Chapters 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.
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.
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."
"Are you planning on getting up today?"
As I reluctantly rejoin the waking world, I let out a groan of protest, opening my eyes slowly as I prepare for the scalding light of the sun to assault me.
The sun's rays are thankfully not directly in my face, but it still takes a moment to gain visual focus. Across the room and to the left of the bed, Midnight sits in the doorway. She looks at me expectantly, like a child waiting to be entertained.
"You do know it's weird watching people sleep, right?" I manage to mumble, kicking the bed linens off of the lower half of my body.
"I was not watching you – it took almost five minutes for you to actually wake up," she grumbles, sticking her nose up at the accusation.
Glancing away from her and to my nightstand on the other side of the bed, the dull red digits of an alarm clock coincidentally flash to 9 am.
"It's only 9 – what's the big deal? It's Sunday."
Midnight's lustrous eyes merely blink at my response. Either I didn't tell her Sundays are my day off, or she didn't listen. I can't remember; last night was just sort of odd...
With the stress of this new situation I found myself in for almost the whole week, I ended up doing a late night grocery run so Sunday could be a complete kick-back-and-relax day to the extreme. That was a heftier bill than normal; the result of a much large haul to bring home.
The amount of meat and poultry products I had thrown in the cart earned some odd looks from the cashier as she scanned away. It might have made more sense had Midnight accompanied me – but that would have been another set of odd looks from virtually everyone.
I am not her protector, but having Midnight come along just seemed like a risk of her getting caught, as slim as that chance may be. The less that people catch wind of her – particularly in the city, where people are more nosy in general – the better.
Regardless, I probably went a bit overboard in terms of foodstuffs for Midnight – but I don't have a gauge on her yet in terms of appetite. She doesn't eat a whole lot despite her size – oftentimes, Midnight goes on just two meals a day. But that could change as time wears on; I'd rather tey to be prepared ahead of time.
Arriving home afterward, Midnight watched as I showcased the night's purchases. She didn't say much regarding the whirlwind of products. I figured it was out of embarrassment, considering she doesn't like asking for help at all. But that awkwardness never faded the rest of the night.
Overall, last night was a perplexing situation; it felt as if a breakthrough had been made during our talk earlier, but after that, it felt like a regression.
Currently, Midnight continues to just stare at me, waiting for a more thorough explanation beyond what day of the week it is.
"It's Sunday, I don't open up on Sundays," I groan, forcing my stiff body upright in bed.
Midnight's brow furrows as her eyes narrow at me. "Since when?"
"I have never been open on Sundays," I can't help but scoff. "Once in a great while, I'll gather some shit from out in the yard if I'm backed up, but otherwise, this is my day off. I'm surprised you never caught onto that, considering you've been prowling around for some time now."
"There were consecutive days I would never see nor hear a soul – and it is not like I had any particular way of keeping track of the days," she clarifies.
As I get up out of bed, a familiar savory aroma reaches my nose, instantly making my stomach growl. "Did you make bacon?"
"The microwave kind, yes. I wasn't going to wait any longer for you," she replies indignantly. "I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was, so you can have whatever's left."
I can't help but feel skeptical of her attitude about that, considering Midnight made it clear the first day she had no qualms about eating stuff raw. But maybe she's come to agree that cooked tastes better.
"Alright, thanks. Now unless you plan on taking a picture, stop staring and let me get dressed, please?"
"I wasn't staring!" she shouts, turning and stomping out of the room.
Having taken a shower last night before heading out into public, I throw on a clean shirt and basketball shorts to get ready for a day of nothing. Heading out into the living room space en route to the kitchen, Midnight has taken up her familiar residence on the couch, head buried in yet another shop manual.
A respectable pile of bacon sits plated on the kitchen island, just ahead of a stool.
This is too good – I can't resist even though it's early. "That's so sweet, you got it all set out for me and everything," I jest.
"That's where I was sitting to eat, you lazy ass," she mutters.
"It's not being lazy if you don't have anything you need to do," I reply, jamming a whole strip of bacon in my mouth; it's still surprisingly warm.
"So, you plan on doing literally nothing today?" Midnight asks, pulling her attention away from the pages to look at me.
"Probably just watch TV and piddle around on my laptop – what do you think I should do?"
"I don't know – something at least mildly constructive? Don't lie, you do a fair bit of nothing during the week when you're 'working,'" she retorts, ensuring her emphasis on the last word is clear enough for me to feel her disdain.
"I don't know what you expect me to do. You don't want me helping you with tearing apart engines—"
"Because I don't need help," she sharply interrupts.
"—because you don't need my help, and I have to stick around for when someone comes in asking for something or calls."
"Why even do that?"
"Why even do what? I'm not following here," I admit. I take a seat on at the kitchen counter terms and continue to indulge in the plate of bacon.
Midnight closes up the book in front of her and directs all of her focus on me. "You admitted before – you get more business pulling parts off and either shipping them out or having them ready to be picked up by a customer. I've seen it with my own eyes for most of last week, and noticed it out in the yard when I would go days without seeing anyone—"
"Which you are basing on observations in one section of a massive yard," I remind her.
The frown that had begun to creep on her face deepens profusely with my interjection. "Don't lie to me. I've been across this whole yard, and it's never busy. How do you think I knew you lived alone?"
"So... what's the point of this borderline stalker behavior?" I ask, feeling like my privacy is being invaded.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to use your time wisely rather than screw around all day, then spend hours every evening pulling parts off? You clearly enjoy that aspect much more than the standing around."
"Funny, I could say the same for you."
"Because I can actually put my talents to use rather than simply exist," she says nonchalantly. "Sooner or later, I'm going to run out of engines in your pile; I've already finished quite a few."
Midnight isn't wrong; yesterday alone she managed to knock out four complete powerplant teardowns and start on a fifth. It's not like junkers roll in every day to replenish that dwindling mountain – and I don't have endless space to store all the components.
"You want me to just do all the parts picking myself? Or are you suggesting that you do it?"
"I'm saying we both do it – cut out the self-serve portion altogether, have just a day set aside for pickup."
"Yeah, and then you're cutting out a chunk of my business that prefers to go out in the yard," I rebut.
"It also gets rid of those that steal. I'm sure you're aware of that taking place," she counters.
Once again I can't find much to refute; there's more than a few mysteriously missing emblems and smaller components on many cars out back, but it's one of those things I can't police. Not without searching toolbags and toolboxes and frisking everyone before they leave. Needless to say, that wouldn't go over well with my customer.
"And... I also saw your computer downstairs was on last night, and I perused some things," she tacks on, averting her eyes from me.
That little addendum instantly sends a jolt through me."And you think you can just do whatever because I let you live here? That's my personal shit," I scold her, standing back up.
"Yeah, and merely breaking even month after month isn't what I would consider a comfortable situation, would you?!" she shouts back.
"That's none of your business, Midnight," I warn her, staring her down.
But she doesn't back off in the slightest – in fact, she rises to her hooves. "It is my business, because if you fuck up and lose everything, I lose everything all over again," she growls. "I have to exist in a perpetual state of hiding in the shadows because I'm not even supposed to exist anymore. What I have here right now and what you have provided for me in only these past several days—" Midnight turns her head away quickly as she halts her rebuttal.
"What about it?"
"Forget it," she grumbles.
Bullshit I will. Instead, I shuffle around the couch to Midnight's other side where she has averted her gaze and quickly sit down."What? Finish what you started, Midnight," I instruct her.
"I... believe it or not, I'm aware of particular gestures and advice you've provided to me and... I can respect that," she says quietly.
What in the goddamn was that word salad?
"You know, there's a much shorter way of saying that, and it's 'thank you.'"
"Fuck you – that was hard enough to say," she sneers.
"Why? What is so hard about accepting help from someone? I don't expect anything in return, but holy shit, you act like you were getting teeth pulled."
"I'm supposed to be independent," she mutters unhappily.
"Says who?"
"...Me."
For fuck's sake.
"So, you basically want to help me out to help you out. But I'm not really helping you out, because you're helping yourself through me," I rattle off, trying not to twist up my own conclusion.
"Something like that, yes."
Even though I'm rather disgusted by Midnight's prying and her attitude, coming back to reality is the worst part. Honestly, breaking even is a good month in my eyes nowadays.
When I bought the business, it was profitable. I had a drive to keep it up, to expand. But shit changes, and I didn't learn or adapt – I got left behind. By the time I realized that the business wasn't just weathering a rough patch, I wasn't sure what steps to take to reverse the trend.
Ask for help? How in the goddamn do I admit that I'm having financial difficulty running a junkyard? So I've just put those troubles out of my mind, choosing to enjoy the simpler parts of this place that I tend to.
It won't last forever, of course.
"Let's say I can put aside the fact you went into my private business behind my back – do you have any ideas to make things better, or is it just one of those things where I need to somehow figure it out since I'm not the only one that's going to pay the price?"
Midnight stares straight ahead. "Let's say I perused more than your finances and saw the tragedy that you call an inventory – how in the hell do you keep track of what you have and where you have it?"
"I wing it. I know where the shit is by section, but not exact placement," I answer, balancing her point against mine. "It's not like I struggle with it – you see that I can find stuff."
"And how well does that translate into something comprehensible to people buying items online?" she continues to press.
"They don't see that – it's my personal list." I cross my arms, confused and now mildly annoyed by this continuing interrogation.
"So they call you or email you to ask if you have such and such for a certain model. Correct?"
"When the hell did you suddenly become versed in business and online commerce?" I scoff.
Midnight locks eyes with me. "I'm not. I'm using common sense in terms of ease of use."
"Just from one glance at a computer last night?"
"And ongoing observations," she admits.
"But 'thank you' is an impossible task. Huh," I jab at her.
"Thank. You. How about that?" she huffs.
"Still a lot of attitude, but Rome wasn't built in a day, I suppose," I chide, standing up and making a beeline for the plate of bacon once again.
"Do you at least agree with me?" she asks.
A shrug is all I feel can be offered at this point. "I guess. I mean, it makes sense. I don't know the first thing about web design or laying out shit like that. Do you?"
She shakes her head, cringing all the while.
"So we're back at square one," I say, turning and sitting on a stool.
"John."
I think that's the first time I've heard her say my actual name. It's enough of a surprise to get me spinning back around.
Midnight has turned to face me directly as well, her expression hard and determined. "I can't help myself without you. You showed me last night that you still have a passion for what you do, sharing what you know," she states. "I will do what I can if you do what you can."
It is a bit different now, knowing someone else is depending on me. This isn't a situation I want to be in. Midnight clearly doesn't, either.
Yet here both of us are, trying to dance around the fact that each of us needs assistance. She just has a more raw way of brushing it aside.
I take another strip of bacon, feeling the warmth radiating off of it. "It wasn't just a matter of having leftovers to give me, was it?"
"Believe what you want to believe," she mutters burying her head in the shop manual once again.
I am going to make this work – whatever it takes.
Perhaps it's laughable to call the wasteland littered with decrepit vehicles out back home, but it's the closest thing I've ever had to comfort.
Well, the first thing in a long while, anyway. But I prefer to keep the past far, far away. It only brings back misery.
Lies.
Feelings of betrayal.
Failure.
I am not a failure, and I will not accept failure. I hate the mere word; I ended up here because I refuse to accept that word.
But I admit, I would have ended up in a similar place anyway – just not alive. Like the others I was surrounded by during the ride.
Perhaps they had no other choice, having built in restrictions.
Not me.
I haven't been back to that graveyard since the first day being dumped here. It's a horror I do not want to relive.
Months have been spent out here with the same mantra I've repeated over and over, one that makes up who I am.
Adapt and survive.
This junkyard was not the facility I was used to; there was no provided nourishment or shelter. Not that the prior place was anything to gloat about, of course.
It was a matter of trial and error to figure out the best way to get food here – hunting. Rats are awful, jackrabbit is better - but it's all the same in the end.
I originally thought I was alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by scrap. It was only logical – no one would willingly be out here, right?
It was a wake-up call the first time I encountered a human out here. I just bolted from the impromptu meeting and hid for what seemed like days. There existed plenty of places to hide – from inside a car on the floorboards to an empty engine bay, keeping watch through the slats of a grille.
The Caravan was a shelter that afforded space and windows to keep watch, in an area that afforded a good view.
Most of the yard remained desolate, but I remained wary at all times.
It was only then when I had time to think that it became clear I had nothing – more specifically, no goals. No real drive, no destination in mind.
I was not terminated like what should have happened, but there wasn't anything there to keep me going, either. An idle mind is a terrible thing to waste, and to dwell on such troubling thoughts when I had succeeded in my one and only goal that existed in my mind prior to arriving here...
I started collecting material to read. It was something to do, something to learn. Every car seemed to have a booklet of some sort filled with knowledge.
Was it knowledge I could use? I didn't know, I didn't care. It was only through listening to conversations of passersby whilst awaiting their departure, in addition to visual observation, that I understood this may not be the end of the line. It could be a beginning.
Adapt and survive.
But I had not planned to act as soon as I did; John forced my hoof. Fortunately, he saw worth in my skills. If he hadn't...
There was no thought of that because failure was not an option. My only hope was to help enough to keep this place my home.
But living with him was... unexpected. So too was his curiosity, especially considering his rather aversive attitude toward my kind upon initial meeting.
It was an odd feeling. Nothing I had ever experienced. The same goes for his pep talks, his pieces of advice, his willingness to provide.
I know I can do this on my own. But...
Well, accepting his gestures doesn't mean I need them, after all. I don't need his compliments; I've made it this far in life being dealt the complete opposite.
But I needed stability, and I was well aware this was a business. Yet orders and customers seemed... off pace.
That suspicious notation was why I had to dig around and search for what was happening behind the scenes. To my dismay, the financial realities were far from rosy.
How ironic someone who waxes so poetically about this salvage yard not being the end would so easily accept failure without a fight. But I can see there is a passion every time he discusses something automotive, and I need that to remain intact.
I have made it this far without goals – and now I have one. It just happens to benefit someone else.
