Midnight

As much as I still don't care for the whole 'pony companion' thing, Midnight is proving to have abilities as a wrench slinger I wish I could have found ages ago. Aside from having someone who can hold a part without getting in the way, she can get tools into tight places my hands could never reach. Those kitty-derived peepers aren't for show either, as a worklight is no requirement for her to see in the darkest depths and corners of an undercarriage.

It just passed seven in the evening when the last part I needed got tossed into the back of the truck. If I had been solo like normal, I would have anticipated being out here for at least one more hour. That's all fine and dandy, but now heading back to the shop, with a passenger riding shotgun...

Now it feels awkward. There's no task to focus on, meaning the lack of any conversation is obvious. The radio doesn't do much to help. But it isn't like this silent attempt to ignore each other's presence is going away any time soon. I've put my foot down – she can't stay out in that van. Which means she's gotta either crash in the garage or upstairs where I live.

Neither one offers much comfort one way or the other. Regardless, there's no getting around the fact we have to interact at least somewhat. May as well break the ice now.

"So how long have you been out here again? A few months?"

"At the minimum," she answers, still content to look out the passenger side window rather than give her attention to me.

"Guess it's probably hard to keep track of how many times the sun goes up and down," I suggest, unfazed by her apparent disinterest.

"It all just blurs together after a while. Especially when there's nothing important about keeping track."

Though I spotted it beforehand, I can't do much to avoid one particularly nasty rut in the path, causing both her, I and the contents in the back to get rattled as the Trailduster crawls through the terrain. "Sorry, gets a bit rough out here," I apologize as she turns her head, unimpressed with the ride.

"Yeah, it probably wouldn't suck near as bad if you gave the suspension a good overhaul," she laments, turning her head to shoot me a glare. "All those squeaks and bouncing should tell you that."

"It's a truck that's close to forty years old – what do you expect?" I respond, putting one hand up in mild exasperation at her scornful tone.

"My point still stands," she huffs in irritation, returning her focus to the landscape outside. "If the mechanicals were doing their job, it wouldn't be left solely to the tires to smooth out the ride."

The elephant in the room has been left alone long enough. The amount of understanding she has about automotive mechanicals far surpasses what I'd expect from someone who has been here for a few months. Let alone information gleaned by perusing discarded manuals out of sheer boredom.

"I gotta ask – what's your interest in cars?"

"You're implying I have no business taking up an interest in this sort of thing?" she responds. I've gotten her interest again, as she turn her whole body to face forward and taps a hoof on the dashboard.

I glance at her in silence with a look that says I'm not content to accept that answer.

"Considering I've been surrounded by cars for months on end, how could I not have some knowledge about automobiles and what makes them tick?" she proposes.

"The amount of material you had in the back of that shitmobile goes far beyond a basic understanding of automotive mechanicals, particularly just perusing here and then out of sheer boredom," I press her further.

While I don't think my tone is harsh, it strikes enough of a nerve for Midnight to roll her eyes and turn away. Her gaze returns to what lies outside the passenger window and ends what little conversation we had started.

I continue to find myself perplexed by her nature. After all, aren't these things supposed to be sociable and friendly? As in, a companion? But Midnight comes off as the antithesis of what I would have expected – short on words, short on patience, and more than a hint of attitude. Maybe she's defective, and that's why she ended up discarded here in my scrapyard...

The same question returns if that is the case – why wasn't she deactivated prior to dumping? Surely the manufacturers have some sort of safeguard like that in place, right?

But why make her in the first place? She doesn't exactly have the appearance of a sweet and cuddly little pony meant for a child. I'll admit to myself her sudden appearance made my heart skip a beat or two.

"I like to learn."

The muted comment from the passenger I thought had ended interaction with me forces my thoughts to shut down and return to the present. "Learn?"

"Yeah, that thing that happens when you read books and study?" she sasses, leaning heavily on the sarcasm as she turns her gaze back to the interior. "I ended up here whether I liked it or not, and between trying to keep a low profile through most of the day and hunting at night, I just started trying to find things to read. From there, I started looking into the cars themselves and how they went together."

"I mean no offense, but you didn't have to stay here, did you?" I ask, doing my best to tread carefully in this potential minefield. "It's certainly no spa out here - you got legs, and...." I pause as my eyes are drawn to the appendage neatly folded away on her side. "Do your wings actually work?"

She ruffles the aforementioned limbs before nodding – though by the look on her face, it's not an ability she finds much pride in. "Pretty damn hard for a large alicorn to lay low walking out in the middle of a sandy desert. Harder still when soaring through a cloudless sky. No, they aren't for show, work like a pegasus's wings – just on a larger scale. You really are clueless about us, aren't you?"

