Midnight

Much like the first night with Midnight dwelling within my home, sleep did not come easy last night. As much as I hate to admit it, Midnight's sudden departure and her demeanor during that retreat brought me a wave of concern. It's up for debate whether I should feel that way, considering she's fickle in mood more often than not; this could be chalked up to another exhibit. But clearly, something suddenly bothered her. A shower just happened to be a good cover to get away.

She didn't say much in the morning when I got up. Back in her normal spot on the couch, flipping through another piece of reading material, Midnight at least seemed to be more her normal self.

Just quiet.

I didn't want to start the day on a poor note with her, so I forced myself to keep the burning questions about last night to myself. The thing is, I sort of find the bickering the two of us tend to do entertaining in some perverse way. Midnight has a sharp wit that brings me amusement more often than not when she strikes back with an unexpected or clever retort.

But it's no good when there is genuine ire being spouted between us. Having to walk on pins and needles because something could trigger her – that isn't fun at all.

This morning, Midnight was willing to let me use the forklift to bring in a few more engines today. Having to sit mostly idle while I pulled parts last night was a sobering lesson that she's decided to take to heart.

But now, as she goes on with her engine teardown rituals, I have an all too common lull in work. However, it is a welcome respite I was hoping to get at some point while Midnight was occupied.

It's time to see what I can learn on my own about Midnight and these pony companions – even if it feels uncomfortable to take this dive. Just typing "My Little Pony" into the search bar of the web browser right now makes me cringe. But I gotta start somewhere, and this expedition begins with a strike of the Enter key.

A myriad of results pop up in an instant on the computer screen – a hodgepodge of sites and images consisting of show material, fan sites, and merchandise. I'm reluctant to dive into the actual madness behind the craze, and that facet really doesn't matter in my current goals. No, a site dedicated to companies that make and sell these companions is what I'm after. One of the first company sites I come across is a familiar name.

EquisCo.

I recall they either had or still have some production facility around here - likely the reason it came up high in the results. Already, I feel like things are clicking – I have taken in some of their scrap on occasion, which they dumped way out back a few times in the last couple of years.

The first time their facility contacted me, the company name raised a red flag; I initially told the guy on the phone I wasn't dealing with biowaste. After all, with a name like that, I assumed it was some sort of glue factory or pet food processing. But the guy on the other end assured me it was electronics and scrap metal.

I didn't ask anything beyond that, especially since they paid a healthy amount just to be rid of unsorted junk. Coincidentally, it's been a few months since I last took in a truck of scrap from their facilities. It doesn't take a crayon-snorting crotch-goblin to connect those dots.

I look up from my computer screen, eager to keep tabs on Midnight's current whereabouts and distractions. To my relief, she's still ankle-deep in the guts of an Olds big block assembly.

It's hard to say how Midnight would react if she discovered me in the midst of digging into this shit. Sure, Midnight instructed me to figure out things on my own – but I believe that instruction was directed along the lines of the show itself, not her origins.

Returning to my research project with a bit more confidence, the EquisCo link I click loads a garishly colored webpage, bright enough to make me squint in pain for a brief moment as my eyes adjust to the visual assault. Glossing over the blurbs on the main page in letters mirroring the show's logo – which is plastered front and center – I spy a tab up top labeled "MEET OUR PONIES!"

Man, why does this have to be so awful all the way through?

I force myself to click the tab, bracing myself to start browsing through their selection. At first glance, I don't see anything recognizable; the first handful of ponies pictured only possess a horn, wings, or neither attribute. The other noteworthy attribute is these ponies are all equally as colorful as the website – a stark contrast to Midnight's rather dark, subdued hues.

Each pony companion on the page has a short description underneath their respective photo that includes their name, size, and "SPECIAL ABILITY!"

"REAL KARATE CHOP ACTION" probably isn't one of them, though.

The very first one on the page is a lavender unicorn named... ugh, Twilight Sparkle – she's apparently gifted with intelligence. The idea makes me wonder how much more information can be packed into one of these bots, considering Midnight already can run circles around me in book smarts.

There's a blue one with a rainbow-hued mane that's aptly named Rainbow Dash, who apparently can fly really fast... Midnight hasn't demonstrated her flying abilities; I don't doubt her claims, but with her size, that would be a sight to behold.

Of course, there's one that's extra girly that has an affinity for clothing and fashion, but there isn't much more that catches my attention. I can't help but let my eyes glaze over while continuing to scroll through a catalog much larger than I had expected. But when I get further down the page, there's a break and another small header with the title, "The Princess Line."

