Midnight

I wake up the next morning feeling relatively refreshed despite the delay in falling asleep. At least the little discussion we had was enough to calm my mind. I was out like a light shortly after my head hit the pillow for the second time.

Now as I leave my room and shuffle into the living room, I see Midnight hasn't budged an inch from her spot on the couch. She's still nose-deep in a service manual, but not the '76 model year Chrysler one. That heaping tome is lying on the coffee table in front of the couch, underneath a general Chilton's manual from another particular year. Out of the three she had brought upstairs last night, Midnight is mere pages away from being finished with the last one.

How the hell does she even absorb that information when zooming through it so fast? Sure, she's sort of a computer, underneath the furry four-legged exterior but damn.

In an effort to balance being courteous and keeping my distance, I acknowledge her presence with a silent wave as I walk by before heading downstairs to shower. She at least looks up and nods.

By the time I finish up my morning rituals and head back upstairs, Midnight is casually flipping through the indices.

"Not to imply that you smell, but if you want to get cleaned up, you can use the shower downstairs," I remind her as she tosses the last book onto the coffee table.

"I'll take you up on your offer - what's the plan for today?" Midnight asks, rising to her hooves and slipping off the couch to the floor.

"I haven't quite figured that out yet, if I'm going to be level with you."

Midnight looks disappointed as she walks past me and out the door, but doesn't offer any response.

With what I know about her and what I've witnessed in less than twenty-four hours, I can't really blame her. She has a razor-sharp intellect that clearly wants to be challenged if at all possible. Or at least – as she mentioned last night – be allowed to put her knowledge into practice.

But yet again, I am not going to allow her to wander out alone in the yard while customers are pulling their own parts. It's less about the image now and more about the simple fact that she's illegal – and being alone, even out here in the sticks is a major risk. That risk probably extends to me – there are probably some laws that would bury me in shit for knowingly having her around despite her hazy origin.

I let my mind wander to things closer to the shop floor space downstairs while dancing around the kitchen, getting stuff around for breakfast. The room is a rather small and basic affair, much like the rest of my living space. There's hardly a counter beside the stove and range top, with the fridge and the sink finding a way to cram in amongst the area.

Instead, the counter I have hooks a ninety-degree turn from the range, functioning like an island that separates the space from the living room, while also being a decent dining table, as evidenced by the bar stools on the other side.

Normally on a morning like this, I would just say fuck it and pour a bowl of knockoff Peanut Butter Crunch, but that's not going to work for Midnight. It's not a special occasion, but eggs and sausage are on the menu this morning. She will almost certainly eat sausage – eggs might be more of a toss-up. Both items will be gone after today since keeping a stocked fridge isn't particularly important when one lives alone.

With everything gathered up and two separate pans heated on the range top, the sound and smells of a sizzling morning meal begin to permeate the upstairs. Tending to them is a dull affair that allows myself to focus on what I have to get done today. After all, there's more than just sitting at the counter and fucking around on the computer.

I just procrastinate a lot. It's admittedly a bad habit that I swear to change every time I fall behind and have to scramble to get orders done.

That lasts for maybe three days, tops.

Shuffling around the pile of sausage links to ensure they all brown pulls an idea to the forefront. Right behind the garage is a massive pile of engines. It just gets added to as I scrap cars, or as scrap comes in by trailer and gets dropped off and sorted from time to time. But every one of those engines needs to be stripped down into components, as I get a lot more sales from separate components than a whole powerplant. I just usually wait until a specific part is requested and pull it.

But getting some of them torn down would let me be more prepared and organized, and it would keep Midnight fairly busy. I'd just have to get a few of them hauled into the shop with the forklift this morning.

Midnight silently walks past without warning, making me jump just a bit. I consider a jest about putting a bell on her, but think better of it.

However, it's somehow only now that I've noticed she has marking on her hindquarters. Upon her... hips, I guess, is a splash of lavender breaking up into spots that dissipate further down her hind leg and further forward onto her sides. Contained within that colored area is a silvery-white crescent moon.

Was she that dirty to mask the markings, or am I completely blind?

Before I can suggest it, Midnight hops up on a barstool across from me, taking a good whiff of what I have going on the stovetop.

"I got pork sausage links and eggs. You want some eggs?" I ask her, having held off on cooking any but my own until now.

"Yeah, I'll eat eggs. Don't skimp on the sausage links, though," she replies. "Honestly, you didn't have to bother cooking them."

"Well, I wasn't going to eat mine raw. Probably taste better cooked anyway, yeah?"

"I suppose so," she drones, shrugging.