For such a rather concise response, there's a lot I have to digest within it, aside from the veiled swipe at my intelligence. Besides the mention of trying to keep below the radar –which brings up a possible alarm in terms of legality with her here – apparently there are different 'species' of these pony bots, and she's an 'alicorn.' The question is, what exactly is she referring to me as being clueless about when she says 'us'?

"You talking about you companion th— er, robots, or..."

"My my, you're really aversive to even using the word pony, aren't you?" she goads, smirking at my reluctance.

"Not exactly part of my lingo. Do I look like one of the queers that would want one for myself?" I jab back.

Rather than an audible response, Midnight raises a hoof to her chin, as if depe it thought

"That was a rhetorical question," I grumble

"No no, I think this is a query worth delving into," she gushes, relishing the opportunity to dig at me. "You do seem to live alone in a junkyard despite being well within the age window where one would expect a man to be married or at least have a live-in girlfriend. And you seem adamant that I cannot stay out in the yard, and must stay with you instead. That doesn't exactly present a heterosexual image to the world, does it?"

I could focus on the fact she somehow knows more about me than she should, considering we just met – but her pointed comments end up with me glossing over that for the time being.

"Go piss up a rope, Turbo."

The sadistic smile that had crept onto her muzzle vanishes upon my utterance. "That's not my name," she seethes through clenched teeth.

"I figured if you're gonna throw shade, I may as well return the favor," I say with a smug grin, finding my own amusement from touching a nerve with her as I turn my focus to the path ahead of the truck. "My mistake, didn't realize only you were allowed to do that, princess."

Even at the snail's pace the Trailduster had been lumbering along, the sudden and instant halt is still enough to slide me forward in the seat a bit and take my breath away for a moment, out of sheer surprise. But the engine is still running, and it didn't feel like we dropped into a rut...

I feel around the footwell with my left foot, finding the brake pedal practically glued to the floor. I can't even get the tip of my shoe underneath it to pry up.

Confused, I turn back to Midnight—

Only to be greeted by a pair of eyes glowing with an intense blue light mere inches from my own, and hot breath practically scalding my face. "If you ever use that fucking term toward me again, I'll show you I can do oh so much more than 'throw shade'," Midnight growls.

I've had angry folks get in my face before, but never felt anything as unsettling as the quiet, sinister tone and the piercing glare that Midnight is thrusting upon me at this very moment.

"You... talking about 'Turbo?'"

"Would you like to try the other option?" she hisses back.

Yeah, I don't need to answer that. Playing dumb wasn't a very good decision, either. I just shake my head, hoping to end this unnerving standoff I hadn't expected to create.

Midnight's eyes stop glowing as she backs off and takes her proper seat once again, just as the brake on the truck release. It allows me to sit up in my seat again rather than slouch back and away from her and collect myself as the truck creeps forward under its own power again. A deep breath and the desire to get home force my foot to get the throttle down a bit further and the truck heads along at a quicker pace.

Meanwhile, as if nothing had happened, Midnight has resumed her watch over the passing rows of cars, silent and calm.

While the drive doesn't take too much longer, it's a ride in complete and utter silence. It isn't until we're in sight of the garage that I speak up. "So no, I don't know much about your kind. Is there something that prevents you from going elsewhere?" I ask, hoping to resume the conversation from earlier.

"That opportunity has come and gone - read up on it yourself," she quickly spits back.

Well, the rest of tonight is going to be fun.

While tonight wasn't necessarily a disaster, I still find myself feeling like the electronic buzz and red glare of my bedside alarm clock is taunting me as I lay wide awake. The way the drive back home ended ensured that any utterance from Midnight was mostly contained to a short 'yes' or 'no,' aside from an occasional longer answer needed for explanation.

Of course, Midnight didn't get tossed out with a charger – meaning what food I kept on hand for myself needed to be shared to keep her going. I sure as hell wasn't going to have her out hunting for rats or whatever the hell else she finds to eat out there. That's not a pretty mental picture. But I also didn't bother inquiring about what such a charging cable or apparatus she requires looks like or the cost – it probably isn't cheap. It likely wouldn't pay itself off for a while even considering the cost of food needed in place of electricity.

That might be up for debate though. Perhaps she hadn't eaten in a while, but Midnight practically inhaled three hamburger patties that I cooked up on the stovetop – and she wrinkled her nose at anything else I suggested for a side.

It seems the teeth aren't for show. But that's not to imply she's a savage, either. For even though the chinesium tableware I bought on the cheap wasn't conducive for her levitation to work, she improvised, using some steel wire she evidently kept tucked away in her mane to wrap around the fork and manipulate it to eat her meal.

I'll admit, it was quite an eye-opener to see how Midnight was quick to adapt – though she was rather displeased with my gawking.

