paused in his eating. He felt his heart tug at him this time. “Yeah… I guess I do.”

“Aww… so, you asked her out yet?”

Midnight’s spoon fell into his lentil soup, loosened from his grip. The sudden question was definitely inappropriate. He was not only reminded of the deal he had with Scorch Shot, but he was highly mortified that Star Hopper had sprung that kind of inquiry on him. But he wasn’t alone. Vinyl grinned nervously, then looked away, almost disappointed and ashamed. Midnight then fired a look at Star that said, “You backstabbing little—”

“What?” Octavia said, the question leaving her in an awkward state of mind. “Why, that’s silly. Midnight and I are friends. We don’t see each other that way.”

The Sarosian’s heart dropped like an anvil in water. He picked up his spoon and melancholically ate away at his soup. Friends… I should’ve seen that one coming. He felt a hand pat his shoulder. Frédéric and Midnight made eye contact.

My condolences, the former said.

It’s no big deal, the latter would lie, deluding himself.

He felt a pit opening in him. A massive, cold, and ravenous black hole that just... ate at his insides. He felt rather upset by her words. Granted, it was a least a step up from being called her personal servant, but at least that showed some romantic promise. In her eyes, he was as sexually attractive as her brother. Or a lamp.

And so, dinner proceeded in mild silence, broken only by the sound of clinking cutlery upon china dishes, and meager conversations.

~

After all of dinner was cleaned up and the leftovers were put away, all of the children went to their rooms, four or three to a room. Night Glider and Star Hopper had entered their bedroom, symbolized with a moon with wings and three spinning stars on the door: their respective Cutie Marks.

Octavia and Vinyl shared the room with the twins, while Midnight and Frédéric slept in the former’s room. The unicorn offered the Earth Pony his mattress, while he got a futon from his closet and slept on the floor. The walls of Midnight’s room were plastered with posters. Some dealing with literature and science, some depicting Neighpanese cartoons and video games. The shelves on the walls were lined with all sorts of books and magazines. “Mama still kept everything after I left,” he chuckled as they slipped into their pajamas.

“Hey, Midnight… you asleep yet?” Frédéric whispered in the dark, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wish,” the other mumbled.

“Listen… I hope you don’t take Octavia seriously when she said that. If it has any affect on your behaviour around her, she’ll really begin to think you like her, you know.”
Silence.

A Long.

Grueling.

Uncomfortable silence.

Until Midnight finally mustered the bravery to say, “Why didn’t you ask her?”

Frédéric sat up in the bed. “I beg your pardon?”

“On the train. Back. Out when I was smoking and you told me and Vinyl to leave. Why didn’t you confess that you were in love with her?”

“...” Frédéric looked down at the earth, stumbling to find the right words to say. “I’m a stallion of my word. I said I would confide in her that our friendship was unbeknownst to her.”

“But you could have told her.” Midnight felt his tone grow spiteful. What in Tartarus is wrong with me? He loathed feeling like this. To be buried in hatred. “Faust knows she’s head over heels for you. She’d have said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to you,” retorted the pianist. “I know we both love her, but for me to just gut you like a fish by asking for her to court me behind your back is by no means alright.” He paused, and sighed. “We’re friends, Midnight. I promise you that.”

The Sarosian chuckled a little. “Bronies before hoenies, eh?” he murmured.

Frédéric blinked a few times, and chuckled at it. “Oh, yes. Bronies before hoenies, indeed. Think of this as that saying your dad said. A sponge to wipe away the past.”

With that, Midnight felt the weight of his poisonous anger evaporate. But simultaneously, he felt guilt and disappointment still niggling at his mind. It made his occipital and frontal lobes ache. ‘I highly doubt any sponges can wipe that moment away.’

“I suppose,” he hummed, hunkering down beneath his blanket. “Thanks, Fred. G’night….”

“Good night, Midnight.”

~End of Chapter XV~

XVI - A Rose to Sweeten the Present (Hoofghanistan - Pt. II)

Author's Note

Hoo, look. Another long ass chapter that might be mediocre because I finally made this chapter have some elements of dark, LIKE THE STORY TAG STATES.

alkajhdjkahdfgsadhasdfnjkldsvnjkeafuhadsfnjkcxvjkhsdajnkasdjkndsfjkgibedepusib0ssdkjsnvreaaadf

Okay, I'm done shitting myself.

Hope you enjoy this chapter, tell me what you think, notify me of any and all mistakes when (not if) you see any.

Or not.

Whichever's funnier.

EDIT: Thanks to Undead_Brony for catching a speech issue with Galaxy (read comments for more). You did good, my man. I've edited this chapter to have Galaxy be less... powerful in the Equuish language.

XVI - A Rose to Sweeten the Present (Hoofghanistan - Pt. II)

XVI - A Rose To Sweeten The Present (Hoofghanistan - Pt. II)

The Sun.

2.4 billion meters away from the planet. And yet, through the aeration holes in the ceiling of the underground city, and a baseball-sized break in the wall of Midnight’s bedroom, its beams of light still had perfect accuracy, striking Frédéric directly in his eyes, almost singeing his retinas. “Ahhh,” he groaned in discomfort, stretching out on the mattress he lay on. The digital clock on Midnight’s nightstand confirmed the time of 8:21 A.M.

The pianist wiggled from the maroon blanket and made the bed. It was the least he could do to repay their translator for his hospitality. He turned and saw that the area where Midnight had retired was tidied already, the futon and extra blanket put back in the closet. Midnight must have gotten up early, thought Frédéric, examining the room better in the light of a fluorescent ceiling bulb. A small television rested on the dresser, an old gaming system sitting on a little fold-up table hooked up to aforementioned telly. The array of literature on the walls were organized by chronological date of publishing, from archaic books on magic and spells, to modern day romance, adventure, and mystery novels, and everything in between.

Taken by the rapture of the room, it was a little tough for Frédéric to tear his eyes away. Although, seeing the Lula Moon and Ruroponi Kenshin anime posters eased the task a fair deal. Frédéric, once dressed in a white polo and baggy khakis, and properly groomed and dentally cared for, entered the kitchen and saw Midnight and his mother Galaxy in the kitchen, the both of them preparing breakfast.

Frédéric got seated at the table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Midnight greeted, dressed in black slacks and a white button-up dress shirt with suspenders, as he cracked several eggs into a big mixing bowl. “I take it you slept well?

“Good morning. And yes, like a foal,” responded Frédéric, stretching his arms and yawning, covering his mouth so as to not crudely reveal his maw. “What’s for breakfast, might I ask? It smells divine.”

Galaxy spoke to her son in Ponsi. It sounded as though it was posed as a question. Midnight paused for a quick fraction of a second, then responded in the same language. With that, she went over to a cupboard in the kitchen, scooped out two cups of flour, and dumped it into the mixing bowl. Chasing that down with a large amount of milk, Midnight applied two dashes of vanilla extract and two spoons of baking powder, then mixed it all with an electric eggbeater.

“Pancakes, m’boy!” Midnight answered back over the whirring pitch of the eggbeater, a cheeky, fanged grin on his face. Galaxy exclaimed, and reached into the cupboards again. She returned from its depths with a little dispenser of cinnamon, sprinkling it here and there in the mix. “Before we get this ready, I have to ask,” he continued, beating the pancake batter fervently to disperse the cinnamon and other ingredients throughout, “are you allergic to milk or eggs? Do have a celiac disease, where you have a gluten intolerance?”

“Oh, dear, no,” Frédéric replied, happily anticipating the morning meal. The look of expectancy melted to a deadpan when Midnight mentioned they were using gluten-free flour anyways. “Well, then, why ask me if I had a celiac disease?”

“Hey, I was checking. I want to know what my friends like.” Midnight grinned again, realizing that he had mixed the batter to the right thickness. Taking a measuring up with “¼ cup” embossed on the handle, he scooped the inside of the mixing bowl, and poured it onto a skillet on the oven. Frédéric grinned. He was pleased to see that Midnight was not too strung up over last night.

As the Sarosian tended to the first hotcake, in walked Octavia, dressed in a white dress skirt and a blue satin shirt, decorative frills lining the collar and sleeves. Normally, Midnight would have been happy to greet her, but after she unknowingly affected him for the worse last night at dinner, he wasn’t exactly the happiest pony to see her. He felt a tug at his heart at the sight of her. It was… uncomfortable, as though he was about to have another panic attack. Struggling to keep warmth from rising to his face, he still greeted her with a chipper “Hello”.

“Good morning, all,” responded the ashen-colored mare. “Midnight, that smells heavenly.” The compliment ruined all efforts for Midnight to keep his blush under control. She sat down, his feeble “thanks” falling on deaf ears. Frédéric noticed this, and frowned a little, feeling somewhat bad for the Sarosian. “Good morning, Frédéric,” Octavia greeted, smiling, she too stifling the heat from reaching her face. “I take it you slept well?”

“Good morning, Octavia. Yes, I slept grand, thank you.” While Frédéric did have Midnight’s best interests at heart, he felt like he should make himself happy as well. What better way to do that than talk to the one he loved? He felt a little nervous in doing so, blushing mildly and shuffling his hooves. “And you?”

As the two rattled on into conversation, Vinyl declared her presence with a mighty yawn and a half-tired hello, walking into the room in thin dark jeans and a white tank top. “Good morning, guys and gals,” she announced. Her nostrils soon filled with the scent of the pancakes, the mild hint of cinnamon titillating her senses, the warmth filling her lungs. Her eyes widened behind her violet-tinted glasses. “Midnight, that smells awesome!” she exclaimed as she took a seat, humming approvingly as he said his thanks.

He brought the small tower of pancakes over to the table, levitating with him a bottle of syrup, the chinaware and cutlery, washed fruit, orange juice, cold water, coffee, and a stick of butter. He spread them all along the table within reach of everypony, lading each plate with two pancakes and passing them around. “Well, guys, dig in.”

He sat down next to Galaxy and Vinyl, and waited anxiously for approval as they bit off morsels from their breakfast. All of them hummed in unison from the taste. The sensation of the hotcake, its softness and fluffiness, the cinnamon that gave it its flavor and swirled around their tongues, and how it almost seemed to melt in their mouths. The butter that coated the surface seemed to fuse with the all-natural maple syrup. Each of their brains’ floodgates broke loose, releasing feel-good chemicals by the gallons from how magnificent the food tasted. To call it delicious would not do it justice.

“This is… fantastic!” Frédéric said in , helping himself to more on his plate. Vinyl nodded in agreement, voicing her thoughts with a full mouth.

She had to wash it down with a heap of orange juice before she could say, “Mmmm… these are Bomb-dot-com,” before returning hungrily to her meal.

Galaxy, once she had taken care of her first hotcake, patted her son on the back, and said, “I’m proud of you. This is amazing.”

Midnight, beginning on his plate, was elated by all of these words of praise. He never felt this euphoric in a while, and from compliments about his cooking, no less. However, despite how they all praised him, he was waiting for one final judge.

He turned his head to see Octavia dabbing at the corners her mouth with a napkin… once she had finished her plate. Midnight and Frédéric were both astonished at her eating speed. It was as though she had made all of them vanish whole. Her metabolism must be quite high for her eating to not show on her impressive figure. Midnight whistled low at the sight. Octavia heard the sound and knew why it was issued; with a blush of embarrassment and a timid smile, she asked Midnight, “...Can I have a second helping, please?”

Midnight’s heart skipped a beat or two. “You like it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Octavia calmly. “It’s absolutely wonderful.”

Midnight rubbed his arm nervously, abashed—and euphoric. He felt much more confident in his abilities, now that his love interest heavily approved of his results. With a grin, he served all those who had finished—namely Octavia’s—an extra serving, adding berries to her’s and the others’ plates. The fresh blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries, each of them released a ton of flavor with the pancakes, beautifully harmonizing sweet and tart into one almighty sensation.

Once finished with their plates, Midnight poured them all coffee, the aroma of Prench Roast infiltrating their noses. “Ah… I made it right this time,” Midnight hummed, sipping gingerly at the hot drink.

“What can’t you do?” Frédéric asked of him.

“Seriously? Like, you want me to say the obvious, or what you’d be surprised to hear?” Frédéric’s deadpan didn’t answer his question, so it left Midnight to grasp at straws and list. “Well… I can’t bake. I used to be in track and field, and swim team in high school, but those were the only athletic activities I was any good at.”

“I figured as much,” was Frédéric’s response. “Long legs and scrawny—running away is the perfect sport for you.”

“Ah ha. Ah haha–shut up,” snapped Midnight. This fresh response earned him a smoldering glare from Octavia, from which he withered almost at once. “Ahehe, where was I?” He chuckled nervously. “Oh… Right. I also can’t sing, or play an instrument.”

Vinyl’s ears perked up, stopping in mid-swig and lowering her cup. “You can’t sing?”

Octavia, still cross about Midnight’s retaliation to her precious Frédéric, snickered. “I knew it. That rap of yours back at your home was terrible.”

“It’s a rap. It’s not so much elevating and lowering my tone to make the same harmony as singing. It’s more about keeping rhythm and letting out a good ‘flow’,” Midnight answered. Octavia nodded; granted, she didn’t really care, but it at least gave him the sense that she was paying attention. “Okay, try to imagine a fusion between… a bag full of cats being clubbed by a lead pipe, an accordion getting stuck in a woodchipper, and a grand piano being chucked down a huge flight of stars. Multiply that by seven, and you got me when I even contemplate singing.” The mental image that soon followed earned a good chuckle from them, as their heads filled with the idea of Midnight opening his mouth and making those atrocious noises.

“Ah.” Frédéric finished off his coffee and laid the mug to rest back on the table. “I guess that’s understandable. Singing can either be an issue with being tone-deaf, or not having the proper vocal chords for the job.”

“Well, I am a little disturbed by the lack of instrument-playing,” Octavia said, taking a demure sip from her coffee. “I’d figure with all that time you spend cooped in your home, you would at least learn how to play something.”

“Heh… well, work is a bit of a throttler. Some days, I question whether I’ll see the sun again, there’s so much paperwork. Besides, lessons would be nearly impossible to arrange, due to my work schedule.”

“But you didn’t list that you can’t dance. Think you might have forgotten it?”

Midnight looked at her blankly. “I actually can dance.”

Octavia paused for a second, lowering her coffee mug and looking at Midnight seriously. “Really?”

“Yes. Most of my life isn’t all about work. Princess Luna taught me how to dance, one Grand Galloping Gala ago. Then, I expanded my knowledge on dance with the help of the Internet.”

“Huh,” Octavia sounded. She placed her hands underneath her chin, supporting her head with her elbows on the table. “That’s interesting.”

“What kind of dances, Midnight?” Galaxy asked. Midnight did a double take, a bit of grief weighing down on his shoulders, now that his mother had joined in on the question.

Déjà vu..., he thought, remembering the first day his punishment was issued and how both Vinyl and Scorch Shot buried him under a mountain of questions. That was a little over three weeks ago. He groaned in agitation having to temporarily bring the occasion back from his graveyard of memories. “Flamenco, ballroom, salsa, slow dance. I’m fine.” Twiddling his thumbs in the next silence, he said, “I’ve got some plans for us. I want you guys to enjoy your visit here and not go home with memories of just us lazing about the house, regardless of how delicious the food is.” He got to his hooves and started walking towards the exit. “My dad has a Vespa he can lend us, and I’ve got my own. All four of us, good to go.”

“Vespas? Really?” Octavia cocked an eyebrow in amusement, suppressing a giggle at the thought of riding such a… peculiar vehicle. “Vinyl, I think you and Midnight share the same taste in men.”

The two ponies in question deadpanned at her, staring at her in disapproving unison. “Get bent, Tavi.” Vinyl said tonelessly.

“We could stay here, if you want,” Midnight said, agitation buried in the undertone.

Octavia shook her head. “Sorry. Let’s go?” The four of them arose from their chairs and made for the door.

“Actually…” said a slightly hesitant Galaxy. “Octavia, could you please stay here?”

“Pardon me?” Octavia stopped. She was a tad worried about why she was the only one being halted in her tracks. She was hoping this wouldn’t be detrimental in her capability of spending time with Frédéric. She looked at him, hoping he’d somehow pathologically give her some way out of this. All he could really do was shrug, and give her a feeble thumbs-up.

“Just for a little while. Please?” Galaxy insisted sweetly, sealing the deal with a little fanged smile and innocent eyes. Octavia sighed. She couldn't ignore that look and her cute accent of hers. She caved in and sat back down in one of the chairs not next to her.

“We’ll wait outside for you, okay?” Midnight offered. Octavia nodded, and watched as they all exited the room. Octavia faced Galaxy again. She looked… off. She wasn’t as happy-go-lucky and radiating with the aura of a loving mother. Instead, she had a rather stern look on her face.

“Alright. I understand that you and Midnight do not exactly… get along,” began Galaxy. Before Octavia could retaliate and say her piece, Galaxy held up a hand, asking for silence. The cellist, swallowing away an agonizing knot in her throat, obliged. “It is okay. It is good to get a fire under his butt every now and again. He is usually too far away from home for me to do it.”

“I understand, but what are you getting at, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Galaxy sighed, a woeful look plaguing her complexion. She twiddled her thumbs a tad, and it was her turn to gulp away at an uncomfortable knot in her gullet. She breathed again and said, “Just… take it easy. Know your limits. There is big difference between bantering him and just... what is the word? Emulating? Emanating? Eh... no... curse this language of yours.”

“Emasculating?” Octavia suggested, throwing that up in the air.

“Yes. That is the word I was looking for.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Well, surely he can handle a little bit of verbal manhandling. It’s not like he has a heart or a stress condition, right?” Galaxy’s solemn, severe silence left Octavia’s lips to curl into a terrified, ashamed grimace. She couldn’t really believe it to be fact. Midnight? Cantankerous, crude… yet still chivalrous, gentle, and friendly Midnight? Surely somepony else was involved. Another Midnight, one who wasn’t the same as the stallion waiting patiently outside for her. However, the serious stare from Galaxy corrected her thoughts at once. “Oh….”

“He was not always like this. He was always such a smart and healthy colt. Completely different than now: he actually had a friend, and he would always beg me to let him go outside and play with him.”

Octavia’s curiosity was slowly piquing, raring to reach even a dangerous extent. “What was his friend’s name?”

“...His name was Jericho.”

Octavia’s jaw almost fell comically onto the table. Her heart dropped a little in her chest. But her brain did a double take. She had a feeling that Galaxy was merely pulling her leg. She would have asked, “is this friend by any chance a simian?”, but knew better. Either Galaxy is a very good actor, thought Octavia, or what she is saying is the honest truth. She felt it right to fall upon the latter of those choices. After all, the intensely solemn air in the room that purely resonated from Galaxy alone basically roared at Octavia to keep her silence.

“Okay…” she said. “How close were Midnight and... Jericho?” She felt uncomfortable asking it, as the simple brown monkey which she had quite a fond time bonding with still popped into her head. Thank goodness she got Midnight to find somepony to take care of him while they were away.

“Like a bee to a flower.” Galaxy sighed in reminiscent bliss, remembering how every month the two colts would wind up going back to Midnight’s house, dripping with mud and being splashed ferociously with the backyard hose by either her or Comet. She told Octavia this story, and another, and another. She didn’t go into reeling details like she loved to do: she knew that Octavia’s friends were waiting for her. But if they weren’t, at least one would.

Octavia relished each story. She laughed and let out little “awww”s in all the right places. “The two seemed inseparable,” she said giddily, imagining the time Midnight and Jericho would wrestle. Midnight lost almost every time, and the one time he did win was when he shouted “Pocket sand!” and transferred a handful of the grit from his overalls pocket into Jericho’s face. Granted, he got a good spanking as a “reward” from Galaxy for cheating, and had to apologize to a crying Jericho.

Galaxy was even courteous to show her a picture of Jericho and Midnight when they were young. On the left stood Midnight, wearing a pair of denim overalls over a yellow t-shirt. He didn’t have his glasses or his long braid of hair, but Octavia recognized the color of his hair, serpentine eyes, and the protruding horn. On the right was another Sarosian colt, this one sporting wings and a short, magenta mane. dressed in a children’s pair of sweatpants and a tie-dye tee. Both of them looked as though they had just been doused with the hose, yet mud still lingered on them. Octavia felt her mouth beaming at the sight. The both of them looked unfathomably adorable, the way they stood holding hands, smiling at the camera, Jericho more timidly than Midnight. “Whatever happened? Why didn’t Midnight mention such a fascinating colt like this?”

The soon cross look that took over Galaxy’s face again made Octavia regret asking such questions. The mother stared at the ground, sighing in emotional anguish. She clenched the table with an iron grip. “It happened when the two of them were eight years old, before winter break. They were going on a school field trip, to the city above, at the museum. Midnight and Jericho were very excited to see the Ancient Fleece section. They were on the bus there on the surface.

“Then there was this horrible accident, on their way back. There was a leak in the bus, and brake fluid just poured out on the way back. They skidded on a bad patch of ice at a stoplight. The bus… crashed.” Galaxy was having a hard time talking. The event from sixteen years ago was being reiterated, and the emotions flooding through her were still fresh and as searing as hot razors, as though it had happened yesterday. She bit her tongue sharply, more content with drawing blood than tears. “The bus had twenty-four children, with a teacher and a driver on board. Seven, with the teacher and driver, died. Sixteen were hurt. Very bad. The other three only had a few scrapes and bruises. Midnight was one of the sixteen, however… and Jericho was amongst the seven.

“Midnight had to be rushed to the hospital with the others. He was not hurt as bad as some of his classmates—their destroyed figures haunt me to this day. But, he was hurt very badly from a broken window. It hit his chest, and one of the shards, a long and sharp one, pierced his heart.” Octavia gasped. Despite Galaxy’s most resilient efforts to keep her eyes for shedding a tear, it was futile, as one had shattered through her defenses and leaked pathetically down her cheek. “The doctors said that he needed a new heart, or he would not last two days under their care. They wanted to use a heart from somepony who had died in the crash.

“But it was not that simple. They said Midnight was a... what was the word? Universal recipient, as he was blood type AB. But all of the other ponies’ hearts were too damaged to be used. The only one that was safe to be transplanted was Jericho’s. They had to fight with Jericho’s parents just to get them to give consent to the cardiac transplant. Eventually they were capable of doing the surgery.

“It took eighteen grueling hours. Nebula was praying in tears with Star and Night for my son’s recovery. Comet had been pacing back and forth, a, eh, nervous wreck. He is usually such a strong, tough pony... but when his firstborn son’s life hung in the balance, he just… lost it. Me, on the other hand... I was so scared. I thought Midnight might not live.

“But it was a success. Midnight was the proud owner of Jericho’s heart. But… they had to take… Midnight’s old heart… and trash it, it was useless.” Galaxy was now in tears, remembering distinctly as they tore out her son’s heart and disposed of it, as though it was replaying in her head all over again. Octavia rushed to her, cradling the mother who would hold her and weep into her chest.

Octavia felt dread continue to taint every square inch of her being. She never knew. It was especially too soon to know about this. Three weeks in, and Octavia already knew more about the Sarosian than she was accustomed to. She knew about his hobbies, interests, dislikes, and even some of the dark deep secrets meant to remained buried in the gravel of the past, ever-so-rarely unearthed by nosy ponies like her. But he was clueless about her. His knowledge on her was very limited: all he knew was that she was a highly-esteemed member of Canterlot, and an immensely talented cello player for the Canterlot Quartet alongside equally-talented pianist Frédéric Horseshoepin, her colleague and love interest.

And from how she treated him, a cold-hearted, uncaring bitch….

She so much about him, yet he so little about her. It felt… unbalanced. Unfair, some would call it. “I’m sorry about what happened,” apologized Octavia weakly, still holding Galaxy to her bosom. “It was atrocious of me to do this to you. To relive a terrifying memory that shouldn’t have been reminisced.” Galaxy peeled herself from Octavia, sniffling and dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her sleeves.