Hmm... scrolling down to reveal this section, there are only four of them. However, each one has a horn and pair of wings like Midnight. The first one is merely a princess version of the Twilight Sparkle model – and evidently unpopular, judging by the clearance sale tag.

Another one is a pink one claiming to be "the princess of love." I don't dare fathom any special abilities with that kind of title, even if these are supposedly marketed to families. Maybe that one isn't family oriented...

While the third one in line is a white and pastel rainbow-maned pony unrecognizable to me, the last model has some familiar attributes – Luna. Her mane and tail are close to dead ringers for Midnight's in terms of hue. But perhaps more striking is the marks on her hindquarters bearing the shape of a crescent moon.

But that's where the similarities end. Her coat is navy blue, too light to be a match for Midnight, whose dark blue coat is only a hair above pitch black. The eyes are certainly more normal, rather than those of an apex predator. And while the mark is the same shape, it is pure white, rather than a tinge of silver – not to mention it lays upon a mottled black area of fur, instead of Midnight's splash of lavender.

Unfortunately, that is the end of the page, leaving me to just speculate now with what little I've managed to find thus far. Maybe Midnight was preproduction – like a prototype. But why a prototype would be so far off of the production model when the end goal is to emulate the show characters sure doesn't add up.

And again – she sure doesn't look family-friendly. Her attitude isn't rated G, either.

"Good morning!"

I about jump out of my skin at the sudden announcement, looking up to see a salt-and-pepper-haired man heading up to my counter. "Did I come at a bad time?" he asks in a noticeable southern drawl, warily shifting his gaze to the computer in front of me.

While I'm thankfully saved by the angle of the screen obscuring his vision, I still tab off of the browser in haste, shaking my head. "No, just going through some stuff, wasn't paying attention," I assure him. "What can I do for you today?"

His courteous smile returns as he resumes walking up to the counter. "Well, I was hoping to find some parts for an Olds Cutlass, third-gen – preferably a '72."

"Engine parts?"

Both the customer and I glance over toward Midnight. She stands at attention, still standing amidst a mile of disassembled Oldsmobile.

"Uh... no..." the man responds slowly, turning back to me with a look of disbelief.

"Sorry, she's new," I reply, trying not to show my utter embarrassment with the awkward situation. I don't know how the hell he didn't notice Midnight in the first place, but nonetheless, here we are.

"That's alright," he mumbles, taking a moment to shoot a glance back toward Midnight before shaking his head. "Anyway, I was looking for a decklid, some of the chrome trim around the windows, maybe seats if the bases are at least decent. Got any of that list?"

"Yeah, there's more than a few Cutlasses out there, let me double-check what I got before you go out there – you got tools?"

The man nods his head and smiles while I bring up my inventory page. It's little more than a glorified, mismanaged spreadsheet, but it works well enough for simple inquiries like this. Well, at least ensuring I have the car out back he's looking for, not the parts.

"My granddaughter has one of those pony bots - didn't know you could custom order them, though," he comments quietly while I scroll through the listings.

"Yeah... I just have connections with higher-ups. About the only way you can do it, I think," I lie, trying to keep my voice low. Even though she was willing to speak up, Id rather not have Midnight overhearing this discussion, depending on how it unfolds.

My hasty cover story is good enough for the guest, who chuckles in response. "Still, I wouldn't think anyone would want one modeled after Nightmare Moon."

"Hm? What?" I'm forced to look up from the screen and to the man when that foreign name reaches my ears.

"Nightmare Moon? That's what it looks like anyway - I didn't mean any offense," he quickly apologizes.

"No, no – none taken. I just— trying to go through this, I didn't hear you," I backtrack, pointing to the screen as an excuse for my confused outburst. " But yeah, she... makes a good guard dog."

The comment gets a laugh from my guess, but I watch as Midnight suddenly stiffens. Her calm expression contorts into an uncomfortable piercing glare directed at me, just as a piston she has in her power is forcefully chucked into the brick wall to her left.

All I can do is offer the best look of regret and sympathy toward her following the silent outburst. My sudden interest in this customer's comment must have made me speak just above the threshold for Midnight to hear, and drew her attention to eavesdrop the rest.

"Anyway, looks like I got about five of em out there," I comment, returning my attention to the customer. "Be about eight rows down on the left side. Careful driving back there, it's rough."

