"Well, it looks like a decent turnout."

That is the best attempt at optimism I can muster as we turn into a parking spot in the lot behind the local coffee joint.

Now, to be fair, I only got a cursory glance at the attendees as we drove past. I decided to park elsewhere rather than deal with what would be a frustrating exit when it came time to leave. But what I saw was not what I had really hoped.

It looks to be more newer cars than anything - and of those, there are more than a few rice rockets. I don't hate em, but after the second or third Civic with a poorly fitted body kit... yeah, it gets old.

Dorito-powered Mazdas are pretty damn cool though. Perhaps a tad bit fragile, and oil-thirsty...

Okay, maybe a better toy than anything. But that sound.

I decided this Sunday morning that Middie and I would head out and take a gander at what the local cars and coffee gathering has to show off. As I look over at my passenger, her face betrays a fair amount of her own disappointment as she scans our destination.

"Too far for you to walk, huh?"

"Wow, I forgot how funny you were," she drones before shaking her head. "I guess I was expecting something - this is a little underwhelming."

"Yeah, I wasn't really sure what to expect, but it is what it is. Shall we?"

Midnight hops out of her side, joining me as I circle around the front of the Trailduster.

It's a decent enough day - a little cloudy and a little on the cool side, but nothing extreme. The slight breeze is enough to carry the murmurs of idle conversation to our ears as we make our way across the worn, cracked pavement of the old parking lot.

There are at least a few older cars of interest here. I don't recognize them from past customers or shows, though. Then again, it has been years since the last time I visited a car show.

Many times, I never see the car in question that needs parts. But, the first car at the back of the coffee shop lot isn't something I would be providing parts for anyway.

"What the hell is that thing?" Midnight mutters quietly to me.

"I think it was a Hyundai Tiburon," I reply, noting - as is all too common - the piss-poor fitting of the body kit.

"It looks... why the hell are the wheels so tucked back in the wheel arches?"

"Needs wheel spacers. Or better yet, not a body kit on the lower half."

At least the whole car is painted in a decent coat of silver metallic. But if they hadn't bothered with purchasing and installing wheel spacers, it's likely this thing is all show and no go.

We move on to something more palatable.

Fortunately, there's an old stalwart in banana yellow nearby. Sure, it's malaise-era, meaning it likely has little than two hundred horses under the hood if it's stock...

But what possesses the presence of a '70s Corvette C3?

"Smogger 'Vette?"

I look over at Midnight, impressed with the callout.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"How did you know?" she answers back, her lips pursed into a tight, sly grin.

"Front and rear bumpers are body-colored and extended outward to cover up the five-mile-per-hour bumper bullshit the government forced on everyone."

"Funny, that was the telltale sign for me."

"I guess I should have expected you to know with all the reading you do - but I certainly didn't expect you to know that offhanded term for this era."

"I saw the term used a couple of times online in passing - not a bad look, though."

"I always thought they looked good - certainly one of the best integrations of the new bumper regulations in any car of that era. I've heard the build quality on some of em were horrendous though - certainly not something you would expect from an expensive homegrown sports car."

"Well, they gave us the Vega and the Citation, as you so eloquently pointed out once," she reminds me.

"Hm. Point taken. And to be fair, everyone in Detroit was churning out cars with lackluster build quality in the seventies. Still, I wouldn't mind owning one. It's easy to tune these things to a performance level at or beyond anything that was available during the golden age from just a few years prior. And aside from the possible leaks they could have, the T-top is nice."

"Oh, are you trying to sell me on this for a project car?" she asks, smirking with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope, just making small talk."

As we walk along, there are only a few passing glances toward us from other attendees. Midnight is too busy looking at the steel on display to care. Or maybe she really doesn't mind. Doesn't matter too much either way, really.

Funny how now that I live with one, I suddenly notice the presence of ponies more out in the world. While this gathering isn't teeming with them, the few families out here means there's a handful trotting alongside their owners.

Just from the few episodes we watched and what I saw gathering info online about Midnight, I recognize them. One of em is a bouncy, giggly Pinkie Pie entertaining someone's little girl...

On the other end of the parking lot, I'm certain that has to be a Celestia, just by the height and the aurora-colored mane.