“It is okay, sweetheart,” Galaxy shakily responded, clutching Octavia by her shoulders. “It was never your fault.” She sighed, however. “But… if Midnight has ever had any of his panic attacks, you now know the reason why. He has been... traumatized by the accident ever since.”

“Hmm… I see. I had a feeling “Jericho” was an odd name for a monkey…” mused Octavia silently.

“Mm? What was that, Octavia?” asked Galaxy, a little intrigued by the noises she issues. Octavia shook her head and merely told it was nothing. Galaxy then got up, saying, “I have something before you go. Follow me?”

Octavia obliged, leaving her seat and trailing after her into the den. It was designed much like the living room, but was much more spacious, and had a higher ceiling. Galaxy rolled up the large rug in the centre of the room until she revealed the stone floor. There was something off about it, though. It was very faint, but it seemed there was an outline of a tile, about six and one fourth feet in area. Along the parallel lines were cracked portions of rock, which Galaxy removed to reveal handholds.

“Can you help me with this?” the mare in action inquired, grabbing one end. “I am not as young as I used to be.” Octavia assisted Galaxy with the other end, removing the large, thin square slab from the floor. They set the thin slab of shale aside to reveal an aged trapdoor, placed an inch or so beneath the stone floor. It was whittled out of pine, and was sealed securely with a deadbolt lock.

“Brilliant…” hummed Octavia in fascination. Galaxy removed a key from off a necklace she had hidden beneath her blouse, and unlocked the trapdoor’s formidable deadbolt. She swung the doors ajar with a creaking groan emanating from the wood. Inside was a small, narrow case. Willow, treated caringly with a fresh coat of lacquer. Galaxy uncased the container and revealed.

...A rose.

Octavia was a little baffled. Flora that had been tucked away in the dark and not even tended to with dirt, water, and sunlight should be dead. Withered. Shriveled like raisins in the sun’s intense heat. But this one was still alive. Its petals, shining a pristine white at the base and gradiently fading to a dark blue at the tips, were still in full blossom, blooming brilliantly. The stem still remained supple and tinted green. The blissful fragrance it carried still remained, burning lovingly in Octavia’s nostrils.

“Asteqaamet Zibaayi,” Galaxy said, almost rendered aloof from the smell. Octavia turned to her, tripped up by the sudden Ponsi. “Endurance of Beauty. They bloom in cool, dark regions once every five years. They are given to loved ones, sometimes to propose. Nature’s wedding ring, it is also called.” she then said jokingly, blushing fiercely as she recollected the time Comet Ash had gone to practically the ends of the city to retrieve it and give it to her. “It shrinks back to a bud when it is unpicked. But when they are pulled by those in deep, true love, they don't wither. They don't age. They keep their shape for years and years, until the one who plucked it dies, so that it may die with them. They can only be plucked and given by those who are sure that they love the one they have in mind. Otherwise, it withers and shrivels to ashes.”

“It’s… so gorgeous,” Octavia said breathlessly. The very concept of it was exceedingly romantic. It welcomed the glory and majesty of true love, and permanently basked in its wondrous rays, and shuns and scorns false affection and lust by disappearing forever. She went out to reach it, but Galaxy snapped the hinged case shut, suddenly appearing serious again. “Wait, what’s the matter?”

“I am giving it to you. But you cannot touch it,” Galaxy explained. “Not yet, at least. I can only assume there is still doubt within your heart about who you hold dear to it.” Octavia wanted to retort, almost yell at her that she was certain of who she loved, but Galaxy raised a hand for silence. Reluctantly, Octavia held her tongue. Galaxy has been on the planet longer, and has more intensive knowledge and experience with the unfathomable, unreasonable creature known as love.

“I know you wish to touch it. To give it to somepony who you think you love.” Galaxy shook her head and resumed. “But, love and time walk hand-in-hand. Give it time, and you will know who to really treasure. These flowers bloom once every five years, not once every five seconds.” Octavia weakly giggled. “Now, I am going to put this in your suitcase. When you know it in your heart that you truly, and dearly love somepony… you will know.”

Octavia felt a little… left in the dark. These vague explanations and mystic reasonings played Ring-Around-the-Rosie with her brain, befuddling her and leaving her mind to spin in dizzying circles. She didn’t like this in the slightest: she felt that she deserved at least a simpler, more to-the-point answer to this rose.

She did not want to have to brood on this matter for too long. After getting the okay to be released, Octavia exited the front door and entered the garage. She was hoping all three of them would at least have the patience. Her heart skipped a beat when she hoped for Frédéric to be waiting for her, waiting chivalrously to whisk her off on a motor vehicle she enjoyed bagging on.

Instead of any of those possibilities, the pony who waited for her was the last pony she’d wanted to see, and for obvious—and obviously different—reasons.

He sat cross-legged on the driveway, a light in his mouth as he played with a Balisong, the collapsible knife in his hand twirling exotically on his thumb, in his palm, in mid-air. He was whistling a song, making each note extra sharp every time he successfully performed an intricate trick not meant for those with poor dexterity.

Midnight had been waiting.

For her, and for her alone.

Octavia’s heart warmed at the sight of Midnight sitting there, perhaps not chivalrously, but at least patiently, for her to arrive. Yet at the same time… her heart plummeted at Galaxy’s story of what happened to him. She could imagine it. The screeching of bus tires. The screaming of children. The beeping of a heart monitor. The image of glass burrowing greedily into a young colt’s chest.

Midnight stabbed his light into the pavement, then flicked it into a dustbin once he was sure he extinguished it entirely. He missed, a disappointed “Damn.” dispensing from him.

His ears perked up at the sound of Octavia stifling a giggle. He turned and saw her waiting next to the Vespa. “Hey,” he said, rising to his hooves, quickly closing and pocketing his knife. “Sorry I couldn’t get them to stay. I let them have my phone, it has a voice-to-voice translator.”

“It’s quite alright, Midnight,” said Octavia calmly. She examined the Vespa carefully: it was a silver-grey hue, a black Neighpanese kanji character “銀” stamped on a white circular background on both sides of the back wheel. The seat, a plush black leather cushion, was treated with a coat of black shiner that gleamed softly in the garage light. “Where are they now?”

“I told them to take the main highway to the surface, and wait for me once they reached the top.” He walked over to Octavia and the Vespa, drawing the driveway doors open with his magic and taking out his keys from his pocket. He sat down, took a helmet off of the right handle, and strapped it to his head. “Vinyl got tired of waiting, so me and Freddy had a coin toss on who’d get to partake in the adventures. He lost, so he had to go.” He removed the second helmet from the left handle, gave it to Octavia, and gave the keys a good twist once inserted into the ignition.

Midnight felt warmth creeping to his face as he felt Octavia sit down right behind him. He sighed intensely to get rid of any bad nerves, and forced the heat to simmer down before he said, “Hold on tight.” He felt her arms slink around his midriff, saw her thin fingers cross on his stomach. Each digit was capped with a nail painted a rich, enticing color of purple. He sighed again as he rolled slowly out of the driveway of the house, magically sealing the gate again before starting down the street.

Octavia sat there behind him, both of their hair that wasn’t concealed by the helmets flying in the gentle slipstream of the motorbike. She remembered her words last night, about how she didn’t deserve a friend like Midnight. If she said she didn’t deserve him by her side, she definitely felt like she shouldn’t even be within his presence. Maybe it was the guilt that was speaking, or the fact that she can empathize with the Sarosian. Either one could be explanations as to why she sidled closer to him, securing her grip to keep from slipping off the end should there be an incoming pothole. It was odd. He felt… warm. Abnormally warm. As though he had lit a bonfire in his belly, or he had laid in the strong heat of the sun (or lack thereof, given their location below the earth.) Without knowing it or any intuition in the slightest, Octavia felt a yawn slip through. Understandable, as she had woken up not too long ago and had eaten a very filling breakfast. She put her head down on his back, square between the shoulder blades, eliciting a shiver from the driver.

“Octavia? You okay?” asked Midnight as he turned another corner onto the main road that lead to the upper level of Jalalabuck, only to reach a large traffic jam. As he growled in irritation, the mare hummed drowsily to confirm his question. “If you’re gonna fall asleep, just… be careful.” He sparked his horn alight as he traveled up the winding highway. A seatbelt appeared on the sides of the Vespa, flying over Octavia’s lap and clicking shut, tightening to keep her bound to the bike and not bound to hit the asphalt.

Midnight got the sneaking suspicion that this sudden development of… affection? For lack of a more appropriate word, yes. He would use “affection,” for the time being. He figured it wasn’t just Octavia getting an out-of-the-blue desire to cuddle somepony. This wasn’t born from total care and adoration: she reserved that mostly for Frédéric.

He knew this emotional phenomenon all too well.

This was… pity.

She knew something he didn't know.

At least... he hoped he didn't.

~End of Chapter XVI~

XVII - A Kiss to Greet the Future (Hoofghanistan - Pt. III)

XVII - A Kiss to Greet the Future (Hoofghanistan - Pt. III)

“Octavia?” said a voice. The mare awoke, eyes creaking open. She shut them at once, as the ever-bright sun scorched her retinas. Groaning away the pain, she shook her head, and yawned widely, shielding her mouth with a hand. She woke up to see Midnight standing up next to the Vespa, which he had parked next to the one Frédéric and Vinyl had placed on the side of the road. The roaring of cars swam into her ears. “You okay?” asked the Sarosian.

“Yes, I’m quite alright,” Octavia mumbled, the mare getting up, only to feel a jerking sensation around her pelvis: she saw that a seatbelt had appeared. That wasn’t there before… she mused, a little intrigued by its appearance. Either way, she undid the latch and rose to her hooves. She wish she hadn’t, as black spots starting clouding her vision, fizzling and blinding for a moment before she blinked and shook them away. She swayed slightly in her gait, but gained stability with the help of their parked Vespa.

“What’s on the agenda?” Frédéric asked, the stallion giving Midnight his phone back.

“Oh, a good deal of things. Namely cupping.” Vinyl and Octavia stared at Midnight, furious blushes spreading like wildfire in their cheeks as they shielded their bosoms with their arms. Midnight saw the gestures and just snorted in laughter. “Not that kind.”

“Oh.” Vinyl uncrossed her arms.

“Although, that would be nice.” This earned Midnight a punch to the shoulder by Octavia. “Kidding!” he hollered, declaring his surrender with raised hands. “I’m talking about cupping in the sense of phlebotomy. Bloodletting. It’s a form of medicine originated by the Chineighs, then became popular in Saddle Arabia over fourteen hundred years ago.”

“I don’t really care for the origin of the practice,” commented Octavia. “Is it effective?”

“Absolutely. It suctions out all the bad blood. Granted, you’ll want to take a little nap afterwards due to the anemia.” The Sarosian motioned to them to return to their motorbikes. They obliged the notion, and revved the ignitions. “Octavia?”

“Please. Call me ‘Tavi’,” responded the cellist, strapping her helmet on again. It was the least she could do to give a green light to permitting their friendship to bloom further. “It’s much quicker than having to pronounce my full name.”

Midnight felt a lump in his trachea at the suggestion. He did his best to hide his enthusiasm with apathy. “Alright… Tavi. I just want to warn you. Some of the guys here in this city are… kinda sleazy. They’ll no doubt try to hit on you and Vinyl, so I’d advise you to either stick with me or Frédéric.”

“A-alright. Thanks for the warning.” Octavia gripped Midnight’s midriff again as they scooted down the streets, Frédéric and Vinyl trailing right behind them.

Thus, their fun began.

~

Day one. The day they started.

It consisted of the cupping visit. The stallion in the dark brown polo and black shorts, who stated that he was the proprietor of the building and its business, welcomed them. He separated them by gender, allowing the mares to be tended to by mares, and the stallions by stallions. Tiny incisions were made on their sterilized backs with razors, deep enough to draw blood. Small glass cups lined with rubbing alcohol, once briefly set alight, pulled the phlegm-like blood from their cuts into the vacuum that the glass erected.

It extended on for thirty minutes, give or take. Vinyl was listening to music during it, the loud dubstep and the bopping of her head expelling any anxiety or terror for the operation. Octavia was… well, at first nervous. Until she started having a fit of the giggles from how the procedure tickled something awful. Frédéric was relaxed during it all, making a little small talk with the stallion giving them the phlebotomy, who knew his fair share of Equuish. Midnight was silent, reading a newspaper article on how one of the politicians had died.

“What happened?” Frédéric inquired.

“Apparently, Senator Silver Scales had committed suicide: she downed a bunch of flu pills like trail mix and crashed her car shortly afterwards into a tree,” explained Midnight.

“Well, they could have put her on dialysis for a few weeks, she would have been fine,” argued Frédéric.

“Not exactly. She took a nice battle charge into a stalk of wood. That, and the flu pills were amantadine.”

“And?”

“According to the autopsy they released in this paper, her kidneys got trashed by the collision. Her heart had stopped temporarily during the ambulance ride, and they had to ice her at the hospital to preserve her organs while trying to piece out how it all happened. But when they thawed her, the amantadine poisoning went back to circulating through her body. Dialysis would have worked, but not only was her condition worsened with cardiac complications and acute liver failure, but amantadine binds with proteins. It would have been laced throughout her organs. She was dead since she got on that ambulance.”

“Wow… my condolences to her family.” Frédéric shook his head, disturbed by this bit of information. “Wait, how do you know all that?”

“Nine years of solitude and a massive cache of books can do wonders for one’s intellect,” he simply answered.

Sixty Bits, a nap at a local park to revitalize from the benign anemia, and a quick bite to eat at a little café later, they then went to visit the Ancient Fleek ruins. Vinyl and (reluctantly) Octavia jousted in one of the small coliseums with long tree branches, with Midnight and Frédéric respectively acting as their trusty steeds. Hilarity, screaming in both exaggerated rage and realistic fear, and bandage placements for some little wounds ensued. When the sun had long since set during their trek through the ruins, they all went back to the house for dinner and bed.

Day two.

Frédéric still saw that Midnight had gotten up early, and questioned where his friend could be at this hour before heading back to sleep. He heard a splash outside, but his fatigue-ridden mind figured it was a rock that had fallen into the swimming pool in the backyard.

They left early afternoon, Vinyl leaving with Midnight, and Octavia with Frédéric, for a drive to some of the places they wanted to see next: Vinyl’s choice being one of the underground nightclubs, “Blackout”. Obviously, it was closed, but the alabaster mare felt the adrenaline in her veins as she fabricated a vision of how “bumping” it would be if it were open—with her slamming down mixes and slamming back drinks. Octavia and Frédéric, rolling their eyes during Vinyl’s entire fantasy, were elated to see that there was a theater for the musical arts in the city above ground.

While at a vegan-friendly restaurant, Octavia followed Midnight outside when he left to smoke another fag. The others looked at her departing, their mouths full of rice with steamed cauliflowers. “You okay?” she asked of him.

“Just… another craving,” explained Midnight. Although, for unfathomable reasons, it felt as though he was making an excuse. He had noticed how she gazed at Frédéric with adoration as she barely even chewed the falafel she ordered. It yanked at his heartstrings to witness the scene, the way she was almost pining to feed him, like they were a bunch of sweethearts. A declaration of needing to marinate his body with nicotine made his uncomfortable escape be performed unquestioned. It gave him time to brood.

That is, until she followed him a moment later.

“Listen… I know a great deal about you… and yet you know next to nothing about me,” clarified Octavia, binding and unbinding her fingers together. “So. What do you want to know?”

Midnight looked at her, light between his slender and lengthy digits. “Wait. You want to bond with me?”

“Well… yes!” Octavia exclaimed. She caught that pitch elevation and softly reiterated her words. “Yes. It’s not fair to you to be left in the dark about the one bossing you around,” she said teasingly.

Midnight scrunched up his muzzle and gave her the evil eye. A leer that would have been formidable if it weren’t for his facial expression. Octavia suppressed a snicker that threatened to break loose. “Okay,” Midnight said. “What are–?”

“You’re not getting my measurements, Midnight,” interjected the mare.

“Damn… well… I’ll interrogate you when those two aren’t really… you know, examining us like we’re lab rats.” He subtly jerked his head to Vinyl and Frédéric.

They all returned to the underground section of the city and back to the house. Midnight had “challenged” Octavia to a friendly game of Pony Hawk Pro Skater 4 in his room. Granted, this was innuendo that it was time for her to be interrogated. She feigned skepticism about the idea. His dad Comet Ash, who was reading a newspaper in his favorite lounging chair in the living room, deadpanned at him before winking stupidly. Nebula hobbled over to her grandson and told him to let the woman be the one to dominate, game or otherwise (Midnight could only blush ridiculously at all this unnecessary advice). Galaxy, making lunch in the kitchen, sighed at how his son’s foolish love for games had never weathered away once during his nine years spent in Canterlot.

Once past the door, Midnight closed it, his horn soundproofing the room. He shoved a T-shirt into the hole in the wall, and the both of them sat down on the ground, crosslegged. They made intense eye contact, the stallion’s blush being harder and harder to dumb down.

“Well? Fire away,” the mare said. With that, the army of questions charged forth.

What high school she attended—Canterlot High.

What college she then graduated to—Canterlot University for the Arts, or CUFTA, which she graduated at twenty-two.

How old she currently is—twenty-five, would turn twenty-six in September ninth.

What age she started playing the cello—eight, the age she then also earned her Cutie Mark just a week after learning to play.

What she initially dreamed of being when she grew up—a doctor.

Any phobias or weird fears—arachnophobia.

How she met Vinyl—at their first year of CUFTA, during their music lectures. They initially disliked each other due to their opposing tastes in music.

What her parents were like—strict socialite musicians… yet loving and caring ponies.

If she had any siblings—none, but she did have a cousin named Fiddlesticks, who was a distant relative to the Apple family.

If she learned any foreign languages—Prench from her mother.

If she had any least favorite classes in high school or college—AP Physics B, in which all of the formulas she had to memorize for the exam left her a nervous, caffeine-fueled wreck.

When she joined the Canterlot Quartet and met Frédéric—a little over a year after graduating from college with her bachelor’s degree in the fine arts.

When she fell in love with him, a question that made Midnight queasy with envy of his friend—a month after joining the Quartet, an answer that brought a mortifying blush to Octavia’s cheeks.

“Man… your life is quite a fun one.” hummed Midnight. They had spent five minutes or so talking about her. It was worth every microsecond, though, as the Sarosian’s brain hungrily devoured this information and kept it tucked away in his memory. Possibly for a very long time.

“Not… all of it, to be honest,” countered an abashed Octavia. “High school was not too fun for me, Midnight.”

“Ditto to that. What were you anyway, Tavi? Band geek? Loner? Math nerd? I was definitely a math nerd. And a science nerd. Pretty much nerdy at everything.” Octavia smothered another giggle at his rambling.

“I was actually… none of those, really. I was almost... worshipped at that school. A great deal of ponies idolized me, but for the wrong reasons entirely. They wanted to be in my presence because of my status, because of my family, because of what I can do. I knew that because I could hear my quote-unquote ‘friends’ mentioning it in the locker rooms before those sports I oh-so deplore and… suck at..”

Midnight patted her back encouragingly, mustering as much empathy into each pat as he could. “I don’t really know that feel. About… you know, being used for ulterior means, not the sports part, I sympathize with that entirely.” Octavia chuckled. “I was a wallflower in high school, so… you know. No one really bothered me.”

“Why am I not surprised?” chimed Octavia sarcastically.

“Oh, shush.” Midnight still grinned cheekily. “So? Any high school coltfriends?” he inquired. The question was an odd one, giving that the both of them were in the sanctity—or lack thereof—of Midnight’s room. But then again, what mare would be turned on by a bunch of anime posters and shelves stuffed with books?

Octavia sighed. “No. Not a one.”

“Whaaat? Come on, no way that a beautiful mare like you could not have had one stallion to call your own.” He didn’t immediately realize what sort of trap he had stumbled into, for Octavia’s cheeks burned a very nasty shade of red. He wanted to kick himself for letting loose that faux pas.

“Y...you called me beautiful,” she said sheepishly, twirling a bit of her mane. She was floored by the sudden adjective. Her mind began evaluating it. She then remembered the first dinner she had here, how Star Hopper had suggested that Midnight had loved her. What? Preposterous. Midnight doesn’t see me in that sort of light. Besides, he already knows that I’m… in love of Frédéric. I’m unfamiliar, and perhaps a little uncomfortable with this city, and he just called me beautiful to boost my morale here, like a good friend would in a time of distress. Think of it as nothing more, Octavia.

“S-sorry about that,” he stammered, waving a hand to dismiss his slip.

“Don’t be!” said Octavia, a little nervous as she twiddled her thumbs. “You… really think that?”

Oh, Goddess. Hooked, lined, and sunk, I am. “Y-yes.” Midnight gulped away his fear, and stared Octavia directly in the eyes. “I find you to be a very attractive and talented pony. I’d be remiss if I did not remind you of that fact.” The cellist’s blush grew more profound by the scribe’s more-than-kind words. Head bent down in shame, Midnight could only internally curse at himself for stumbling into circumstances like this. “C-continue with your story, please? I’d like to know more.”

“R-right.” Octavia had to pause, waiting for her pulse to return to its previous rate. “There were a great deal of suitors, I assure you. But, between weeding out the ones that wanted to only date me to ascend to popularity, the ones that I couldn’t date due to my constricting schedule of cello lessons and study sessions, and the ones that just… just–”

“...Wanted to get in your pants?” he finished.

“Shut up! I didn’t say it out loud for a reason. But yes, that.”

Midnight still chuckled at her reaction. “Okay, okay, sorry. Continue?”

“But between all of that rubbish… I was not entirely interested in them all. By that, I mean that I wasn’t completely invested in reciprocating their... love, for lack of a more suitable word. Besides, most high school romances are just… spawned by a raging, enormous vat of hormones. I was just slammed with studies and my cello lessons, as well, so once I was out of high school and college, did I find it appropriate to be interested in stallions.”

“Interesting… well, I’m having quite a ball being your shrink,” said Midnight matter-of-factly, winning a soft little laugh from Octavia.

“Well… what about you? Any marefriends?”

“Heeeck, naw,” he drawled. “What mare would have gone for a smart-ass loner like me? Particularly in high school?” To prove his point, he used his magic to pull out a little black box. He undid the combination on the lock and opened the case. He withdrew from it a rolled-up picture and handed it to Octavia. “Hay, I can even prove that I was a complete Captain Cringe in school.”

“Heh… Captain Cringe,” Octavia repeated with a giggle. She unfurled the photograph and saw a very atrocious sight. It was Midnight, when he was fifteen. His glasses were round, lopsided, and horn-rimmed. He had braces on, emphasized by the headgear. His white hair, styled in curtains, was shorter, but greasy, even in the photo. He had acne peppering his face, some of the pimples even evident underneath his peach-fuzz mustache.

She quickly glanced at this caricatured picture, and at the pony that was sitting before her, twelve years older and definitely more... well, attractive. “Oh… dear… Celestia!” squealed Octavia, laughing uncontrollably at the comparisons. “Oh… Ahahahahaha!” She clutched her waist in a hysterical fit.

“Oh, har har har, gimme that,” droned Midnight as he plucked the picture from her grasp and tucked it back into the box, which he chucked back underneath the bed.

“I’m… I’m so sorry!” she apologized, out of breath and exasperated. “I just… I didn’t think you used to look like that! You look so… cleaned up. Handsome, actually.”

Midnight shuffled awkwardly in his position at being called handsome, warmth spawning all over his face. The only ponies that really called him handsome were his mother, and the mares that would interact with him, given the right amount of alcohol they had downed. “I’m not that handsome, come on.”

“No, no! You do! You’ve… almost evolved, in a sense. I hadn’t the foggiest that that was what you looked like as a teenager.”

It was Midnight’s turn for his face to smolder in mortification. “C’mon, you’re just saying that to butter me up and make me feel better.”

“Stop being so modest! Admit that you look a damn sight more attractive now than before… Naponeon Dynamite,” she tittered. Midnight scrunched his muzzle up once more, still surprised that ponies believed that was what he looked like as an adolescent. Still, they could only chuckle at the accurate description.