The more surprising moment happened even before dinner when first walking into the garage. Midnight's eyes figuratively lit up upon seeing the worn and dirty bookcase packed full of service manuals towering behind my counter. Those eyes lit up in a more literal sense as she plucked three of the thickest books from the shelf aided by an errant bit of scrap metal laying nearby, and used a hubcap as a tray to carry those treasures upstairs for 'some reading tonight.'

So sleep must not be a requirement for these things, either.

I showed her the lumpy and tired couch in the living room she could sleep on, where my bedroom was if she needed anything, and the bathroom downstairs if she wanted to (if she could) wash up via sink or shower. And the toilet.

I have no idea if that's a thing required, and I didn't ask. But she's eating food, so...

That was the gist of any interaction we had. There were no outbursts or snide comments, but it was a rather uncomfortable few hours of relative silence aside from the TV before I called it quits and headed to bed.

...and all I've done is lay here thinking about how tomorrow is going to go. Or what I will have her do in the time between when I open up the yard to customers and when I close the gates. And interacting with her after I somehow offended her.

Sleep isn't going to come until I do something about that. By at least apologizing – even if I was only returning the favor of picking at her like she was doing to me.

I get up out of bed and crack open my bedroom door, stopping as I glance out into the living room. The lights are off, but it's clear by the faint eerie blue glow cast from just beyond the back of the couch that Midnight is still awake.

It's only now I realize I'm not sure how to even begin. And startling her if she's buried between the covers of a shop manual isn't going to help my case. May as well try to be a bit noisy heading out into the living room...

"Scared I'm going to rob you blind while you sleep or maul you to death?"

Her utterance cutting through the silence startles me a fair bit. Guess I must have made enough noise climbing out of bed.

"No, I just couldn't sleep," I admit. "Too much excitement today, I guess."

Midnight's head pops up from the couch, her eyes honing on me in an instant through the darkness.

"So bothering me with stupid and inane comments seemed like a good idea," she mutters, those glowing orbs disappearing as she evidently returns to her book. "Fantastic."

"I feel like I need to apologize to you."

It takes only a split second before those eyes appear once again in the darkness.

"What?"

I fumble my way forward through the pitch black, finding the light switch on the wall and illuminating the room in a soft yellow light from overhead. Of course, there's a moment of temporary blindness as my eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, but I know my living room well enough to find the shitty armchair sitting against the far wall, opposite the couch.

The chair makes sure to remind me about its lack of use in many months, letting out a creak and a just noticeable puff of air and dust as I flop down into it.

The whole time, Midnight has her eyes glued to me, even as she lays back down on the couch, book open between her front hooves. Her face doesn't do much to convince me if the staring is out of surprise, wariness, or disdain. Maybe all three?

"Why are you really out here?" she asks.

"Offending you earlier this evening. I may not understand, but it still doesn't change I pissed you off."

Midnight's icy blue eyes narrow as her expression turns cold and unwelcoming. "I already figured that out. Are you apologizing to me for me, or you?" she presses.

"Wh- both, I guess? I don't really understand what you mean," I manage to stumble out, taken aback by the combative tone I'm receiving.

Using a piece of scrap metal she had lying between the pages of her reading material, Midnight unceremoniously flips the book closed, directing her newfound ire toward me.

"Let's not beat around the bush here - you have already made it clear you see me as little more than a ten-year-old girl's plaything that circumvents the toil and responsibility a real animal would entail," she sasses. "You sit there and stare dumbfounded when I manage anything beyond breathing or taking a step without falling over. I get it, you don't like what I am, because you're scared my mere presence advertises to the world you like playing hide the salami with other men. Seriously, don't patronize me."

Alright, Mount Saint Helens has decided to blow up tonight. This isn't what I had in mind...

"I'm not particularly thrilled with the prospect of this arrangement either, but it's the best opportunity I have right now," she continues, her tone backing off to something more calm and level-headed. "I'm at least doing something other than scrounging around for flea-bitten meals and reading material while playing hide and seek with humanity. And at least with what has been agreed upon, what I've been learning has an application now instead of being useless information."

"Really?" I blurt out, unable to contain my surprise at her sudden view of a silver lining.

But that was not what Midnight wanted to hear, for she huffs in response, flaring her nostrils.

"You're a means to an end, not my savior."

"So what is the end goal here?"

That question instantly forces a silence to fall upon the room. Midnight turns her head away, looking out toward the kitchen rather than me. But even after a short period where I anticipate some sort of response, Midnight remains mum.

"The plan is getting out of here, I'm going to guess?" I suggest, feeling confused by her sudden lack of answers. "How the hell am I going to help with that? Why can't you just do it now?"