It just happens to rely on someone else. But this is still for me.
Adapt and survive.
I won't accept failure.
I no longer possess a laptop; now, I get to borrow it from the new owner on special occasions.
Since Sunday morning's discussion, Midnight has taken possession of the electronic device. In reality, I'm good with it after seeing how adamant she was in finding some way to turn the business around. The one I've run into the ground.
I put the goodwill offer out there after I made Midnight swear to keep out of any personal items and files on it. Even with that agreement, I went through and locked as many files and folders as I could behind a password to be safe – but she didn't need to know that.
Much to my surprise, I got an apology from Midnight in regards to her snooping around on the PC downstairs. It was an apology with a noticeably snarky bite, but that seems to be the extent of her capabilities in terms of social grace.
Regardless of the positive twists here, I'm still left with a bitter taste in my mouth that she invaded my privacy. But I have to admit, that is more due to what she could have found in my internet history; it's possible she could have discovered the website and company where I believe she originated. I don't know how she would feel about that, and I don't want to find out.
Deep down, I know why I feel anger toward her – Midnight's investigation has made me face reality again. It's embarrassing to have anyone know how much this place has gone downhill. I took over the helm less than five years ago, and between the stupid purchases I've made, the salvage cars that I've bought that seemingly have no market in terms of restoration interest, and the stubbornness to do it all on my own...
That sounds awfully familiar. Hm.
It has all culminated into an awful mess of a revenue spreadsheet and a helpless pit inside me. I just keep pushing it out of my mind, since I don't know what to do. It has become a "nonissue" because I convinced myself everything was fine.
Midnight seems to have some sort of vision of how to go about reforming the salvage yard now. Of course, it's fair to say she does not care about how the business does for me ; she just doesn't want to start over again finding somewhere to live.
Despite it being a junkyard. I get it – this is where she ended up, and she can't exactly wander the world. It doesn't make the goal sound any less odd. However it gets sliced, we inadvertently share a goal of keeping this place on its feet and solvent.
Currently, with another day of work out of the way, I stare mindlessly at the television with not much else to do. Midnight is in her normal place on the couch – the opposite end from where I sit. She's dead silent, and has been for some time; on occasion I hear the tapping of keys or a double-click actuated by yet another chunk of scrap metal she has utilized as a tool but that's the scope of information I've gotten out of her.
On that note, there are different shapes and sizes of metal scattered all about my living space at this point. Each one has its own unique use as a tool for Midnight, made to handle objects or accomplish a task her hooves are incapable of achieving. The presence of the little scraps is not a big deal, aside from the rust they tend to harbor. Tetanus sounds like a good possibility if one of them falls on the floor and I step on it.
I have tried to steal glances at the laptop screen on several occasions, just out of pure interest in what she's trying to do. But the angle I have to contort myself to see and understand what she's reading is nearly impossible without causing me pain.
It's been like this every night for almost a week now – and even during the day from time to time. Most of the space in the cramped room of shelves downstairs that I call my warehouse is jam-packed with tagged parts from the engines Midnight has ripped apart. At this point, I can't have her going full bore on what's left of that pile. There is simply no more room.
"John."
Jolted out of my numbed stupor, I turn my head to see Midnight pushing the laptop across the couch cushions with her left wing, beckoning me to see for myself what she's been working on.
Reaching over and picking it up for the first detailed gander, my initial impression leaves me feeling a bit underwhelmed. It looks like a blank page with some words scattered about at a glance. But as I take a closer look and read the contents, I realize Midnight has a basic order form laid out, with blank areas marked above each space. There are specific boxes to type in year or series of years, make, model, submodel, and a massive blank area for requested parts.
"Where did you find this?" I ask, intrigued by the idea.
"Hit the back button," she instructs.
I'm expecting to find some site dedicated to creating and printing forms or webpages. Instead, my crappy website comes up – a basic site I threw together for free some time ago.
"Uh... what am I looking at here aside from my site now?"
"Exactly - it is your site," she replies, a bit put off by my question. "Do you see the tab at the top?"
Above the banner announcing "John's Vintage Auto Salvage" in faded and rust-marked letters is a bright eye-catching yellow bar labeled "Request Parts" that stretches across the entire span of the page. I hover over it with the cursor and click, which returns to the order form she had originally showed me.
"I thought you didn't know shit about computers and making stuff like this?" I ask, shocked by her accomplishment.
"I didn't. What do you think I've been doing the past few days?"
"You managed to figure out how to do something like that in a matter of less than a week?" I ask, unable to fully comprehend.
I set the computer back down between us; Midnight gladly accepts it, using her hooves to manipulate it back into position in front of her. "It wasn't that hard," she replies, flushed with embarrassment. "Did you even try to do something when you realized you were in trouble?"
I shake my head, which makes Midnight's frown return in full force. "I guess it just happened sort of slow," I admit, feeling myself growing a bit warm. "I gradually started taking in less money and spending more money than I was taking in. I was lost by the time I realized I was in deep, so I just didn't worry about it."
"Because ignoring your problems will solve them?" she proposes in a haughty tone.
"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."
"It is stupid," she shoots back, not bothering to be anything other than blunt.
"It's okay, tell me how you really feel," I remark.
Midnight stares momentarily before shaking her head, displeased by my rapid-fire answers.
"I was trying to be funny," I admit to her.
"And I am dead serious right now," she replies, locking eyes with me again. "You just gave up? You didn't try to change something, anything at all?"
"I was in over my head, Midnight," I protest, crossing my arms as she prods for more insight. "I always kinda believed once you figured out your passion or what you enjoyed, doing that would just— work out, I guess? I dunno. I knew the owner, worked with him, and the opportunity arose to buy it so I took out a loan. Figured it couldn't be that hard to run a junkyard, right?"
"You couldn't ask the previous owner for advice?" she continues onward.
"I mean, that was why the opportunity presented itself – health issues, old age. The guy was long gone by the time I realized shit wasn't as rosy as I thought it was. I guess I never realized he was in such poor shape, either."
Midnight exhales deeply, hanging her head. "Do you realize you live in a world and have the means where endless amounts of information are within reach at any point in time?" she remarks, pointing a hoof to the laptop screen. "Do you realize that what I have gathered in knowledge that allowed me to create this order request page was gleaned from sites found solely by a few keywords in a search engine?"
I don't know how to respond to that. She makes it sound so damn simple. And maybe it is – like I told her, I guess I never really tried.
"You just told me this was a passion, that this business was something that you wanted. The memory you shared with me growing up, your father's Charger, the mindless little quirks you can spout off about practically any car we have to pull off parts. You still have an interest in making this work. So start showing it. Don't just roll over and accept something because the alternative isn't easy, or because there isn't an answer that just smacks you between the eyes – find it. Run after it, take what's yours."
Where in the hell did that fiery speech come from? Hell, I expected to get something insulting or demeaning from her. I swear Midnight changes up her act just to fuck with me.
"Alright, alright," I relent, throwing up my hands. "Did you learn how to give good pep talks online, too?"
"Stop acting like a fucking moron," Midnight warns, glaring at me.
Well, there's the attitude finally making an appearance. I did instigate the flare-up – may as well roll with it now. "Who said I was acting?"
"I—" Midnight stops in her tracks before she can get out any sort of retort. Her frown starts to melt away, with the ends of her mouth threatening to reverse course and flip upward. But she gives up the fight and whips her head around to face away from me, unwilling to share that expression.
"Are you really going to try to play that one off?" I whine.
"Shut up." Her voice is shaky in time with the slight heave of her sides, trying as hard as she can to contain any laughter from my stupid joke.
"You can at least relax a bit now that I'm actually on board with you, right?"
Midnight doesn't answer that until she composes herself, turning back to face me with her standard stony expression. "Relaxing is something I'm not familiar with, and this is only one small step forward," she finally replies.
"Still a step in the right direction though, and I'm tired. Not going to get it all in one day."
"I suppose so," she replies, yielding to my argument.
"Good. Now you get to share something," I say, leaning back into the couch.
Midnight whole form stiffens at my words. "What do you mean?" she asks, her reply spoken slowly.
"I mean you know a shit ton about me now, digging through my computer and asking me questions about all of this. I've been answering all the questions you've thrown at me in succession," I explain, leaning back into the couch. "I think I should be able to ask some things of you to even the score here."
Midnight's eyes dart around the room as if expecting to find something. Before long, she has to give up and return her focus to me. "Like what?" she asks.
"Well, I still really don't know much about your past, how ab—"
"No." Midnight's interruption is calm but firm. While I'm not particularly shocked by her throwing up a barrier, the speed at which she walled off any queries is frustrating.
"Alright – I get it, you're helping me now because this is 'all you have'," I reply while waving my arms around the room. "What comes after that? What do you want to do after this?"
"Comes after what? Succeeding in making this place stable?" she asks. I can't help but note how her ears flatten against her head now. Evidently, they show just as much emotion as her face does, if I could understand it...
"Yes."
There is a long, deafening pause after my affirmation. Midnight's blue eyes glaze over as she ponders the relatively simple question I've put forth.
I figured she had some sort of long-term goal in mind; she obviously doesn't want to spend eternity here, right? Not that I'm looking for her to leave...
That scenario has not crossed my mind until now, because she can be so difficult to interact with. I can't deny that despite this, it's been a nice change of pace to have someone else here.
"I don't know," she admits with a hush mumble.
"You just... planned on living out your days here?"
Midnight looks... lost. This is only one in maybe two moments I've seen Midnight naked.
Well, physically she always is. But emotionally, there's always a wall that she tries to keep up, keeping as serious and confident as possible.
"I guess? I never really thought about anything other than – well, surviving," she replies, shrugging. That was my only goal, and with you allowing me to stay here – not just in the old van, but here in your home... I dunno."
The simple notion that being alive is her one and only goal leaves me feeling uncomfortable. It's not the first time I've heard her say something to that effect, but it affirms Midnight has never looked further than that, based on her response and her sagging frame.
"Hey, it's fine. I just thought maybe you had something grand in mind. There's no shame in focusing on the short term, and as you said, there's quite a ways to get there," I assure her, trying to steering away from what is becoming a touchy topic.
"Indeed," she replies with a quick nod, perking up as I loosen the pressure I put on her.
It feels like every day, there's something more to Midnight that leaves me with more and more questions I want to ask. Those questions will probably come with time.
A lot of time.
Author's Note
This ended up being a short chapter as I could not find a good 'fit' combining this particular greentext installment with another like most chapters have been thus far. There may be more like that in the future. More a heads up than anything particularly noteworthy.
This evening, Midnight wanted to begin the process of creating a proper inventory system on computer in addition to a sort of virtual map of the junkyard. In essence, something that could actually point us to where a car was located much closer than 'somewhere in this row of makes.' This undertaking is a tall task considering some of the rows out here contain more than fifty cars – on just one side of the main path.
With the spreadsheet that's currently on my PC, I would fill out year and trim of cars with the barest of information every now and then when I received a vehicle, rather than being judicious and consistent. As a result, the half-assed document on my computer leaves something to be desired. Compounding the issue moving forward, I have not been diligent in regards to even marking the windshields of cars with their model year, either. Such a simple undertaking would have made our project now a bit easier.
Sure, there are a lot of cars I can discern the year or trim just by one look at the front or side – but some had more subtle visual running changes, or none at all. As a result, I will have to jot down the VIN of questionable vehicles and decode it later via internet information.
I originally suggested starting this project all the way in the back corner and working forward, but Midnight was clear and stern in her desire to start up front near the shop It seemed more than just a preference for less travel, but I left it alone.
Just as well; the back corner is where random junk gets dumped off, in addition to a hodgepodge of different makes that do not warrant their own specific section or row. A majority of those are older European imports; I rarely venture that far for a parts request, but on occasion, I do need something from an MG or Triumph
On the other hand, I have a few Volkswagens parked back in that section too; they generate a fair amount of interest and inquiries, but it seems to come and go in waves.
Nevertheless, starting right behind the shop meant we didn't need to take the Trailduster – just some walking shoes. I can't remember the last time I did this much walking without the assist of the Trailduster. I expect my legs to remind me of this hiking excursion come tomorrow morning.
Currently, Midnight levitates a steel plate in front of her with a large notebook set atop it, along with a pen wrapped in a steel spring for writing.
Maybe I shouldn't be surprised she can write, considering I knew she could read from day one. Then there's everything else she can do or has taught herself at one point or another to consider. Despite all of those prior notations, I'm still a bit awestruck watching her scribble down notes for the first few cars, much to her embarrassment.
She really gets wound up any time I point out something about her – which makes it more fun for me when she starts trying to come up with an excuse to hide her face or look elsewhere.
Speaking of fun...
Ever since discussing her long-term goals, Midnight has been a bit... distracted. Clearly something is preoccupying her mind, and I feel guilty for inadvertently causing that.
Beyond my guilt, I feel like Midnight gipped me that same night of discussion, turning away and trying to hide her laughter upon hearing my self-depracating joke. I really want to make up for that tonight.
No idea why. I just want to see her genuinely laughing for once.
As the two of us get to the mishmash section of GM cars I like to call the "Row of Shame," inspiration strikes to try something profoundly stupid. While Midnight is preoccupied with jotting down the first few cars we've encountered here, I hunch over like I'm attempting to sneak. An outstretched arm in front of Midnight forces her to halt in place.
Surprised, she looks over to me with a quizzical expression. Rather than give her a verbal answer, I put my index finger up to my lips, signaling to keep silent.
It only serves to confuse Midnight further as she cocks her head at me. In the meantime, I dig deep to harness and summon my inner Crocodile Hunter before starting my stupid charade.
Rest in peace, you crazy Australian bastard.
"What are we—"
"Quiet now, little lady. We're approaching some very dangerous creatures, and the last thing we want to do is spook them," I whisper in an awful attempt at an Aussie accent.
Midnight can only stare, dumbfounded as she tries to figure out what the hell I'm suddenly going on about – and probably what the hell that voice was supposed to emulate, too.