The two of them soon settled into a pleasant silence after their laughter fest came to a halt.

“So…” hummed Octavia, awkwardly shuffling in place. “There’s nothing more about me I can disclose.”

“What about your–?”

“No, Midnight.”

“Damn it!” grumbled the Sarosian, his attempt to get those lucky numbers of hers failing once again. “Aw, well. Let’s leave?”

“Of course.” As they rose to their hooves, Octavia cleared her throat, notifying Midnight to swivel back around and face her. Good thing, too: he was almost at the door. “Actually…can I ask just one question?”

“Fire away,” Midnight offered for her to sit on the edge of his bed, while he stood and leaned against the door.

“...How does your mother do it?” she asked.

“Eh?”

“How does your mother raised thirteen kids under one roof? What could drive her to want to have all these children?”

Gone was his mirth. Midnight stared at the ground solemnly as he evaluated her question. He then turned back to her and answered. “Those children… they didn’t really have homes. And if they did, they were homes where they were treated poorly. Abuse, whether it be physical or emotional, which then lead to Foal Support interfering, which led to my mom interfering.”

He reared his head back towards the earth. “My mother… she cares for those kids. She loves them like roses love the sunshine… or inventors love their creations. She feels like she had actually given birth to those children, the way she nurtures them. She invented a world where love is without limits. She... created an encompassment where genetic borders don’t even matter as long as someone is there to be there for you when you need it. Support you when you’re under the weather. To hug you… or kiss you… out of pure adoration.”

He could feel himself slowly get misty-eyed. He hated that he was showing complete weakness in front of a mare. A mare that he was hopelessly in love with, nonetheless. He couldn’t look her in the eyes now. Not at this point in time.

“I don’t think there’s any thrill that went through her heart like that felt by the mother as he or she sees her flesh and blood grow, learn, and unfold to success. Such emotions can make a pony forget about food… sleep… friends… love... everything,” Midnight uncrossed his arms, and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “We’re family through and through. Blood and marriage is but a bunch of hooey in this household, when it comes to those kids. Love is the coal that makes this train roll. That’s what she would say whenever somepony asked why… why she’d take these kids in. And… I love her for following that idea. It makes things like racism, discrimination, sexism… all just feel like childish disputes, like who gets to go down the slide first, or who should take turns playing with blocks. She… she’s why I’m not dead, crazy, or institutionalized right now.” He dabbed as his eyes again. “S-sorry for being such a sobbing mess.”

“No, no…” replied an upset Octavia, rubbing her hands together. She definitely did not expect to see this event unfold before her. “It’s alright. I’m sorry for asking such a silly question.”

Midnight stifled a chuckle of mirth. “It’s fine. It wasn’t silly. You genuinely wanted to know. And that’s gre–”

He was cut very short, as Octavia had stood up abruptly from the bed, looking at Midnight seriously. “What’s the matter? Did I say something... wrong?” he asked. His query was never replied to… well, not through words. For Octavia had swiftly walked over and hugged him.

Midnight could feel time trickle like tree sap. It electrified him to stand there, being embraced by her. The feel of her arms linking behind his back. The presence of her head resting on his right shoulder. The sensation of her body pressing against his cozily, as though he had been enshrouded in a warm wool blanket. She felt like a jigsaw puzzle piece, clicking into place with him.

“Not at all, Midnight.” He could smell her, the scent of her obsidian mane consisting of fragrant magnolias. He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, the rushing air flowing out of her mouth tickling his neck. Her heart beat against his torso rhythmically, like a drum. He could only wish that his, currently hammering away at his ribs like a metalworker at fiery ingot, was not being detected at the moment by her. It was the closest he had ever gotten with her, in that instant. It was wonderful, the only word Midnight could concoct at that moment. His biased heart, enshrouded by romance and hypnotized by it, was slowly raising his arms up. He held her, embraced her back. He swallowed her tightly, biting his lip to keep from losing all emotional control.

“Tavi?” Midnight finally said after a minute into it. He pulled away to gaze intently into her eyes.

Her amethyst, beautiful, breathtaking eyes.

“Yes, Midnight?” Octavia peered back at him. Midnight gulped as he examined her more, his pulse bellowing in his ears. Her velvet lips. Her smoothly-curved muzzle. Her lengthy eyelashes, her well-groomed jet-black mane. Her rosy cheeks. Her warm, friendly smile. But he still kept getting pulled in by her magnificent eyes. Those pools of wine that kept pulling him in, as though he were magnetized to them, intoxicating him with desire.

His heart, frantic and on the edge of its seat, shrieked, “Yes. Do it. Go on. Ask her out. What are you waiting for? You love her, right?”

He did.

Oh, he did, indeed. Had he been any other stallion, he would have done it. He would have bled out all of his emotions for her right there. Tell her that he loved her.

But he was not any other stallion.

He was Midnight Oil. Twenty-seven years old, an IQ of 216, with a career as the royal scribe to Princesses Celestia and Luna. Avid literature nut, science whiz, math geek, fan to video games and pop culture. Absolutely pathetic when it came to relationships, be they platonic or romantic.

He had a brain, thankfully… his tool that he has trusted far more than his heart his whole life...and his brain bellowed “No.” from the heavens. “Don’t do it. She loves Frédéric, not you. As much as you love her, you ought to let her go. At the least, give her time to decide who she loves. Odds are… it won’t be you. You know that. Confessing to her now would jeopardize—correction, eviscerate—your friendship with her. Why ruin a good thing?”

Battle with his mind all he wanted, it would be futile. For his conscience was correct.

He was too afraid to love her.

Terrified beyond all common sense to hear the word “no” slip from those pretty little lips of hers.

“...Nothing,” Midnight finally said, peeling away from her. Octavia appeared concerned for her friend. But she let it rest. He would talk to her about it in due time. “Let’s go?”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” He un-soundproofed the room, allowing her to exit first. She slowly did so, carefully scanning him before the door blocked him from her sight. He followed her out, heart aching as though he had been assaulted with a maul.

Octavia didn’t know how he felt, really. All she was concerned about was the serene fluttering in her heart, as though she had swallowed a nest of butterflies. She did a good thing. She assumed it was only natural to feel this way after giving assistance to somepony she could count on.

~

Day three.

Frédéric had finally discovered the reason behind Midnight getting up very early. At around four o’clock in the morning, he heard the front door closing behind somepony. He ejected from the bed and ran quickly to the door to see who it could be. Sure enough, he found the Sarosian in gray sweats and a hoodie, ears stuffed with earbuds and a bottle of water in his fist.

“This is a dream,” said Midnight solemnly. “None of this is real. You saw and heard nothing. Go back to bed.”

“Wow,” voiced a somewhat disturbed Frédéric. “Never figured you do this.”

Midnight sighed in defeat. He figured that Frédéric would just keep pushing. “I’ve been… doing it for some time actually. A couple years, alternating between jogging and swimming,” the other stallion explained, removing his earbuds for only a moment. Frédéric nodded in understanding; he finally knew what the splash in the pool from yesterday was.

“Huh… so when you had to pull that carriage for Octavia when you first met her? That was a ruse?”

“What? She told you that?” Frédéric nodded. “No. That shit was damn heavy. It felt like lugging a battleship around until I enchanted it.”

The pianist snorted a little at the jibe. “Listen… what were you and Octavia talking about in your room?” Frédéric was growing mildly suspicious. “You didn’t happen to confess to her, by any chance?”

Midnight shuffled his hooves in disappointment. “No… of course not.”

“But… you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Midnight felt more and more ashamed. The agonizing sensation in the pit of his stomach oozed a miasma of failure. “Yes. I did… but… you know me. I’m a coward for not doing so, but I’m an even bigger coward for going to her behind your back. You must have thought I had betrayed your trust or something.”

“Midnight….” Frédéric approached Midnight, and clamped his shoulder firmly, much like how a father would his son when trying to understand him and his troubles. “You are, by no means, a coward. I’ve met stallions who would crumple at the thought of being alone with another girl like her. I’m quite proud to call you a friend, really. The fact that you didn’t ask her out is fascinating.”

Midnight smiled warmly. “Thank you… would you like to come with me on my jog?”

“No, thank you. I’m tired as all hay,” yawned Frédéric. “Sorry. I’ll go back to bed, shall I?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t worry, man.” Midnight stuffed his earbuds back in their place and teleported beyond the gate of the driveway. He reappeared on the street and jogged off down it.

Much later that same day, the house received a reminder in the mailbox. The children had all long since returned from school, so they had gathered around to hear what it was all about. Midnight had translated that there was to be an annual festival to be held four days from then, on the second of June. It was held to celebrate the day when one of the heroes of old had managed to tame and ride the first wild dragon, one that had been terrorizing the city for a long time. There was to be food, festivity, music, fireworks, and a ritual dance held there.

“Interesting,” Octavia commented, once they had all cleaned up after dinner. “Sounds like you and I can play our instruments there, Frédéric.”

“Oh, I hope so,” inserted Frédéric.

“Maybe I can play some of my tunes there!” added Vinyl, excited to finally display her music to the public.

“I dunno,” concluded Midnight. “I guess I can join the ritual dance. I’ve still got it memorized from previous festivals.”

“I’d actually like to see you dance, you know?” Vinyl said, a little intrigued on if Midnight actually was quick on his hooves.

“As would I. It doesn’t really seem believable to say that you can dance,” said Frédéric.

“He’s actually quite a good dancer,” Night Glider commented, holding one of her surrogate sisters in her arms and gently rocking her to sleep.

“He’s got the smooth moves to sweep you off your hooves!” Star Hopper interjected, mirroring her twin’s actions to the dot. The youngster in her grasp stirred at the sound of her voice, but remained unperturbed in his slumber. “Whoopsy-daisy,” she whispered cautiously.

“You all have talents that fascinate me to no end,” said Midnight, eager to divert the attention to somepony else. “Vinyl, I’ve heard your music: it’s really good, but I’d like to see it… live.” Vinyl felt warmth slowly slide up to her cheeks, but she suppressed it right away. “Octavia, Frédéric. I’ve never heard you guys play. But for you to be in the Canterlot Quartet, you simply have to be amazing.” The two classical artists smiled happily in unison. “I honestly can’t wait for this.”

~

Day four.

The four of them went swimming in the backyard. It was quite funny to make the comparisons between Frédéric’s more built physique compared to Midnight’s slender appearance. They jokingly questioned him on why he wore a muscle shirt, and swim pants instead of trunks. Correction… only Frédéric and Vinyl did. Octavia already knew the reason why he still chose to conceal himself.

Midnight’s answer: he didn’t give one. He merely gave them a middle finger as he jumped off the fifteen-foot tall diving board and swan-dove into the water below. Laugh all they could, Frédéric was by no means faster than Midnight at swimming from end to end of the pool, proof that the latter had indeed joined the swim team during his younger years. He was, as the pianist once described it, “like a oiled-up black dolphin on the beefiest steroids.” A joke at which they couldn’t all stop giggling at.

The festival’s preparations were being made throughout the city. Flags and banners were being hung along the walls of the homes. Some of the stores, as well as a great handful of vendors, were checking their wares to see if they would have enough of them in stock for the good folks of Jalalabuck. Talk of how it would be a very successful event flitted through the city. Everyone seemed surge with some sort of energy as they all worked to create the greatest camaraderie they could summon.

~

Day five.

Preparations for the festival were going well underway. Reports around Jalalabuck stated that it would all be finished late afternoon tomorrow, June fourth. In the meanwhile, Midnight and company had to leave for the bazaar for the appropriate clothes for the festival.

For the ladies, two dresses to fit the festival’s theme. The dresses looked almost Hindi, the way the cloth draped around the hips and shoulder, how the chestpiece (Octavia’s euphemism for the bra portion of the outfit) was studded with gold or silver pieces. Vinyl was gung-ho to give it a test drive, returning from the changing room in her ruby-red outfit and earning some applause from Midnight and Frédéric, whilst Octavia could only comment on how stunning she looked.

The red cloth fit her hips and powerfully accentuated her body and flaming eyes, shining the light of the store off of the golden studs embedded. The chestpiece complimented her ample bosom, the dress itself giving prominence to her wonderfully wide hips, the silken thread of her clothes capable of drawing all watchers in hypnotically. The golden headpiece, which jingled merrily as she turned or shook her head, fit snugly around her cranium. She looked fantastic, beyond all logic.

“Oh, ten outta ten!” judged Midnight, clapping raucously.

“Very lovely, Vinyl, very lovely,” mentioned Frédéric. All of their positive feedback boosted Vinyl’s euphoria even further. A wolf whistle from Midnight resulted in her retreating into the changing room, switching her jeans and tee back on and all the while bearing a fierce blush.

Octavia was absolutely embarrassed to discover that she would have to show some stomach in her amethyst-coloured outfit, as the chestpiece for it didn’t entirely cover that bit. However, Midnight and Frédéric were capable of coaxing her to give it a shot. Stepping out of the changing room in her clothes a few minutes later, the two stallions, and even Vinyl were floored. The silver studs on both cloth and chestpiece glinted softly in the light. Her impressive hips and fair breasts were cocooned in the dress’s beauty and shape. The amethyst silk fabric clashed magnificently with her eyes. The silver headpiece rang with tranquility as she shook her head of any stray hairs, as a portion of her black mane hung somewhat sultrily over her right eye.

“Well?” she finally spoke up, not fully appeased by the baffled faces of her peers. “Don’t just sit there looking dumb.”

“Oh… my gosh,” breathed Vinyl. “You look… amazing!”

She beamed at her responses, blushing all the while. But… she still had one more approval to gain before she could feel even more confident about it. “Midnight? Frédéric? Questions, comments, concerns?”

“Octavia… that looks positively gorgeous on you,” hummed a partially-breathtaken Frédéric, chartreuse eyes exploring every inch of her figure. “It really does."

Midnight had snapped out of his reverie. He couldn’t help it, though. He was absolutely captivated by her. To call her stunning would not do this visual justice at all, although her presence did render them flabbergasted. “You, eh…” Midnight swallowed the lump in his gullet, speaking up with a surprising hitch in his voice. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he finally choked out.

Octavia could feel her face slowly grow hotter from their words. She covered her burning cheeks with the section of dress that dangled over her shoulder. “Th… thank you, guys. I’m gonna… go change,” she mumbled, ducking back into the room and returning to her button-up shirt, black slacks, pink bow-tie, and severe blush.

The stallions were up next. Frédéric had been goose-stepped by Midnight into trying out the traditional wear, while the pianist remained adamant in his decision to don a generic suit and tie. Even Octavia didn’t approve of that notion.

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” she persuaded Frédéric, shuffling awkwardly on her hooves. “Besides, if me and Vinyl both looked smashing in our choices, surely you could do with something… exotic of your own.”

Gulping nervously, Frédéric nodded. “So, what did you have in mind?” he asked of Midnight, who was riffling through some racks of apparel.

“These.” He tossed at Frédéric a uniform of some sorts. It was a large white mass, but would have to be worn to be fully appreciated. Midnight scooted Frédéric into the changing room and awaited his return. Frédéric came back out, clad in long white pants and a long-sleeve robe whose hem descended to his knees. A sky blue vest sat cozily on the robe, and a soft felted skull cap of the same atmospheric azure rested on his sand-colored hair.

“Hold on.” Midnight approached Frédéric, his hands reaching for the top button of the robe. “Leave this undone…” he mumbled, readjusting the vest and the collar of his robe. “There. That looks really nice on you, man.”

“You think so?” asked Frédéric, a little curious about the impression his new threads emanated..

“Oh, totally!” cheered Vinyl, voicing her approval. “You look really awesome in that thing.”

“I think you look quite handsome in it, to say the least,” Octavia anxiously admitted, stifling the searing sensation that threatened to seep into her face. Frédéric smiled a bit, finding it much more difficult than usual to make eye contact with her as his pulse hiked up mildly. Unbeknownst to him, so did hers.

“Well, Oily boy, you’re up,” said Frédéric tensely, pushing Midnight into the aisle to pick out his outfit.

“Hey! Who’re you callin’ oily, punk?” He came back not a moment too soon, a small stack of clothes laden in his arms as he walked briskly over to the changing room and closed the curtain. Moments later, Midnight reemerged in his chosen attire, adorned in a pair of white pants and a white robe with a gold lining on the outer legs and on top of the arms. What was different was that at the top of the buttons was a strip of cloth that ended with a long tassel, the threads tied together intricately. He had on an ash-colored vest, but no felted skullcap. Instead, he had on a pair of silver hairbands, bejeweled with emeralds, at the base and near the end of his ponytail, as well as one near the end of his tail. “So? What’s the verdict, guys?”

“Smashing. Very smashing.” Frédéric stated.

“You look quite handsome, if I do say so myself,” Octavia chimed in. Midnight grinned anxiously, his efforts at chuckling away his nervousness and his blush bearing little fruit.

“It’s amazing on you,” breathed Vinyl. She recognized those hair accessories at once: they were the ones that Midnight had purchased for himself, back on his first day of his service to her and Octavia. She remembered that day all too well. It was the day she started to develop her crush for him. When she had fed him after Octavia and Frédéric had been awful to him.

I had a feeling he wasn’t gonna give them to his mom… they don’t match her eyes like they do his.

She sighed woefully. She had a feeling that Midnight didn’t really… reciprocate her feelings for him. She could understand: she didn’t come on too strong about it. Granted, she didn’t want to appear as some clingy tramp. She wasn’t petty, and she surely had standards, after all. But she grew weary of her incompetence, her lack of courage to make some sort of move. She was Vinyl Scratch, for the love of Celestia! She was tough, brave, foxy. If her walking onto the dance floor could turn several heads in lustful awe, she should certainly overcome such a trivial obstacle as confessing to somepony she crushed on.

“Th… thanks, Vi. I really appreciate it,” said Midnight genuinely. “I’m gonna browse around for outfits for the children.” He was off, speedily recollecting each of their sizes and measurements from memory.

She’d do it, before her window of opportunity closed on her.

She’d confess to Midnight. At least some time tomorrow.

~

Day six.

By mid-afternoon, the city folk had already completed their preparations for the festival. The banners were up, the town squares on the upper and lower halves of Jalalabuck were cleared. The citizens walked amongst themselves, doing last minute food shopping and congratulations on a job well done. They were all eager to return home and rest in their beds, long after filling their bellies with warm suppers.

Dusk had already fallen.

Midnight was going over his mental checklist in the backyard, making sure that all of the listed accomplishments had already been… well, accomplished. He dangled his legs above the smaller, four-foot diving board, hooves barely skimming the water beneath as he played with his butterfly knife. The metallic clinking of the blade and handles submersed him into concentration.

Vinyl saw him sitting outside through the screen door. She appeared distraught, the throbbing in her heart refusing to revert to normal as she grew fascinated by the way the lights of the pool reflected off of Midnight. I can’t bucking believe I’m second-guessing myself, Vinyl thought pitifully, her hooves glued to the spot.

She felt a nudge in her side and turned to see Nebula, the wizen mare clad in her pajamas. Nebula said something to Vinyl in Ponsi, but Vinyl was merely lost by the exotic tongue. She figured it was phrased interrogatively, but still, she knew not a lick of the ethnic language. “I’m sorry, what?” she said apologetically.

“She said, ‘Are you gonna admire the scenery, or are you gonna go talk to him?’” Star Hopper translated, fixing her nightgown. Vinyl grimaced slightly at Star with a smidgen of disdain, as she had been the one to issue that awkward situation between all of them by pointing out Midnight’s so-called love for Octavia.

Still, she appreciated their concerns, and chose to oblige them. She entered the backyard, and approached the Sarosian. Midnight seemed to be submerged in thought, as he didn’t notice her right away. She questioned that state of mind of his, as he was subconsciously flipping and fanning around a very sharp knife.

Her horn flared a soft azure corona, and she carefully removed the knife from his grip. “Huh, what?” Midnight said as Vinyl cast it at the base of the diving board. She climbed aboard, the wobbling of the board alerting Midnight to turn around and face her. “Oh. Hi, Vinyl,” he greeted, sitting crosslegged.

Vinyl sat down on her knees, hands on her thighs and hooves under her bottom, tail swishing in trepidation. “Hey, Midnight. How are you?”

“I’m… not doing too great, actually.” Midnight twiddled his thumbs in dismay, as though it would help ameliorate his dilemma. “I’m kinda nervous about the ritual dance, and I’m worrying on if I’ll just goof up a bit.”

“What? C’mon, you’re just getting last-minute jitters,” Vinyl said, reaching forward and grabbing Midnight’s hand, hoping that her feelings would be guised as compassion and empathy. “Trust me. Whenever I get crazy stage fright, I just… imagine doing a kick-ass job, ya know? I simply… envision it all being a success. I just take some deep breaths… and relax.” She highlighted her point by inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly after.

“Thank you once again.” Midnight repeated her actions to the dot. But after the exhale he could still feel Vinyl clutching his hand. He was feeling a little uncomfortable from the tension in the air. “What’s the matter? You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she stuttered, swallowing air again. Come on… you can do this, Vinyl. “I, uh… I have something… important to tell you, Midnight.”

“You do?”

Vinyl nodded as she felt a knot developing in her gullet. She gulped it away, face searing an awful shade of red. Just… say the damn words! What are you waiting for!? “I… I, uh… I…” She sighed angrily, confounded on how three simple words could be this impossible to say. “I… I'm in love with you.”

She couldn’t look directly at him. She was just ecstatic to relieve herself of a burden that had been plaguing her for a little less than a month. She fought every iota in her body to not gander at Midnight’s reaction, but her determination failed her. She looked up and saw…

Guilt. The stallion before her was looking down, ashamed. As though he had done something that he could never atone for. “How long?”

“Wha–?” Vinyl was cut off by Midnight’s reiteration of his question. “...About a month.” She could feel her heart going nuts, each beat reverberating in her ears and threatening to shatter her ribs. She was regretting every single moment of her choice. She was terrified of what the answer might be, and she didn’t want to be around for that. “You know, maybe I should–”

“I… I'm honored by this... really. I had no idea you felt that way, honestly,” weakly mumbled Midnight. He continued to gaze at Vinyl. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was…” started Vinyl, pressing her index fingers anxiously. “I was totally freaked out. Just, scared outta my mind. I didn’t want to… buck up our friendship right away. I mean, I care about you… a lot.”

The silence that echoed was long. Uncomfortable. Painful. Both of them struggled to make eye contact, the sloshing pool water beneath them being the only sound in the vicinity. “That’s… quite an interesting reason. I care about you, too.”

“Do you… love me back?” Hope has temporarily swelled in Vinyl’s heart as she looked at the stallion she loved and beseeched him of his reciprocation. But the tortuous silence that Midnight could only create destroyed that hope and transformed it into emotional distraught. “Well? Do you?”

Midnight could only sit there in the hot seat, in no shape or form capable of responding to her in a manner that wouldn’t devastate Vinyl. But his silence was already doing massive damage. Vinyl clenched her fists in heartbreak. “Please… say something! Anything!” She could feel the back of her eyes burning, but she bit her lower lip, refusing to cry. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

“I’m sorry.” Midnight sighed, irritated by the response he had been giving her—or lack thereof. He honestly felt like he should have seen it earlier. He was a Recorder, for Luna’s sake. Why he never bothered to pay attention to her in the meanwhile, is a terrible anomaly in and of itself. He could hear Vinyl gasping weakly, as though she were fighting for air. “If it seems like I’m uninterested…it’s not because I’m disgusted by you, or I hate you. It’s because I have no idea why you would like me.”

Vinyl gritted her teeth, battling the rivulets of saline that threatened to leak from her eyes. “Why do you say that?” she shakily asked.

“Because I am… already a terrible, terrible pony. I’m… in love with somepony else. Me saying yes to you without committing a hundred percent and doing it all for the sake of nookie would not be fair to you in the slightest, and would leave me unable to live with myself if I hurt you. There are several thousand stallions out there millions of times better than me. And they’d be willing to bend over backwards for an exceedingly fantastic mare like you.”