I'm not sure how well a meetup between Celestia and Midnight would go. After all, the bot would be encountering someone who looks like the darker counterpart of her sister. Apparently, the Twilight bot Midnight met in the grocery store didn't recognize her - maybe they aren't programmed with that knowledge from the show.

"We are not trying a repeat of the shopping trip experience," I hear Midnight warn.

As I focus on Midnight beside me, I see her gaze is already locked on my current interest.

"I wasn't going to necessarily suggest it, but I got to admit, I have a morbid curiosity about what that interaction would entail..." I comment.

"Probably not as volatile as the show, but I'd rather not find out."

"Sounds like you're afraid of losing," I tease Midnight.

She looks over at me, unenthused by my goading.

"Please. Is she gonna smile me to death? What else can she do?"

"I dunno. Do bots even have a defense capability? Like if their owner is being mugged or something?"

"I don't think so. Just from what I've seen of society on the computer, I could see people going lawsuit-happy over their 'intentions' and being 'unfairly' attacked. But again, I only know so much from what I heard and experienced - which isn't a lot to go on," Midnight muses. "Regardless, I don't think we should experiment."

"Aww. I guess another day then?"

"If it gets you to shut up, sure - I'll agree."

I clap my hands like an excited idiot at the false hope.

Anyway, it looks like the family with the Celestia bot is packing into a minivan to head out already. At least we don't have to actively look to avoid the encounter now.

"That's.... something," Midnight comments, pointing a hoof just a few cars ahead.

The deep magenta color certainly stands out in a crowd. Or maybe it's the body lines...

Midnight leads the way as we pass a couple of third and fourth-gen Camaros.

"Ah, the forgotten orphans of the American auto scene - AMC."

"Is this another odd custom job, or is it stock?"

"The color, I'm not sure. The body - yep, that's pure second-gen Javelin."

Midnight and I come to a stop before crossing in front of it, getting a better view of the side as well as the front end.

"'71 to '74 Javelin, I know that much. It's not an AMX - those all had the same flush mesh grille through those years, as well as a cowl-induction hood and T-stripe graphic on the hood and fender tops."

"And those fenders are normal?"

I'm not surprised to hear her eyes drawn to the front fenders. It is pretty hard to miss those massive humps jutting up over the wheels...

"Those made it easier to fit massive race tires for Trans-Am racing and drop the suspension without worrying about tire rub. There was a lot about this car that was made or designed with racing in mind. Hence the lip on the back of the roof and the ducktail spoiler," I explain, pointing out those aerodynamic features. "They're actually pretty neat cars when you take a closer look. A lot of misunderstandings on how they were put together though."

"What do you mean?"

AMC didn't have the budget of Detroit's Big Three, so they used parts that used licensed engineering from GM, Chrysler, and Ford. Parts that are unique to these cars in fitment, but not in how they work."

"...how does that work?"

"The best example off the top of my head is the automatic transmissions. They're Chrysler Torqueflite transmissions with the same internals and inner workings as the Mopar counterparts, but a case that had their unique bolt pattern to mate to AMC engines. Ends up being cheaper than having to design it in-house on your own."

"Well, I guess the styling matches the build - certainly out of the ordinary. Not ugly, just very... unique. But I guess if you're going for function..."

I let out another bit of laughter.

"I don't know how true it is, but I read somewhere that the look the designers of the second generation were told to shoot for the winner of a wet t-shirt contest. Curves in all the right places."

Midnight turns to look at me, then back at the car - focusing on the exaggerated lines from the front fender bulges to the wide rear flanks where the rear fenders meet the roof C-pillar.

After a moment, Midnight once again locks eyes with me, apparently still befuddled by my comparison.

"I'll explain when you're older."

"Hey, I'm..."

Midnight pauses, thinking as her gaze falls to the pavement momentarily.

"I'm an adult, I know that much."

"As if I'm going to just trust the word of someone trying to convince me they aren't underage."

"Wait..."

Midnight looks at the Javelin one more time. "I get it now. You're sick," she mutters, shaking her head.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

There are a few more imports ahead of us in the line, and sadly, not many more cars to go after that.

"I hope you aren't too disappointed with this morning's turnout. I really expected something decent out of it."

"You act like it's your fault."

"No, I just said we were going to a car show and-"

"-and that's where we are, isn't it? It's not a big deal - at least it gets me used to being around other people without being overwhelmed."

