Midnight

"Ah – so begins another night of channel roulette. How wonderful," Midnight mutters. "Here I thought things might change because we have a guest."

I turn my head toward Midnight, who lies beside me on the couch. On the other side of her, lying in parallel, is Starla – with both of them hunched over the laptop.

Well, Midnight would be – if she decides to stop shooting me a derisive look as the TV in front of us continues to flash with color and bursts of sound. Starla is still engrossed in whatever Midnight is currently sharing with her – and unbothered by my rapid-fire channel flipping.

"Yes, you are annoying," Midnight reaffirms.

Her nit-picking drives me to start actively focusing on the remote in my hand, holding it with both hands and pressing the channel button as fast as I can go. Once I get into a rhythm, I look back at her, grinning madly.

Midnight's disappointment from a moment ago has turned into a mild scowl. "I hope you feel accomplished," she grumbles.

"Thanks, I do," I crow, thrusting my chest out for added sarcastic effect. "You know, if you didn't read so damn fast, you could stay in sync on the same page with Starla and not even notice what I'm doing."

"That's more my fault than it is Midnight's," Starla butts in, having just finished her reading in order to glance at us. "I can't deny I'm a rather sluggish reader." It's a comment without ties to emotion; her voice and expression are level and calm.

Even so, I can't stand the thought of her taking any flack for Midnight's current pet peeve as I mute the television for the time being. "Nah, Starla – Midnight creates her own problems because she tears through everything she reads," I argue. "She went through every one of my shop manuals cover to cover in the first week she was here. I haven't even sat down and read one cover to cover – and to do that would take me... I don't even know. Month, maybe? Probably longer than that."

Stunned by my statement, Starla takes a few moments of silent blinking to comprehend the achievement before finally shifting her eyes to Midnight. "Wow, is that actually true? That's amazing!"

"It's... kind of a feat, I guess," Midnight murmurs, shying away from the spotlight that's suddenly been thrust upon her.

"Don't let her fool you, Midnight is a top-tier nerd when it comes to reading," I remark, knowing full well what I'm doing.

Sure enough, a dark blue hoof raps my thigh in response. "Hey, no hitting," I scold Midnight, poking her in the cheek with my finger. The only resolution I get is an animalistic snarl from her.

"You really do pick on each other and act like children even when people aren't around, huh?" Starla chimes in. Her face is lined with amusement after watching the short exchange.

"He does, yes," Midnight clarifies, striking me lightly on the leg once again. For retribution, I poke her in the ribs this time, causing her to jolt from the sensation.

"'Picking on each other' would include you in the mix, Middie," I remind her. "Don't try to weasel your way out of blame."

"I sometimes stoop to your level. I don't live in the basement like you do," she retorts with a touch of haughtiness even Starla finds laughable.

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Starla, does that not essentially put her on the same level as me?"

"Wait, why are you asking her opinion on this?" Midnight blurts. However, she quickly realizes the bluntness of her question as her ears droop and she turns her head to face Starla. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"Midnight, you're fine!" Starla laughs, a bit shocked by Midnight's sudden apology. "I'm well aware you get caught up in the moment from time to time – I knew what you meant. I am curious why John thinks so highly of my opinion, too."

On that note, all eyes in the room are abruptly cast upon me, expecting an answer. "Well Starla, you're our guest – and let's be honest, probably the only actual grown-up here."

"She's our guest – so you want to pressure her into making a decision about who is right in our disagreement," Midnight summarizes, devoid of energy. "Fantastic idea."

Starla shakes her head and laughs – but her attention suddenly locks on the TV. "Hey, what's that?" she asks, pointing a hoof at the program currently on screen.

Having hastily rushed through channels, I'm not sure where I landed and what has her attention. A glance at the screen at the perfect time greets me with a forest green Chevelle rolling onto a stage before an indoor crowd. I try my hardest not to cringe as I realize what's happening. "Ah, I didn't mean to choose this," I admit, raising the remote and—

The remote control is yanked from my grasp without warning, halting just a few inches in front of my hand before it wriggles in the air to taunt me. "Our guest would like to know what that is on the TV, John," Midnight coos beside me.

"It's a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle," I rail off instantly in haste, holding my hand out expectantly. "Now, remote, please."

Instead of returning to my open palm, the remote swoops downward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Midnight's devilish grin and realize she's intending to go for my knuckles. "Don't you dare you little bastard," I chide, pulling my hand back before she can give me a good whack.