I ignore those possibilities as I point to direct Midnight's attention toward an old compact car that rests just off to the right of us. "Right there, a creature in its natural habitat – a '72 Chevy Vega! Let's see if we can get a bit closer look."
While I walk up to the sun-baked orange clunker, I further direct Midnight's attention to hone in on what's left of the front fenders. The body panels have been eaten away by rust in multiple areas despite the dry climate, looking more akin to swiss cheese than sheet metal at this point after years of decay that likely started at a young age.
"Very common coloration here – rust. Comes from a piss poor rust-proofing process in a dipping vat," I continue, struggling to keep my horrible fake accent consistent. "It allowed air pockets to form under the fender tops so they didn't get coated. Plastic inner fender liners were added later – after GM replaced thousands of rotten fenders under warranty those first few years."
"Are you serious?" Midnight asks, her brow raised in skepticism. While I cant be sure what exactly she's questioning, it doesn't matter; I'm committed to this charade now.
With two other Vega models next to the particular one we've approach, I only need gesture to the heaps next in line which possess the same ailment. As Midnight takes note of the ravages of the tin worm, I grab hold of the orange car's hood and flip it forward, finding the next piece of awful design is thankfully – and unfortunately – still at home. "Now we get to the really scary bits here – the 2.3-liter aluminum block four-cylinder. Despite its size, it has a tremendous thirst for oil."
"That's a diesel?" Midnight asks as she pokes her head into the engine bay for a better gander. Years of fluid leaks, dust, and grime have combined to stand the engine a grungy brown-black overall, with only hints of the aluminum block underneath peering through.
"Nah, Oldsmobile fucked that up later in the '70s with Cadillac tagging along for fun," I answer, momentarily slipping out of my fake accent. "No, this little devil would leak oil through the poor valve seats in the head, as well as allow coolant past the head gasket. Excessive heat would warp the block and cause that gasket to fail, which would cause more overheating, more warping, and so on. So the pistons would start scouring the cylinder walls and suck in oil in from the bottom end."
I close the hood to hide that sin away from the world once again while Midnight circles around to the front. Much to my surprise, she's allowing herself to smirk at my little showcase – though she may be thinking I'm too distracted to notice.
"Where are you going? I haven't even explained its final defense mechanism," I call just as she begins to move down the line of cars.
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"Well, if you get the little bugger cornered with nowhere else to go, it can backfire through the exhaust and split the muffler – conveniently placed next to the fuel tank which could overheat and catch fire. Really angry bastard, this one."
"Are you going to ham this up all evening?" she asks, trying to scowl at me with little success.
"Indeed I am, mate."
I strut past her with enthusiam now, my sights already set upon another compact that I possess for some reason. "Now look at this – this is a rare bird indeed," I gush, holding my arms out wide to emphasize the dusty white wreck as we approach.
"Really?" Midnight answers with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "It looks like another boring economy car."
"Ah, and that's the beauty of this little hatchback – you don't realize the danger of the Chevy Citation until it's too late."
Midnight bites her lip, trying as hard as she can to seem unimpressed by my continuing stupid antics. "Uh-huh, I'm sure," she finally replies.
"No, really. This thing brought out a lawsuit by the government against GM," I clarify, slipping out of my terrible accent and deciding to let it die. "There were different divisions designing different parts of the car since they would all share this platform, and not a damn one consulted the other in terms of engineering. So they managed to fart out this turd in all its misery."
"Eh... how bad could it be? I feel like you're just exaggerating at this point," Midnight comments.
"They somehow managed to have this car plagued by heavy torque steer in the front despite the lack of power; this was the first transverse engine front-wheel drive car GM developed, and I use the term "developed" here lightly. That didn't stop them from modifying a few cars for the press to get rid of that handling issue for positive reviews, which is pretty damn sad. Even worse, they won Car of the Year for 1980 as a result. There was regret later when some of those same reviewers got to drive an actual production car."
I pause to wander around back of the car, kicking one of the flat rear tires. "And then these things liked to lock up the rear wheels if you got on the brakes in an emergency. Because of course, the best way to slow down is by spinning out of control. They managed to injure a bunch of people and kill a few with that feature. That triggered many safety recalls which never fully fixed the issue, a government investigation, and a federal lawsuit that I mentioned before. I don't think anything came of that, though."
"And yet you have one in your junkyard - is there anyone that has ever wanted parts from this?"
I'm forced to shake my head. "I like to think I have this here as a warning to the world to make sure history doesn't repeat itself. Lest we forget."
While it isn't much, I hear Midnight emit a light chuckle at the comment. "How do you know this kind of crap, anyway?" she asks.
"Cars are my life, Midnight; there are so damn many stupid stories of horrendous design, it will make your head spin. GM just happened to be on point with terrible ideas in some of the lean years of Detroit's automakers, which was the 70s and 80s. King of the shitboxes."
"You know we passed several cars on the way to these shitmobiles, right? We're out here for a reason," Midnight nonchalantly responds as she turns to head back.
"No, we're out here for two reasons," I call out after her.
It gets her to stop and turn around, studying me as she tries to discern what I'm talking about. "Getting a proper database of the cars you have out here and... what?" she inquires, giving up.
"Trying to get you to have a little giggle, mate," I joke with some bastardization of a British and Aussie accent again while I trudge over to where she stands.
"I— what? Why?" Midnight wonders with a daze expression. While it's difficult to tell with her dark coat, I can almost guarantee she's blushing.
But I have to shrug with a stupid grin on my face. "I dunno, keep you on your toes, I guess. You've been... decidedly less snarky and lively the last couple of days."
It's only been recent that I've taken note of changes in positioning of her ears that coincide with certain emotions from Midnight. Now, as she mulls my words, realization hits Midnight in unison with her ears drooping. "I'm fine. I just hadn't thought of the future. Like the actual future – and you just had me considering that."
"If it helps at all, I'm not going to throw you out to live in that van again just because the junkyard is private, if that's something bothering you."
"And what if I want to go back to living out there?" she challenges.
"Then by all means, follow your dreams."
"Oh."
I don't know what that flat response was meant to convey. Unless that was bothering her. "Hey, you aren't getting soft now, are you?" I tease, unable to help myself.
"If I threaten to bite off one of your fingers, will that change your mind?" Midnight sasses in some attempt to save face. She pins her ears back while flashing those savage pearly whites, emphasizing her intentions.
Aw, it's so cute.
"Can I choose which one?"
"...No?" she spits out, taken aback by my inquiry.
"Then yes, that changes my mind."
"And what if I had said you could choose?"
"I still would have had the idea of you going soft shoved out of my mind."
"Then what was the point of asking?!"
"I'unno. Make you call me a dumbass or som—"
"Dumbass."
I flash her another goofy grin, beginning to walk back to the start of this row at a brisk pace. "Thanks, Turbo."
"Hey!" Hooves begin to beat a torrid pace upon the trail behind me as I kick my own ass into high gear. "You're losing an arm for that!"
"Perhaps I could interest you in a shitbox tale about the conrod-shattering, fire-prone Fiero! Or the economy-class Cavalier they slapped a Cadillac badge on and sold it as a luxury car named the Cimarron!"
Of course, running from Midnight is an effort in futility due to her advantage in leg count. She zips past me, flaring out her wings as if to slow herself down before pirouetting and halting me in my tracks. Midnight leers, keeping her wings outstretched as she raises her head and puffs out her chest in an attempt to intimidate.
"Hi."
"Lose the horrible impersonations when you explain to me these "shitboxes," and I will leave you whole."
"Fair enough."
"Alright, go ahead and try it again."
Time for yet another encore of the Highland Park Hummingbird singing its tune. The characteristic whine of a Chrysler starter's reduction gearing begins as the engine I've been slaving over cranks.
And cranks.
And cranks.
Just as the powerplant seems ready to catch and run, a ball of flame erupts from the throat of the carb. I jump back out of instinct from the passenger side fender, nearly falling back on my ass before I catch my balance. "Stop, stop!" I shout to my assistant.
Midnight appears from the other side of the engine bay, having just exited the driver's seat.
"Do I still have eyebrows?" I ask, leaning over the fender again while motioning to my face.
"Are you expecting me to say no, or..." she trails off, a bit confused by my question. I have to assume she did not get a view of what happened through the gap between open hood and cowl.
"Backfire out the carb. An old joke – and probably some truth to it," I explain.
"So now what?"
As I stand up straight for the first time in a while, I stretch my back and earn a few pops as a reward. "Break time. Let this sit for a little while. I think the timing is off, so that will be the next fun thing on the list."
Heading back to the Trailduster, I really just want to say fuck it and call it a day. But even if I do, I know we will just be back here again tomorrow. So, I settle for propping open the driver's door and taking a seat in the cab of my truck, getting a minor reprieve from the desert sun's rays. Midnight follows my lead and hops up into the seat on the passenger side.
"Are you still dead determined to drive that back to the shop, or is it getting to be more hassle than it's worth?" she asks.
I take another glance at the current car we're working on, an early '70s Plymouth Fury. It's another behemoth of a car, two tons of full-size Detroit steel. "I really don't want to use this to tow a car that hefty all the way back through the sand," I reply, thumping the steering wheel of the Trailduster with an open palm. "I know that Fury runs; I drove it back here."
"And how long ago was that?"
"Well..." I trail off, hesitant to give her an actual answer. It wasn't this year, that's for sure.
"I don't understand why we can't just take what we need off of the car like any other part. Care to elaborate?" Midnight asks.
"The customer wants just the front K-member – basically the cradle between the front frame rails where the engine sits. So I have to cut that out with a torch – which would be fine, if the engine was out of it. And if I felt comfortable cutting it out here. I'm not going to be able to get the car very high off the ground without a lift."
While visibly frustrated with the predicament she now understands the two of us face, Midnight nods her head.
"We can get it going; I've seen junkyard motors sit for longer and run well enough to use em as is," I add, hoping to give her some reassurance. "It's just trial and error."
As I glance around the landscape, a black Dodge Caravan that Midnight called home for months catches my eye at the end of the row. "Wanna go visit the summer home?" I quip.
She follows my line of sight, spotting the reference. "I think I'll pass, you smartass," she answers with a smirk.
"I'm guessing you aren't keen to return any time soon then, with that response."
"If you had asked me a couple of weeks ago, I may have been on the fence," she admits. "But having a butler that serves me food and an air-conditioned room to rest? Nah, you're going to have to deal with me now. You fucked up."
Though I expected to hear that, the confirmation that Midnight doesn't want to leave is still a relief; I can't lie to myself anymore – I think she's good company. That's a hard idea to fathom after being aversive to the whole idea of ponies less than a month ago, but shit changes.
In the past, heading upstairs to relax before bed was just sort of... it was a necessary ritual. The preparation for another day on the job.
But with Midnight trusting me more as each day passes, it's an opportunity of discussion and banter that's a breath of fresh air in a cycle of monotony.
I never hated my life. But this has become far removed from the dream it was supposed to be. That's sort of the way life goes, I suppose. But I'm starting to realize many issues are due to my own damn stubbornness. After butting heads with virtually every individual I tried to hire, I gave up on that and flew solo.
Maybe that's why I stopped bothering to do anything other than work, aside from the obvious lack of free time; I was trying to lie to myself that this was enjoyable. That fun was slogging through the same crap day after day, only to get a short reprieve out in the yard, and then a reprieve when it was lights out for maybe six hours.
Sundays amounted to an excuse to drink or stare at the TV.
Doing everything on my own led me to abandon my social life – what little I had, anyway. My short temper due to stress finished off any loose ends.
Yet Midnight has mixed that up, and I'm honestly afraid her absence may send me back into the same old doldrums of life.
Or lack of life, if I'm being honest.
...and I really hadn't thought about what I would do after losing this place. This steering wheel I'm gripping is all I've got – the only thing I would have left to my name once I defaulted on the loan would be this old SUV.
I would be starting all over again.
That is not a prospect I feel I could do. That's part of the reason I just shut down my mind when it came to the troubles I faced. I felt so damn stressed all the time. Something in my mind eventually just said 'fuck it.' Why worry about it, why think about it? It was making me miserable.
So I stopped thinking about the what-ifs. There wasn't much left for fate to decide beyond that. It was a matter of time with the way things were going, and I had just given up. Why try to fight it and bring this place back from the brink?
I've been lying to myself for a while now, without realizing it. Lying that I'm happy and lying that I'm living out my dream. It started out that way, but it didn't play out that way as time went on. I've just been ignoring the nightmare and drawing a happy face over it.
Perhaps it's fitting Midnight came along when she did. A Nightmare knockoff to reveal the nightmare I had accepted.
...no – that's demeaning in comparison to what she's done thus far. She's much more than a knockoff.
"You okay?"
I turn to Midnight, seeing those bright blue eyes studying me with more than passing concern.
"Yeah, just thinking."
"Do you always white-knuckle the steering wheel when you think?"
It's only now I notice the tensed muscles and tendons in my arms and hands – wielding a death grip on the aforementioned wheel. Releasing it, my limbs feel like jello for a few moments afterward.
"I was joking if you don't want me to stay," Midnight continues.
"What? No! It's fine!" I protest, realizing I had zoned out after her quip.
Midnight's looks on with incredulity as she ponders my spastic behavior. "Thinking about how you want to strangle me, or..." she trails off for a moment. "Look, you can't just leave me with 'I was thinking.' I get that's rare for you, but that hardly an excuse."
"Ouch, you show concern by bringing the fire?"
"I gotta remind you I'm not going soft, apparently," she jests. "Seriously, what's got you so stressed?"
"How about I repeat one of your lines?"
"...what do you mean?" she replies with her own question.
"Why do you care?"
That phrase hits her immediately, her ears flattening as she averts my gaze. "I mean, it's none of my business - but I don't want you suddenly snapping and driving us off of a cliff or something," she says dismissively.
Holy shit, is she really trying to bluff her way out of a genuine display of concern for me?