Vinyl smiled weakly, wiping her tears with the sleeves of her shirt. “Well, I’m proud of the fact that you’re honest to me.” She hiccuped slightly from her vain efforts to cease her crying. “And I know very well who you’re in love with.”

“I figured…” Midnight sighed again in dismay. “Listen, I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Vinyl shook her head, sniffling a bit. “Nopony can really pick and choose who they fall in love with. It’s all up to fate.” She sidled closer to him.

“...I, er, remember one guy that you used to club around with a lot and do gigs and collabs with. Neon Lights, was it?”

“Yeah.” A bit of a feeble smile returned to Vinyl’s lips. “You know him?”

“I’ve heard a fair deal of his songs. Ran into him on a Counter-Buck: Equestrian Offensive server. Pretty cool pony, really. I told him I knew you, and we just had a nice conversation that went off from there.”

“Really?”

“Totally. He, uh, told me that he had a bit of a crush on you, to be honest. He wants to get to know you better, and not just behind a turntable with the bass blowing out your ears.”

“Hey, if we don’t blow out your ears, we’re not doing our jobs,” she joked. She grinned as Midnight had to stifle a snigger. While she felt sore that Midnight was not only uninterested in a relationship with her, but also prescribing somepony like Neon Lights to her, she was at least mildly appeased by how Midnight was assisting her in her time of need. Even if he had just broke her heart. “And I’ll… probably give him a call, see if we can’t get dinner, or coffee, or something. Thanks for, uh… helping me feel better.”

“Glad I could be of assistance.”

“I’m, uh, gonna hug you now.”

“Huh? Oh, go ahead. It’s the least you deserve.” Vinyl giggled at the sentiment as she gingerly wrapped her arms around Midnight, pulling the Sarosian into a hug. He was reluctant in returning the action, but when he did, he could slowly start to unwind. The stress and the fear of what had happened today and what will happen tomorrow was simply being washed away. “Feel better?”

“Yes… totally better than before.” She pulled away, gave Midnight a small kiss on the cheek, and got up to leave, the diving board wobbling precariously beneath her. She dismounted, clutching the area of her chest where her heart resided. Its pangs of desire still lingered, yet not as strongly as before. “By the way… I know you’re gonna do just great.”

Midnight smiled, watching that wonderful woman leave the backyard and enter the house. He raised a hand to the cheek that Vinyl’s lips had so tenderly pecked, his face burning. He felt awful that he had done that to her. But… it was how he felt. He would rather hurt someone with a truth than comfort someone with a lie.

~End of Chapter XVII~

XVIII - All Good Things (Come to an End)

XVIII - All Good Things (Come to an End)

Day seven.

It was time.

The festival was well underway. The schools, on their final days, decided to have their own parties to allow the children to partake in the frivolities in some way or another. Those that tended to their stalls in the bazaar were putting their goods on the market, making sure that they had what they needed.

Vinyl, Octavia, Frédéric, and Midnight, donned in their ethnic clothes to commemorate the event, were driving to the surface where the merrymaking would take place, with the latter’s blood family tailing behind them in a minivan, eager to make it there by noon. Once parked somewhere close by, they zipped down the roads towards city hall, where they were to ring in the celebration.

The shah of the city, a rotund stallion with a beard as large and as white as his smile—save for the gold canine tooth—was making his annual speech about the origins of this holiday. Midnight translated it all for his friends: Over a thousand years ago, one of the ancient dragons, a terrifying creature by the name of Argorok, had laid waste to half of the face of Equestria. One of the lieutenants under Luna’s command, a Sarosian Pegasus mare by the name of Astral Lily, had rushed to the frontlines to fight the beast while she was stationed in Hoofghanistan. With her mighty arrows and the help of her many warriors, Astral Lily had managed to defeat Argorok. However, many of their lives, including Astral’s, had been heavily risked. The lieutenant would later die of sepsis, due to the severity of her burns.

The shah wanted today to not be a day to mourn a lost heroine. But to instead let this day stand as a reminder of the saviors responsible for stopping a tremendous reign of smog, flames, and terror, and to be grateful that Astral had been able to kill Argorok so that the citizens of Hoofghanistan, and the rest of Equestria, could live in harmony once more.

Applause surged through the crowd, as the men and women cheered, clapped their hands, whistled, and/or stomped their hooves. The shah then dismissed the citizens, and they went about their way to whatever caught their fancy.

To the west sat the market, where a considerable amount of the vendors had set up shop to sell their goods. The east held a great deal of interactive entertainment and games. Including bungee-jumping from the holes created for the lower level of the city. The south had team sports and family activities. The north end held entertainment in the visual and musical arts. That was mainly where Midnight and company would spend their time, once evening rolled around.

They embarked to the west side first, their collaborative idea of killing time consisting of mainly browsing the stores for their wares. Midnight would have adamantly complained that his wallet was taking a cruel blow from the constant shopping they were all doing. Yet, he knew better than that. He brought his protests to a screeching halt and merely went along with it, trusting that his fake smile could hide the financial anguish he kept inside.

It initiated with brunch at one of the more distinguished restaurants. Midnight’s family had already set up a reservation there. They informed him that they would all be seated at a group of tables all pushed together, placed by the back of the building. They pulled up to the designated place, approaching the doors.

“We go?” Comet Ash said as he killed the engine to the SUV. He stepped out in papyrus-colored robes that trailed his ankles, with a sky-blue sports jacket thrown on. Galaxy, Star Hopper, and Night Glider followed, donned in the same style dresses as Octavia and Vinyl. Yet they were respectively clad in pink, blue, and black. Nebula emerged afterwards, the wizen grandmother dressed in a more modest outfit of black.

The next forty-five minutes were spent waiting, placing orders, eating, and mainly conversing. Time at the moment had once again made haste, blazing through those forty-five minutes almost instantaneously. It was relatively awkward, though. The silence was only broken once every five minutes or so. Maybe it was the tension that Midnight emitted; after all, being in the ritual dance was quite an honor. Slipping up and making any mistakes would be very jeopardizing.

Even his friends’ and family’s words of encouragement didn’t draft a strong enough breeze for his sails. All he could do was bide his next seven hours, until sundown at eight, and hope for the best.

After eating brunch, where Comet and Midnight had split the bill, they went to the south side for the family recreational activities being held in the major park. Save for Nebula due to old age, and Midnight and Octavia due to lack of talent at the sport, Vinyl, Frédéric, and the remainder of the family played a friendly game of volleyball against half a dozen of Comet’s old high school friends. Nebula and Midnight were catching up after nine years of separation, the stallion and his grandmother rattling in Ponsi. He was elated to hear that she still worked with sand art for the masses, despite her visual impairment. She still received glowing responses from her peers for the complexity and beauty of her work.

Nebula nudged her grandson and motioned to Octavia. The cellist merely sat there, stirring the grass beneath her with an index finger, the long digit stroking each blade smoothly. Midnight felt rather guilty for abandoning her, even if it was to shoot the breeze with Nebula. Still, he wanted to help her in some form or another, given her inability to understand Ponsi and join in on the conversation. “Are you bored?” Midnight asked with a weak grin.

“No!” blurted the mare, her monotonous reverie shattered by the question. She winced at her abrupt reaction, her chances of not appearing rude sinking drastically, and repeated in a lower voice, “No. I’m doing fine. I promise.”

“Here.” The scribe offered her his cellphone and a pair of sound-negating earphones. “Watch some movies, listen to some music, text some of your friends—anything to keep you amused, Octavia.” He had decided not to spoil such a lovely name with a simple alias like “Tavi.”

“I assure you, Midnight, I’m fine,” she replied, holding a hand up in polite declination. She wasn’t ready for his stubborn head-shaking and refusal of her refusal. After a few seconds of verbal and gestural battling, Octavia conceded. “Ugh… very well.” She accepted the device and tapped in Midnight’s rather embarrassing passcode. Rather than expecting the keypad to fade away, the screen shook, and the words “Incorrect password” flared above the keypad. “What is the password?”

“2326.”

She was rather awed by the capacity of the memory card. She asked how he had managed to reach a cap of 256 gigabytes on such an infinitesimal piece of plastic and silicon. He had told her that he had tweaked it immensely with magic and a nanotechnology engineering book he had borrowed from the Canterlot Library. “Granted, I had to burn through… what, two or three cards to get it right.”

He had every genre of music that suited his tastes, and every genre that stuck out like a sore thumb. From hard rock (being the most dominant in quantity), to that “hippy hop and rap” she deplored, to that “dabble step” Vinyl got a kick out of, and to the classical music that Octavia herself found blissful euphoria in.

She had listened to about ten or so tracks of Beethoofen before she decided to… explore more of his music. She had dabbled with some of his rock music, and found some of the softer and indie subgenres to her liking as she lent her ears to the melodies of Diamond Jam, Bad Moons, Arctic Windigos, and Young the Dragon.

She found very few hip hop songs that she even remotely liked, only finding some approval of in some works of ZeCommon and (oddly) a Kendrick Lamare song or two.

She snickered at his guilty pleasure of pop icons Michael Applejackson and Justin Timberdrake, but she still found some… robust passion as she listened to them.

Needless to say, she didn’t even touch the dubstep and electronic music; not because she was a philistine, but because she had had some rather… unwelcome history about the last time she had tried to listen to such a category. She still shuddered at the resurfacing memory of when Vinyl had blasted her with music so tremendously loud, it almost blew her hair and clothes off.

After her experimentation with the good handful of the different genres, she went back to her more refined taste in classical music.

After the two hours, thirty minutes of their games and conversations, they all decided to leave for the eastern end of the city. A good time, too, they were to release the children from school at four o’ clock. Some of the activities seemed to catch their eyes, like bungee jumping for Galaxy, Comet Ash, and Nebula—the old pony still had some spunk in her yet; a karaoke bar for Night Glider, Star Hopper, Octavia, and Frédéric; and an arcade for Midnight and Vinyl.

Granted, after what had gone down last night, the situation between the latter two was a rather bizarre one. The first few minutes were spent in verbal silence as they played a co-op zombie shoot-em-up. He was rather impressed by her sharp eye and quick aim. Whether she chose this game because she wanted to ventilate all of her frustration on the slew of two-dimensional undead, or her focus on the first-pony shooter had reached high levels of dedicated concentration was still to be evaluated by the Sarosian.

Later, Octavia and Frédéric decided to see what the two were doing, which was merely a friendly putt-putt golf match. Both aristocrats rolled their eyes at their simpler friends; while Midnight’s skill at the game was quite fair, Vinyl was subpar at best. Maybe because the former actually made the calculations of the outcomes of his swings, or because the latter constantly kept putting in so much muscle power into her shots. She eventually rage-quit and threw both their little plastic putters like boomerangs. Midnight had to catch them with his magic and return them to the angry clerk at the front desk before they could sail into the go-kart derby and mutilate somepony.

Coincidentally enough, Vinyl’s outrageous toss led to their next choice in frivolity.

Octavia and Vinyl won second place in their race in the go-kart derby. They did exceptionally well, as they were the ones who had been friends the longest, thus giving them a greater advantage in terms of teamwork. Meanwhile, Frédéric and Midnight could do nothing but bicker and argue about how to control the car, when to turn, how sharp the turn should be, and how cool it would be if they could drift in such a tiny vehicle. They ended up in fifth.

“Your driving was absolutely abysmal!” critiqued Frédéric of Midnight, hobbling out of the go-kart in a huff. He knew he shouldn’t make a big deal out of it, but he hated losing. Even in childish things like go-kart races. “Honestly, how we didn’t crash into the nearest fake prop is beyond me!”

“Oh, shut your damn mouth!” hissed Midnight vehemently. He wasn’t as furious about his failure, but he still felt like he had tried. For Frédéric to berate him even after his magnum opus of driving certainly didn’t ring right.

“Or what?!”

“Or I will put both of my hooves so far up your ‘special talent’ that they won’t even be able to make glue outta me!” Vinyl laughed uproariously at the threat, the image that it planted in her head not even attempting to help her calm down. Frédéric, while perturbed by the insult, still couldn’t help but crack a smile. Octavia could only fire a menacing leer at the Sarosian, who would weakly apologize to stop her from boring holes into him with her eyes.

Unbeknownst to all of them, the clock had struck seven-fifteen. Midnight gulped as he examined his watch. The four of them exited the arcade hurriedly and boarded the Vespas, with Comet and family back in the minivan, and gunned the engines for the north side of Jalalabuck. The commute was shoddy, the streets overloaded with cars. They had to find a safe spot in the street to stop and run to the final event if they were to make it on time, Nebula carried in her son Comet’s hulking arms.

Thankfully, they had made it on time to see the dancers getting ready to perform. One of aforementioned dancers approached Midnight and grabbed him by his collar, quickly hollering at him in Ponsi. He retorted back in the foreign tongue, but was immediately pulled to the side and out of sight.

“Where the hay’s he going?” asked Vinyl as they watched him drag Midnight away.

“They take him to change into proper clothes for dance,” answered Comet. “Now quiet. Sundown comes.”

They raised their sights to see a clock tower, erected high and proud. The citizens intently watched the minute and hour hand revolving slowly, until the former finished its orbit, and the latter rested on the “۸” symbol. The clock blared its loud gong eight separate times, the peals flowing through the whole northern portion of the city. The pedestrians cheered and applauded loudly as the sun took cover beneath the horizon, while the drivers honked in celebration. Fireworks skyrocketed upward, blasting into miniscule, technicolor pieces and painting the sky kaleidoscopic palettes and hues. It was so bright, it was as though the sun never even went down.

“Whoa…” hummed Vinyl, awestruck and mesmerized by all of the colors. “It’s beautiful…”

“It most certainly is, isn’t it?” commented Frédéric, the myriad of colors catching his breath.

Octavia merely nodded vigorously, stunned by how gorgeous the night sky looked. He looked over and saw Comet and Galaxy sharing a quick kiss, the wife having to stand on the tips of her hooves and her husband having to stoop down a bit for their lips to connect. Nebula hugged her granddaughters tightly, Night Glider and Star Hopper returning the gesture wholeheartedly. Star Hopper almost shed a tear, and Night Glider could feel her standard apathy melt away to be replaced with a warm smile.

Octavia and her friends examined their surroundings and saw actions almost similar to those done by Midnight’s family. Couples, old and young, kissing one another, whether they be husband and wife, or merely coltfriend and marefriend. Friends and families embracing and greeting one another, raising their glasses of tea, cappuccinos, or alcohol merrily, sharing a smoke or two, pushing aside their card games if only for a moment to rejoice with their fellow players. A fair handful of these folks even greeted Frédéric, Octavia, and Vinyl in the same manners, all imbued with love, peace, and blessings.

That’s when they discovered that this city, with all of its inhabitants and visitors, saw themselves as family. They didn’t bother with whether they were of different breeds, different sexes, different ages, or even if they were from other countries. They still greeted, hugged, kissed, and celebrated as one unit, as though they would do so for a long-lost sibling or parent.

Love is the coal that makes this train roll, eh? Octavia mused, remembering the conversation she had with Midnight only a few days ago. She felt… warm inside, realizing that his words didn’t just apply to his household. But applied to everypony—everyone—here.

“Hey, look! It’s starting!” Star Hopper exclaimed cheerily. They turned their attention to the center of the road. The classic song of a Hoofghani rubâb and drums began to flutter through the area. Seven ponies—four stallions, three mares—danced their way down the street. The ladies were donned in the same Hindi clothes as Octavia and Vinyl, yet the colors remained a solid royal blue for them all. Their faces were sheathed by a thin veil, and belled bangles were attached to their wrists, hips, fetlocks of their hooves, and at the ends of their tails. Each sway released a plethora of chiming that made many a stallion—and a fair share of mares—turn their heads in awe and delight.

The stallions were in different garbs: white pants that seemed to billow down to the legs until they were tucked into a pair of dark brown boots, royal blue long-sleeve shirts, the sleeves also tucked away beneath a pair of gold-studded, fingerless gauntlets made out of some hard pleather. An overhead vest made of the same materials stood upon their chest, and their hair was shrouded by short, royal blue headcovers, enforced by a gold band around the foreheads. The Pegasi had holes in the back of their costumes for their wings, while the unicorns had a hole in the head veil for their horns to poke through, both holes rimmed with gold.

This first waves of dancers pranced forth down the street, their movements fluid as water and light as a feather. To the newcomers—namely Octavia, Vinyl, and Frédéric—it appeared to be some sort of syncretism of Trotswanan setswana dance, Brayzilian capoeira, and Neighpanese Awa dance. The crowd cheered uproariously as the shah was being transported on a topless chariot, waving eagerly at his citizens as both dancers and floats/attractions slugged along behind him.

“If I might ask, what sort of dance are those ladies and gentlecolts performing?” asked Frédéric, intrigued by their exotic movements.

“Tartarus-raa toophan,” Galaxy answered reminiscently, mind generating images of when she was a filly and had participated in this dance. “Tempest of Tartarus,” she translated to a half-confused Frédéric. “It is created in honor of Ms. Astral Lily. Had she not arrived, many of us would not be here today.”

“I believe that’s him over there!” announced Octavia, pointing at a dancer with no headcloth and an impressively long white mane. “Midnight!” She cried, waving happily.

Midnight, eyes widening in surprise as he was entering the fray, spotted the source of the exclamation. He quickly waved back to his cheering and applauding his motley crew, blushing as he saw Octavia’s excited expression. He quickly regressed back into focus, mimicking every movement of the dancers by his side. He could still remember every ritual dance that he’s witnessed for seventeen years to the very dot, exercising those memories into reality. All he could do now was pray that his swimming sessions gave him the upper body strength he needed

Large sweep to the right with right hoof, 270 degrees, starting from left side of left hoof and ending behind by six inches. Left fist, thrust up to create 45-degree, straighten arm. Stamp lightly with right hoof three times, each stamp advancing forward four inches. Spin after third stamp, stop and repeat motion with left hoof and arm. 120-degree sweep to the left, starting from right, 45-degree jab, three advancing stamps.

Lower torso, leap, spin a full 360, land on right hoof. Pose upright: right arm cocked back 90 degrees, elbow next to kidney, hand and fingers flat and straight with arm. Bend left leg at 60 degrees, hoof raised sixteen inches off the ground, femur and pelvis making a 45-degree angle. Arc left arm overhead, bent 60 degrees, back of knuckles facing up, fist facing forward.

Crouch low, arms raised to make a 100-degree angle with back. Leap high, twenty inches off ground, spin kick with both hooves, lean forward 180 degrees. Land on hands, let hooves dangle. Stand on one hand, lower body, front flip back onto hooves.

He felt alive, for the longest time. It was as though gravity, air resistance, all the restrictions of physics did not apply to him. The raucous cheers of the civilians only egged him on, flooding him with mirth as his hooves and his hands swayed like vessels at sea. He spared no quick glance at any of his friends and family, for he was heavily concentrated in executing the dance perfectly, mind relentlessly percolating calculations and exact measurements.

“That’s… very impressive,” commented a bemused, yet fascinated Octavia. She was unsure, yet mesmerized, at how intricate and delicate the whole ritual seemed to be. Midnight moved down the line with the rest of the dancers, as well as floats that scuttled behind them. “Where are they going?”

“Back to the city hall,” answered Galaxy, following the crowd to the aforementioned location. “Let us go with them?” In agreement, they slowly crawled back to their destination.

The attractions in the center of the road pulled in much attention and wonder, like a black hole devours light. One with a painted portrait of the battle between a ferocious black dragon, Argorok. The lieutenant Astral Lily stood beneath, a mare in silver armor, sporting a long mane of auburn. A longbow fletched from willow was clutched in her hands, string primed to release the arrow notched in it and skewer the vicious enemy before her.

Another seemed to be a play on wheels: it consisted of a large papier-mâché dragon, supported in the air by the five or six Pegasi inside it, painted black and bearing narrowed, angry red eyes. A mare in gleaming silver armor and a cloth quiver was wielding a large bow, no doubt reenacting the battle as Astral Lily, shouting out epic lines at the papier-mâché Argorok, who “roared” in pseudo-enraged retaliation.

Thirty minutes or so were spent returning to city hall. ‘Twas not easy, as the audience moved at a rather sluggish pace, pausing to either admire the art of the dancers, the art of the floats, or to trudge around at a coffee or sweets stall set up somewhere in the sidelines. After having to undergo such delays, Galaxy, Comet, Night, Star, Nebula, Octavia, Vinyl, and Frédéric finally entered city hall, still sticking to the sidewalks of the massive district capable of housing several thousand people comfortably. The dancers poured into the vicinity, rimming the outer edge of the circular street with the shah in the center, and the floats in between.

The music slowly intensified in speed, the dancing progressing in complexity. Some of the performers were executing incredible stunts: an example of such being one female dancer diving hand-first into the waiting hands of a male, backflipping four or five times, landing hoof-first into a second’s supporting arms, and slowly somersaulting once, landing in the arms of a third. The climax would arrive as the music had all but stopped, fireworks blasting off into the sky once more. The magnificent explosions of color painted the world once more, everypony applauding as the clock tower gonged ten times in gradual succession.

With that, the dancers all bowed low to the shah first, who chuckled heartily at their warm praise. ((Oh, please!)) he chortled, embarrassed. ((Rise, my citizens! You bow to nopony!)) With that, they dispersed, diffusing into the crowd to look for their family and friends.

Frédéric, Octavia, and Vinyl all looked around for Midnight. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. It shouldn’t be that hard, as he was the only one without a headcover to sheathe his long mane. Curiosity of his whereabouts turned to worry. Certainly he was here! But where? “Where could he be?” asked Vinyl nervously. “We’re sitting ducks here if he up and left.”

“He can’t have gone far,” reasoned Frédéric. “Let’s look around the crowd. He can’t be too hard to spot.” With that, they went off to look for him, bumping and squirming through the mass of bodies. He and Vinyl were able to slip through with a fair deal of ease, given that they were applying more force in their actions. Dainty Octavia, however, was slowly drifting away from them, the sea of equines fighting against her. She started to grow terrified as Vinyl and Frédéric gradually vanished behind the wall of citizens. She had eventually been bumped into a desolate little café of the city, not at all far from the crowd, yet out of earshot.

“Oh, no,” mumbled the nervous cellist. “Oh, dear. This is not at all good.”

“Boo!” barked a voice behind her. She jumped in shock, turning around to catch the culprit. She felt relief to see it was only Midnight, smiling. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m quite fine, thank you,” she answered, swallowing away the last of her anxiety. “That was an exquisite display of dancing back there, you know.”

“You think so?” Heat seemed to flare in the stallion’s face. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be painfully obvious to her. Alas, the continuous barrage of fireworks could no doubt replace the sun from how intense the brightness of each explosion was. “Th-these are some really great fireworks, no?”

“Oh, absolutely. They’ve always been quite gorgeous to me,” commented Octavia, who looked back up into the night sky, still captivated by such visual rapture. “Do you have any idea as to how all these colors are made?”

“Oh, yeah.” He still remembers chemistry, and how different substances could create different-colored flames when lit by a bunsen burner. “They’re all a bunch of metals. Lead, rubidium, zinc, potassium, magnesium, copper, boron… bromine… antimony…” he droned, losing his train of thought ever-so-slowly when he looked down at Octavia. He gulped. The light from the fireworks made her glisten. She looked radiant in her dress, her mane done in long draping curtains, one of them shading her right eye mildly.

“Thank you for the science lesson, professor,” bantered the cellist, stifling a snicker. Midnight’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of her elegant tittering. “What is it?” she later asked, putting a hand on Midnight’s shoulder at the absent guise his face had been sporting. The contact, despite the warmth of body heat and his barrier of clothes, ravaged his spine with shivers.

“Do it!” wailed his heart. “Come on, you big pansy! My right atrium is going out of style because of how long you’re waiting!”

“It’s… It’s… well, I can’t really express it in words, Octavia,” murmured Midnight. “So… er…” He could feel the impending weight of guilt ready to crush him if he followed through with his desire. Frédéric’s disappoint at his betrayal. Vinyl’s possible downheartedness. Octavia’s wrath at his actions.