"Wait, I'm confused – is there something wrong with the car?" Starla interrupts, staring at the two of us. "I really like it – the white stripes on top make the dark green pop."

"John hates watching auto auctions," Midnight sighs, eager to release a long-held gripe to someone else. "He gets all sad and mopey about them."

That brief explanation does little to clear up Starla's confusion; her eyes dart back to me, hoping for a clear answer.

Explaining my beef will be difficult without context – meaning the only thing to do is give in to pressure. "Alright, we'll watch it," I relent, unmuting the television and bumping up the volume.

"—and underneath the hood is the legendary LS6," the announcer calls out from the TV. "This was the most powerful iteration of the 454 big block Chevrolet sold to the public."

This is probably going to be a big auction if the car is a real deal. As the three of us watch, the cameraman pans along the side of the car, showing off the flawless bodywork and mirror-shine paint that accentuates the body lines with the darker hue. As the camera rises, the interior comes into view – pure white vinyl in immaculate condition, cutting a sharp contrast to the body color and complementing the white stripes Starla mentioned earlier draped over the top of the car.

"So what is it you don't like about this, John?" Starla inquires once again.

"The figure in the corner of the screen that keeps climbing," I lament, pointing to the current bid in a graphics box. Almost in tune with my complaint, the price punches through into the six figures and continues to jump.

"Gee, it's almost like it's an auction, John," Midnight comments with a hearty helping of sarcasm. "Wow, people bidding on an item they want makes the price go up. Who'd a thunk?"

I shoot Midnight a glare for her efforts, even though I'm hardly surprised by her chiming in with a strong opinion. She has an interest in these programs, but I put up enough of a fuss that she doesn't watch them when I'm in the room – though, in my defense, she's never fully focused on the TV anyway.

"What?" Midnight shoots back at my unhappiness.

"You know why I hate this shit, Midnight."

"I don't," Starla pouts, drawing Midnight away from me again.

"It's autism," she tells her friend.

"You hush, Middie," I instruct her.

"Sold! $147,000!" the TV blares out. The announcers proceed to discuss the price and how it compares to prior auctions involving similar cars – a droning discussion that only furthers my ire.

"What bothers me about watching these auctions is more often times than not, a car like that is never gonna see the light of day again," I clarify for Starla. "Very rarely is that car going to be driven on the road and enjoyed, and to me, that's just sad."

"Well, it is a lot of money..." Starla answers sheepishly. She puts a hoof to her chin, evidently pondering what to say beyond that short notation.

"So you mean to tell me that with that kind of dough, you would be cruising up and down the road every day and risk fucking it up?" Midnight proposes, retaining her combative and sarcastic attitude toward me. "I'm calling bullshit on that, John. I think it's jealousy."

"Alright – come here you mouthy pain in the ass," I growl through gritted teeth. Turning my upper body, I grab hold of Midnight around her barrel and drag her next to me.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Midnight demands, her voice cracking in surprise at the sudden physical interaction.

"Embarrassing you in front of your friend – like I threatened to do earlier in the week," I remind her, resting my chin atop her head and moving my arms to properly embrace her. "You've been moody and hostile all night – I think you need punishment cuddles to set you straight."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" Midnight yowls, muffled by my physical restraint on her. "You've never done shit like this before!"

Despite her cries of anger and frustration, Midnight is not putting up much of a fight to get away from me. Starla is trying not to laugh at the scene as she watches us struggle.

"Don't listen to a word she says, Star," I tell her. "She loves cuddles – most of the time when I wake up in bed, she's either draped over me like a blanket or snuggled in like I'm a big stuffed animal just for her."

"Shut up, shut up!"

"Aww, she really does love you, doesn't she?" Starla comments, joining in on the teasing with her own smirk now.

"Hey, you're starting to understand her language."

"You're both assholes!" Despite the language, Midnight's growl comes out shaky – the warning tone broken up by stifled laughter.

"It really sounds like she needs more hugs," Starla speaks loudly as forewarning. Before Midnight has any audible response, Starla scoots over and lays atop Midnight, doing her best to snake those pink forelegs around for a proper hug.

"Why the hell is this a thing right now?" Midnight asks, now sounding genuinely uncertain of what is currently transpiring around her.

"I dunno, but I didn't want to be left out," Starla answers.

"That's a terrible excuse."