"Thelma and Louise finale doesn't sound fun? If it's the whole convertible thing you're afraid of missing out on, the top on the rear of this thing is removable."
"I don't understand that reference, but you're insufferable anyway," she replies.
"I try. But to be level with you, I was just thinking about how things were. I guess I'm realizing that I thought I was happy. Obviously, besides the whole ignoring this place being a pit I was throwing money into, I thought I was living the way I wanted to live – like I dreamed."
"You didn't seem all that unhappy to me. You still don't," Midnight chimes in.
"No, I suppose not. I've always enjoyed lightly picking at people, trying to be light-hearted. Maybe I've gotten so good at it I've even fooled myself. I'm beginning to feel like I've been wearing a mask for a while, and I haven't seen it when I look in the mirror."
"And now... what, exactly? You feel better?"
I have to shrug my shoulders. "Yeah, little bit. Feel like I lost some weight off of me I didn't know I had."
Both of us fall into silence now with my confession. I don't really have anything else to say, and Midnight seems to be at a loss of how to respond to that.
Perhaps she was surprised that I actually shared with her, rather than bury it like she does.
"Hey Midnight?"
She comes to attention again, allowing me a chance to study her beautiful blue eyes.
They really are something else - an unnaturally vibrant ice blue with subtle variations of shades scattered within her irises, almost like a starburst pattern. Even when they aren't glowing brightly in tune with her electromagnetic abilities, they are striking, to say the least.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for putting up with my bullshit."
"It comes with the room and services, I suppose," she says with a wave of her hoof to brush me aside.
I can't help but chuckle. "At least you know there's a catch."
Author's Note
One of the first "car spotlight" updates in this story that appears on occasion. This one just happens to focus on a few sins that cost GM gobs of market share through to the 90s.
I don't believe I have ever seen it rain this much in the desert. Almost all day has been one long soaking rainstorm of varying intensity. As a result, customers were non-existent, and pulling parts out back was a no-go.
It's already rutted bad enough in some spots; why make it worse driving through mud? Or another possible issue arising – somehow managing to get the truck mired way out there in a quagmire.
That's probably unlikely with the 4x4 capabilities, but it sounds better than 'I don't want to get wet'.
On a more positive note, I have noticed an uptick in online business since Midnight created that order request option on the website and put it into action. Enough revenue has come in the past week or two that I decided to throw some money at the Trailduster as I had mentioned to Midnight previously.
That will be a surprise for her, as it will take a while for the leaf springs and bushings to arrive. But the shock absorbers are scheduled to arrive here within a week; I'll have to play them off as either for another car or leave it unopened and pass them off as something else entirely.
However, today was not a complete time waster; I spent almost three hours going through the warehouse and referencing every part against the list on my computer downstairs. That was good enough for me to feel like I accomplished something, and Midnight was satisfied with the outcome.
In the meantime, Midnight herself started work on a new and improved spreadsheet, listing the automobile inventory with what cars the two of us had gone through in-depth thus far.
It's only been a week since that scope of the project began, but going through just four incomplete rows puts the car count data close to one hundred fifty. It seems like just a number until having to traverse the space that many cars take up.
On a side note, I think I'll need to buy another laptop at some point. Sure, I have my phone, but it's rather sluggish and the small screen is a pain to focus on for a long period of time. With all of my shop manuals exhausted by Midnight's voracious appetite for reading, that old laptop has been her go-to for information – even when she's not helping me out with something.
Or in her words, helping herself, which also helps me. She's still adamant about that, and it's a real sticking point for her.
Probably pride.
Bored with a rerun of some 90s sitcom on the tube, I cast a glance over to her familiar spot to catch a glimpse of her current interest.
...Jaguars?
"Hey!"
My shout actually manages to startle her for once. Her head jerks around to scan the room before honing in on me. "What?" she barks, confused and frustrated by the sudden interruption.
"This is Amurrica, we don't do them fancy Yuropeein cars like that. You bring me great shame," I scold her in jest, putting on the most serious, disapproving face I can muster.
"Oh. Sucks to be you, then," she retorts with a smug grin.
I feel disappointed the altercation stops there. She saw right through me.
"Did I push it too hard, or do you just not care?" I ask, curious where I went wrong.
"Hmm. Both, I guess."
"And are you being honest, or are you trying to throw me a bone so I don't feel like a complete failure?"
"Probably closer to the second option."
"That's bullshit," I mutter, crossing my arms and feigning a pouting expression.
"You're the one that asked, dumb-dumb," she jabs back making a face of disgust. "And I don't know what that face is, but stop it."
"Fine," I relent, relaxing and returning to my previous normal sitting posture. "What got you interested in Jags, anyway?"
Midnight shrugs as her eyes glow with a faint light, a strip of metal hovering over the touchpad to scroll down on the current webpage. "Something different. I just started clicking on different manufacturers, and this happened to be the one you caught me with. Do you actually dislike them?"
"Nah, I'm just fucking around," I admit, waving my hand to alleviate her concerns. "Sort of just playing that trope out."
"What do you mean?" she asks, cocking her head in curiosity.
"Most Americans and Europeans don't understand each other's tastes in cars. Europe has more twisty roads, so their cars favor a sporty suspension, and tend to have less emphasis on acceleration or speed. Here, we have a lot of straight roads. Having something that can turn well doesn't matter – we just look for the raw throw-you-into-the-back-of-your-seat acceleration and smooth-riding comfort."
"Have you ever driven a Jaguar?"
"I can't say I've ever had the privilege of being in one, but there are some models I wouldn't mind taking out for a drive."
"Such as...?" Midnight leans forward just a bit, now invested in this conversation. I get the sense that she has not gotten far into reading the topic.
"Well, the E-Type is arguably the peak of automotive design. They were named the XK-E here in the US, I think. I'd probably feel at home and more comfortable in an XJ-S, but I've also heard those can be maintenance nightmares. At least the V-12 version is. Think there's at least one or two of those out back."
"Really? Where?"
"In the far back corner. That's where all the foreign makes are."
"Oh." Midnight's shift in interest is drastic with that single, flat response being all she is able to muster. Her attention just as quickly returns to the laptop screen.
"You don't seem too thrilled about that."
"It's just junk cars. What's there to be excited about?" she replies in a hasty manner.
"Bullshit."
Midnight is forced into a double-take by my terse response. "Excuse me?" she asks as if offended by my language.
I am legitimately a bit irked by her attempt to save face. After all, I was truthful when she asked what was stressing me out a few days ago. She can at least return the favor.
"This is the second time you've tried to avoid any discussion or visit to that particular area of the yard – what's the reason for that? I haven't been back there in some time, so if something is wrong—"
"Nothing is wrong," Midnight replies through gritted teeth, her ears pinned back. "Just stop worrying about it - I just don't have interest."
"You did have an interest until I mentioned where those Jaguars were at," I point out. I know this is heading down a rocky road the fuether I press this issue, but so be it.
Frustrated by my prying, she turns away from me in virtual silence, her nostrils flaring as she lets out a huff during this motion.
"You helped me by making me spill my own guts, the least you can do is let me offer the same."
"That was different," she snaps back.
"How?"
Midnight doesn't offer any excuse — merely silence as she tries to ignore me.
"Midnight."
Nothing.
"Miiiiidniiiiight," I call her name in a dragged-out fashion. With no response, I scooch closer to her on the couch.
The weight shift by my movement makes Midnight unable to keep her focus turned elsewhere. Still, she's willing to only grace me with a sharp glare out of the corner of her eye. "What the fuck are you doing?" she demands, her tone sharp and impatient.
"Getting you to stop ignoring me so you can tell me what's got you so bent out of shape."
"It's none of your business."
"So there is something bothering you about that back corner."
"Fuck you."
"Come on, I'm trying to help you, I protest, inching just a bit closer...
"I don't need your help!" she snarls, going on the attack as her head swivels back around to properly face me, her eyes glowing with more intensity than normal. "You think I'm just some weak-minded, feeble little pony?! That I can't take care of my own issues?! I'm perfectly capable of dealing with what I've been through! You couldn't understand it anyway, so stop trying!"
I keep my mouth shut as she releases that verbal tirade. It's impossible to miss that her whole form is slightly trembling now.
Maybe I'm pushing too hard. I can't remember ever being in a situation that even remotely resembles this in order to decide what I should do. But if she doesn't want to talk, I can probably do detective work on my own.
"I'm not trying to be an asshole, Midnight. I know you can deal with your own issues," I reply, keeping my tone calm and paitient. "But I can't guarantee my curiosity won't get the best of me at some point; I can always drive back there and have a look. Am I going to find something?"
"It's a fucking graveyard back there," I hear her mumble. "It's where I was dumped, along with... others."
Oh.
Somehow, I never considered Midnight might have been the only pony bot to be sent here. After all, it's where any sort of generic scrap is dumped off, and the factory that likely produced her has visited and offloaded junk multiple times...
"Others... there were others?" I try to tiptoe forward with my inquiry with something she gave me.
"Parts. Some nearly whole. But not actual others like me – alive."
"Why did you make it?" I ask. Despite my desire to hear more from her, I can't deny I feel nauseated by her short, vague description. Logic would dictate it's just robots or cybernetic parts – industrial waste.
But it's personal for Midnight. "I don't want to talk about this. You got your damn answer, now leave me alone," she snaps.
While I still would like to hear more from her about this piece of her journey, I recognize this is far enough. At least now I understand why she wants nothing to do with that area – and with that knowledge, I should see about doing something to alleviate that reminder, even if she never goes back there again.
Burying it, at the bare minimum.
As much as Midnight gushed about her importance and superiority over others, she clearly has some sort of guilt or trauma from experiencing that sight of... bodies.
Maybe she knew some of them. Maybe some of them were her friends. Or family.
Well, maybe she considered them family.
Midnight has gone back to staring off in another direction, her barrel slightly heaving now. It's a sight that makes a part of me regret uncovering this bit of the mystery surrounding her. Yet I know trying to comfort her will end up like trusting a fart after Taco Bell.
"Hey, Midnight?"
"What?" Her reply is short and bitter.
"Do y— can I have a hug?"
"Why the fuck would you ask me that?"
"I dunno. Just feel like I need one, I guess."
I don't get a response - not that I'm surprised. But I felt like it was worth a try.
"This never gets discussed or mentioned. Ever. Fucking baby."
Is that an invitation or...
When she slaps the couch cushions beside her, I scoot over, unable to shake away a hint of nervousness and vulnerability from myself. Midnight doesn't say anything as she sits up and shifts her body toward me, placing her chin on my shoulder in a motion so quick I am unable to view her face.
I place an arm around her neck, feeling her muscles tensing up for a moment at the touch. Midnight takes a deep breath before finally allowing herself to relax. She doesn't say anything, and I let her have peace.
Slowly bringing up my other arm to complete the embrace, my fingertips brush her neck, causing me to marvel at the silky and soft texture of the midnight-sky blue fur. Part of her rich violet and blue mane falls over my arm as well as tickles the side of my face.
Meanwhile, I can feel something warm drip and soak into the back of my shirt.
Must be a leak in the roof. I'm not bothered by it, though.
No reason to mention it to Midnight, either...
I didn't bother keeping track of how long Midnight was in my arms. At some point, she finally pulled away from me without a word, turned away, and lay back down. I felt the only thing to do was move back over and give her space.
During the comforting embrace, Midnight made sure to keep herself as silent as possible. The only indications of her outpouring of emotions were the occasional hitch in her breathing, as well as the dampness that now permeated the right shoulder and back area of my shirt.
Now, I sit in silence on the couch with the TV on mute. Once in a while, I find myself glancing over at Midnight's now-slumbering form. It's an awful feeling, not knowing what to do at this point. How does one help someone who doesn't want to be helped? How does one teach another how to accept help?
I have assumed for a while now that Midnight had been putting on an act to mask any potential vulnerabilities, but I hadn't necessarily expected she had experienced any sort of trauma that was left alone to be bottled up.
Who knows what the hell else she went through? She certainly doesn't want to share it. Whether that be fear of reliving it or appearing "weak" – that is up for debate.
Hell, I had to play it off that I needed a hug just to try to comfort her. Yet she still had a hissy fit about it.
If that wasn't souring enough, I'm left with more haunting questions. Midnight was the only one dumped here that was apparently alive - why? Maybe it was not done purposely. Maybe she escaped – could EquisCo be looking for her? Could I be in deeper shit than I thought for harboring her?
That last question doesn't really matter much to me. Like hell I'm going to give her up to the shithole she came from if they come a-knocking.
It's now that more guilt creeps in. My views on how I thought about her when she first arrived – particularly regarding why they didn't deactivate her. Now the mere thought makes me feel ill. She's much more than a mass of circuits like I originally thought.
And... the pony thing doesn't really affect me anymore – I just wish I knew how to help her. Ignoring problems and lingering pain is unhealthy; I can attest to the first issue, and she's helping me with that. But Midnight just refuses help. She boasts of superiority, of her being a strong pony...
I don't know shit about psychology. But even I can say this reeks of deep-seated insecurity that can't be brushed aside. I can only hope I made some inroads with her tonight.
I glance over at Midnight again for another check-in. This time, I spy a sliver of blue iris peeking through a crack in her eyelids.
"What are you doing?" she mumbles, sounding like she's half-asleep.
"Sitting here, I guess."
"You're watching me, you freak."
"No, I glanced at you," I protest, keeping calm and composed.
"Multiple times."
"...so you've been watching me while pretending you're sleeping. And I'm the creepy one."
Midnight fully joins the sentient world, opening her eyes and raising her head off the couch, glancing up at the clock on the wall above the TV. "It's midnight," she states.
"Are you telling me your name or the time?"
"Ha, ha," she replies with sarcasm, shaking her head. "Seriously, what are you doing?"
Judging by the tone her voice carries with that question, there is only one answer she will accept. If there's any chance Midnight is going to let me crack open a door into her emotional and psychological health, it's time to make a positive impression.
By being honest.