"Thanks." As the gentleman heads back out of the shop, he offers a courteous wave to Midnight. She barely pities him with a casual glance, her eyes preferring to stare daggers into me.

It's only as an old Chevy pickup chugs past the door that Midnight speaks up. "Guard dog, huh?" she growls.

"I didn't mean it Midnight," I sigh, knowing full well I deserve to be confronted. "My mind just blanked and I panicked trying to come up with something. I'm sorry."

"Come up with something? Why did you have to come up with something?" she demands, trotting up to the counter. She rears up and places both forehooves on the countertop, doing her damndest to tower over me with an icy, stern expression.

"Maybe so he doesn't go asking further questions about you? So he doesn't know that you're technically illegal?" I propose to her.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you told me yourself that if the wrong person found out you don't have an RFID, you're liable to be destroyed. I don't think you deserve that, do you?"

She certainly didn't expect that answer, judging by her eyes widening.

I don't mention I would probably be in trouble with the law, which would be a bigger concern, but whatever.

"That's still not an excuse to call me your guard dog," she spouts, dropping back down to all fours.

"I never said it was, which is why I apologized."

Midnight retains some semblance of a displeased scowl, but it has softened up for the time being. But I need to come up with something to smooth this over;I guarantee she's going to hold a grudge over this.

The perfect idea brews in my mind – I only have to think back to last night for the inspiration.

"Tell you what, I'll get suspension parts ordered for the truck right now and that will be taken care of, okay?"

While she pretends to mull over the bargain I have put forth, the glint in her eye tells me it's a charade. "Fine," she announces after a dramatic pause. "What had you so enamored on the computer that you didn't even see or hear him walk up?"

Man, I really don't want to spill the beans on the wealth of information that's come up in just a few minutes' time. Now is not the moment to be revealing what I now know.

Things I'd... rather not talk about," I answer after a brief hesitation.

Midnight's nose wrinkles in disgust, making me wish I had come up with an answer that didn't sound so... inappropriate. "That's... I'm going back to tearing apart engines. Sicko," she mutters under her breath.

While Midnight heads back to her work corner, I open up a browser tab on the computer again. Quickly typing in the name the customer mentioned, I can't help but feel anticipation building for the results I'm going to get. A hit of the enter key, and the very first image that pops up takes my breath away.

That's Midnight.

Well, at first glance, anyway. After all, the winged unicorn is colored differently - pure black, while the eyes are teal. The mane is smoke-like and lacks any sort of definitive purple, while the wings are an odd mix of feathers and bat-like membrane.

Still, it's clear that was her inspiration. What isn't so transparent is why – especially as I read the short blurb that not only highlights her character as a villain, but some sort of twisted version of Luna. Perhaps that accounts for the attitude problem...

...maybe not. Is it really worth just assuming such a thing?

At the very least, I've managed to get some answers. But Midnight's frustration with my one comment brings forth one more question I need to know. "What else did you hear during that conversation?" I call to her.

Midnight doesn't pause or turn back as she hunches over her work. "Enough to know you're going to be asking me questions I'd rather not answer."

The rest of the afternoon remained relatively quie in the shopt; Midnight didn't seem to have too many issues with her work, while I remained preoccupied with thirty million questions I wanted to ask her.

That may change now that we're pulling parts; Midnight has routinely engaged in conversation out in the yard every day thus far. Perhaps spending months living and hiding out here has lent it the comfort of home.

Tomorrow is Sunday – the only day of the week I don't necessarily have to do anything work-related. Depending on the chances I want to take, I could learn more about her. Without work to do tomorrow, any sort of friction between us could be mellowed out by time spent alone.

The last day or so has had enough indicators that I need to do something other than continue to endure her miserable attitude. Last night's chippy conversation that led to her slinking out of the room until sometime after bed was one of em. And Midnight's surprise and withdrawal after explaining my cover for her today is not lost on me either.

I am by no means a psychologist, but Midnight thinks quite highly of herself – and yet she ended up here, likely in a truckload of scrap. Those two things are probably related to some extent with the combative nature she displays.

"Here it is," I announce, letting the trail duster roll to a halt.

Midnight looks past me and out the driver's side window in curiosity. "I find it hard to believe things like that were on the road in any sort of numbers," she muses, wrinkling her nose.

I have to assume that disapproving reaction is more in regards to the paint color – a wonderfully '70s shade of brown. Otherwise, we're gonna have issues – dammit, there are few things with the amount of presence a land yacht carries. Especially a Lincoln Continental Mark Series.