But he didn’t care. He had finally grown weary of letting nature constantly take its course… and his happiness. He wanted to make a life-changing decision for once in his life. Even if it would blow up tragically in his face.

So he leaned in, stooping to her eye level.

“Midnight… wha–?”

He kissed her.

Not a mere childish peck on the cheek, but a connection between his lips and hers. He could feel his heart soar into the heavens, his brain letting loose gallons of dopamine to reward him for overcoming his internal struggle. It was a milestone for him, to be even remotely intimate with somepony. He knew he was uncoordinated with his lips, leaving them stationary and slightly puckered, but forcing his tongue down her throat was not the better option.

But he knew he had to make it as quick and as clean as he possibly could, for fear he would ruin the moment.

And her shoving him away made that all the easier.

The next thing he could feel was a surging sting of pain in his left cheek, his glasses barely sticking to his face. “How… dare you!” screeched Octavia in disgust, retracting her hand from slapping him. She was blushing madly, eyes contracted in fury. “You… you nightcrawler!” She didn’t care that she had promised not to call him that name. She was livid that he had performed such a crass and boorish action. He knew all too well that she was in love with Frédéric, yet he had shown no compassion or understanding for that fact. He had acted with insensitivity and lust, at least from her point of view. “Wretched, rat-eating, cavedweller!”

Each word felt like a spear, razor-sharp and as fiery as molten magma, goring through Midnight. He hated those slurs she screamed at him. But rather than lash out in anger, he could only stand there in heartache and terror, as the one pony he actually felt he had loved had reciprocated his affections with disdain and enmity. “Wh… please, listen to what I–”

“No!” She shrieked, as though she were a little filly who disagreed with something. Many of the ponyfolk were staring at the two of them and their quarrel. “I want to hear nothing out of your mouth. We’re departing from this city first thing tomorrow. And when we get back to Canterlot, I’m going to visit the Princesses for this… abomination.” Midnight winced. “They will have you removed from your job, your home, everything! I want them to get you out of my life! Understand?!”

His legs felt like lead beneath him, until he had slumped pathetically onto the ground. He was praying to deity after deity that this was merely some sick joke. But as she stomped away, shoving the crowd members ferociously out of her path, he knew that this was cold, cruel reality. “No…” he whimpered, the back of his eyes searing. Don’t cry, damn you.

Octavia departed, stomping away in an outraged huff. All he could do was watch her leave. Don’t… not here, at least. He was only capable of sitting there, silently crying, the saline pooling on the lenses of his spectacles. It wasn’t long before he fell onto the ground, pounding a fist into the cobblestone in frustration, suffocating on nothing as he wept like a foal onto the cold hard earth. He could feel the dust that she had reduced his heart to—grains finer than talcum powder, yet sharper than shattered glass—slicing through him in self-dejection.

Of course you’d sob like a little girl. You couldn’t even properly tell somepony you’re in love with them, let alone be a stallion for thirty seconds.

He was glad nopony could see him laying there miserably, failing to choke back tears. Disappointment would rain down upon him for lamenting in such a fashion at his age. He’d have no words to justify his weeping to anypony – not his friends, not his family, not the shah, not the citizens.

For all he could feebly choke out was the word, “No.”

~End of Chapter XVIII~

Epilogue - Joie de Vivre

Epilogue – Joie de Vivre

The return to Canterlot was emotionally excruciating.

All they could do was wait in the Friendship Express for the next two hours until the locomotive arrived to their destination. Midnight’s only real option was to sit in the back of the train cars, smoking his lights with his head wide out the open window, far away from his friends. If they would ever let him call them that: Octavia had no slim desire to share the same cart with Midnight. Not after he had kissed her that night.

It was that action that had decimated every one of her plans to romantically connect with Frédéric. It… irritated her! She had actually done a fair job in percolating such a procedure, even if it had been for an hour or more, so as to end up in Frédéric’s arms, to have him kiss her passionately underneath the flurry of colorful fireworks! Instead, that uppity cavedweller Midnight had to eviscerate her plans into oblivion by carting her away and… orally violating her!

Frédéric himself was heavily confounded by what Midnight had done, having presumed Midnight was too humble to kiss Octavia behind everypony’s backs. Simultaneously, however, there was no denying that he thought Octavia had overreacted. He never expected a distinguished, well-composed mare to slam the panic button like she did when Midnight had kissed her. He knew that he was in love with her; as was Frédéric. Yet, this side of her he had never seen before… it irked him. He was torn between going to comfort the pony he loved, and the friend he cared for.

Vinyl herself was also cleaved in twain by such desires. Octavia had reported the scribe’s actions to her, as well as her disgusted opinions about the experience, all of last night. Vinyl did her best to emit as much empathy as possible for her best friend. After all, she’s had days where she had witnessed her previous crushes trading spittle with some overly-busty, yet skeletally-thin bimbo. But after about fifteen minutes, Vinyl had grown annoyed by the ranting. She ought to have told Octavia off for devastating Midnight, for leaving him behind to wallow in misery.

But as the old quote goes, those with the important issues on their mind won’t speak up, whilst those with trivial matters won’t shut up.

The two hours that seemed to stretch onwards into an oblivious eternity had finally come to a screeching halt with the train’s pistons and wheels, as they arrived at long last in Canterlot Station. The instant the doors hissed open was when Octavia and the others stormed off the locomotive with their luggage, Midnight trailing weakly behind them.

Frédéric kept looking back at the downtrodden Sarosian. Midnight looked to his pianist friend with hope, vainly praying that Frédéric would swoop in and rescue him from this pit he had burrowed himself into. “Come along, now, Frédéric, darling,” commanded Octavia briskly, picking up speed. Frédéric only shook his head, leaving the scribe to hang his own once more.

All Midnight was capable of doing was drowning in his guilt.

The four would go their separate ways, three of them for Vinyl and Octavia’s home, one of them for Midnight’s towering abode. Midnight teleported into the room with his suitcase, eagerly tackling his bed in an oddly-compatible mesh of anger and melancholy. The weight of Jericho jumping on top of him, excited to see his master and best friend return, no longer lightened his mood.

“This is why you should listen to me,” clamored his brain. “Your heart is stupid as shit.”

“Oh, put a blood clot in it, you jackass,” grumbled his damaged heart. “I never expected this to happen, alright?”

“Of course you didn’t! You act on impulse, with neither fear nor recognition of the consequences whatsoever.”

“Oh, and because you overanalyze things to death, you’re suddenly the superior organ in this podunk body?”

“Yes, dipstick. I’m the reason this ‘podunk body’ has survived your reckless antics long enough in his life to use the bathroom, let alone compute thoughts and responses at a mile a minute.”

“Ugh….” groaned an exasperated Midnight into his pillow, wishing the two vital organs keeping him alive and well would stop working.

~

Octavia could only gaze up at the ceiling the next noon as she lay on the couch in her living room. Yesterday, she had been filled with animosity. It almost seemed to be pouring out of her ears, the way she even refused to acknowledge Midnight’s presence. She had gone to the Princesses, as she had threateningly promised, to have Midnight removed from his exclusive community service sentence. She was rather elated to hear the sound of Princess Luna shredding the contract dictating Midnight’s punishment to pieces. She wouldn’t have to put up with him again.

Her elation soon vanished when Princess Luna had explained that Octavia’s desire to have Midnight removed from his job was not her call: Princess Celestia had hired him in the first place, so the outcome of his fate rested on the solar deity’s shoulders.

She ought to be glad that he was no longer going to be in her presence again. Still, she didn’t find any joy in her solitude.

Vinyl had her final exams today, no doubt whittling away at her three-hour torture-sessions in Computer Algorithms and Advanced Music Composition. Frédéric had to help one of the Canterlot Quartet’s members, Silver Strings, with her instrument. Apparently, her violin required proper tuning, as the sound it was currently making was as soothing as a saw buzzing through sheets of metal.

Without anypony to entertain her, keep her busy, or at least make small talk with her, she was slowly circling the drain of boredom.

I know, she deduced, snapping from the monotony of her current ceiling-staring routine. I’ll play my cello. It no doubt has to help alleviate this dull atmosphere, right?

She returned from her room moments later, sitting down in a chair from the kitchen table, the weighty instrument propped against her knee, her fingers curled gingerly along the strings on the cello’s neck. She held her maple bow high, poised to summon forth musical prowess.

Out came forth low, eloquent notes, reverberating along the walls of her apartment. She was gradually melting into her music, relinquishing her iron-clad grip on her current qualms.

*TWANG!*

Octavia’s heart stopped for a fraction of a second, as a recognizable sound shattered her concentration. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” She glared at the bow in her hands with apprehension, the traditional horsehair connected from end to end severed somewhere in the middle. “Damn!” she swore. It was the bow that her mother had given her when she had first earned her Cutie Mark. It can’t have snapped from measly wear and tear! It was coated with a very durable wax!

She examined the bow’s horsehair further. It wasn’t at all a rough cut one would expect from objects damaged over time. The laceration was clean, straight, deliberate.

She would have blamed it on Vinyl, on the off-chance that this was a practical joke. Yet Vinyl had not moved from her seat on the Friendship Express. Moreover, Octavia’s light sleeping would have been interrupted by the DJ thumping about in the middle of the night to perform her grand scheme.

She instead immediately turned her blame’s ugly, voracious head towards Midnight. He had magic far more advanced than Vinyl: he could have damaged her instrument without any of them knowing it. “That bastard… he’ll regret this!”

~

Midnight shivered.

“Oh, dear,” he muttered, his eyes diverted from his work for a fraction of a second. Spread out before him was an unwelcome plethora of documents to read, bills and taxes to pay, letters to the Princesses to answer/discard, spells and historical works written in archaic, dead languages that he could translate. The last month of inactivity had meant that the workload had intensified. Four hours of dedicated focus, and not even in a tenth of his paperwork was completed. “This is gonna kill me, isn’t it, Jericho?”

“Eeh….” sighed a bored Jericho, the monkey playing with a tennis ball to cope with said boredom. A few abrupt thumps at the door threw them out of their stupors. Midnight actually smiled a bit, relieved that he could take some form of a break from his work. He made his way to the door, slipping on pajama pants so as to be at least a bit presentable.

“Who could that be?” he murmured, opening the door to reveal– “Oh. It’s you.” Octavia stood at the entrance, arms crossed in a constricting manner across her bosom, tapping her hoof lightly as she leered at Midnight. “What next? You gonna murder me in my own home?”

“Did you destroy my bow?”The mare presented her broken cello bow to Midnight.

“No,” Midnight snapped, the sight of Octavia tormenting him. The agony in his heart could only grow more and more unbearable, as he unwillingly reminisced the hateful words she had spewed at him, two nights ago.

He proceeded to close the door behind him. It, however, was held fast by Octavia’s hoof planted firmly in its path.

“Don’t lie to me,” she warned.

“I swear to you, I have no honest clue as to why it broke.” Maybe your lumberjack-like arms put too much force and broke the damn thing, thought Midnight with cruelty. This time, he no longer berated himself for thinking such a harsh thought.

He then noticed that the cut on her bow was clean as a whistle. The chances of its breaking being an accident were slim to none. “Lemme see it?” he asked, intrigued by the anomaly.

“Why, so that you could possibly do more damage to it?” Octavia asked angrily. The bow was soon enveloped in a corona of lime-green magic, and yanked from her grip. “Hey!”

“Shut up for a bit,” he said simply, walking back inside his house towards the couch. A bottle of scotch sat there on the coffee table with a blue tumbler glass. Taking off his glasses, he poured the amber liquid into the glass as he set the bow onto the table.

“Excus–!”

“Omigoooods, you’re so annoyiiiing!” he whined, Octavia’s shrill tone making it difficult for him to concentrate on the matter at hand. The sudden exclamation left her dumbfounded, resulting in the quiet that he requested. “What’s the length of the string?” he asked, taking a swig of his drink, the alcohol searing the back of his throat as it sloshed down his gullet.

He got nothing but mumbling out of her. “I’m pretty sure one sip of scotch doesn’t result in hearing loss,” he said snarkily.

“It is a four-fourths...” she answered skeptically.

Okay. A four-fourths... Measure the length of the bow in inches… twenty-eight. Length, width, height… twenty-five by two-thirds by one-sixteenths. “Get me some scissors, please?”

“What are you doing?” Octavia asked, returning with a pair of sharp shears. He removed them from her grip with his magic, his hand occupied with his tail hair. He tried to separate the necessary bundles of hair to fit the previous bowstring’s proportions, yet each handful of his ivory locks didn’t feel right to him. He grabbed his tail and held it taut, wincing from the tugging sensation. “Wait!”

*SSSNIP*

The long mass of his tail, severed from its roots, fell quietly to the ground. He grabbed a small tuft of it and straightened it out, measuring out the dimensions before clipping away at it to let it resemble the previous bowstring’s former glory. He carefully disassembled the bow, discarding the old string, and replacing it with his tail hair. He recombobulated the bow and returned it to Octavia, who could only accept it in silence.

She held it in the dim light of the living room. It reflected off the shiny, sleek surface of Midnight’s hair, almost mirror-like as she examined how taut, how orderly the thick mass of fibers were inside her bow. “Why did you do that?” she finally blurted out. “Whilst drinking, no less?

“Because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t stop pestering me while I worked,” Midnight simply answered, reaching for his wallet on the table. “And besides, why do you care if I like to marinate my liver in alcohol?” He pulled out a hundred-Bit note, offering it to Octavia. “Buy some of that reinforcing wax that your old bowstring had. Keep the change.”

Octavia was beginning to feel... guilty? Was that the emotion that was ravaging through her, like molten lava through a helpless little village? She clutched her heart in shame as Midnight looked down at her. As though she had done something unforgivable.

And she realized she had. She ought to have picked a more sensitive way to tell Midnight that she didn’t love him. She blamed it all on the pique of the moment, where she was ecstatic at the very prospect of giving her heart to Frédéric, and he had unknowingly foiled her plans. She was slowly coming to terms with the fact that perhaps she had flown off the handle there.

Wait… why is this happening? I shouldn’t be wallowing in this godsforsaken anguish and regret! she internally argued. But despite her mental reprimandations, the stigma that plagued her refused to leave. “... I can’t. It would be insulting and crude for me to accept your money. I had just finished robbing you of your tail... and your dignity,” she said in dejection.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry,” he insisted, placing the bill in her hand and clamping her fingers around it tightly. He repressed as much timidity as he could, denying it to reveal itself on his face. Don’t you dare show an ounce of emotion, you bastard. “Now, get out. I have work to do.” Atta boy.

“Very well, then,” she concluded, heading for the exit. “Oh, and Midnight?” The stallion craned his neck to look at Octavia, who gave a humble little bow and said, “Thank you.”

The door closed behind her. Midnight released a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, letting his cheeks flood with color. It certainly wasn’t from the scotch: he knew his limits.

“Well, back to work,” he said begrudgedly, taking the remnants of his tail hair and chucking them in the bin. The remainder of his tail was short, and ended in a frayed point, much like an artist’s well-used paintbrush. He wiggled his rear’s appendage to clear it of any loose strands. “Eh… it’s an okay cut….”

Going back upstairs to his room, he returned to his desk, sorting through some of the letters now. “Luna, Celestia, Celestia, Twilight, Luna, Twilight, Cadence? She doesn’t even live here….” He chucked that last one aside. “Celestia, Celestia, Celestia…oh? One for me?”

Indeed so. It was a bamboo-green envelope, stamped yet lacking in an address or sender name. Only a letter addressed to “Midnight Oil” with letters cut out from magazines and newspapers… “Odd. I don’t know any extortionists issuing ransoms,” he joked as he slit it open with a butterfly knife to read it.

In the end, he wish he hadn’t even touched it.

The whole print was a death threat. All of the words were arranged from magazine letter-cutouts. “Rumor has it that you had your filthy way with Octavia Philharmonica,” began the anonymous letter. “You disgusting animal. Leave this city if you know what’s good for you.”

“Oh boy. Had my way with her?” said Midnight, slightly nervous about this breaking news. He balled up that letter and tossed it in the wastebasket. He pulled another envelope from the pile, this one also anonymously addressed to him. “Another?”

Reluctantly opening this one, he spread the folds of the letter’s contents wide open. Midnight gulped at the word “NIGHTCRAWLER” that was thumb-drawn in what looked eerily like blood. A curious smell reached his nose. The smell of laundry detergent. He gave the letter’s red inking a precarious whiff, the scent of ammonia ramming through his nostrils. No way could this be traced back.

“Oh dear,” he said in simple horror.

~

One day had gone by.

Then another.

And another.

Before anyone had realized it, it was already the morning of the tenth of June, a week after Midnight and company’s return from Hoofghanistan. Every day since then, the Sarosian did nothing but chip away at his month’s worth of mountainous paperwork, all the while coping with the hate letters regarding him and Octavia being an item. He was thankful that he could start a bonfire for all of it on his balcony.

His gratefulness for such primitive ingenuity was punctured like a balloon full of air when something had struck him in the side of the head. “OW!” He bellowed, clutching the spot next to his temple where the pain radiated. The object in question was a small, gray stone speckled with red: it had drawn blood on impact. He shook his head to clear it of the stunning blunt-trauma aftereffect. “What the…” Unless somepony had both godlike accuracy and a very powerful slingshot, the stone he repeatedly turned in his hand shouldn’t have been able to land its shot.

Tied to the stone was a note. “There’s more,” it read.

He really was wondering if Octavia had some sort of underground, secret fanclub that considered anything intimate with her as a sacrilegious act against the gods.

That was when a horrific oracle hit him as hard as the rock in his grip had. He really was being threatened out of his home by this troupe of terrorists. He shuddered at the thought, unwilling to leave the home he had started here. He enjoyed the life that he had molded with his bare hands, had fought tooth and nail for. He liked working for the Princesses. He found the city wonderfully charming, even if the cityfolk were less than that.

But, he hung his head low in sorrow. That was just it. The cityfolk. While he may not have done anything to infuriate the citizens of Canterlot, they still didn’t take kindly to half-breeds like him. The friends he had made may not want him around anymore: Vinyl and Frédéric never even called him, let alone come by to visit. The two guards he had befriended, Cirrus Storm and Scorch Shot, were probably too busy with their duties to pay half a mind to him. And Octavia…

It was all he could do to not drown in further misery as he remembered her last visit here. He didn’t like this situation in the slightest, to be dangled horrifically over such a deadly pit. He especially didn’t like these fight or flight choices that circumstance had cursed him with. He could cut himself free, leave. Move somewhere new, have a different job. Or he could linger here, despite what drastic consequences would come stampeding his way.

He was smart. He knew the obvious choice.

He laid out the last of his business receipts, added them up, and wrote them off before scuttling away to a little closet beside his computer desk. Inside were two suitcases. He withdrew them from the closet and laid them down flat on the ground.

“Jericho…” he called. “Let’s pack our stuff up. I’m giving my two-weeks notice to Princess Celestia.”

The chimp came upstairs from the kitchen, peering at Midnight with sad eyes. “Eeh oh ah?” Why’re we leaving?

“It’s… it’s no longer safe here, champ.”

“Eeh?” Why? Midnight could feel his heart break at the chimp’s pained questions. He could tell Jericho liked it here. He knew that it would be difficult for him to adapt to life in a new city: the monkey was only three years old, in equine years.

“Because… if we stay here any longer… well, you know how not a lot of ponies here even like me? You or I could get hurt. Badly, you know?”

Jericho shook his head angrily, and chirped back his response. That’s not true! Vinyl likes you! Freddy likes you! Octavia likes you! Cirrus, Scorch, the Princesses! Don’t they like you?!

Midnight bit his lip, doing all in his power to keep from crying. He wanted to believe his primate companion. He truly did. But after hearing the monkey shriek for an explanation, he could no longer resist breaking down. “I wish that were true, buddy.” He could only hug Jericho tightly, emerald eyes gushing torrents of saline onto the monkey’s head.

He was alone again, drifting once more in painful solitude through the universe. Even if he had been friends with Octavia, Vinyl, Frédéric, Cirrus Storm, and Scorch Shot for only a month, he would have been easily fooled into believing that it had been for eons.

~

Unbeknownst to him, he wasn’t alone in his melancholy. Octavia herself felt a strange absence as of late. It was uncomfortable to witness such an uninhabited hole in life.

She had realized it on her walk to the supermarket, two weeks later. They had run out of Itailian spices for a new recipe Octavia wanted to test drive. At least, that was what she had told Vinyl over the phone. In reality, she wanted to find some new form of coping with her unbearable ennui. She had pulled up out of the door with her items in her arms, mind racing with what she could do next.

However, due to her lack of attention, she didn’t notice the pony she collided with. Chills bombarding her spine as déjà vu began to rear its head: the place of collision, the evening dusk hanging over the air. Her heart actually skipped a beat at who she thought it could be.

“Mid–?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am!” said a store clerk, offering his hand to her. “Are you alright?”

Just like that, her voice died in her throat as she feebly took his hand and rose to her hooves. She accepted his apology and proceeded to pick up her fallen groceries, crestfallen by the sudden turn of events.

She missed Midnight.

The first two days after their return, she didn’t care what he did, whether he lived or died. It was already three weeks, and she was feeling the bitter sting of his absence. She missed him, indeed. She missed his wacky antics, wiseacre attitude, brilliant aura, friendly glow. Maybe the reason why she was so quick to accuse him of destroying her cello’s bowstring was because she wanted to at least get to see him, if only for a moment.

It certainly wasn’t a pleasant visit for either of them. If she was feeling awful, Celestia knows what Midnight’s probably undergoing.

All she could do was return home, the whispering of the pedestrians haunting her on her sojourn back.

“That’s her, right?”

“Did she really let that nightcrawler kiss her? How deplorable.”

“Her parents would be infuriated if they heard this.”

She really ought to have not told Frédéric on the train in the first place. Eavesdropping has become a big practice for gossip extraordinaires.

Octavia made her way into her apartment, turning the key in the lock and pushing her room door ajar with her rear. “Hey, Tavi,” greeted Vinyl, the alabaster mare curled up in the armchair with a comic book in her grasp. She planted the groceries on the counter and slumped onto the couch. She sighed, as she then remembered to test the new bowstring for her cello.

She found it still leaning against the kitchen table, placed there as though begging to be played. She sat on a chair, instrument propped against her knee, bow in hand and eager to give birth to musical beauty.

Midnight’s white hairs worked just as well as her previous bowstring. The thick chords, properly tightened and treated carefully with resilient wax, almost seemed to dance with the wires of her cello that her fingers so lovingly tensed and teased, each exuded note as gorgeous as the last. She was melting into the music, the hauntingly-beautiful orchestra filling the room and echoing off the walls. She felt euphoria enter her bleak life again. The smile creeping on her lips was no longer a forced one.

She pulled her bow away from her cello, signaling the end of her performance. “That was… amazing,” declared Vinyl, stunned by how it gave even her chills.

“Thank you, Vinyl, dear.” Octavia’s grin still lingered as she gazed in earnest at the bow, examining the ivory strings with care, like a mother would her babe. “Listen, Vinyl. I have something I feel I must discuss with you.”

“Alright, then, pal. Fire away,” said the unicorn, diverting her sunglass-shaded eyes to peer through them at her friend.

“Well… is it odd that I… miss Midnight?” She put down the bow and cello cautiously.

Vinyl removed her sunglasses, the grape-colored tint making way for her ruby-red eyes. “Well, don’t you?”

“I… suppose.”

“You suppose?” Vinyl slowly became enveloped in her own skepticism. “You haven’t seen him in three weeks, and the last thing he did before he shut us out was chop off his tail for you. You’d be on crack if you didn’t miss him.”

Octavia felt both shocked and downtrodden, staring at Vinyl as though she had insulted her ancestors. “What’s that supposed to mean, might I ask?”