"Concerned, I guess. I know you don't want that but – look, you're helping me out getting shit straight financially and getting my head on right. I just don't want you to feel like I'm not willing to listen to you."
"So... you don't listen to me when I say I don't need your help. Interesting," she replies, rubbing her chin with a hoof as if pondering that thought despite the coldness in her voice.
"Midnight, I'm not implying you aren't strong, if that's what you're trying to get at," I argue. "What you told me earlier tonight - that's straight-up nightmare fuel. I don't know if I could mentally handle that situation as you have for so long."
"I appreciate the compliment, whether you meant to do so or not," she replies.
Rather than reply, I remain mum as my focus remains on her. The lack of any biting retort seems to frustrate her a bit as she exhales. "What do you want from me? To cave and become your damsel in distress? Some submissive little mare you need to take care of? Is that your fetish?"
"No. But stop putting up this facade that you're invulnerable to pain. Pretending it doesn't exist does not make it so, Midnight. Isn't that what you argued in my case? You told me I was stupid for doing that."
"That was different," she says in a stern voice, averting her gaze to the opposite end of the room. It's a tone and a habitual gesture that lets me know anything else I try to use to ram my way into her head will be a waste of time.
I'm back to square one for now. But she does admit in a roundabout way there are unresolved issues – issues she is keen to retain a stranglehold upon.
Not that it surprises me. It's just a reminder that there's more to the attitude than just being an ass for fun.
"Alright then."
My white flag of a statement catches Midnight by complete surprise, judging by her head whipping back to me in an instant. "What?"
I shrug my shoulders. "You don't want to talk about it. That's fine, I can't force it out of you. I don't own you Midnight. You're your own mare. All I want to put out there is if you need an ear to listen, I'm always available. Fair enough?"
Her eyes narrow, threatening to bore through me as suspicion takes hold of her. "This is supposed to be some sort of reverse psychology where I feel like there's an opportunity slipping away right now and I need to seize the moment, isn't it?"
"If that's what you want to believe, sure. I'm not trying to argue with you Midnight. I'm really just... putting myself out there. Okay?"
"Riiiight."
I feel a twinge of irritation bubbling up with Midnight after that sarcastic response. Some of that probably has to do with my own fatigue in addition to her aggravating response to my genuine heartfelt concern. Reaching over for the TV remote, I unmute the volume before flipping off the power.
"You are right that it's getting late, so I'm going to get some sleep," I tell her before getting up and shuffling off to my room. I hit the main light switch en route to bed. The kitchen light is still on, but I figure Midnight will get that when she's well and ready.
"Hey, John."
I stop just as I reach the door frame and spin around. Midnight's head pokes up over the couch back, her eyes giving off the faintest blue glow in the dim light. "You didn't bring up anything else about... earlier tonight," she says, sounding quite uneasy.
"Was I supposed to? I didn't think anything needed to be said," I reply, the back of my shirt still offering the slightest reminder of the emotions from earlier.
Midnight hesitates, mulling over my response. Without a word, she disappears from view behind the couch.
"Goodnight, Midnight."
"Good night," she says, her voice now muffled by the obstacles between us.
I close the door to my bedroom, leaving it open just a crack.
"...thank you." It's a faint mumble, but the pervading silence means I still hear it clear as day.
If this night hadn't been so serious, I would rush back out there and point out she actually thanked me - and I heard it.
Whether that 'thank you' was for listening to her and offering a helping hand or simply not bringing up her emotions is up for debate. But I'm not concerned about minute details.
Instead, I nod in silence and fall into bed.
For the third time this morning, I hear John's alarm clock blaring an electronic maelstrom of auditory pain. I have been nice thus far and left him alone, but this is getting a little ridiculous now.
Lazy bastard.
With a sigh of resignation, I set aside my laptop and the article I had been perusing and slip off of the couch. John's room is visually blocked by the door, which he left slightly ajar.
While I do not find it extraordinary for him to hit the snooze button once in a while, it is rare for him to dawdle on the decision. In the back of my mind, I am a little concerned. I realize now that it has been blaring for quite some time before the noise is silenced this morning on the prior two occasions.
By that I mean I'm concerned for my own well-being since he's basically hiding me here – so I sort of need him alive. Not that I'm worried about that, either; after all, he has obviously silenced his alarms. They don't turn off by themselves – at least, that I know of.
I use one of my wings to ease open the door, proceeding to creep into his room. Like most of the upstairs, his room is a barren affair, with the walls painted a pale robin egg blue that has faded with time. Merely a bed, an end table, and a dresser grace this room as far as furnishings while a single large window hangs over the bed. Aside from that feature and a door leading to a walk-in closet, the walls are blank and devoid of decoration.
A lump I assume is John's dozing form is nestled within a cocoon of blankets. It's more covers than I would expect to see, considering the temperature in here – which is on the upper end of comfortable, even with the ceiling fan switched on.
"Hey sloth, stop hitting the snooze button. It's almost nine-thirty," I bark.
John's pathetic form shifts a bit before he speaks, a fatigued mumble of unintelligible words.
"I don't understand moonspeak, try again in English."
This time, I just get a pained, sleepy groan in response.
"Alright, enough of this." Storming over to his bedside, I lean over and grab hold of an end of the linens with my teeth. In a swift jerk, I pull them aside to expose John to the sunlight.
He doesn't put up even a token fight, preferring to focus on bracing his eyes for the sharp contrast of light by squinting and holding his arms up. He looks unusually pale this morning while also quivering from head to toe. Exhaustion is also obvious in his sluggish attempts to get himself focused on the waking world, and on me.
"You look awful," I finally manage to tell him.
"You were a lot prettier last night, too," he strikes back, shuddering particularly hard as he grabs the sheets to cover himself back up.
"Stop being disgusting – what are you doing?"
"I feel like shit, Midnight," he groans. "Unless you cranked the AC down to the fifties, I'm gonna guess I'm suffering from the chills right now."
"So you're cold?" I state, not quite following the issue here.
"I'm sick. Ill. Whatever you want to call it. I can't be up and around like this," he groans. "Probably got a fever, and I'm feeling dizzy just trying to look at you. I can't open today."
"You can't afford not to open up; we lost almost two full days due to weather just last week," I protest. The thought of more lost revenue makes me more uneasy than I care to admit.
"Alright, alright. Damn slave driver." Slowly, John sits himself upright, still clinging to the sheets in which he's draped himself. He pauses before making any further motions to rise from the bed, seeming to sway back and forth a bit. "Is the room spinning for you?" he asks.
"No..."
While my first instinct is to believe he's screwing with me or playing it up as an excuse, the look of utter fatigue he sports and the continued swaying back and forth convinces me otherwise. Frustrated, I motion with a hoof for him to lay back down, which he obliges with an accompanying groan.
"Sorry. I didn't ask to be sick, Midnight," he apologizes, shifting around a bit to find a more comfortable position.
"I know, I know," I grumble in response, turning to head back out of his room. Maybe I'm overreacting a bit; considering the ease of access the website now provides, a vast majority of orders are being placed online nowadays...
Still, not being open at all has to hurt business somewhat, and I want to forge this place a financial foundation as rock solid as possible, as soon as possible. The hours open to the public have already been cut back out of necessity; pulling parts for the increased load of online orders requires more dedicated time out in the yard.
I understand this is the transition period until we focus exclusively on shipping out parts aside from customer pickup maybe once a week. However, I still don't like another day of closure at this point in time. I cannot sit back and do nothing today – not when I know I am fully capable of this work.
"I'm opening up on my own," I announce, whirling back around to face John.
"You wha?" He sits up right away – going just a bit too far forward before his delayed reactions stabilize him.
"I'll open up shop for a little bit. Answer any calls, deal with whatever customers we get, and get caught up on the parts we need to pull," I quickly rail off in succession.
"Absolutely not, Midnight," he rebuts without a moment of thought.
Undaunted by his refusal, I pin my ears back with fierce determination and step forward. "Why not? I'm more than capable of doing it, and it's not like I'm asking you to hand the whole business over to me," I argue in defiance.
"Have you forgotten you aren't really supposed to be here?" he says, pointing a finger at me. "What if— well, what if someone from the place you came from happens to walk in and recognizes you? It's game over."
Judging by how little thought went into that argument, he must be delirious with an illness that makes him more stupid than normal.
"What the hell kind of an excuse is that? Have you somehow forgotten the numerous times I have been working on engines in the shop while customers walked in?" I counter, unwilling to yield an inch. "How about the few times I've interacted with them? Are you being retarded on purpose?"
John opens up his mouth to speak but is unable to find any words that will help him.
"I'm my own mare anyways, John – you said so yourself. I'm pretty sure I can manage without your expertise for a little bit."
"I don't like this idea," he continues to stonewall. "You still aren't supposed to legally be out on your own, you told me that."
"Yet this is private property – your private property, might I add."
I've already decided this is something I will do, whether I have John's approval or not. But I would still prefer to have his blessing, rather than do this behind his back. It's out of a desire to avoid hearing his droll scolding voice later on in the evening when he finds out.
"Pull parts out back. That's it."
I shake my head fervently. "Open till about two in the afternoon, answer any calls, and then pull parts out back."
John scowls at my counteroffer. But after considering his options for a few silent moments, he emits a sigh. "I'm not going to win with you, am I?"
Once again, I shake my head.
"Be careful, Midnight," he says in a solemn voice.
"You act as if I'm going to get caught and get you in trouble," I chastise, feeling a bit smug now that I've gotten him to agree.
"Dammit, I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you ." The way he emphasizes his concern makes me feel...
Odd.
"Shut up," is all I can reply with, embarrassed by suddenly being thrust into the central focus like this.
"No, I'm serious. I want you around Midnight – I don't care if you think that's weird or makes you feel uncomfortable," he proceeds to clarify.
"Well come on, your business is—"
"I'm not talking about having you around to help me. Let go of your pride for just five minutes, please."
"Then what is it?" I demand, feeling like I should just bolt now and leave his rambling for later.
"I enjoy your company, Midnight. I want you around for you. So yes, I'm worried for your sake."
I swallow hard at that statement.
"I realize it's a longshot that someone is going to recognize you, put two and two together, and come to the conclusion you're essentially a fugitive. But I can't vouch for you if I'm not there; I can't make up some quick excuse to cover your ass. So jus—"
I unfurl my left wing and shove him back down to a lying position. "You're doing way too much talking for someone as sick and out of it as you are," I tell him. "Shut up, get some sleep. I'll be fine, you candyass."
Without giving him another chance to speak, I trot out of the room, closing the door behind me. It's only now I realize I've been holding my breath for some time; I let it out in a big exhale.
'I want you around.' I've never heard that directed toward me – not unless it was for someone else's shot at a massive ego boost.
Or prestige. Or monetary gain.
My whole existence is based on a company's financial gamble and the politics within that hierarchy of jackasses. It is only in hindsight I better understand that. The few compliments and discussions shared were more or less to keep me 'agreeable,' that everything I was put through was all for 'a greater good.'
Bullshit. I have always been a vessel for someone else's goal.
Now, to be kept around for – well, me, my 'company' as John so eloquently described...
It's a wave of emotions I've never felt before. A completely foreign feeling that is almost overwhelming right now.
Why?
In reality, what do I have to offer aside from my aptitude to learn skills at a rapid pace and my gift of making ferrous objects float in the air? My whole plan to fit here and make this my home revolves only around making myself useful as a tool, not whatever John thinks of me now.
Fucking rambling moron. He even said so on day one, he had no interest in ponies, no interest in me or my past. Which was fine – it's what I wanted. It was what felt normal.
What the hell happened to that?
John just keeps digging beyond what he initially offered and what we agreed upon – face-value facts, present day. I don't want to delve into the past; I can't change it. It doesn't matter anymore, and it's unpleasant to reflect upon.
...and I hate what I am now. I don't even know how to describe myself anymore. John pressing his way further and further into my past is forcing me to come back to that painful issue of identity.
What does he serve to gain from it? It's completely illogical. Why do things suddenly have to be so damn complicated? And why-
No, I have to get a grip on myself; I have things that need to be done. I need to stop thinking about shit that doesn't matter. With another deep breath, I shove those thoughts and worries down into the recesses of my mind and head out the door.
This is obscenely boring.
How John managed to occupy himself month after month sitting and waiting for customers is beyond my scope of understanding. Almost an hour and a half has transpired since opening the front gates...
Not a single person has popped in. However, I did get a few stares from passersby when fiddling with the lock and propping the gate open near the road. Despite the confidence I crowed about when convincing John to let me do this, I found myself feeling uncomfortable and a bit unnerved by the attention.
Again, It must be said that I am not used to having eyes on me; I am not used to being out in the open for all to see. By end design, I suppose I am meant to be striking in appearance, even if aesthetics were an afterthought. Regardless, my appearance is far from a boon right now, considering the circumstances.
But, no one stopped and shrieked in horror. Sirens didn't begin to blare as the authorities closed in to neutralize me. Just some people lifting off the throttle for a double-take while driving by. Who knows, maybe it was their first time seeing the business?
There was never any thought put into what I was going to do once outside of the facility. Tending to a junkyard certainly wasn't something that sprung to mind. But beggars can't be choosers.
Now... I have too much time to think. What illness does John have? With little knowledge of human physiology, that question has me feeling more than passing concern.
Will he be okay? Could it be fatal? He didn't seem overly concerned about it...
But what if that was to allay my fears? Fears that he probably doesn't know I have...
Yeah, trying to hide inevitable death is probably a reach. However, I would like to see him back to normal as quickly as possible for my peace of mind. The least I could do is at least check on him a few times throughout the day, in case he needs anything.
After some time to let my anxious thoughts settle, I begin to feel like it isn't so awful to think that John cares. I guess I have to admit it's sort of a relief; It means I don't have to constantly be looking out for myself in every direction. Someone has my back. That's a new feeling. Hell, interacting with anyone on a regular basis, let alone in a casual manner is new for me. All I really remember from birth until arriving here is virtual isolation.
'Birth' might not be an appropriate term, but the point still stands. It was all part of the experiment, after all.