"There wasn't much to be proud of in the '70s between disco and bell bottoms – don't hate too hard," I wisecrack while stepping out of the truck.

"What is even the reason for something so massive and unwieldy?" She's late to answer the question – I await her departure from the truck before giving my answer.

"Ride and comfort, mostly," I reply, pushing down on the front fender and bouncing the suspension. It begrudgingly moves with a cacophony of squeaks and groans, both of the metallic and rubber nature. "A wheelbase this long on a soft suspension is probably the closest thing to riding on a cloud or a gentle sea. You just glide over the bumps."

With the hood already slightly ajar, I merely have to reach underneath the panel and pull the latch lever. I swing the massive steel hood up with the aid of springs that still retain a surprising amount of strength – but I still check to make sure they will hold up the hood before diving in. "Fuel mileage was atrocious with the 460, but you got up to highway speeds pretty quick considering the weight of this boat," I comment while overlooking the Ford Blue powerplant.

"Are you trying to get parts off of this, or sell it to me?" Midnight drones, nonplussed by my commentary thus far.

"I don't think you're enticed by my spiel, so I guess we're going the parts route."

"What are we after on this thing?"

"Air snorkel, AC compressor, and its mounting bracket," I answer, pointing to the parts near the top of the engine in sequence.

"At least they aren't buried, I suppose," Midnight comments, turning and walking back to the Trailduster's tailgate.

"One is already done," I holler after her, spinning the wingnut off of the air cleaner assembly. Aside from fiddling with a dry-rotted hose on the underside, the assembly comes off cleanly, just in time for Midnight to return with tools.

"Trade you," I offer with a grin.

With a smirk from Midnight in turn, the tools she has hover over to the radiator support in front of me, while the assembly I'm holding lifts out of my grasp.

The belt and the power steering pump are already missing, meaning it's only a matter of breaking all the bolts loose as well as the refrigerant lines on the compressor to haul it out. Of course, the lines were supposed to be emptied out before hauling the car back here. And if not, I'm supposed to at least purge the harmful shit out of there with special equipment.

Yeah, that's not gonna happen.

I hear Midnight trudge back to the driver's side fender and peer in while I lean over the front of the car and get to work. "Your silly bullshit aside, I'm surprised you haven't started peppering me with questions," she says.

"Am I supposed to? I didn't get that memo," I jest, trying to keep things light.

She doesn't reply with anything. At the very least, I'm determined to get everything on the bracket cracked loose before starting a conversation that could become volatile.

"Why do you care?" With a blunt question that lacks any sort of context, Midnight breaks that plan.

"About what exactly? Getting this stuff done?" I reply, being purposely obtuse.

"You aren't as sneaky and sly as you think you are – I noticed you taking glances in my direction on multiple occasions this morning," she responds. " by the way, you make a lot of really stupid faces when you're deep in thought, too. And don't get me started on how you barely waited for me to walk away before you started tapping away at your computer again. So drop the facade."

I'm forced to stop what I'm doing to look at her. Midnight doesn't look angry, nor is her tone any more barbed than normal. She's just... waiting.

Still, it's an awkward feeling for me to hear her deduction and observation skills are so goddamn impeccable. Or I'm just that bad at hiding my motives.

"I wasn't aware you had eyes in the back of your head."

"When you don't want to be seen or discovered for months on end, you learn to watch everything around you," she says. "It's all about adapting and surviving – and those habits don't just disappear because Im not constantly using them."

"And yet you don't seem too upset that I tried to lie about it."

Midnight shakes her head. "I think you suffered embarrassment enough to atone. But it only brings me back to my original question."

"Why do I care enough to dig into the world of ponies, huh?" I ask, trying my best guess what aspect of caring she is referring to.

"Among other things."

I have to give an initial shrug, going back to tearing apart the Lincoln's ancillaries. "More or less trying to avoid your fire and fury. I like the banter, but not when one of us is legitimately pissed off, for reasons unknown."

"And you think clues to 'reasons unknown' lie on a webpage," she skeptically comments.

Once again, I have to offer a shrug while straining at a seized bolt. It lets go with a pop – and the ratchet spins relatively free. "Hope no one wants that timing cover, that bolt won't be fun to get out," I comment. I finish getting out what's left of the bolt, chucking it off to the back of the engine bay with a clatter. "I don't know how to approach you about something like that," I explain. "I seem to say the wrong thing at one point or another, and you get frustrated like I know better than to say it."