"Hey, what's with your markings, anyway? They have some sort of meaning?"

"Hm?" Midnight cocks her head.

I point downward with my spatula after plating more than half of the sausage links for her feast. Midnight cranes her neck to look back behind her, before the obvious inquiry hits her.

"Why are you looking at my ass?" she slowly questions.

"I wasn't – you just startled me when you walked back in here, and I just noticed because those markings contrast with your otherwise dark coat. Nothing beyond that," I quickly explain, feeling my face grow warm at the accusation.

Midnight stares a moment longer without response while I slide her plate of food across the counter, hoping it becomes a timely distraction before things get more awkward. "It's just a hallmark of the show I'm based on. Doesn't mean anything," she replies with an air of nonchalance.

"Alright, I just thought it was kind of odd. They just looked specific."

"So I'll ask again, what are your plans for today?" Midnight quickly chimes in as she takes a whiff of her food. "Am I just going to have to be cooped up in your little shithole for the majority?"

"No, I think I have an idea, there's just something I need to know before I go any further."

"I certainly hope what you're about to ask me is less awkward than your first question," she chides before sampling her sausage links.

"Your ability – the electromagnetism levitating thing that you do - you aren't at risk of frying electronics when you use that, are you?"

I receive a quizzical expression as she chews, but Midnight eventually shakes her head. "I suppose if I were to unleash a massive amount of energy at once in a short burst, perhaps. But otherwise, computers are fine," she adds.

With the safety of my computer downstairs out of the way, I dump my eggs straight from the frying pan and get another couple going for Midnight.

"I got a heap of engines right outside the shop – help me drag a few of em in here this morning, and you can go wild and tear em apart. Most of the major components – crankshafts, camshafts, distributors, heads, intakes, the block – I get a fair amount of sales out of those items. It would be a lot easier to have all that on shelves than having to fetch parts out as I need them."

"How am I going to help you 'drag them in'?" she inquires. "I'm assuming you aren't actually doing that in a literal sense."

"No – I got a forklift. Kinda a piece of shit, but it does what I need it to. Just bolt a chain onto the engine in a loop, put a fork through thenloop and haul em in. I'll just need you to keep the load from swaying back and forth."

Much to my surprise, Midnight shakes her head at my proposition. A few seconds pass with no verbal explanation for her disapproval, forcing my hand.

"What's wrong with that?" I ask, trying to keep any frustration from slipping into my voice.

"I can do it."

"You... driving the forklift?"

"No, you dipshit. Move the engines," she chastises. "I can move them - they aren't that heavy."

What?!

"They're like six hundred pounds each," I protest, dumbfounded by her claim.

"I could probably do that," she answers, unfazed by the figure I throw out.

"You mean to tell me that's nothing for you to move it?" I press further, not bothering to hide my overwhelming skepticism at this point.

"Well, I wouldn't want to spend hours moving that kind of weight around, no," she admits with visible reluctance on her face.

"What's the limit to your abilities, then?"

Already having taken another mouthful of breakfast, Midnight is merely left to shrug her shoulders again. Rather than continue to go back and forth with conversation between bites of food, both of us focus on finishing breakfast, leaving the room relatively silent for a while.

"I don't know what I can do for certain – I've never been put in a situation that required it," Midnight finally answers as she polishes off the last of her plate.

"It's not that big of a deal for me to use the forklift, you know," I caution her. After all, I've had days where I felt like He-Man, and regretted it later on. I'd rather not have to deal with whatever Midnight overexerting herself would entail. Cars I can fix, robots... that's out of my league.

"At least let me prove to you I am capable of handling one or two myself," she argues, unwilling to give up on what seems to be a point of pride now.

Sensing she's dead set on proving her raw power to me no matter how much I object now, I slump my shoulders and nod my reluctant approval as I gather up the empty dishes.

"And you're going to be fine with me working in the shop, even as people come and go all day?" she asks, a trace of sarcasm trickling through. "You aren't going to get all embarrassed by me?"

At this point, I can't help but smirk at her sassy attitude. Mainly because she's forcing it out at this point. It's hard to nail down – her voice just doesn't have that same bite like when she's pissed off. There's also the hints of a smile creeping onto her face, however devious it may be.

"Nah, I'll be fine. You don't exactly come off as a cute and cuddly plaything for little girls."

Midnight freezes, dropping the cocky facade she held just moments ago as her face loses all expression.

"Those were your words last night, I'm just repeating them," I quickly remind her.

Ever so slowly, a sly grin creeps back onto her face, just wide enough for her elongated canines to make their presence known. "I'm merely keeping you on your toes," she hums with amusement.