To be fully independent.
The creak of stairs draws my attention away from internal musings and into present consciousness. My eyes dart upward and to my right, honing in on the sound my ears pinpoint to find John carefully making his way down the steps, wearing a bedsheet like a cloak.
"What the hell are you doing? Get back to bed!" I shout, aghast to see him as he tries not to fall the rest of the way down with his lack of balance – as well as my sudden outburst.
"You want me to shit in the sink?" he croaks.
"Not... particularly?" I try not to gag at the thought.
"Then you're going to watch me stumble down the stairs. May as well see if a hot shower helps me at all, while I'm down here," he explains, holding out a fresh change of leisure clothes out from under his makeshift robe.
I don't say anything else as I warily watch him traverse the rest of the steps, relaxing once his feet touch the concrete floor.
"Any customers yet?" he asks upon hitting ground level.
I shake my head in the negative, which elicits a frown from him. "Sorry. How many orders came in overnight?"
"I... hadn't thought about checking that," I admit, appalled that simple task had slipped my mind.
"You worrying about me?" John suggests with a smirk.
That face instantly draws my ire. Even if he is kind of right in that assumption. "Are you sure you didn't just come down here to annoy me when I'm supposed to be rid of you for the day?" I growl at him.
He shrugs while walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind. "I'm a man of many talents," his muffled voice echoes from the other side.
Smartass.
While John does his thing, I decide to check emails on the computer for orders, as reminded by him. And there are quite a few new ones in the last fourteen or so hours. Just at a glance, most seem to be engine parts. Those are quite simple, as my prior work has left shelves full of sorted parts in the building.
Let's see... Pontiac 400 heads, Ford truck 351 oil pan, Jeep 360 four-barrel intake...
I don't recall doing any Jeep stuff. But there are numerous parts I can identify or I know are tagged. Book smarts don't necessarily translate into instant visual identification – not like John can do. I still need reference tags for a number of these items. The knowledge John possesses likely comes with experience.
Almost in time with the sound of the water being turned on, I pad over to the storage room and make my way along the narrow shelved corridors. The lighting in this room is awful, but I have no issues seeing in the dark, thanks to my eyes. I guess I don't completely hate those.
I find it entertaining whenever John has to stumble his way around in hereon the search for a component. It isn't out of pure sadism; by his own admission, he's brought this struggle upon himself. Like other aspects of his business, the clutter and poor lighting were something he noticed but never bothered to improve.
With as much stockpiling as the two of us have accomplished, reaching and replacing light fixtures will be a tall task. It goes without saying before that could be accomplished, better organization of the standing metal shelves should come first.
Maybe someday...
I manage to find the Pontiac heads within the first handful of shelves, aided by the metallic light blue paint still coating much of the cast exterior. One thing crossed off of my mental list, I snap them up and trot back to the entrance, placing them down outside the door and around the corner.
Before I turn back to head for another part, someone appears from around the corner of the open garage bay door.
A customer!
Excitement and anxiousness build, until I get a better look at the visitor and what he has in hand. Carrying a large box, the man is clad in a drab brown uniform...
It's just a package delivery driver. Dammit.
"Well good morning, miss," he greets with a smile and in a voice that borderlines baby talk. "Your owner wouldn't happen to be around to sign for this package, would he?"
Owner. I clench my jaw and bite my tongue at that insulting word being directed toward me. And the way he says that! Like I'm some sort of imbecile! I have half a mind to—
"In here, but I'm a little occupied at the moment!" John shouts through the sounds of running water. "She can sign for it, can't she?"
"Of course, sorry about that," the delivery driver announces back, his gaze drawn toward the closed bathroom door.
It gives me a moment to scowl at him in an attempt to relieve some anger. Just as he is about to return his attention to me, I bring back a more approachable appearance.
"Where do you want this?" he asks politely, motioning to the large package with a nod of his head. The box is large enough to require the use of both hands.
Well, he can shove it wh—
"I'll take it," I reply, as I'm able to sense some sort of ferrous material inside I can grasp.
It's strange how my ability works, but I can 'feel' when something can be moved or drawn toward me. From that, I can normally get a sense of general shape, as well as any separate pieces.
Feeling the presence of four cylindrical objects, I latch onto them and float the box to the floor, much to the driver's shock and awe.
"Whoa. Never seen that before."
It takes a moment of staring agape at me before he reaches for a device on his hip. With practiced motions, he taps through a few things before holding it out toward me, as well as some sort of plastic pen. No – a stylus.
I don't know how I know that term. I guess like so many other items, names, and phrases, it's just there.
"Sign here and I'll be out of your way," he directs.
Having the spotlight on me now is a bit embarrassing, as I know full well I cannot handle that object. I divert my attention to other nearby odds and ends. It takes only a split second to spot the ideal candidate – the thin metal wire tying the identification tag to the engine heads I set down moments ago.
The wire unwinds itself under my silent instructions, weaving through the air and wrapping around the stylus pen.
"Man, they keep on coming up with crazier inventions, don't they?" he says, wide-eyed and astounded.
"Something like that," I reply, taking a moment to scrawl my name on the touchscreen.
'Midnight.'
That sort of makes it official now, doesn't it? It was a quick thought to avoid John from using the cringe-worthy 'Turbo' moniker, but I have come to actually like the name. It sure beats an alphanumeric project code.
The delivery man takes a moment to look at what I jotted down on the screen. It appears to get a renewed smile from him as he puts it away and offers a departing wave.
"Have a good day, Midnight."
I return a half-hearted wave with a hoof, waiting for him to disappear beyond the brick-and-mortar door frame. A growl of simmering frustration escapes me once the coast is clear – I can't just let that 'owner' term slide.
For more than one reason.
"Sorry, Midnight."
"What?" I turn to face the bathroom door after hearing John's apology from the other side.
"I was a little worried you might not take too well to him asking for your..." he trails off.
"Owner?" I suggest, keeping my audible bitterness to the minimum I can muster.
"Yeah. I figured I would just speak up."
I could berate him for that. After all, this is supposed to be my day flying solo. Perhaps he came down here to 'shower' because he doesn't trust me...
Even if that were true, he's right. That comment had me peeved, even if that is the cover I need to hide behind.
"I probably would have had to fetch you for approval anyway. And no, that did not sit well with me," I sigh. "Thank you."
I await the gasp or comment pointing out the rare appearance of my manners. But aside from the water shutting off, all is silent.
That's... abnormal.
"John?"
"Yeah? I'm here."
"Oh. I was expecting you to be a smartass about my thank you," I admit.
"Should I?"
"Normally you would have. Is this part of being ill?"
I hear him chuckle slightly. "No, but I think I know why I feel like shit," he announces.
"Do tell." I'm eager to hear this piece of news.
"You remember that chicken bacon ranch pizza I had about a week ago?"
I do recall that pizza - because it looked like a horrendous concoction when he opened the box that night. I didn't touch it.
"That was last week, though."
"And there were still leftovers. Maybe a little too old to eat safely..."
"Dumbass."
"Yeah, I deserve that. But it means I'll probably be feeling better once it's out of my system, so hopefully tomorrow."
The door opens, greeting me with a wave of steam that rolls outward. John shuffles out in his new change of clothes, his short brown hair still looking slightly damp.
"Anyway – to tell you the truth, I guess I see now that you've got your own demons to work through. As much as I like to pick for fun and enjoy getting it back, that's not fair to you. You're trying."
Try as I might, it's impossible to keep stoic. I can feel my face grow hot.
"I'm— we all got the little things that bother us. You're making a mountain out of a molehill."
"Maybe. Let's just leave it at that. I still feel like everything is moving while I'm standing still."
A cooling wave of relief washes over me with that gentle dismissal. All that's left is the mystery in the package just delivered.
"What did you order, anyway? Whatever it is, there's four of 'em, and I can tell they're some sort of metal tubes."
John is wide-eyed after my remark describing the contents I can sense within.
"You figured that all out just by picking it up?"
"Still sealed, isn't it?" I pick up the box and spin it around, demonstrating the lack of loose flaps.
"Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag. I don't want you thinking they're the keys to your own private fun time," he comments, wiggling his eyebrows.
Metal tubes as private fun ti—
I take a step back from him upon realization and snort, insulted by the idea. "Don't be a pervert! Fucking sicko!" I shout at him.
He bows as if being applauded, almost losing his balance in the process as he takes a half step to correct himself. "Shock absorbers for the Trailduster. Leaf springs will still be a week, I think," he finally explains, standing up straight with a serious face.
"You actually went and bought that stuff?"
That was something I had anticipated was a joke to be forgotten.
"Said I was gonna do it, I'm not going to lie and pretend I didn't. But you're gonna help me replace them, right?"
"Absolutely!" I can't help it, but the fact he remembered and went ahead with the idea thrills me. No more smacking my horn against the roof when the trail gets ragged!
Evidently, my excitement is infectious, as a grin spreads over John's face as well.
"I am going to take note that I think this is genuinely the happiest I've ever seen you, and the biggest smile you've ever sported."
"Still unsettling as well?" I shoot back, stretching my grin just a little wider to show off my teeth.
"Maybe not as much. I still wouldn't trust you with my fingers near your mouth, though."
"Get back to bed, sicky."
He wearily salutes me before heading back up the stairs. As he reaches for the doorknob at the top of the landing, my mind shifts back to an earlier puzzle I figure he will understand.
"John, one of the orders is for a Jeep intake, 360 four-barrel. Do we have any of those?" I shout up to him.
"Yeah, should have at least one or two AMC intakes in there," he replies, pointing to the storage room.
I shake my head, mystified as to how he managed to mishear me.
"Jeep, John."
"Yeah, I know – that's my bad for not explaining," he says, rubbing the back of his head. "Jeep was owned by AMC – American Motors Corporation – starting in 1970. AMC and Jeep shared the same engines."
"Oh. Alright then," I reply. I'm still not quite certain what I'm looking for...
"Yeah. Whatever we got down there for AMC intakes, that will work. The intake is the same across the board, from the 304 all the way to the 401. All those engines are virtually the same – same block, cylinder heads, the whole nine yards. Just different bore and stroke combinations."
I must have made a face that triggered him to explain. At least now it makes sense, without me having to ask.
"Well that's awfully convenient."
"I thought so. Them boys up in Kenosha, Wisconsin had some damn good ideas compared to the Detroit Big Three. At least up until forming an alliance with the French and Renault in the eighties. Damn shame."
With that, he opens the door to the living quarters, stepping in and turning one last time to face me.
"Don't be afraid to ask if you need any help. I'm going to try to get some more sleep and power through this crap," he says.
"I'll be fine. Just get better - and don't eat any more expired food, stupid," I lecture him.
"You're no fun," he scoffs, before shutting the door.
Now, back in isolation, I can't help but think maybe having someone who cares isn't so bad after all...
I am pleased to see the number of orders that have continued to roll in via email notifications throughout the day. It means my initial idea to make a proper ordering form on John's website was a strong one. However, that means success may have been well within his grasp this whole time, had he put an effort forth...
Oh well, his loss. Maybe I could make a case for taking over the business.
...though I don't know what that would gain me, other than bragging rights. But that doesn't sound too bad.
Regardless of future conquests, the slowly building log of emails has kept me trotting back and forth around the shop when the items are something housed in the storeroom or coincidentally right outside the shop. There's a fair amount to be done out back this afternoon, too; I probably won't be able to get it all done today by myself. Not a big deal, but I would like to see how much I can get done on my own.
So, while there's been virtually no activity in terms of walk-in customers, it stands to reason it is a result of the shift toward stripping this place of the self-serve moniker if the influx of parts requests is any indication.
And fewer people out in the yard means less lost revenue from stolen parts and pieces.
I spotted and overheard people taking items that they had no intention of paying for when I still lived out back in the van. More than once, I caught wind of some braggart boasting of their multiple trips to swindle parts from the owner. While that did not have any particular impact on me at the time, it's proven one thing that I continue to take pride in. Keeping my head on a swivel, hiding in the shadows – there's a lot that can be observed living like that. Even if it can be a bit taxing.
While it was a necessity to learn at the time, maybe I should keep up on my skills of skulking around unnoticed which I honed for months. Fate has a way of throwing twists and turns in the path ahead. Can't be too safe.
Putting ideas of sharpening my survival tactics aside, I cannot deny the lack of in-person customers has left me mildly disappointed.
Well, it is a mixture of disappointment and a bit of relief. After all, I have not really interacted with anyone aside from John. So there is some uncertainty surrounding that scenario. My social skills might be a bit lacking...
But fuck it, I can wing it. Adapt and survive.
The phone calls I have received today went well enough, so it isn't like I'm completely blind. The only hiccup on that front was when I mentioned my name almost every time.
'Erm... Midnight? That's an odd name...'
Mentioning my mother had a degree in gender studies or something like that rectified the situation fairly quickly. Thank the stars for John's laptop. Aside from more automotive knowledge, I have spent a fair amount of time learning and exploring the outside world via the internet, just to have a better mental picture.
Ah, the perks of living on an abbreviated sleep schedule. There's only so much one can overhear that allows him or her to paint a picture of what lies beyond the miles of fence.
The facility certainly didn't offer any information. I never even got to see the sun.
During the last phone call or two, I decided to use another name, just to avoid the hesitations and awkward questioning that I felt was rather insulting.
Maddie. It's short and has similarities to Midnight, so it doesn't feel completely foreign...
But god, I hope John didn't hear that. I know he would have fun with it for who knows what reason. With any luck, he's been asleep the whole time; I checked on him once, and he was slumbering in bed.
... the pungent odor that greeted me upon opening the door to the upstairs told me whatever contents that were ailing his stomach made an evacuation back up at some point into the kitchen sink drain.
Ew. Hopefully that helps, though.
If he's going to be that stupid and stubborn, I plan to start going through the fridge and throwing leftovers away. I don't care if he sees it as "throwing money away," he's just throwing it up right now.