"Oh fine, you poor thing," I relent, freeing Midnight from the confines of my snuggles. She backs away from me – almost in unison with Starla, who has let go of Midnight as well. This bit of space allows Midnight to shake her head, trying to make sense of the mess of hair that's splayed out on her head right now.

"Do you at least feel better?" I tease, helping her out a bit by running my hands through her hair and mane. "Maybe just a bit less snarky?"

I get a piercing leer for my comment as Midnight puts on a bitter expression. "You get a five-minute reprieve."

Good enough for me. I take a look at Starla again, who is chuckling at Midnight's response.

"We might be just a bit dysfunctional."

"I wouldn't say dysfunctional – more... uh, unique in terms of your relationship," Starla manages to piece together, her amusement not dimmed in the slightest. "It's funny watching you two pick on each other like that in good fun."

"How about rather than discuss this mushy crap, we go back to the conversation before I hurt John's feelings?" Midnight suggests.

"You didn't hurt my feelings – you were just being a bit too raw for the conversation, and I needed to fix that. Also, I don't remember the conversation."

"Midnight was debating you willing to drive a six-figure car around," Starla chimes in.

"Oh yeah – I get being aversive to risk after spending that kind of money – but then why buy it if you're that worried?" I argue. "To be fair, if you spent that much, you would wisely insure it for that amount if the cost actually reflects the value – so you would be covered there. The reality is that these auctions are playgrounds for rich people who are either speculating that their purchase is going to continue increasing in value, or their own personal ego boost to say they have such and such a car that's really rare. If they go anywhere, it's almost always in a trailer."

After unloading that whole spiel, Starla is left wide-eyed and silent, trying to process everything I just said.

However, Midnight cocks her head curiously as she stares at me, calmer than just a moment ago. "I really thought it was a jealousy thing for you," she admits. "Maybe you told me before but—"

"I have, but it was quite some time ago when you didn't like to listen to me," I sigh.

"What's that?"

"I'll cuddle you again if you want to continue to be mouthy," I warn her. "Maybe there is a bit of jealousy on some level, but you've been seeing firsthand what happens when a car just sits without driving it. The Chrysler has been a lot of work."

"That's on the extreme end, not necessarily comparable to a car sitting in a climate-controlled space," Midnight counters.

"Yes – but just sitting for extended time allows seals to start leaking oil, or rubber components to start dry rotting. Tires in particular can sort of earn a memory after a time sitting in the same spot – giving a nasty thump or vibration the next time you head down the road. And that's even considering sitting in a climate-controlled space."

"Fine, fine," Midnight concedes, shaking her head at my continued protests. "However, you have to admit – getting spun up about watching something like this while concerning yourself with what happens to the car afterward is a bit silly."

"I'll admit it on one condition," I reply, crossing my arms as I prepare my ultimatum. "You have to admit it's silly to buy something just so you can have it or say you own it is silly."

"I've never really thought otherwise, to be honest with you," Midnight answers.

"Yeah, you both make good points," Starla acknowledges, watching the television as the camera pans over a line of cars awaiting their turn at the auction block. "I really don't know anything about cars, so seeing all these old vehicles in one place is interesting to me."

"I suppose this sort of program is a nice way to ease into cars. But you'll likely be getting a crash course on automotive stuff just staying with us for a few days."

"I hope I can be a good student," Starla teases.

"Hey, no pressure. Just a one hundred-question exam on the final day you have to pass in order to leave."

"You can cheat off of me, Star," Midnight whispers to her, keeping on with the joke. "Since you're gonna show me some cooking, I figure it's the least I can do."

"Aww, thanks," Starla says with a laugh. "By the way, talking about cars – what time do you two usually go to bed when you have work the next day?"

Midnight and I exchange glances, waiting for the other to come up with a definitive answer. Both of us end up shrugging at each other after a brief moment of silence.

"I guess we really don't have a set bedtime," Midnight answers, turning her head back to look at Starla. "Usually we just call it a night when one of us starts falling asleep here on the couch. So it varies depending on how the day went."

"I still have a couple of hours in me tonight," I speak up. "By Midnight's hostilities, she's still got some left in the tank, so by no means do you have to worry about keeping us up, Star."

"So... can we keep watching this?" Starla is the one to ask the question, but both mares put on their puppy-dog eyes and pleading pouts in hopes of swaying my answer.

And with Starla being our guest... how can I really say no, anyway?

"I'm outvoted two to one, and you both make good points about my hangup. Maybe I'll get desensitized once I watch it a bit more."

"That's the spirit."