"So you are still a little leery being out in public? I didn't notice."

Midnight shrugs as she winces just a bit. "I wouldn't really use the term 'leery' here," she says hesitantly. "I'm aware that there are people here - more people than normal. Kinda like that restaurant when you got me drunk."

"I bet you will never down a glass of water that's served to you again," I tease her.

"Sure as hell gonna be more careful," she says before stopping at a red convertible. "That's a nice car."

I can't help but chuckle at her eye being caught by this one.

"Is it because of the horse badge?" I joke, pointing to the emblem in the grille.

"Shut the hell up," she replies. "What's wrong with the first generation of Mustang?"

"Nothing, just giving you shit," I say, easing up a bit. "It's why pony cars are called pony cars. Actually, that Javelin was part of the pony car class. The funny thing is, the Plymouth Barracuda came before the Mustang - it just wasn't attractive or popular."

"Can't imagine why a Valiant with a fishbowl hastily grafted into the rear window didn't light the senses on fire," she jabs back. "I'm going to admit when I first heard the term 'pony car,' I was expecting... something else."

As much as I fight the urge, I can't help but smirk in amusement.

"Pictured a car specifically for ponies like yourself to drive around in?"

"Maybe."

"So yes."

"Fuck you."

I run my hand backward through Middie's hair, from back to front in a swift motion. It leaves the violet-highlighted blue sea a wild mess atop her head.

Midnight nips at my arm, though mindful of the real damage she could deal to me.

"Fix it," she demands, her face mirroring her almost pouting voice, even as I feel one of her wings whap me on the back.

I'm more than happy to oblige - giving me an opportunity to pet her without the risk of making her conscious of being in public.

"How do you know I didn't make it worse?" I propose in a jestful tone.

"You would be giggling like a retard in a room full of bouncy balls," she replies.

Well, she's probably not wrong...

"Why does that truck look like the suspension is fucked up?"

This time, Midnight uses her wing to point out the lifted white late-model Chevy truck.

Well, lifted in the front.

It's a Carolina squat setup.

"That's a trend among the yee-yee fucktards that feel the need to stand out, I guess. It's great if you don't want to see what's directly in front of you."

"It looks like a dog trying to take a shit."

"Maybe it's got worms. Don't judge."

Midnight snorts in amusement but quickly silences herself as we both walk past the truck, whose prideful owner stands beside it. Other than a set of godawful chrome wheels, there appear to have been no other sins committed upon the truck externally.

"Honestly, I'd take that first car over that monstrosity any day of the week," Midnight mumbles once out of range.

"You and me both. Shows like these are a mixed bag - you get good stuff, meh stuff, and straight-up what-the-hell-are-you-thinking sort of creations."

"I see this now. I suppose having learned basically nothing other than vintage American cars, I prefer looking at them."

"It is nice to have variety, though," I counter. "There are other things I wouldn't mind owning that don't fit in the vintage American category. You should try expanding a little bit for shits and giggles."

"I might. Just please tell me you don't want me looking at stupid trends like that."

"Middie, if you start liking trucks like that, I will beat the stupid out of you."

"Deal."

I scratch my head, ogling the last few cars left. It appears as if a few people decided to show up with cars they just rolled out of the dealership lot, with a new Dodge Challenger, Ford Mustang, and a Camaro. Hardly anything we haven't seen in passing or in a parking lot.

But may as well experience the whole show...

"Well, after those, did you want to head inside and maybe get a little something to eat?" you ask. "They have phenomenal doughnuts."

"Can't say I've ever had doughnuts before," she replies, cocking her head.

I gasp in an exaggerated fashion, putting a hand over my mouth in shock.

"Well, that settles it. Come along, you poor deprived thing."

"Only if you promise to never act that gay again."

"I make no promises."

Author's Note

It's probably obvious while reading this update, but there is a personal connection I included in this update, one that I alluded to previously when asked about my interest in cars. It's not magenta as mentioned in the story (Fresh Plum Metallic if it's the stock AMC color), but I have a 74 AMC Javelin that I bought in 2018 and finally got on the road last year after years of work redoing the wiring, interior, and other repairs.

I've done other work and have another summer toy, but that's getting away from the point of this little note and from the story itself. Just a silly bit of self-insert for fun and a peek beyond the veil of anonymity, I suppose.