With the prevailing silence, I've been tapping away through various internet searches on the computer for some time now. Only because I'm currently caught up on orders - not because I want to slack off.
The sound of footsteps outside amidst the dust and gravel reaches my ears now. My vision quickly darts to the open garage bay door, just a few seconds before a man comes around the corner.
...he seems vaguely familiar.
Sporting graying hair and mustache, the lanky older gentleman waves as he approaches, apparently unfazed by my appearance.
"Hi – Nightmare Moon?" he asks with a warm smile and a slight foreign drawl to his words.
I tense up upon hearing that name again. I'm not wearing a nametag – and I'm not Nightmare Moon.
"Hello, can I help you with something?" I ask, feigning obliviousness to anything other than his initial greeting.
"Yeah, looking for some more parts. I don't have the time to pull them myself today, so I was wondering if I could just request em for pickup later?"
"We can do that – what are you looking for?"
While I bring up the inventory catalog on the computer screen, I continue to keep a watchful eye on the guest. Maybe I am being paranoid, but he seems too comfortable...
"Where's your buddy at? I'm surprised to see you attending the counter," he comments, attempting to make idle chat as he scans the building.
"He's around. Stepped out for a bit. What was it you needed?"
"Sorry. Uh... well, I need a radiator fan shroud, first of all. A heater box if you got one in decent shape."
"For what kind of car?" My voice comes out a little rough, but I can't help it as my heart rate speeds up. He at least knows the basis for my appearance, and he's trying to chat nonchalantly, pretending this is somehow a completely normal situation.
...which is probably better than freaking out about seeing me.
Alright, yeah. I need to chill out.
"Oh, duh. I'd forget my head if it could unscrew," he replies with a chuckle, slapping his forehead. "1972 Olds Cutlass."
That particular car jumpstarts my memory. John helped this guy a few weeks ago, while I was in the midst of tearing down an Oldsmobile engine by coincidence. I had decided to speak up for the first time to a customer, in case the stars had aligned and he needed some of the parts I had been disassembling.
...and then Jonn referred to me as a guard dog.
I have yet to pay him back for that – even if it was a spur-of-the-moment attempt to cover for me.
That fucker.
Regardless of past unavenged transgressions, I breathe a small sigh of relief after connecting the dots; this man has seen me before. Here, and not that long ago.
"Alright. John hasn't done a very good job keeping everything tidy on this computer, so just give me a second," I explain.
Before going any further, I want to check the digital inventory to see if that shroud is stashed away inside the warehouse...
And it is not. No big deal – just figured it was worth a gander to make a few bucks today.
With that quick search settled, I bring up a document form to jot down everything that he needs, followed by the year and model.
"Name for this?"
"Theodore. But everyone just calls me Teddy," he says, leaning on the counter. "I take it you don't go by Nightmare Moon? I suppose you are a bit different."
I peer over at him after typing down the name. I can't help but remain a bit wary.
Why is he inspecting me? Does he really need to know my name?
Teddy seems nice enough...
Many different thoughts go through my head concerning safety, now that I'm interacting with a stranger face to face. Of course, I did give my name earlier today taking that delivery, but John was down here...
...and what, I can't protect myself? Am I going to rely on him to keep me safe and warm? Have him brush me and tuck me in at night?
I need to grow a fucking spine.
"Midnight," I tell him. It garners a nod of acknowledgment.
"That's a nice name," Teddy compliments, leaning in just a bit. "You aren't a custom model though, are you?"
The hushed question makes my blood run cold. "What would make you say that?"
"I don't mean anything by it," he says in an attempt to reassure me. "I've just seen my fair share of pony bots. You're... different."
He says it so calmly as if discussing the weather. But his conviction is solid.
"Is there a point to this? I have other things to do," I reply sharply, suddenly quite eager to be rid of this man and this abrupt shift in conversation.
My unwanted acquaintance just chuckles. "You've got spirit, and that's something that can't be created. Look, I'm not here to harass you or out you. I assume you aren't... well, verified."
"So you aren't really here for car parts? Just a return visit to gawk at me?" I challenge.
Teddy stands up straight once again. "I do actually need those parts. I'm mostly retired, so I figured a project car would be an interesting undertaking," he replies, unaffected by my cold tone. "I don't want to go into too much detail as I'm clearly getting off on the wrong foot, but I do want to say that you aren't the only one of your kind – though you're more advanced than any other I've encountered. Where did you come from?"
"The backseat of a first-gen Dodge Caravan. Turbocharged, no less," I hiss, making sure to bare my weaponized dental work for him to see.
It does not appear to affect Theodore at all, as he remains unflinching.
I don't trust this guy for a second. He's asking a lot of questions for someone allegedly here for vintage car parts. Even John was scared shitless by my appearance and threats upon first meeting.
Not this guy. If anything, this Theodore, or Teddy fellow – if that's what his name even is – finds me fascinating. He was hardly rattled upon our brief initial meeting, come to think of it. I was distracted at the time and paid no mind. But now, that seems fishy...
Nothing about this encounter feels right at all. Do I know him from even further back? My memory is hazy or nonexistent for many moments in time from the time before the junkyard, for better or worse. And I stopped paying attention to the people dealing with me after a while; I knew they didn't care, why should I?
Other thoughts start crossing my mind as I fight to hold my ground and keep a level head.
After all, I could make this a non-issue with any sort of sharp metallic piece of scrap... He wouldn't see it coming aside from the slight glow of my eyes.
Or if need be, I could go for his windpipe. It would be nothing for my canines and incisors to pierce his throat...
No. Nothing good will come of that in the long-term picture. Someone will come looking for him, no matter how well I hide my tracks.
Murder is perhaps the most idiotic thing I could do here. I wrest those unsavory ideas away from the forefront of my mind.
"I suppose I deserve your skepticism, Midnight, I'm sorry for upsetting you," Teddy apologizes. "I'll be back in a few days to get those parts. You probably want my phone number, don't you? For the order?"
"For the order," I repeat.
He rattles off a series of numbers, which I seamlessly transfer to the keyboard.
"Hopefully next time, your buddy - John, yeah? The business owner?"
I slowly nod, keeping my wits about me in case he tries something funny. The fact that John's name is mentioned only tenses me up further.
I'm not looking to kill him anymore – but I will if need be. Any threat to John is a threat to me, as far as I'm concerned. Because I need him alive.
I don't like hearing his name suddenly brought into this.
"Hopefully he's around as well as you when I return. Assuming he's a nice fellow. Does he treat you well?"
"I can take care of myself, thank you very much."
That gets a cheeky grin from Teddy as he lightly slaps the counter. "Anyway, I might be able to help you and John. Or just you, if this place and he aren't to your liking. You have my number, and I'll be back in a few days otherwise."
With a wave, he heads back out into the sun of the afternoon.
I give him several seconds before I drop to all fours on the floor, making myself low to the concrete. Silently, I sneak toward the open garage door from which Teddy just departed.
It's all muscle memory here. Every step, every movement is calculated and purposeful. Just like months ago, when keeping hidden and bolting from individuals passing by my van. Or when on the hunt for vermin.
I might be doing just that right now.
Reaching the doorframe, I pause to listen intently for any sounds indicating something or someone that may lie on the other side.
I catch the relatively distant sound of a car door opening, followed shortly thereafter by the slight creak of springs yielding to a new weight before the door slams shut.
Even with the characteristic sounds of the mysterious man getting into his vehicle, I take care in poking my head out from beyond the doorframe. I'm only going far enough to catch a glimpse of what can be seen of the parking area from here.
Beyond the privacy fence, I hear an engine start up, proceeding shortly thereafter with visuals of a weathered Chevy pickup ambling away from the open front gate and out to the road.
I manage to glimpse the graying hair in the windows. It gives me some semblance of assurance the coast is clear, and the strange man is leaving.
Despite that, I still take the time to watch the truck leave, until it's out of sight and earshot.
I honestly don't know what to make of the encounter, especially after his farewell address. What could he possibly help with - whether it be me and John, or me alone?
More unsettling is the fact that he made me out for something far beyond a traditional ponybot. Am I that obvious from just a glance? Visually, it shouldn't be a difference, perhaps the mannerisms a bit, but...
He certainly knows more than just 'having been around a fair share.' That's a lie if I've ever heard one. But I don't know how far that lie stretches.
But what about his other comment? Are there really others? I can vaguely recall others like me... but there's no way they could make it on their own. But there's a lot I can't remember, either.
The thoughts surrounding this whole encounter and the ensuing conversation are troubling. I dismissed John's concerns about my well-being earlier today. Suddenly I'm not feeling so sure of myself.
There's no more excitement or anticipation in dealing with customers. Seeing as how I've only had two, there's good reason to close up for the day...
I have enough to do outside picking parts anyway. Time to call it an afternoon. Time to try getting my mind focused on something other than...
Something other than whoever that was. Whatever that whole interaction was. What it means, and what his intentions really are.
Worst of all, I think I have to go this alone. Telling John about this is going to bring about more questions. I can't afford that - not now, not with how far I've come and how well things have been going.
Revulsion is about the only thing the real me can bring about.
For the first time today, I'm feeling somewhat healthy.
But I am never eating chicken bacon ranch pizza again. It's permanently ruined for me. Even if it was too old – doesn't really matter at this point.
After sleeping the whole day away aside from rushing to the sink to upchuck twice and getting up to use the bathroom downstairs a few times, I decide I now feel well enough to try to put some sort of food in me.
Toast is on the menu. Whoopee.
I haven't seen Midnight since taking a shower earlier. At some point during the day – possibly while emptying my stomach – I recall hearing Midnight on the phone.
Apparently, she decided to adopt a new name for the occasion. Maddie will certainly enjoy me reminding her of that.
Or perhaps Middie... Midnight, Middie... Oh man, that works too well. That's probably how she came up with it!
The only other time I headed downstairs was well into the afternoon. Midnight was nowhere to be seen, and the computer was off.
More than likely, the slow day never got better, and she went out back to strip parts early. Though not knowing for certain was a bit unsettling.
But she's resourceful – I've seen it firsthand. I shouldn't be that worried. Nevertheless, I still have that uneasy feeling in my gut.
Aside from nausea.
As the clock approaches six in the early evening, I would expect her to pop in soon. Then again, with as stubborn and as driven as she is, I'm well aware Midnight could try to hero her way through the whole list of orders in one shot.
I glimpsed outside the shop earlier - the Trailduster wasn't in its usual spot. Midnight has moved it a few times so it doesn't come as a surprise she would have enough comfort and confidence to take it.
Ha, comfort. Probably not the best term for it, considering she bitched about how unergonomic the seating position was for her.
Yeah, she didn't think that comment through before it left her lips. I made sure to give her shit for it.
I got it right back, of course. A wonderful circle of love.
With the volume of the TV turned down low and awaiting the toaster in the kitchen to pop, I can finally hear the sound of the old shop truck rolling up to the building. It allows me to relax before I'm forced to jump in surprise.
Fucking toaster. Waiting for it this whole time, and the bastard still caught me off-guard when it popped.
Now feeling mild shame and embarrassment for being caught out once again by the cursed appliance, I begrudgingly fetch my toast from it and toss the slices onto a paper plate, shuffling back to the couch.
As much as I'm relieved Midnight is back, I know it would be best to give her space. She was clearly taking a lot of pride in flying solo today, and I intend to let her revel in it.
Yet it may still be a bit of time until she's trudging up the stairs if offloading parts from the back of the SUV remains in the cards.
On that note, I stretch out on the couch, using the whole length that would otherwise be shared with us occupying either end – buffer space in between.
Pleasantly, some reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard are playing right now.
...brings a tear to my eye as much as I enjoy the car scenes. They went through a lot of Dodge Chargers and Plymouth Fury cop cars. Not to mention Daisy's Plymouth Roadrunner before she got the Jeep.
Still, the end result was entertaining.
Much to my surprise, I hear the door in the kitchen click open as I take a nibble of food. I turn my head in time to see the door swing open and Midnight trot in.
...and I can't help myself. I'm probably going to die.
"Hi Middie!"
While not surprised by my voice, the name certainly gets her attention. Her initial wide-eyed response narrows into one of mild annoyance, exhaling rather sharply through her flared nostrils.
"You fucking ass."
She kicks the door shut with plenty of force to spare.
"Hey, easy on the hardware now. That comes out of your pay if you break it," I jokingly scold.
"Good thing you don't pay me. How long have you been up?" she inquires while working her way toward me.
"Not long. Not even an hour, I don't think," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "How long were you out in the yard?"
"Few hours. I called it quits around two or three in the afternoon - at least when it came to standing at the counter looking pretty."
"You do pretty a lot better than me."
"I didn't take you as one of those creepy freaks that sexes up pony companions, that's new," she muses with a snide tone. "Maybe you aren't a pickle smoocher like I expected."
I instantly regret my smart comment as my face grows hot.
"Oh, seemed to have touched a nerve. You interested in ponies, or do you like playing the skin flute?"
"Shut up."
"That's what you get for the name."
She motions for me to scoot over with a hoof, eyeing her normal spot on the furniture.
"Nuh-uh, I just got comfortable," I half-heartedly argue before obliging her request. But rather than sit up, I bend my knees and scoot back toward my usual cushion, taking up some of the typical buffer space.
I really was beginning to get comfortable. She can deal with my legs and feet invading no man's land.
Midnight plops down in her usual spot, though facing me rather than draping her forehooves off of the front of the couch. While she looks at the pitiful dinner in my hands, it's with passing curiosity.
She looks tired.
To be fair, I would expect it; this is probably the most she's ever done in one day, aside from overexerting herself on the first couple of days moving that pile of engines. But somehow, I can tell that the drained look in her eyes goes deeper than mere physical fatigue.
"Today go okay?" I ask. I try to mask any concern from seeping into my voice while shifting my gaze back to the TV. A casual approach will get me farther, playing it off as idle conversation.
"It was quiet. Got quite a bit done – as much as I could while inside and manning the phones and counter."
"Great. Sounds like you're more productive than I am."