“Tavi, face it.” Vinyl sat up straight to glare sternly at Octavia. “You’re probably one of the first few ponies that he has ever even remotely gotten close to on a romantic level. He felt like he had developed some small inkling of hope that he could have a relationship with you, and you threw it in his face within seconds. You didn’t break his heart that night: you destroyed it.”

There was another emotion bubbling and frothing inside Octavia: anger. “Oh, and I presume the way he rejected you was such a wondrous celebration?” she asked coldly.

“At least he didn’t make me feel like shit afterwards!” barked Vinyl, not at all pleased with the tone her friend was copping. “What kind of pony makes a grown-ass man cry like that?” The silence that left Octavia’s mouth gave Vinyl’s argument more wiggle room to expand and strengthen itself. “Now, I understand that you like Frédéric a lot. But honestly, a year of obsessing over the same stallion who won’t even really look your way is outright pathetic! Move! On! Because all I see, right now, is a spoiled rich brat who thinks that stallions will bend over backwards in her presence!”

“Shut your damn mouth, you trollop!” cried Octavia, refusing to stand for such boorish accusations.

“Make me!” hollered Vinyl.

“I don’t make trash, I burn it!”

*WHACK*

Vinyl withdrew her left fist, knuckles stinging from the pain of launching a haymaker into Octavia’s face. A 125-pound cellist who had not been in a fisticuffs battle in her whole life, up against a 140-pound DJ who has had more than her fair share of scuffles growing up, had the same winning odds as a kitten had to a wolverine. Octavia dropped into her chair, stunned beyond all reason as her right cheek began to emit screeching pain. She screeched with it, the sensation unreal to her. “You... bitch! You hit me!” she stammered in fearful rage.

“Damn straight.” Vinyl shook her hand to try and vanquish the anguish that lingered from the punch. “Your parents might not have done it to you as a kid, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn from a good ass-kicking now.” She then went to the kitchen and pulled out a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. She tossed the frigid bag of veggies to Octavia, who gingerly put it to her face. “This will make sure it doesn’t swell. Take it on and off every fifteen minutes for the next day or two, you’ll be just fine.”

“Owowowowow…” she blubbered, assuring that the peas covered the affected area, the sharp chill soothing to her bruises. “Thank you. That was… that was quite a punch.”

“Yeah, well. When you’ve got ugly creeps trying to fondle you while you’re behind the turntables, you oughta show them what’s what.” Vinyl casually blew some nonexistent dust from her left fist. “I never really expected you to say such a crazy comeback like that. Who taught you that? Midnight? ‘Cause it sure as hay wasn’t me.”

“Haven’t the foggiest. Maybe his… cantankerous wit rubbed off on me.”

“I’ll say.” Vinyl rubbed the back of her head. “I’m sorry I clocked you like that.”

“And I’m sorry I got testy with you in the first place.” Octavia grinned weakly at her friend, who gave her a warm hug in return. It was in the middle of the embrace that she remembered something rather crucial, and relative to their argument. “I’ll just clear out and head to my room, shall I?”

Octavia entered her room, and pulled out a narrow case from beneath her bed. She flipped the top open and looked at the dazzling rose that rested in its plush cushions. The rose that Galaxy had entrusted her with to make the right choice. “Endurance of Beauty,” she breathed.

Octavia plucked it from out of the case, ever-so-cautious with it should it ever shrivel to dust. She closed her eyes. She thought long and hard about Frédéric Horseshoepin. She focused on every aspect of him. His tall stature, his soft chocolate-colored fur, his sandy hair, his chartreuse eyes, his charming disposition, his sweet words, all the handshakes and hugs that she had shared with him. She adored every single one of his features.

The warmth he emitted.

The mesmerizing music he made.

He was a pure gentlecolt, through and through.

She opened her eyes. The rose did not falter. It neither intensified in radiance, nor did it wither in her grip.

Octavia closed her eyes again. She visualized Midnight Oil in her head. The ash-gray fur. The emerald-green eyes with daggerlike pupils. The white locks of his lengthy mane. His in-your-face attitude, his witty retorts, his extreme intelligence. His caring nature. His patience. His sensitivity. His thoughtful, loving, intricately-spun words. She reminisced on how it felt when he had kissed her. It was a little unnerving, but she still stuck with it. He wasn’t the greatest kisser. Not by a long shot. But she had no doubt in her mind that there are worse.

It was a little dry, almost like she was kissing a cactus.

But warm, as though the Sun’s gentle rays were dancing along her lips.

As a matter of fact, he was the first one to ever really kiss me in such a way….

She shuffled nervously on her bed at the memory, her cheeks searing something awful. She opened her eyes.

Nothing.

“Hmm?” She looked at the mysterious rose in curiosity. It looked and felt real in her fingers. Something should have happened, no doubt.. She put the rose back down in the case, bewildered by this development. She noticed a rolled-up piece of paper in the mold of the cushions. “Oh, what’s this now?” She removed the paper and unfurled it.

It was a note from Galaxy.

Dear Octavia,

You silly fool. Did you really believe that I would entrust you with a very dear treasure of mine that my husband raced to the ends of Equestria to get? I merely planted a fake in your bag.

Now, do not believe that I am telling you this because I think that you are very naïve or crazy. But please, understand this. You do not need a materialistic object to convey an intangible emotion. Whomever you love, be it that Frédéric fellow, my son Midnight, or some other random bloke, I welcome it. Go with your gut feeling. That is why it is called “falling in love” with somepony. They will either catch you, or laugh as you hit the ground.

Love,
~Galaxy

P.S.: your Equuish language is very annoying. I had Night Glider and Star Hopper properly convey my thoughts in this message, big words and all.

Octavia shifted view from the note, to the flower. Back to the note. She stifled her laughter at the letter and fake rose, rather amused by how well she had been played. She can be several thousand miles away and still play a role in my life, she mused. She then remembered the severe pain that Vinyl had issued to her face, making it hard for her to really crack a smile. “Ow!”

Octavia sighed as she mulled over both Galaxy’s message, and Vinyl’s furious words. It had been a year since she had fallen in love with Frédéric. She was patient, for twelve months, in the hopes that the stallion of her dreams would reciprocate her desires of love. But nothing had happened. He no doubt had to be oblivious. That, or worse—he was in love with somepony else.

He did seem to be hitting it off with violinist Silver Strings quite well….

No, no, no! Don’t jump to conclusions like that! It felt off for her to immediately hurdle toward a hasty generalization such as that one. Already, she was spiraling into doubt and fear about who was doing what.

She noticed something written on the back of the note Galaxy had inscribed.

“If you love somepony, let them go. For if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were.” —Khalil Gibrony

She sighed once more, examining the quote that broke the shell that enclosed her understanding. She remembered the day in Donut Joe’s doughnut parlor, how Midnight had not only defended his honor, but hers and Vinyl’s as well. He knew he had a chance of losing, but he still did it. It was a crime that would have gone unaddressed otherwise.

She remembered that he had actually taken the time to get to know her much better than prior their trip to Hoofghanistan. He wanted to know what she liked, disliked, her hobbies, her past. She had, of course, told Frédéric these details, yet the difference being that Midnight had asked, while she had just prattled to Frédéric.

She gave the options much thought, the numbing cold of the bag of peas helping her concentrate heavily on the matter.

…

…

…

“Vinyl, I’m heading out,” she said, her decision made. She analyzed her clothes in the mirror. She believed to be overdressed, for once. The dark tuxedo pants and vest, and pink bowtie seemed to be too prominent for her in that moment. She stripped herself of such confining clothing, yet felt like the casual outfit she had been planning to equip was not in her repertoire. “Can I borrow some clothes, please?”

“Knock yourself out!” Vinyl cried back.

“You already did!” she joked, earning a hearty laugh from her fellow mare. She then came out in black sweatpants, a red tank top, and a white zip-up hoodie with green trim. “Thank you very much. I will see you soon.”

“Sure thing, Tavi. Take care.” Octavia closed the door behind her, left the complex, and made her way to the castle. She had a pair of cheap earbuds plugged in to her phone, gracing her eardrums with Trottschalk and Ólafur Arnalds. It did more than make her impervious to the leers and mumbling of the ponyfolk.

If only for an instant, she could at least look like she had had stopped giving a care for their high standards on what the proper pony ought to be.

Her heart thumped slightly as she made her way to the castle. She made a small beeline for a very familiar tower. No real plan in mind, no faint inkling of what to really do. Climbing up the hundred meters of stairs to Midnight’s home was no easy task, yet she felt it was a task worth accomplishing. She reached the top, knocking on the door fervently. She could hear the faint sound of shuffling hooves and stammering. She waited for the door to swing ajar.

“Oh, hey,” Midnight greeted, standing there rather anxiously in a pair of jeans and a lavender button-up. He found Octavia’s new attire a pleasant surprise from the hubbub going on in his house at the moment.

“Hello,” Octavia returned. “May I come in?”

“...I don’t know. It’s… a bit of a bad time.”

“Well, surely a few minutes can’t hurt?”

Midnight took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright. Come on in.” He made way for her. She entered to see Jericho speed towards her, jumping in her arms and hugging her tightly. Returning the gesture, she noticed the two suitcases that were filled to their brims and sealed with deadbolts.

“What, eh… what’s happening?” she asked curiously. Midnight didn’t answer her. He looked at the ground, ashamed, twirling a hoof into the carpet. He refused to meet her eyes. Her concern spawned forth nervousness. “Are… are you leaving?” she then asked, a bit of fear in her voice. He nodded after a fair minute’s silence. “Where to?”

“Horseattle,” he finally said. “Got a deal for a nice little house there. Train will be here tomorrow morning at eight.”

Octavia could feel a solid mass coagulating in her throat. She swallowed it away. “Will you… be back home, at least?”

Midnight tilted his head. She seemed to be rather caring as of late. He ought to be grateful, yet he was intrigued. Still, he better answer the question… despite his lack of desire to. “No.” He sat down on the couch, his tumbler glass no longer filled with scotch. He offered the seat next to him to Octavia, which she accepted. “It is no longer safe here for me… so I have to leave.”

“Midnight, dear, you don’t have to do anything,” argued Octavia, keeping herself well composed externally. On the inside, however, she was severely hurt by her friend’s urge to depart and leave her be. "I assure you, you can stay here as long as you want."

“And keep having more death threats and hate mail at my doorstep? I can’t even step outside without looking over my shoulder for somepony with a lead pipe or a knife.” He was genuinely afraid. He was afraid for himself, and his pet. “I already turned in my two weeks notice to Princess Celestia. She gave me a recommendation to go into private investigation, which is a completely different field than the one I’m in now. As of today, I no longer work for her. So, please try to understand. I am stressed beyond all logical explanation, and I've finally become terrified of living here. I don’t belong here. I never have, and I never will.”

“That’s not true.” Octavia could feel her eyes slowly burning, tears threatening to leak. She couldn’t believe it. It had to be some sort of cruel gesture by the gods themselves. Surely, she would wake up in her bed, and it would all be some bizarre, tormenting nightmare. “That’s not true at all. You belong here. With the Princesses, with Frédéric, with Vinyl, with me!”

But there was no blanket being thrown up in the air in shock.

There were no cold sweats and fearful state of mind that would follow this horrendous "nightmare."

“Octavia.” He slipped a hand underneath her chin. She shivered at his touch, yet out of surprise rather than disgust. “I can’t throw you under this… steamroller with me. If I stay here with all of you, I’ll just bring shame and danger to you, to Frédéric, to Vinyl, to all my friends here. The Princesses even get flak from some of the other countries about why they hired a Sarosian as their scribe, their assistant, their personal freakin’ recordskeeper.” Midnight sighed, percolating his next words. “I’m a liability to you guys, now that these threats are getting more intense. If any of you get caught up in the crossfire, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“I don’t care.” She shook her head profusely, wiping the tears that clung to her eyelashes. She peered intently into his emerald irises, her pulse starting to quicken. “You… could never bring me shame, Midnight.”

Midnight’s heart began accelerating in his chest as she went to hug him, the embrace a long-lasting, tender one. He would miss the smell of magnolias she gave off, the feel of her arms wrapped around him. She pulled away as the first sounds of rain began to pitter-patter against the windows of the living room, the thick quilt of clouds shielding the night sky from the earth.

If you love somepony, let them go. For if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were.

...a year of obsessing over the same stallion who won’t even really look your way is outright pathetic!

Go with your gut feeling. That is why it is called “falling in love” with somepony. They will either catch you, or laugh as you hit the ground.

Vinyl was right.

A year of waiting for Frédéric to return her feelings was far too long.

“May I… see it… before you go?” she asked, the heat in her cheeks now very apparent. She began to slowly unbutton his shirt, peeling away at the folds of cotton.

“Octavia… please, don’t,” Midnight implored, well aware of what she wanted to see.

She had already reached the ribcage, and had found what she was looking for. Along his ashen fur, in the center of his chest, was one long, vertical scar, embroidered with stitch marks. The mark of his cardiac surgery, where his best friend has given him his heart to help him live on. “It’s okay…” she cooed, eyeing it with care, stroking along it with a thumb. She placed her lips upon it, kissing the disfigurement the same way a worshipper kisses his idol’s hooves, or a knight kisses his queen’s ring.

Octavia pulled back, redoing Midnight’s shirt and placing her hands on his hips. She swallowed another lump in her throat. Her next words would decide their fate, whether it be for the better or for the worse. She was ready. She was prepared for all the wonderful, horrible, beautiful, terrible things that would be held in store for her if she proceeded to say it. “Midnight Oil, son of Comet Ash, son of Umbral Quasar. I...” Come on... say it, now. “I... I love you.”

Midnight’s heart rate continued to rise as he heard the phrase escape her lips. He did his best to calm his pulse. He readjusted his hand onto her chin. He scanned her alluring orchid eyes for any sincerity in her words. He was captivated by them, and everything else about her, be they her posh accent, her sense of style, her talent with the cello, her amazing figure, and her heart of gold. She was too good to be true. It had to be a dream. “Do you… love me?” she asked, cheeks burning feverishly as her voice bordered between both hope and fear.

Dare he say it? Dare he say what he had been feeling for over a month to her, lest it be an illusion, and he was to wake up in his bed, frustrated and heartbroken? “Of course I do,” he answered. “I love you. And I will always love you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality… I will love you, Octavia.”

He saw tears escape from the corners of her eyes, a very warm and overjoyed smile on her lips. Her cheeks were rosy, glowing from heat, touched by the string of words that he had captivated her with. “You mean it?”

“For you, a thousand times over.”

He could hardly believe it, this tremendous event in his life.

Octavia Melody Philharmonica.

The most spectacular, most talented, and most beautiful pony he had ever laid eyes upon…

...loved him.

“I thought I told you to call me Tavi,” she giggled weakly.

“Why would I ever simplify the wonderful name of such a beautiful mare?” He leaned in to kiss her, squashing away any and all fear of the possible ramifications as he went to place his lips onto hers. She accepted the contact happily, her hands finding the sides of his face and clinging softly to it. She melted into it overtime, the two of them sidling closer together, hands upon the other’s backs, until they were against the armrest, Octavia cradled in Midnight’s arms. Neither of them were very coordinated, yet they guided each other, giving each other the right signals to their dance. When to tilt their heads. When to put more force in their liplock. When to accept a tongue that one would prod at the other’s teeth.

They pulled away, a clean break, no cliché spittle rope between their lips. Midnight continued to lock eyes with Octavia, drowning in those luxurious oceans of wine. He was intoxicated off of her almost instantaneously. “I was right… it’s like kissing a cactus,” she chuckled.

“Hey,” he grumbled.

“But… it’s very warm. As though I were huddled next to a fireplace in the midst of Hearth’s Warming Eve.” She briefly kissed him again, lips interlocked. “More,” she moaned, brain bubbling with oxytocin from the pleasure of his actions. She became firmer in her kiss, wishing to engulf every inch of him. “More… more….”

They separated again after almost a minute of their oral embrace, breathing harder than before. Octavia rested her head on Midnight’s chest, making sure she was laying atop it with her left cheek. She listened to his heart beating powerfully, loudly against her ears, his bosom rising and falling in a soothing rhythm. It reminded her of ocean waves, the currents pushing her in and out. He was as warm as a furnace, radiating high doses of sleep-inducing heat.

“You… could come with me, you know,” suggested Midnight. “Horseattle is thirty minutes from here. You could come back to Canterlot to see all of your friends and family.”

Octavia lifted her head from its resting place. “Wait, you can’t possibly mean–”

“I do. But, it’s all up to you. Whatever you wish, I welcome it.”

She pondered his offer very seriously. She would be able to be with Midnight, not letting distance separate them. She could be able to expand her musical prowess further in Equestria.

Yet… she would be leaving her friends and family behind. She would abandon her position as first string cellist in the Canterlot Quartet. She’d be destroying what remained of her reputation… all of the memories she had made here. She would find it difficult to part with this city, in all of its glory, and the elegant rapture that caught her eye every time.

But if the town found out she was dating Midnight, what did her reputation matter? They would turn on her like flowers towards the Sun.

“You… want me to live with you?” Octavia asked. Midnight nodded. “But… this is so sudden... I mean, I’m absolutely honored, don’t misunderstand!”

“It’s okay, relax,” said Midnight, holding up a hand to request her silence. “I know it’s a huge step—astronomical, at that—so I understand if you don’t want to. Just know that… when you do, my door will always be open.”

“You… you mean it?” Octavia asked, smiling at the kind gesture he was offering. He nodded once again. “I… I’d like to sleep on it, if that’s alright with you.”

“Take all the time you need, ma douce déesse.” Midnight’s heart fluttered at her giggle as he pulled her closer to him. He looked out the window, only to find that it was still raining. “Do you want me to take you home?” He could feel her shaking her head in rejection to the idea.” Do you… want to just… stay here and cuddle?” He suggested, face searing again. She nodded.

Midnight slowly sat up and adjusted Octavia's sleeping body so that she could be carried in his arms princess-style when he stood up. She clung to his neck, head resting peacefully in the cozy cranny between his shoulder blade and collar bone. He walked cautiously upstairs, taking care not to ruin the moment by accidentally bumping her against a wall or a door threshold.

Midnight would take Octavia to his room. He would draw the covers of his bed back and lay her down as gently as anypony could. He would reduce himself into pajamas and sidle into bed with her. He would hold her the entire night, and she him, hooves intertwined. The lulling respite of raindrops would glide through their ears and bless them with the majesty of slumber they had been longing for for weeks. They would find each other’s loving company to be ethereal and eternal.

For in the dew of little things, their hearts would find their mornings, and be refreshed.

~The End~

Author's Note

Huzzah.

I have finished. Granted, it was a bitch to write.

To all my proud watchers of this story, I cannot thank you enough for sticking with this utter rubbish to the very end. And to all you new watchers of this story, I'm honored that you even gave this fic a chance. Honestly, you guys are amazing. Your attention to detail, your feedback (both positive and negative), all of it has fueled me with the drive to finish this bad boy. I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

I have more fanfictions to finish, as well as some new ones that I'm percolating in my mind as of the moment. Thank you once again for sticking with me on such a big doozy of mine.

So, the real question: will there, or will there not be clop of this? I wonder....

It's all up to you. Whatever your decisions, I welcome it. :)

I am most sincerely yours,
~Deyeaz

I - Pilot

~At Your Service~

A nonprofit My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fanfiction written by Deyeaz

I - Pilot

*Tick-tock-tick-tock*

*BONG... BONG... BONG...*

The large grandfather clock in the corner of Canterlot's incredulously gargantuan library chimed eight times in gradual succession. Rivers of sunlight streamed through the massive glass windows, blessing the area with light for one's vision. Both the sun's position during its sojourn across the sky littered with grey clouds and the clock's reverberating pealing announced that it was eight o'clock in the morning.

Midnight Oil yawned loudly, his sleep schedule completely gone awry from early morning book-reading and number-crunching. In about four hours more, when the sun would peak in its celestial journey, he would have to resume his typical routine of writing down and recording every last words that the Royal Sisters had to iterate at every meeting, every speech, every little get-together. Regardless of whether or not it's a war debacle, or a simplistic tea party, Midnight had to be there to take note of it all.

"Good grief," the Sarosian grumbled, closing the huge tome he had been reading: 'Starswirl the Bearded's Advanced Spellbook For The Training Unicorn - Level 7'. After putting all of his quill and big stack of parchment into his saddlebags, he stood up, cracked his sore back with great gusto, and made his way out of the library. Midnight winced as he stepped into the golden shower of sunlight. Sarosians, while able to trek casually about during the day, were more accustomed to the dark, as their eyes were sensitive to bright and harsh light. "I need shut-eye—at least some of it."

Midnight let off a huge yawn again before pushing his thick glasses up his nose and ambled off to the highest tower of the castle, where he had taken up residence. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, fingers curling around the keys to his room. Once inside the castle, the smell of food wafting from the kitchen infiltrated his nostrils, ensnaring his attention and taunting his barren belly. Hopefully, he can sneak into the mess hall, snag something to munch, and escape without trouble.

*RRRRRRRRR*

His stomach growled loudly, drawing the attention of a few guards passing by. The duo of guards raised an eyebrow in unison. Embarrassed as he was that his belly betrayed his location, Midnight chuckled embarrassingly, and made his way to the mess hall, the questioning glares of the guards never leaving Midnight as he pushed through the doors.

The mess hall was an impressively massive room, crammed with tables to seat eight guards each. Midnight walked over to the lunchmare's counter, the soles of his dress horseshoes clacking upon the salt-and-pepper-coloured laminate floor. The guards sprinkled here and there were already wolfing down their breakfast with vigour, the camaraderie transferring to and fro like a contagious ailment.

Midnight reached the counter and cleared his throat, getting the lunchmare's attention. "The usual, please," Midnight requested.

The aquamarine lunchmare with the manenet and the mole on her left cheek simply shook her head and said, "Sorry, pal. We're all out of salmon... and chicken... and every other meat."

"What do you mean? That's ridiculous. How can you run out of salmon so fast?" Midnight, sharp teeth bared in agitation, could not believe that the lunchmare was withholding his breakfast on him. "I'm literally the first pony to order it!"

"Not since the Night Guard all raided the kitchens of the meat last night after their shift." Midnight clicked his tongue. The Night Guard, also comprised of winged Sarosians, knew that lack of any meat is what would always get the scribe's goat. After all, Midnight was the only Sarosian who was a unicorn and knew not about the strenuous duties and training that the Royal Guard attended—he was at the bottom of the food chain. "If you want your precious salmon, you'll have to wait about a few more hours before another shipment arrives."

*RRRRRRRR* Unfortunately, Midnight didn't really have "a few more hours". "You have to be kidding me...." he hissed under his breath.

With a grumble of agitation, he asked for a salad with extra croutons and tomatoes, as well as some bread. As his backup meal was being prepared, a sharp whistle directed to him made him turn around. A large tomato, wrinkly with age, sailed at him at a ridiculous speed, slapping him squarely in the face. Tomato juice cascaded down his muzzle, staining his black vest and white button-up shirt. Thankfully, none of it had slipped through his black cap and tainted his hair.

"Bon appetit, nightcrawler!" jeered the Royal Guard who had thrown the offending scarlet fruit. The mess hall was filled with insulting laughter, all of it directed to Midnight, who wiped his face clean with his magic.

'Cirrus Storm...' Midnight thought angrily. Cirrus Storm had been all but a nuisance. Athletic, muscular, smooth talker, brave: he was what one would coin a ladies' stallion. To Midnight, and everyone else with logic and reason, Cirrus was nothing more than a stupid pretty boy without enough brains to fill an eggcup.

Not giving Cirrus a chance to get away with what he had done, Midnight's horn glowed again, encasing the guard's head in an acid-green aura before slamming it down into his bowl of cereal. The palpable silence erected by the commotion left a smirk on Midnight's lips as he walked out of the mess hall with his salad and dinner rolls.

Cirrus, who had just been publicly humiliated in retaliation, started to get up from his seat, intent on beating the tar out of the dark-grey scribe and putting him in his place; only the placating remarks from his colleagues about how Midnight wasn't worth it manage to cool down Cirrus's temper. "You'd better watch yourself next time, nightcrawler!"