Midnight's vivid eyes are locked on me with full attentiveness, but she remains quiet.

"I didn't start things off so well, I know that," I add.

"Like striking my home?" Midnight eyes me expectantly as I come to attention to her comment.

"Yes, such as that. I didn't do it for shits and giggles. Between having someone tell me they heard shit out here, and hearing things move around and feeling like I was being watched, you had me fucking nervous."

"Fair enough," she replies. I can't help but note my confession to being freaked out has allowed the slightest smile to blemish her serious face.

"Don't get me wrong, I never saw myself having a pony in my house – forget helping me out. More than any human I've ever had employed here, might I add. And it's only been a few days."

My admittance forces Midnight to avert her eyes. I don't think she expected to get a thinly veiled comment out of this exchange.

"So yeah, I want to stay on your good side, which meant going out on a limb to see what I could find on the internet. Even if that was uncomfortable."

"I'm assuming you didn't find a whole lot."

"I think you know the answer to that."

I proceed to work on the other bolts in silence, breathing a sigh of relief when I crack the last one loose and the whole assembly shifts out of place. "To be fair, I avoided as much actual show material as possible. I didn't really go through much, just a couple of sites, one in particular," I say, keeping it purposely vague. "Wasn't till the guy needing the Cutlass parts came in that I had a better idea of what to search."

Glancing over to Midnight, she stands there, frozen and devoid of emotion.

"You're supposed to be Nightmare Moon, yeah?"

She looks down quickly, as if she just dropped something off the fender. "That was the end result, I guess," she says in a low voice. "I could pass for it if you don't hold a picture next to me."

While details don't bother me in terms of her matching a particular model, it clearly eats at her, if that reaction is anything to go by. Maybe that's part of her whole aura she forces all the time – an attitude to match the villain she supposedly emulates. Or she carries a lot of bitterness over it – a massive chip on her shoulder.

That's something I will not be digging into; I'm looking to smooth things over, and it seems like that plan is going well enough right now.

I grimace as I try to lift the whole assembly out of the engine bay. But of course, the bolt I broke happens to stick out just enough to jam the entire assembly in place.

While I finagle with it in a rocking motion, Midnight takes notice of my plight, her eyes beginning to glow. The weight in my hands gets lighter, allowing me a chance to shift my grip and try another angle. Shortly thereafter, the assembly comes free.

Setting the dusty and greasy part upon the radiator support, I once again shift my grip on it before hauling it back to the Trailduster. Midnight follows behind silently, carrying my tools.

It's hard to come up with anything to say to her now, which makes me feel like a dickhead after this open discussion. I get everything packed up in silence and both of us climb back aboard the shop truck.

Midnight resumes her normal position of leaning against the inner door panel, staring out into the rusty landscape of vehicles. But she looks less... tense. It's hard to put into words; her posture is a bit more relaxed now, not on the verge of flipping her lid over something stupid I will say.

With caution, I speak up with something to break the silence that has pervaded since her last utterance. "No, you don't match Nightmare Moon exactly. But let's be honest – I wouldn't have a clue who Nightmare Moon was if I hadn't heard it from someone else, and I wouldn't know what she looked like if I hadn't taken the time to look up an image and taken more than a glance. Does it really matter you don't match her?"

"I never said it did," she's quick to reply.

"I know you didn't. You just didn't seem too thrilled to mention it."

"Well – no, it's not a good feeling. Why think about it when it doesn't matter?"

That response – while not containing any venom in her voice – makes me back off on the topic and decide to get going. A lot is going on behind that statement.

The big block under the hood rumbles to life again and inches forward once I throw the transmission in gear. It takes a hard crank of the steering wheel in the rutted tracks to get turned around, but we are eventually homeward bound.

It's only after rejoining the main lane in and out of the yard I hear something unexpected.

A chuckle.

I turn to look at Midnight, who is still glancing out the window.

"Did I miss something?" I ask.

She shakes her head and keeps her vision elsewhere, but I spy a grin creeping onto her face even from this angle.

"I'm genuinely surprised you went and looked up pony shit on your computer," she replies with mild amusement. "On the shop floor in front of customers, no less."

"Would you rather I have been looking up Brazilian fart porn the whole time?"

Midnight turns her head with reluctance, utterly mortified as her mouth hangs agape. She looks like she's about to say something, but I quickly put a hand up to silence her.

"Before you ask, the answer is no."