"You didn't bother to do any research tonight, did you?" she replies, lowering her voice.

"I didn't know there was an assignment."

"You seemed gung-ho about doing some digging on the drive back to your humble abode. About me. Things like me. Figuring out a clearer picture about pony companions and filling in the blanks."

Right. The conversation that turned everything so sour to begin with. Though they were never exactly palatable. I shake my head in the negative. It garners a roll of her eyes.

"Alright, fine. You tried to apologize," she sighs. "I suppose I can at least throw you one bone from my end."

I sit up straight and forward at full attention, trying to show this is not an insight I'm taking lightly. While mum on words for a minute or two, I can tell she's carefully picking out her words, mulling how best to broach the subject with me.

"So you know virtually nothing - not about the show, about what I am. Completely lost and in the dark."

"You're the first one I've ever seen even remotely up close, and in person," I answer back, confirming her convictions before adding a dose of my honesty. "Actually, you're the only one I've given anything beyond a passing glance, I admit."

"When we... when we're produced," she starts, abruptly pausing and staring at the nearest wall. "Eugh, it feels so weird to say that out loud."

"You don't think of yourself as being built, I'm guessing."

"No. I mean, I know they – well, we – are, but... I guess I prefer not to see it that way," she admits, clearly troubled by her own stumbling response before she gets a hold and focuses upon me again. "When ponies are produced, they come off the line much like a car does with a VIN number. A specific serial number that says where it was produced, what it is, and where in the sequence it was built."

"I'm familiar with that. Cars have had em for ages," I pipe in.

"Okay. So we come off the line with our own identification, except instead of a little plate or a sticker, it's via RFID."

"So a sort of computer chip?"

"Sort of, yeah," she says, sticking a hoof out as if you stop me from jumping ahead. "It's a specific radio frequency, but it is essentially ingrained into... I guess into the base chassis. It cannot be removed, because it really isn't a specific removable object. Now, with that said, what happens if you have a car with no VIN?"

"Well, it sort of depends," I start, knowing full well this is a grey area that has a lot of answers. "First off, depending on if it was something home-built or before a certain y—"

"You get caught with a brand new car, no VIN at all, what happens to that car?" Midnight interrupts.

"Impounded, probably destroyed if they can't figure out why there's no VIN."

"Okay. Why?"

"Well, it prevents theft, prevents people pawning off shit that isn't a genuine car with quality control put in place—"

"It is the same thing for cars as ponies. I don't have a genuine RFID," she belts out.

"You aren't real?"

That ill-advised utterance garners an icy glare from Midnight.

"Watch your tongue," she growls quietly. "I assure you, I am far superior to any pony that is – *ahem* 'real.'"

That doesn't sound arrogant at all.

"By law, a pony's RFID is registered to the owner, or at the very least, is able to be traced back to the point of origin. It prevents dangerous knockoffs from being sold and puts to rest those minds paranoid of Skynet taking over." She makes sure to emphasize that last part as if to jog my memory.

I didn't need it – it's clear I've been batting a thousand from the first minute I met her.

"I... well, I suppose I don't have an origin," she continues, letting me off the hook for the time being. "The model is for certain incorrect, I sure as hell have no owner."

"Being found out on your own or in a place that you could be subject to a scan puts you at risk of destruction."

"Indeed."

Well, now it makes a lot more sense why she would be willing to stay in a junkyard on the outskirts of literal nowhere. And trying to keep away from any and all eyes until now.

"And I'm going to jump ahead before you even ask," she continues. "I'm throwing you a bone here – I am not going to give you the whole carcass. Like you said earlier today, my past is none of your concern nor interest. Just try not to insult me anymore. Do I really look like a toy you would buy for your nonexistent daughter to cuddle and play with?"

Midnight bats her eyelashes, before flashing an uncomfortably toothy smile, ensuringI see that dental work is complete and dangerous to any foreign object insertion.

"Not particularly," I reply, finding myself a bit mortified that someone somewhere made the decision to outfit her like this for some inexplicable reason.

"Go back to bed. I accept your apology as long as you let me get back to making sense of the Lean Burn ignition system on '76 Chryslers," she mutters, opening up the book in front of her as she dismisses me with a wave of a hoof.

With that, I rise up out of my chair, feeling a bit better. But I can't help but chuckle as I shut off the living room lights and plunge everything back into the night.

"Is there something humorous that I don't understand?" I hear her call out after me.

I turn back around after passing the door frame of my bedroom, finding Midnight's eyes locked onto me, expectant of an answer.

"Let me know if you can make sense of that system – Chrysler sure as hell couldn't, and they designed the goddamn thing," I comment, letting that notation hang in the air as I close the door and climb back into bed.