Midnight hated that word. A lot. This was another reason as to why he hated Cirrus: that word alone had spilled oceans of blood across the pages of history for generations—since the beginning of the Sarosians.

The scribe walked off at the briskest of paces, seething and grumbling in anger and exhaustion.

Meanwhile, in a lovely, cozy little apartment, one mare had taken the time out of her morning to awake her sleepy companion.

"Vinyl. Vinyl, wake up!" wailed Octavia, nudging the sleeping Vinyl Scratch with her hoof. Alas, it was in vain, for even though Octavia had practically launched her off the bed, Vinyl continued to snore on as though nothing happened.

"Mmmmmzmznzm... Donkeh hazzz mah money... zzzzzzzzz...." sleepily droned Vinyl, a bit of spittle trickling down her chin. Octavia, out of impatience, began rummaging through her roommate's clothes drawers, until she had fished out an air horn from the sock drawer. Octavia shook the horn vigorously before aiming it at Vinyl's ear and pressed down on the button.

"GAH!" Vinyl squealed as her eardrums were assaulted by the loud obnoxious blaring of the air horn. She jumped up about six inches into the air, totally surprised out of her wits. Only when she saw Octavia snickering away into her hand did Vinyl's look of shock evaporate and become one of annoyance.

"'Taviiiii!" she whined, grouchy that her peaceful slumber was rudely interrupted. "Why did you do that? I was sleeping...."

"Sleeping IN, Vinyl." Octavia pulled back the window curtains, the sudden sunlight forcing Vinyl Scratch to wince, eyes offended by the illumination. "Come on! It's a rather nice day out."

"Oh sure, a beautiful day... for SNOOZING." And so, underwear and all, Vinyl scrambled lethargically into her bed, and used her magic to weakly close the blinds. "Besides, I've been up all night last night...." Within seconds, she was fast asleep once again, snoring lightly into her pillow.

Octavia groaned. "Goddess, you're so bloody lazy...." With a sigh, the cellist left her roommate's quarters, and proceeded to exit their third-floor apartment room, locking the door on her way out. "I'm going to get groceries, we're running low on milk and vegetables...." she mumbled under her breath as she descended the stairs.

"Stupid Cirrus, with his gorillaesque muscles… and his lack of rational thought...."

Midnight was seething as he stomped up the stairs to his dormitory, both mortified by Cirrus's actions and angry that the incompetent lunchmare and her crew failed to keep the meat stored and secure from the more rampant members of the Night Guard.

'Twas no use to cry over spilled milk, but Midnight still felt like he had been slapped in the face with a rotting trout. Nevertheless, Midnight's overhanging rain cloud dissipated and cleared when he reached his comfortable dormitory, thankful that he had gotten there without a hitch. He opened the door to his room with his magic, and closed it behind him. Two floors of humble abode—living room and kitchen/dining room on one floor, bedroom and bathroom on the other—and it was all his.

The living room, slightly messy from a few empty chip bags and juice cans loitering on the floor, felt like a fortress of solitude for the exhausted Sarosian. One of two BrayStation 3 controllers sat cozily on a rug in front of a large white couch, the other resting on a black coffee table in the rug's center. A large television was hung up on the wall opposite the couch, flanked by two shelves that contained an alphabetized army of films, stand-up comedies, TV shows, and video games.

Levitating the trash into the wastebasket in the corner, Midnight walked to his little white kitchen, complete with necessary utilities, and sat in one of the two mahogany chairs of his small square dining table. After spending his ten minutes of eating his salad and rolls, he washed the dishes and stalked off to his bedroom, changing into his sleepwear while he was at it.

"OOH-OOH-AAAAAH!" screamed an all-too-familiar voice. Regardless, Midnight was taken by surprise when a large and furry brown mass collided into his chest as he was stripping down.

"Agh!" barked the Sarosian, still stunned by the fuzzy animal that was clinging to his bare chest, looking up at him expectantly. "Oh, top of the morning to you, Jericho."

"Eep!" squeaked the little monkey, baring his teeth and rubbing his fuzzy tummy. Taking it as an obvious sign that his pet and best friend was hungry, Midnight appeased his hunger with a ripe banana and a cold granola bar from the fridge.

With a grunt of appreciation, Jericho ambled away to the living room, munching his banana with neither question nor hesitation. Once in his bedroom, Midnight removed his cap after several hours of having it jammed onto his head. Long, pristine white hair billowed out from the cap, avalanching down his back and ending by his waist, shining in the sunlight. After tossing his dirty clothes into a basket and taking a profuse and thorough shower, Midnight traipsed to his bed in his pajamas. "G'night, Jericho!" he called.

"Ach!"

Seconds became minutes, yet Midnight was incapable of getting the rest he needed. He stared at the ceiling in the vain hopes that his eyes would get tired, but no such thing occurred. His eyelids refused to burn and grow heavy. He counted sheep jumping over a fence, but that just made his cravings for meat intensify. He slowly counted backwards from a hundred, but he had finished long before he would get tired, if at all.

Having to have his sleep schedule adjusted so that he was awake from sunup until sundown like a regular pony, Midnight growled in anger after thirty wasted minutes of trying to sink into the ocean of blissful slumber. He checked the clock on his bedside table. It read eight fifty-seven in the morning. He needed something to keep him awake today at work.

"Aw, screw it... Gonna see if there're any energy drinks at the supermarket." Midnight put his glasses back on and replaced his silver earring into the cusp of his furry right ear with a wince. Rain began to pitter-patter against the balcony window. He got dressed in a hurry, stuffing his hair in his black cap and throwing on whatever he thought looked acceptable for public.

Concentrating hard on the supermarket he wished to visit, Midnight charged his horn. A vivid green aura swam around it again, and it grew in intensity as he focused on the store's front more and more. With a call of farewell to Jericho, Midnight mustered the energy and mana to teleport to the store in search of his elusive carbonated taurine fuel.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the contents of this one day would effect his entire future in an absolutely different way.

Octavia was the talk of the town.

Everywhere the cellist went, there followed many words of praise and envy from onlookers and passersby, spawned from her lustrous soft grey coat of fur, her sleek and long jet-black mane and tail, her brilliant orchid eyes, her incredible talent of playing the cello, her posh accent and behavior, and her slim, hourglass physique. Mares wanted to be like her, stallions wanted to be with her. 'Twas as simple as that.

Even more prestigious than all of those things was her ranking in Canterlot's society. Revered for her incredibly well-known upbringing in the Philharmonica family, Octavia had catapulted into the heavens of the upper class just for her surname. Her eloquent actions, tastes, and behavior had kept her there.

Well-endowed, well-known, and well-respected: Octavia Philharmonica was a very important pony indeed. And she knew it, too.

Entering the supermarket down the street from her abode, a stone's throw away, Octavia can hear the hushed whispers of compliments and jealousy being exchanged by the mares that were standing by the refrigerators of milk and cheese. Stallions risked ephemeral glances at her, compromising thoughts flitting through their minds as they mentally envisioned her body. Octavia, brimming with pride, grinned at all the attention everypony was giving her.

She browsed the shelves, picking out the correct food items. She then brought her acquired items to the counter and purchased them for the requested price. "Have a nice day," she said to the nerdy male clerk, who waved and reciprocated her farewell with a snort, as she passed through the supermarket doors to her home.

*POP!* *THUMP!*

"Ah!" squeaked Octavia, as something suddenly appeared front of her, colliding into her with great force, knocking the groceries out of her hands and spilling most of them onto the rain-slick floor. The unexpected mass was groaning in pain, mumbling in some odd, exotic language. "Watch where you're landing!" she dictated.

"I'm sorry. Never meant for that to happen," apologized the speaker, a male voice that sounded forcibly nasally. The vegetables that were strewn about the floor were suddenly surrounded in a bright green magical field, shook of any dirt and unwanted wetness, and stowed away securely in Octavia's plastic shopping bags.

"Very well, but just be care–" She stopped when she saw who she was speaking with. He was a male unicorn of an ash-grey color, dressed in jeans, a hoodie, a leisure jacket, and a black cap. He had a silver earring in one of his ears, which had rounded tufts of fur by the tips. A snow-white goatee, well-trimmed, clung to his chin, and thick, black-rimmed, rectangular corrective lenses adorned his face. What stunned Octavia the most were the eyes behind the glasses. Daggerlike pupils were gouged into his two radiant pools of shamrock-colored irises, scanning Octavia, studying and analyzing each and every centimeter of her.

She knew the breed of filth that those eyes belonged to. It was because of those serpentine eyes, eyes that should only belong to a monster, that Octavia never despised anypony more than the one in front of her.

~End of Chapter I~

Author's Note

Okay, guys. Just finished up this chapter after ten days of boredom. Go forth, minions! Ruin your brain cells with this frothing pile of drivel! BWUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUUUUUUUUEEEEE!

II - Conflicting Emotions And Thoughts Via Rapidly-Sequencing Events

II - Conflicting Emotions And Thoughts Via Rapidly-Sequencing Events

Midnight, who had been holding a napkin to his nose that he had bloodied on collision with something after a sloppy teleportation landing, examined what he had plowed into.

It was a mare, well-dressed in a clean-cut, suave black tuxedo. Midnight scanned her, from her well-kept hair and lovely amethyst eyes, to the pink bowtie that completed her tuxedo. 'Whoa... she's... kinda cute.' He returned the mare's shopping bags to her. She had gone silent and looked only at the floor, a look of detest on her face. Midnight detected a miasma of unease clog his mind like hair in a drain. 'Was it something I said or did?' he wondered worriedly.

"Er, nice to meet you." He held out the right hand that wasn't staunching any blood, expecting her to reciprocate the greeting. No avail, however, as the pony simply clicked her tongue negatively. He watched her fists clench tightly, almost until her knuckles shone white through her dark fur. He receded slightly, under the impression she might sucker-punch him.

The awkwardness that swam among the two grew in potency. As a gesture of kindness in the attempt to ameliorate any hard feelings between the two, Midnight let his horn glow bright as he surrounded the both of them in a vivid green magic bubble. The rain crashed and slammed into the bubble that shielded them from the rain. "Would you like me to walk you home? You'll catch a cold in this weather."

The silence from the mare in the elegant sand-colored snailed on. Only a weak, reluctant nod was her mere response. 'Better than nothing,' thought Midnight. "Do you live close by?" Another nod of greater reluctance was emitted. "Okay, shall we go?" The mare did not hesitate in barreling towards her home, leaving Midnight to wonder what her attitude was about.

'Filthy nightcrawler... dirty, cavedwelling, rat-eating mongrel!' swore Octavia mentally, looking at the Sarosian in complete and utter disdain, as though a dog had just vomited on her shoes. 'How dare he try to shake hands with somepony of my standing?! He should be shoved back into the underground where he belongs!....' The eyes of passersby fall upon the both of them, as questions jump back and forth like electric current through a wire.

"Is that Octavia?"

"Why is she with that Sarosian?"

"What is that mongrel doing with such a high-class member of society?!"

Octavia's prejudice, while unvoiced, was felt by the Sarosian at once. He began looking at Octavia, worry plastered upon his face.

"I get it: you hate me," he said.

"My, I wonder what gave it away," muttered Octavia sarcastically.

"Hey, she speaks!" Octavia swung at his glowing horn, the sensitive appendage losing its aura as the shield around them cracked into pieces before vanishing entirely. "Ow, what the hay?!"

Octavia felt more questioning eyes watch her and the mongrel, listened to more of their status-breaking insinuations. Her reputation was at stake. "Do not talk to me." Octavia's short bark shellshocked her pest as she stampeded up the steps to her lavish apartment complex. "Do not look at me. Do not mention me in your horrid conversations! Do not even think about me, you grotesque abomination! Now be gone with you!" She rams the door of the complex shut, leaving the Sarosian hurt and confused in the rain.

'Good. Position left intact, and that horrid vermin knows his place.' She looked down at the hand that had touched his horn, and shuddered in disgust. "Now, to just scrub myself clean...."

Midnight turned towards the castle. "Now be gone with you!" He reiterated in a bad caricature of the mare's voice. "Ungrateful bitch," he muttered under his breath as he tossed his bloody napkin into a wastebasket once the wound was clotted. Ponies walking by stared at Midnight, uneasy and afraid; some even disgusted. "And may I ask what in Tartarus are you gawking at?!" The ogling pedestrians, taken aback by the outburst, harrumph'd pompously and scooted off to where they needed to be, paying no more mind to Midnight.

Silently swearing up a storm that would make even the most hardened sailor wet themselves, Midnight fast-walked back to the supermarket, recently remembering why he wanted to go in the first place. After purchasing a six-pack of Horse Power energy drinks, tipping the clerk immensely because he had no change or time, and generously downing one of the cans. A waterfall of carbonated caffeine processed to taste like mint and raspberry surged down his gullet, pumping him full of energy as he made his commute to the castle to start his business as scribe of the princesses.

Fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds of jogging crawled by at the pace of a tortoise with a broken leg. Midnight had long since teleported the rest of his energy drinks back to his dorm, praying that Jericho had the decency to not drink them all at once. He walked up to the enormous gate and prepared himself for the long day ahead of him.

"Mr. Midnight Oil!" called one of the guards as they marched over to him.

"'Sup?"

"The Princesses request for you. They say it is urgent."

"Yeah, yeah," said Midnight, perspiring slightly from his jogging, "tell them I'll be there once I change into my uniform."

"I'm afraid that is out of the question. They request you now." The white guards in their golden armor gripped the scribe's arms tightly and hauled him to the throne room. Struggle as he might, Midnight was having no luck at all with getting loose.

"You know, you guys are really strong." The guards had not uttered a word in retort to Midnight's pointless rambling. "It's like being held by two big pieces of white chocolate." The guards tossed Midnight inside the throne room like an unwanted ragdoll. "Oof! Too much?"

Midnight looked around, and gulped in worry. Three princesses—Celestia, Luna, and the newly coronated Princess Twilight—were sitting in their appropriate thrones. Royal Guards were set up in two lines, one on each side, standing at attention. At the feet of the thrones was a heavily-battered and beaten guard: a closer look showed that it was Cirrus Storm sporting a bleeding nose, a black eye, and several bruises along his body.

Midnight stifled a smile at Cirrus's misfortune: as much as he liked the idea that his bully had reached a bad end, he didn't wish for his elation to be detected by anypony, least of all the princesses. Besides, it looked as though something serious was unfolding at this instant.

"You requested my audience, princesses?" Midnight bows deeply before the three rulers of Equestria.

"Yes," Princess Celestia smiled at her subject. "Thank you for arriving on time." Her smile dissolved, a look of solemnity replacing it instead. "Now, Cirrus Storm, is this the pony who you believe assaulted you?"

Midnight's heart detached from his ribs and plummeted into her stomach. His eyes shrunk to the size of pinpoints as it became harder to breathe. He knew what happened: it was a set-up. Cirrus Storm got somepony to injure him—or he probably did it himself—and wanted to pin it on Midnight himself. 'Sketchy bastard....'

"Yeah, that's him! That's the nightcrawler–"

"Corporal Cirrus Storm, we do not allow such vulgar language in our court. Please refrain from derogative speech, or we will be forced to remove you from this room," dictated Princess Luna, looking down on the roughed-up guard. Midnight gritted his teeth behind a closed mouth, agitated once again at that that word had been said to his face.

"Y-yes, Your Highness," stuttered Cirrus Storm. "It was Midnight who had attacked me."

"Oh, come on!" Midnight groaned in exasperation.

"Mr. Midnight Oil, I'd recommend you refrain from talking out of turn as well," Princess Twilight rebuked. "You're in hot water, too."

"Can we please return to a more important issue?" Princess Celestia rubbed her temples. "Mr. Oil, would you care to explain the events of this morning leading up to your return to the castle?"

"Let's see, I finished up some studying in the library–"

"Ooh, which book?" Twilight urged in curious reverence.

"Starswirl the Bearded's Advanced Spellbook For The Training Unicorn - Level 7," replied Midnight, a little elated at the fact that Twilight loved books as much as he did.

"Ooh, that was a great one! I finished reading Levels 8 and 9 before my coronation!"

"Really?" Twilight nodded happily. "Perhaps I can borrow them afterwar–"

"CAN WE PROCEED?!" Princess Luna screeched, outraged at how immediately they were getting off-track. Midnight and Twilight felt their cheeks sear with the flames of mortification. "So, you were just studying, and then?"

"Oh, yes..." Midnight cleared his throat and resumed his answer. "I went to the mess hall, ordered a salad for breakfast, had a tomato thrown at me by Cirrus Storm–" the aforementioned Pegasus guard grimaced at being called out for his offence "–and so I smashed his face into his breakfast, then I went upstairs to eat, tried to go to sleep and couldn't, went to get energy drinks to keep me awake at work, helped a very pretty, but very rude mare with her groceries and walked her home, then I come back to work... and here I am."

"Okay, now what do you think is wrong with what you did this morning?" demanded Luna rhetorically.

Midnight pondered for a moment on the faults of this morning, before his face was contorted into a complexion of solemnity. "...Yeah, I had a damn salad for breakfast."

"No, and watch your mouth." Celestia cleared her esophagus and went on to say, "What was wrong that you had slammed Corporal Storm's head into his food. You more or less assaulted a Royal Guard." Cirrus snickered at Midnight's demise, before getting snapped at by the Princess of the sun. "Don't think you got off easy as well, Corporal. You technically assaulted somepony who is considered a council member, and that's just as bad. Thankfully, it was just a small food fight, so it won't be regarded as too severe. However, events and squabbles like this have happened undetected in the past, and have just reached our ears right now."

"So in terms of consequences: Corporal Cirrus Storm, you will be given sixty days of consecutive kitchen duties." The storm-grey Pegasus guard groaned heavily in frustration, not at all excited for the hours of suds and dirty dishes ahead of him.

"And as for you, Midnight, you will be placed under sixty days of exclusive community service for one pony, which we have already chosen for you and alerted of your arrival," announced Luna. "You will meet this pony later today at ten o'clock. It is about nine seventeen. You will be escorted by one of our guards there, should you try anything funny and run away."

Midnight began getting nervous. He was starting to hyperventilate, and he could feel his blood pressure rise as sweat leaked down his face. What if this pony was completely and utterly horrible to him? "A-and what should h-happen if I do make a getaway?"

"Well, you'd have to spend twelve months in the dungeons," declared Twilight matter-of-factly.

"O-oh." Midnight was breathing harder now, his balloon of anxiety inflating in an out-of-control manner. "C-could somepony open up the windows?"

"Very well." Luna nodded her approval of the request. As soon as each guard had thrown the windows open, Midnight barreled towards the nearest one as fast as he could, sticking his head and taking deep generous gulps of rainy morning air, heart pounding at a ridiculously fast pace.

It took half a minute of deep breaths in order for Midnight's heart to regulate its speed, as well as his breathing to return to normal. He pulled his head out from the window, the princesses and their guards looking at him in concern. "Anxiety attack," he coughed as they hummed in understanding before he walked back in front of the princesses. "What about my home in the astronomy tower, and my job? I'm practically bleeding out Bits just to keep that place, let alone pay for food, water, electricity and all that."

"Don't worry," Twilight reassured the skeptical, still wigged-out Sarosian. "All expenses towards your house will be covered while you're under this sentence." She became cold sober when she glanced at the still-injured Cirrus. "However, we have one final issue to cover before the punishment becomes absolute: did you or did you not attack Corporal Storm until he looked like this?"

"What? No!"

"Liar!" Cirrus cried, now feigning a broken arm by grabbing it and clutching it tighter than a mother would to her babe. "You and your little friends did this to me!"

"Princesses, which would be more believable?" propositioned Midnight agitatedly, his disdain for Cirrus swelling by the second. "That I had gone out to get highly-caffeinated beverages so that I can be alert on the job? Or that a strong and able-bodied soldier got his butt kicked by a socially dead, scrawny egghead and his pet monkey?" Midnight then looked down at the ground, almost a bit wistfully, before looking at Cirrus with disdain. "Besides... what do you mean by friends? I don't have any friends to begin with...."

Princess Celestia heard his words. Concern began flooding her being. She had never met a single pony without somepony to call a friend. "Hmm… my apologies, Midnight. It appears we were a bit... overzealous... about our initial judgment of you. You're off the hook for this one." Midnight sighed in great relief, while Cirrus frowned deeply, disappointed that his plan failed. "But, that doesn't mean you're relieved of your previous punishment for smashing the corporal's face into his cereal, and the offences before that. You still have to do community service."

"That's fine by me, Princess. As long as I'm not in loads of trouble."

"Excellent," Luna said happily. "Can somepony take Corporal Storm to the infirmary for his wounds?"

"...I can fix him up." Midnight, against his better judgment, wanted to get in as many brownie points as possible; it could affect his sentencing in a positive way. He figured he would start with healing his foe.

His horn glowed again, and another aura surrounded Cirrus Storm entirely. The cuts on the guard's body ever-so-slowly started to close up as Midnight strained his magic more and more, the leaking blood gradually seeping back into his body. Midnight's horn was almost blinding with light as the healing of Cirrus's wounds quickened, sparks flying hither and thither as the magical buildup heightened.

Midnight's horn stopped glowing. A fully-healed Cirrus Storm landed back on his hooves, good as new. Midnight crumpled to his hands and knees on the floor, caving in like a disturbed house of cards, wheezing and strained from overexertion. Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Twilight were rather impressed: magic for anything involving biology is hard to master, unless your Cutie Mark was a red cross, a heart monitor, or a caduceus. Given that Midnight's Cutie Mark was neither of these things, it was a miracle he wasn't rendered unconscious from magical strain.

"Somepony get him some water and space to breathe!" ordered Twilight, genuinely concerned about his health as somepony fanned his face with the plume of their helmet. "As for his community service, arrange an automobile to transport him to his location."

Midnight felt someone thrust a cup of water into his hands as someone supported him into a sitting position. Cirrus Storm walked over as Midnight greedily drank the frigid liquid life he held in his shaky hands. "Say, thanks for patching me up," said the Pegasus soldier.

"Don't mention it," gasped Midnight, wiping sweat from his furrowed brow. This was a first: having an enemy treating him like an ally. "Er... sorry about this morning, man."

"I-it's alright." Cirrus seemed to also be in the same bizarre predicament as Midnight. "Uh, sorry about the tomato."

"And?" Midnight felt a smug grin formulating in his lips as he watched Cirrus apologize with great reticence.

"And for trying to get you in huge trouble."

"And?" It felt nice to watch someone squirm when you've them pinned in a corner they can't slither out of.

"And for all the racial slurs I called you."

Midnight's smirk grew wider and smugger. "Aaand?"

Cirrus sighed in defeat. "And for all the years of being a complete douche."

"Attaboy." Midnight slowly got up and extended his hand out to Cirrus. "Apology accepted."

Cirrus slowly, ever-so-slowly reached towards Midnight's hand, finally grabbing it and shaking it firmly. "Oh, no, we're not warming up to each other, are we?" he asked in genuine worry.

"Good Goddess, I hope not," said Midnight, also concerned by the odds of this uninevitable chain of events.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up outside reached both their ears. "...So, I hope you like community service," Cirrus teased.

"Yeah? I hope you like scrubbing dishes," bantered Midnight as a miscellaneous soldier escorted him outside. Midnight let the wind blast in his face, chilling any sweat from his magic and his anxiety attack as he opened the door to the car and hopped in, followed closely by his escort.

"Hey. Name's Scorch Shot," said the guard, a female. Her voice was slightly scratchy, yet still feminine.

"Midnight Oil." He shook hands with her. "You know the way?"

"'Course I do. It shouldn't take too long." She pressed down on the pedal and snailed out of the castle's front before accelerating down the road towards their destination, shifting gears every so often so as not put too much strain on the engine.

Midnight, fueled with an overdose of caffeine, was unable to obtain any well-deserved sleep on the ride there. Left to his own devices, socially inept, and bored out of his wits, Midnight simply sat there, thumbs whirring together in a flawless and infinite cycle, sneaking glances at his watch every few seconds, eyes scanning his cell phone for anything recent.

Anything to keep his mind off of who he'd have to kiss up to for the next month.

"We're here," announced Scorch Shot, putting the car in "Park", securing the E-Brake, and killing the motor. Midnight peered out the window: several apartment complexes that appeared to border on five-star hotel levels sat before him. Now that he's seen them up close and personal, they look rather familiar... and not in a good way. "They're waiting on the third floor. Let's go."

'They?' yelped Midnight's thoughts as he got out of the car and shut the door behind him. 'There's more than one?' Scorch got in front of him and ordered him to follow her. They entered the second apartment building on their left and climbed the stairs thrice, the air conditioners' cool and bitter wind brushing through their fur.

"394", read the little gold plaque on the door that Midnight and Scorch stopped in front of. She pressed the button next to the doorknob, and the sound of a doorbell blared from the other side of the door, alerting the occupants that they had visitors.

"Coming!" called a feminine voice. It sounded unpleasantly familiar, too. The delicate sounds of intricate locks being undone reached Midnight's sensitive ears. The door swung open, revealing the room's occupant.

Midnight felt his heart sink into his stomach yet again. He saw it, alright, as clear as daylight. He just refused to believe it.

"Oh bollocks, not you."

~End of Chapter II~

XIII - “Old-Ponies Dinner”: Late-Night Coffee and Talking About Your Feelings

XIII - “Old-Ponies Dinner”: Late-Night Coffee and Talking About Your Feelings

Midnight stumbled back to his tower, back resting against the curved stone wall. The wind slapped his face and chilled the sweat that clung to it, the braid of pure-white hair flapping with the breeze. He got up and shakily made his way to a pool of water a few meters away. He removed his glasses and dunked his face greedily into the deep fluid below, drinking from it with as much force as his lungs would allow.

It wasn’t graceful, but it got his energy back.

Teleporting into his room, Midnight slowly stripped off his suffocating clothes and hopped in the shower. The cold water crashed on his body, numbing his nerves ever-so-slowly. Back to the shower wall, he curled up in a ball on the shower floor, chin resting in the crevice his knees made as the water washed away physically, yet not mental, worries.

It was a clichéd, yet still correct setting to brood.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured. “I don’t like this one bit.” The thought of him confessing to Octavia was ludicrous to him. He could see it happening, He could envision the two of them holding hands, watching late-night movies, cuddling, laughing merrily from a joke one or the other would crack as they sat at a café. He could imagine the two of them kissing, limbs intertwined in a loving embrace. Getting married. Having sex. Raising children. Growing old together. One dying in the other’s arms in their sleep.

He could see it.

But simultaneously, he didn’t want to see it.

He wanted nothing more than for her very existence to be unfamiliar to him. He wanted neither of them to have an inkling on who the other was. He wished that he had never met her – and he believed that she’d want the same.

Worse… what would she say? Should he work up what little courage he had, how would she retaliate? No way in Tartarus would she actually say “yes.” Midnight didn’t care about the actual response, as the deal he struck with Scorch only involved confessing, and not having the confessed-to approve. The real issue is how she would say “no.” Knowing the tension they shared, she’d be vehement about her refusal. She’d no doubt say spiteful things. Hurtful things. Threats, insults, and hisses metastasised from disgust and contempt for him, all formulated by his breed and his “audacity.”

He didn’t want that.

Not at all.

He’d take a broken neck over another broken heart.

No.

Not a broken heart…

After she’d be through with him, his heart would be reduced to dust.

…

Midnight got to his hooves and changed the water temperature to a soothing warmth. The contrast in temperature stung a bit, but if it kept his limbs from losing circulation, he didn’t care. The back of his eyes burned a little bit, but he bit his lower lip and refused to shed even a tear. Stallions don’t cry, he’d remember his murmurous peers whisper as he passed down the streets of the city, all of them gazing spitefully at a pony who had lost his last nerves, and was weeping on the pavement at a loss he would suffer.

They were right.

Stallions don’t cry.

But that does not mean they are not allowed to.

They shouldn’t be confined by society’s harsh iron maiden of what the standard “stallion” should be. Walls of nigh-impenetrable defenses constructed around his mind and heart will fall with time, dilapidated and useless, and how will he fend for himself? Against emotional onslaughts and psychological mind games, he wouldn’t last even moments. He’d be struck down, smote, and left in shambles. Ponies were made to love, to hate, to feel fear, to feel pain.

To not do so is to not be alive.

~

Sunset.

The blood-red luminescence of the sun as it hid beneath the horizon spilled forth into the sky, and the stars began to bubble forth as the moon emerged from the west.

Midnight left for Octavia and Vinyl’s apartment later, dressed in a royal blue sweater and dark jeans. His black cap was back on his head, with only a few of his bangs peeking out. He checked his phone, and found it littered with texts from Octavia, and not a one was written with concern or worry.

“Where did you go? Hurry back.”

“This is not funny. I will report you, you know.”

“Do you think I’m joking? You have twenty minutes to get back, or there will be Tartarus to pay.”

That last one was sent seventeen minutes ago.

“Aw, shit,” he hissed. He teleported again onto the front porch of the apartment complex and made his way to Room 394, knocking urgently on the door’s slick mahogany face. It promptly opened to reveal an irritated Octavia, with a worried Vinyl on the couch reading a comic book.

“Where the hay were you?!” She fumed.

“I was exercising.”

“Exercising?” She scoffed, almost too hard. “That’s a new one.”

“What did you think I was doing?” Octavia was prepared to make a rebuttal, but what was stopped short. There’s not much Midnight could actually do to cause mayhem in the city.

“...Good point.” Octavia grumbled and then proceeded to say, “Listen. I know you and Frédéric are… rather rocky at the moment.” Midnight’s eyebrows ascended up his forehead at her choice of words. “Okay, you two hate each other very much.”

“There we go,” he deadpanned.

“Nevertheless, I’m going to try and fix that,” she finished proudly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Midnight monotonously.

“Why not?” Octavia looked rather cross, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed in analytic skepticism.

“Tavi, what you’re trying to do is what a mom would do with her sons that hate each other,” answered Vinyl, eyes still zooming through the text on her comics.

“Or to her two bitchy teenage daughters fighting over the same hot guy,” Midnight summarised.

“Why are you so reluctant to make amends with him?” questioned Octavia.

“Well, for starters, that guy makes Nightmare Moon look like a cookie-selling Filly Scout.” Midnight pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “Me spending time with him is like putting a policeman with an illegal immigrant.”

“One, that’s kinda fucked up,” Vinyl commented.

‘Doesn’t mean it’s not true,’ mused Midnight.

“Two, you never know. He could have a more… benevolent nature.” Octavia bit her lower lip, wincing at what lengths she had to go to to coax Midnight to go along with her plans. It was bitter poison, but she had to swallow it and her pride for any success. “Please.”

Midnight’s eyes dilated at the P-word, a giddy beast rising within him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” His mouth slowly curled into a smile.

Octavia gritted her teeth, and was almost tempted to slap him across the face. Much to her chagrin, that wouldn’t help her with her ultimate goal. “...PLEASE,” she almost growled, unclenching her fist to keep from striking him.

Midnight knew better than to push his luck with the circumstances, so he eased his teasing. “Alrighty. But if I get the tar kicked out of me by him, you’re paying for the damages.”

Octavia shook her head. “I’m not paying jack shit.”

Midnight did a double-take. Vinyl turned her head to gaze in surprise at her. Octavia realized her slip and quickly stammered, “sorry.” The others felt like their insouciance and crude behavior was rubbing off on her a wee bit.

“Not baaad… you’re picking up my sass,” praised Vinyl after a moment of awkward silence.

“So, when should I meet your scumbag coltfriend?” grumbled Midnight, stretching his arms to relieve them of fatigue.

“H-h-h-he’s not my coltfriend… yet!” stammered Octavia, the heat rushing to her face. “A-and he’s not a scumbag!”

“Yeah, uh-huh, sure.”

Octavia clenched her teeth, and breathed calmly through her nostrils. He was agitating her much more than he should be at the moment. “Will you do this or not?” She asked simply.

Midnight thought about it long and hard. He had a feeling that Octavia had an ulterior motive to this. Maybe she’d want him to compliment her and give positive feedback about her to Frédéric so as to increase the likelihood of them getting together. Why should I? he thought… jealously? Yes. That was it. He was green with envy that pretty-colt Frédéric was getting the attention and admiration of the one pony that he, Midnight, was slowly starting to have feelings for....

Yes.

‘Twas so, most unfortunately.

And it wasn’t mere jealousy alone. There was woe in there. Midnight felt… upset that he was helping his crush get together with somepony besides him. He didn’t really like to hang out with mares, as his father discouraged it.

Which, in turn, resulted in him crushing on Octavia after spending so much time at her beck and call.

But what about Vinyl? Why wasn’t he head over hooves for her, the only pony to show compassion and care to him when he first started his “community” service? It couldn’t be that he disliked her body. Not at all: back home, stallions would die for those curves of hers, and he might have been one of them. She had gorgeous eyes, an astounding mane, their tastes in games and musics were relatively the same, and she was actually a well-behaved mare in public. He was wondering why he never fell for her initially. There had to be something. Maybe it was the “chemistry” those rom-com actors and actresses mention when a relationship could succeed or fail.

She might have her eyes on somepony else as well: Being a DJ clearly means she hangs out at hole-in-the-wall clubs and blasts her beats at the audience, so she must have run across somepony worth her while. They might have had a drink, talked a bit, then one thing might have led to another; after all, booze does some nutty things to your judgment.

He might have actually seen her face at those clubs on his nights off, yet not have recognized her through the alcohol clouding his mind, the sex steaming the air, and the crowd dancing on the floor. Either way, if she was seeing somepony, his lack of lust for her was for the best. To have his desires of love be torn asunder by one mare was bad enough. Two mares who can’t accept them would be devastating.

But… if, and maybe if, he did Octavia a solid and went to this dinner plan with Frédéric, would she be grateful? Would she gradually evolve her viewpoint of him? Will she actually reciprocate his heart’s longings?

Not likely.

But… not impossible.

“Okay.” Midnight needed to take the leap of faith and at least try.

Octavia slowly smiled. Even though she didn’t absolutely respect and admire Midnight like she did Frédéric, she at least acknowledged that he put some thought into it. “Thank you,” she finally hummed, qualms put to rest, “for doing this.”

“Sure,” Midnight huffed. His face burned in mortification as he then muttered, “Why wouldn't I?”

Octavia’s head tilted. She thought she heard something… positive out of her little servant. Almost cute. “My apologies… what was that?” It was her turn to smile stupidly at the other’s humiliation.

“Nothing.” The blush on Midnight’s cheeks only intensified. “Forget about it.”

“No, no! I heard something!” Octavia’s cheeky grin worsened the blush. Midnight shook his head with great vigor to stop himself from staring at her lips any further. “Come on, darling, what did you say?”

“Nothing! Just please stop!” “Darling” had pushed it. Hard. His heart was gaining speed in his chest. His lungs seemed to fail at seizing the air they needed at that time.

“Oh, your cheeks are a most becoming shade of red!” She tittered on as she pinched it mockingly. Midnight’s eyes contracted to finite points. He was having another panic attack because of her teasing.

“Tavi, can you cut that shit out?” Vinyl sighed.

“Oh, come now, Vinyl!” Octavia giggled at her camaraderie. “Surely Oil here can handle a... bit of… teasing?” Her sentence failed her as she witnessed the Sarosian crumple beneath his quaking legs, gasping for air like a fish out of water, clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack. “Oh, Celestia. Vinyl, what’s happening?!”

“Panic attack!” screamed Vinyl, jumping out of her position on the couch and getting a bottle of water from the fridge. “Catch!” She chucked it at Octavia fervently, who caught it and proceeded to open it, as the servant at her hooves was still suffocating on nothing.

“Shit!” she swore as the bottle slipped from her hand, the liquid splashing on the carpet and being sucked in. She quickly snatched the container up on her way to kneel down. She gingerly tilted Midnight’s chin up, and poured what remained of the elixir into his mouth. She watched as he greedily consumed the drink, and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Th...Thank you,” he gasped, letting his heart return to normal, the heavy breathing being the only sound in the room.

“Are you alright?!” Vinyl asked, chest rising and falling heavily out of sheer terror.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Midnight answered, getting shakily onto his hooves. “You should have stopped, damn you,” he then huffed.

Octavia stayed knelt on the floor. She felt… bad… about bantering him. Not like her, as chucking insults between him and her became a daily routine. Her chest felt discomforted. “My sincerest apologies,” she said softly. Not sarcastically. Not abruptly. But with shame. “I didn't expect that to happen. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Midnight, leaning against their couch for support, offered a hand to Octavia. She slowly accepted it, rising to her hooves again.

“You don’t have to attend the dinner plans with Frédéric if you don't want to,” she hummed woefully, her hands intertwined as she nervously shuffled her hooves and rocked in place. “I can call him and tell him that you’re ill and in need of rest.” She looked down at the ground shamefully.

Midnight blinked. This was it. He could go to dinner and possibly get pulverized by Frédéric, and scoot up to a better light in Octavia’s eyes, or decline the dinner and leave her downhearted. “That’s okay. I’ll still go.”

Octavia’s amethyst eyes widened at his words. She felt a smile creep upon her lips. “Really? Y-you’ll still be willing to go? After that mess I just got you in?” Her ulterior motive to get Midnight to… prescribe her to Frédéric seemed a bit tenuous to Midnight persevering through her cruelty to still go.

“Yeah. I mean, I've got nothing to do this week. Why not?” Midnight shrugged. He knew it was a double-edged sword, in one form or another. Sure, he was pleasing the one he loved, but at the same time, Frédéric was not incapable of brutally hurting him. “Wait, doesn't he think I’m retarded?” Midnight had to abruptly say.

“I don’t think that’s an issue anymore.” Vinyl sat back down on the couch. “Tavi said she texted Frédéric and told him the truth. He was kinda upset that she lied to him, but it could be worse.”

“Could be worse… like what I’m gonna have to do tonight.”

Vinyl chuckled. “Yyyep. Sorry, toots.”

“Well, I’m gonna go get ready for it. Where and when am I supposed to meet him?”

“Eight o’clock at the town square,” Octavia answered. “Have fun. Don’t die.”

“Easier said than done,” Midnight huffed as he readied himself to leave. “I just want to say that you owe me, ya know.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll pay you back one day.”

“You’ll do anything I ask?”

“Anything that’s not sexual and debaucherous,” she answered flatly.

Midnight winced, then looked to his groin. “Ooh, sorry, balls. Guess you gotta stay blue for a little longer.” Vinyl chortled.

“And Midnight?” He turned to see Octavia smile at him, soft purple eyes gazing sympathetically at him. “Thank you.”

Midnight grinned back before exiting the room. “Glad I could help.” His grin melted as he closed the door. "This is gonna suck."

~

8:00 PM. Town Square.

Midnight tapped his hoof patiently on the oaken bench in town square, laying on top of it, waiting to encounter Frédéric there, and hopefully not get mutilated by him. The cloak of evening casted low visibility on him and his dark dress clothes, his neon green eyes cutting through the dark. He had another light in his mouth, swallowing the nicotine away, the orange blaze at the tip glowing in the umbral curtain of dusk.

“Ah, you’re finally here,” an all-too familiar voice spoke. Midnight craned his head to see Frédéric walk toward him. “Let’s go.”

‘Oh, Frédéric, my darling, where could we possibly be going?’ Midnight mused mockingly. They continued walking in cold, unnecessary silence. ‘Okay, am I gonna get jumped yet? Seriously, I just want to get “dinner” over with.’

“Damn. I forgot my wallet,” grumbled Frédéric, searching his back pocket in agitation.

“I can cover us,” said Midnight. Frédéric already knew about the secret stupidity: no point in playing dumb any longer.

“...Good.” Frédéric nodded as the two approached to the gates of…

Pony Joe’s doughnut shop.

‘...What an anticlimax we have here, eh?’ Midnight thought as he took one of the longest draws from his cigarette. Frédéric raised a brow at the sight of the Sarosian’s lungs hungrily absorbing the smoke and tar before the latter flicked it onto a gravel ashtray in front of the shop.

“What sort of lungs do you have?” He said in concern.

“Ones that have grown accustomed to mountain air.” The two entered the bakery and strode to the counter. The shop was near-vacant. Only a few ponies, not including the employees, occupied the booths, guzzling their sixteen ounces of caffeine, munching on doughnuts, and immersing themselves in conversations. “Want to pick a table? I’ll order.”

“Yeah, sure.” Frédéric picked a booth in the back of the shop, discreet and out of earshot. Midnight, already suspicious of the situation at hand, ordered some of the better stuff on the menu. Knowing somepony like Frédéric, he might not be interested in the cheap shit Midnight would eat.

Moreover, of all places, why a doughnut shop? Normally, dinner consisted of someplace nice. Like Apple Garden, or a pizzeria, or even take out at Burger Queen. Doughnuts were more… comfort food, like muffins, when you felt like utter garbage and have to eat to deal with your problems.

The groggy cashier later handed Midnight a bag of their more expensive doughnuts and a handled cup holder loaded with two tall Styrofoam cups of liquid caffeine. He walked to the table occupied by Frédéric and took a seat across from him.

“So.” One of them blurted, tearing the bag of doughnuts by its creases and making a makeshift plate for them.

“Yeah.” The other murmured, plucking his coffee from the cup holder and testing it with a sip.

The silence grew more awkward and tensed as they gnawed away at their food and drink. It felt like an intense staring competition, where one must wait for the other to buckle and speak up.

The other, growing bored of the monotony, was Midnight. “So, you’re not as terrifying as you were the first time I met you.”

“Ah, yes, that.” Frédéric sighed in slight dismay. “Seems to me you’re not as stupid as you were when I first met you.”

“Oh boy, I see you’ve got the jokes,” mumbled Midnight through a mouthful of doughnut.

“Haha, yes, I’m hilarious. But I actually have something I ought to disclose with you.”

“Well, shoot. I’m all ears at this point.” Midnight thought the next words out of Frédéric’s mouth would be quite interesting.

“Okay… I’m sorry for my heinousness.”

Midnight blinked in astonishment. “Come again?”

“Don’t make me say it again. Listen, I never wanted to be harsh or rude, but… when Octavia was around, I felt like if I was cruel to you as she was, then maybe I’d–”

“Oh, no, don’t tell me you're liking her, too,” interjected the exacerbated Sarosian.

“Can I finish, please?” Frédéric sighed as he sipped his coffee again, before almost spitting it out at what he had heard. “Wait… ‘too’?”

“Yes, sadly.” Midnight blew air through his lips after he swallowed the remainder of the first doughnut. “I’m hardcore crushing on her at the moment.”

“My condolences go to you.” Frédéric shook his head.

“None needed. I feel like shit about it as is.” Midnight took a swig from his coffee, the caffeine slipping into his veins and ever-so-slowly eradicating his sense of sleep. Frédéric suppressed a snort of laughter. “I mean, if it wasn’t with somepony who initially hated my guts, I’d be a bit happier.”

“Speaking of which, and thus getting back to my story, I’ve only been harsh on you because I thought it would catch Octavia’s eye, and perhaps… maybe like me more.”

“No need trying, pal. She already wants you.” Frédéric, mouth full of doughnut, tilted his head in curiosity at Midnight’s words.

“What? Really, now?” he asked once he swallowed.

“Yep. She wants the D. The Fréd-D.” Midnight smirked self-satisfactorily at his joke.

“Oh, I see. Making puns about my name. Very clever… er, Midnight, was it?” The nod confirmed Frédéric’s question. “But all terrible jokes aside–”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“–does Octavia really like me that much?”

Midnight shook his head and chuckled through a second doughnut. Now the conversation has evolved into pure “old-ponies’ dinner”. A lovely little summarized term for guzzling coffee at night and talking to one another about their feelings. “Not sure how you’re oblivious to it, my man.” He started ticking off fingers for each of the following details: “She gives you the doe-eyes, her voice elevates a few pitches, she shuffles her hooves in place, she plays with her fingers—she’s like a high-school filly asking out her crush to prom.”

“I didn’t notice some of those features.” Frédéric’s eyes widen, and he slowly grew a cocky grin on his face. “So you do love her.”

“Wipe that damn smirk off your face,” Midnight warned as he drank more coffee to keep from smacking him.

“I’m just saying, you are nuts for her.” Frédéric sighed, leaning back in his seat and humming, “Ah, love. Absolutely unpredictable. Where opposites attract… and drive each other batshit insane.”

“And can be used as an excuse to cover up the fact that you want to boink someone.” Midnight slurped at more coffee, now almost done with it. Frédéric snorted again.

“Why, is that the case with you?”

Midnight paused for a moment. “Yes and no. She’s attractive, definitely, but the action in my pants does not do these feelings of mine any justice.”

“Too much information,” said Frédéric flatly. “But I see what you’re trying to get at. So you’re saying there’s a sort of… charm to her, not just her appearance, that validates what you’re feeling towards her.”

“Bingo.” Killing the cup of coffee, Midnight used his magic to levitate it to the nearest trashcan, dropping it in with a rustle and a satisfying plunk. He then sighed and grunted, “Gah, it’s like a shitty school romance manga already.”

“...Manga?”

“Ah. Right. You’re not immersed in geek culture. Uh, comic book.”

“Oh. Got it.”

"It's funny how the whole thing revolves around her. If this is some sort of shitty fanfiction written by a sex-starved loser, I'm seriously going to hurt somepony."

"Calm down. That's breaking the barriers of the physically impossible."

Pause. Midnight raised a brow and said, “Moving on. Even though she’s in love with you, she hasn't really seen this side of you before. The side that’s actually not a douche.” Frédéric gulped slightly. “She’d be upset if you told her the truth, eh?”

“Yes, she would be. It’ll be hard to break it to her. I was hoping that–”

“Nope.” Frédéric was taken aback by Midnight’s abrupt answer.

“Huh? Why not?”

“One, I’m not a scapegoat for your romanticism. Two, this is your mess. You can’t expect miracles to happen. You got to make them happen.”

Frédéric looked downtrodden for a second or two, yet he sighed and said, “You serve a point, Midnight.”

“Damn straight. But still, why are you so keen on dating her?”

“Hmm… I guess for some of the reasons you have. She’s highly attractive, she’s polite and considerate, she’s… beautiful, in body and soul.”

“Er, I’m not so sure about that last part. At least, from my perspective.”

Frédéric chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, ye of little faith. Perspective is rather like an eighteen-sided die. One day, she’ll appeal to you in an even better manner than she does right now.”

...Hopefully, yes.” Midnight then blinked and said, “Hold on, why are we gushing about this?”

“Well, it’s a good way to kick off an acquaintanceship, is it not?” Frédéric smiled politely and held out his hand. Midnight gingerly approached it with his own.

“I’m not gonna get jumped the second I grab it, right?” He asked.

“Rest assured. Nothing bad will happen,” Frédéric said calmly. Midnight finally took his hand and shook it. So the two of them relaxed at the shop. Talking, discussing politics, music, the economy, anything worth their time, until Pony Joe himself told them that the shop was closing. It was well around 1 AM at that point.

“I guess I’ll bid you adieu, Midnight,” Frédéric yawned, scratching at his chest.

“Yeah, same, Frédéric. Catch you around later.” Midnight, despite the coffee sitting pretty in his stomach, was slowly growing tired. He would teleport home, but with his drowsiness, he might just misfire and end up falling off the mountain Canterlot sat upon. Walking there would be a good idea, but he felt as though the walk itself would be long.

Octavia and Vinyl’s house were close by. The former did say she’d pay him back. And taking a nap at their house wasn’t at all a bad form of repayment.

“Who needs pajamas, anyways….”

~End of Chapter XIII~

Author's Note

My body is ready for comments about this shit chapter. Enjoy.

P.S.: Dvorix, where r u, m80. Shit, man, get it together.