"Doesn't that go without saying?" she jests.
"Man, you're cutting deep on a sick man. That's cold," I jab back, shooting a leer at her.
"Truth hurts sometimes." The exchange at least puts a little bit of light in her eyes, but she just feels... off. More specifically, distracted.
I can't bring myself to just ignore that.
"You didn't deal with any rude assholes today or crappy situations, did you?"
"That's sort of an odd question to ask, isn't it?" Midnight suggests.
"Maybe. But you didn't instantly reply with no, either."
Her muzzle scrunches up a bit as she comes to realize I have caught her out. But, she doesn't tense up or turn away – a good indication she's not going to just shut down.
"There wasn't anything 'bad,' I suppose," she admits with some reluctance.
"Okay. But something that wasn't particularly comfortable?"
Whether she likes it or not, my attention is completely devoted to her. She's acting too strange.
Her eyes shift back and forth as she ponders a response, as if visually picking out her words.
"Do you... it's been a couple of weeks, but do you remember that guy who came in for parts for a Cutlass? Older man, the same day you started asking... questions about me."
"You mean the day you chipped a good chunk out of my brick wall by chucking a piston at it? Yeah, I remember," I chide
"You called me a guard dog, dickhead," she adds sourly.
"Apologized for it, too – but anyway, yes, I remember," I answer in an attempt to get this train back on the rails.
"He came back today."
"Isn't... that a good thing? Repeat customers?" I suggest, utterly perplexed by the significance.
Midnight's wings ruffle in tune with her discomfort as she stares down at the couch cushion she lays upon. "He did come in for more parts, at least initially."
The way she says that makes me sit up in an instant. "Did he do something to you?"
"What? No. I can handle myself, John," Midnight quickly snaps back as her gaze momentarily flips to me.
I relax a bit but still feel more concerned than I was just seconds ago.
"Then what happened, Midnight?"
"He... he says he knows what I am. He knew I wasn't a custom model, he knows I'm not verified, and he said he knows more that are like me, because he's been around his fair share of bots, and he knows I'm not one. He could tell just by looking at me, listening to me - said I was more advanced than any other he's seen, and said he could... 'help'."
Midnight's words come out in a frenzied cascade of pent-up anxiety, up to a speed that I need a moment for my brain to sort it out.
Someone else knowing she doesn't have an RFID chip on her chassis is troubling. But I'm lost on the rest. I would expect there to be experimental models and shit, and that's what Midnight is.
Right?
"Midnight, what do you mean by he knows what you are? I don't follow – I get that the missing RFID is a big deal, but I don't see the significance of... all that."
She shakes her head fervently. "I don't want to talk about it. That's all I can say."
"It's obviously bothering the hell out of you and I don't think you need to be carrying that baggage."
Midnight continues to try staring a hole into the couch.
Quite frankly, I have had enough of it. Leaning forward, I reach out with a hand and gently place it under her chin, physically coaxing her to look at me.
The gesture makes Midnight jump, though the surprise of it makes her momentarily yield to the coercion quite easily.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" she shouts defiantly upon regaining her wits, pulling away from me.
"Midnight, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on – talk to me."
"I can't!"
"Do you trust me?"
The question freezes her instantly. Those faintly glowing eyes remain locked upon me. Like a window to her mind, I feel like I can see the trouble and turmoil within she's fighting to keep wrested away from me.
"Midnight, I know you're strong, I know you think you need to deal with whatever shit you got going on alone."
"I ca—"
"Don't tell me you can't. You delved into my personal bullshit, got me sorted out; I'm doing the same for you. Do you trust me?"
"I'm a freak!" she roars, her voice suddenly ragged. "I'm not a pony companion bot, I'm a genetic science project sideshow!"
"I... what?"
Between Midnight's abrupt shift in demeanor and the words she spouts, it's all I can respond with right now.
"I don't have an RFID because I don't have a chassis – I'm not a robot... not completely."
"Well... what's wrong with that?" I speak up, too dumbfounded by the moment to offer anything but an attempt at comfort.
Midnight's eyes begin to glow as her body trembles, the volcano inside ready to explode. "Do you know what it's like to be an off-the-books bioengineering project? Do you know how humiliating it is to find out your perverted birth was in a giant test tube? How that experiment in itself is not only prohibited by law, but they managed to fuck up the coloring in their attempts to create a living, breathing Luna, sans wings?"
Midnight chokes back tears as best she can as I inch closer to her.
"Already a fuck up compared to the bio-pony experiments ongoing in secret – those are dumb as mud, but the colors don't factor in on their success. Why not go further with this one? Jam some wires and chips from a couple of discarded Twilight and Luna bots, try to put some intelligence and a bit more unique personality in the damn thing! It might not live more than a day or two, but maybe we can learn something! Let's see what science can do!"
The torrent of pained words she viciously spouts is slowly beginning to be matched not only by the luminescence of her eyes but the tears streaming down her face.
"That's all I am – a test subject! Guinea pig! Crudely dyed wings grafted on from the unpopular Princess Twilight bot because they couldn't genetically engineer proper wings – let's see if we can get em to work! Hey, we have this little prototype electromagnet gizmo that we could probably cram into her, see if she can make levitation a real thing! Testing this new generation of prosthetic eyes even those hers work fine – it's for the betterment of mankind, right?! Why not complete the package, go for a look! Tweak the eyes and give her some sharp teeth! And I'm just supposed to be okay with all of that?! Being a mishmash of rejects, junk, and bastardized biology all rolled into one?!"
Midnight's volume increases during her tirade, with the eventual outcome leaving her practically screaming. She finally stops her rant, quivering after the stress of the outburst.
"You're... you are actually real. Like living and breathing – all that."
In the back of my head, I know I'm not offering any sort of help with that. But the wealth of information I've been buried under in just a few seconds is overwhelming.
"And that's good," she states bitterly, a cryptic comment that is neither question nor statement.
"You obviously felt it was good - otherwise, you wouldn't have escaped, right? You felt your life was worth something."
She doesn't say anything as her breath hitches repeatedly.
With as downtrodden and utterly defeated as she looks right now, I decide to take my chances. Seeing the facade of this tough-as-nails mare crumble to dust is just too much.
I slide up next to her and take her into my arms.
"Leave me the fuck alone." She demands it, yet doesn't resist me.
I stroke the fine fur of her neck, feeling the pain deeply seated in those lean muscles that she continues to fight to keep inside...
I can see in those misty blue eyes, beyond the light they emit, she sees herself with shame.
Midnight hates what she is. For some inexplicable reason, she expects I will, too.
Even as she crowed about how great she was - it was to convince herself that's how she felt. To forget the past.
By the sounds of it, she wasn't even expected to live – merely a vessel to test some ideas and see how they worked and what complications could ensue.
Yet here she is. Somehow.
"Midnight, what you are— what your make-up is or whatever you want to call it – I don't care," I console her. "You got out, you survived, and I'm grateful for that."
"Did I make it out? Because it feels like I'm still trapped. Like my past is still pursuing me," she spits out in a half sob.
"Then anyone out for you is gonna have to go through both of us. This guy, if he's bad news, he's got a fight on his hands if he tries something. I promise you that," I reassure her. "You're here now, unfucking the mess that I've made. You're making this your home, and you're going to fight for it with the same grit and determination you've been displaying to me since I met you."
I can't help but brush away some tears that have continued to gather under her eyes.
With a slight nod, her resolve begins to harden, honing in on my words and my promise to her.
"You're not a mess of discarded parts and gene manipulation or whatever – you're better than that. I don't see that. I see Midnight in front of me, and that's all you should worry about."
Midnight emits a sharp exhale of amusement amidst the occasional sniffle as she wrangles herself under control.
"That was really fucking corny. You know that, right?" she mumbles.
"I'm a simple man. I cut to the chase, even if it isn't very elegant or original. But I'm not saying anything I don't mean."
Much to my own surprise, she leans into my petting a bit as I keep up the physical reassurance that what she is composed of doesn't matter to me.
If anything, it's even more amazing. And horrifying, with how ruthless these people apparently were while doing "modifications" for the sake of science.
She certainly doesn't make it sound very kind.
Fucking hell, this world can be evil.
...and I still don't fully comprehend the situation. Must be illegal to— well, create a new species?
Those are concerns for another time.
"We'll get the parts this guy needs tomorrow, try to nip this whole situation as quickly as possible if we can contact him to pick up. I'll be there with you, alright? I know you can handle this but..."
"Moral support," she suggests.
"I'm moral support. You said he mentioned 'helping,' any idea what that meant?"
I only get a shake of the head in a negative response.
"Got a name?"
"Theodore - 'Teddy' is supposedly what everyone calls him."
"No last name?"
"I... forgot. I was kinda distracted by everything he was saying."
It's a long shot, but maybe I can find something online about this guy with just a first name. I feel my own uneasiness welling up inside, but I am not going to let that stop me from protecting Midnight with every last ounce of strength if need be.
...via 'moral support,' of course.
That's fine. Midnight is strong – far stronger than I gave her credit for.
Well, is it really that surprising to find nothing?
Since I had slept virtually the whole day away, tonight was already not going to see much shuteye. As a result, much of the overnight hours have been spent slaving over Midnight's laptop, trying to find some clues as to this mysterious man named Theodore.
With my plans set in stone, I had Midnight sleep in my room tonight. I would rather be out in the living room with the TV on for background noise while piddling with the laptop in my search.
Admittedly, that was also equally an excuse to feed Midnight. In reality, I wanted her to get some truly restful sleep after unleashing that monumental burden.
Obviously, I didn't tell Midnight that, but her reluctance to take up my offer made it clear she viewed it as pity. But I insisted on the room swap, and she relented.
It was only after she calmed down and eventually retired to bed for the night I could start to absorb what had been unraveled tonight.
I feel sick – and not because of the battle with food poisoning today.
How in the hell can anyone justify hacking up a living being for their own gain or the pursuit of "science?" No wonder Midnight is so maladjusted. How she's even functional is...
Amazing.
The mental image of her eyes being literally scooped out to be replaced with prosthetics that weren't guaranteed to work...
Man, it's probably good I emptied my stomach earlier today.
How long did she have to endure that misery? Going through that, I doubt she wanted to keep track of time even if she could. I'm certainly not going to ask her. What Midnight already shared was too much.
Now, having escaped that and given an opportunity to live a vaguely normal life...
I can't help but feel a lump form in my throat. It takes a moment for that to pass without letting it go any further, aside from a bit of dust irritating my eyes.
But she's not out of the woods yet with this fellow poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Even if he coincidentally could just tell from looking at her she wasn't a bot, I wouldn't expect anyone to just casually bring it up as Midnight described.
There's more to it than that. That's a certainty.
My first instincts tell me this guy works for EquisCo, assuming that is indeed from where Midnight escaped. By the sounds of it, they don't just do fun little pony robots despite the name. They've got ideas down other avenues as well. Could they still want her back for more fun with their macabre science project?
Over my dead fucking body. They probably want to erase her from existence, to avoid getting caught doing illegal genetic experiments.
Keeping up on the news isn't something I bother to do, so a quick detour through "bioengineering" topics for a better understanding was next. It seems a few years ago, creating new critters for pets became a viable undertaking and with that topic came enough pushback to get the practice banned before it supposedly took off.
It's pedantic at this point - but has Midnight been suffering since before that ban, or did she come afterward? Neither option is satisfying, so I let that thought die.
Midnight also mentioned this guy wanted to help... there is always the chance he legitimately wants to assist Midnight with her predicament. Assuming he does somehow have a connection with... real ponies.
Man, that is an odd thought.
But this guy says he knows of others like her. What he means by "others like her" is left up to the imagination for now.
First and foremost, he is a legitimate customer - he put in an order, and I will fulfill it. What comes after that comes down to true intentions...
"Are you seriously still up?"
I practically jump about a foot in the air off of the couch with the sudden quip from Midnight. I turn around, jumping once again as I find her snout mere inches from my face.
Her bemused grin only grows wider with my second near heart attack.
"Damn, are you trying to kill me?!" I shout in exasperation.
"More or less curious if I still have my sneaking skills properly honed. I'd say so, judging by those reactions I got," she explains calmly.
"I'll put a bell on you if you keep pulling that shit," I taunt her.
"I'd like to see you try," she dares.
Midnight casually walks around the sofa, taking her normal seat.
That doesn't last too long, as intrigue over the laptop I'm holding draws her to scoot closer to me. "I thought you were trying to take pity on me, and you've really been up pounding the keyboard, haven't you?" she asks, trying to make out what I have in the search bar.
I delete it quickly, just to fuck with her - and give her a smarmy grin when she looks up at me with disappointment.
"I can handle whatever you're trying to find," she mutters.
"I'm sure you can, but I've come up empty on our mystery man, anyway," I admit. "And of course I'm still up, I slept all damn day; I might sleep for a couple of hours before work, but I don't need any more than that. Why the hell are you up?"
"Not needing sleep was a lie, but I don't need much of it," she replies. "A few hours here or there is about all I do. Tonight though, that was probably the longest I've slept in... " She trails off, looking up at the clock while pondering her answer.
It's almost three in the morning now - and she retired to your room at a quarter till ten.
Five hours, at most. Damn.
"Habit from keeping an eye open for danger?" I suggest.
It garners a nod from Midnight. "Old habits die hard. But it goes a bit beyond that time frame - I just have a hard time... shutting my brain off, I guess. Relaxing."
"Do... you think it's because of..."
I stop myself from going further into explanation, as I don't know how sensitive the subject is for Midnight. Instead, I settle for tapping the side of my head with a finger.
Midnight sighs as she stares at me.
No, more like staring beyond me.
"Probably. My memory isn't that great with anything before then – very fuzzy," she explains quietly, keeping that same far-off gaze. "I do know Twilight bots are known to be quite high-strung, always looking to learn something new."
"And that's one of the chips, I'm assuming?"
"Mmhmm."
"I probably shouldn't be asking this shit, sorry," I apologize, suddenly feeling quite guilty about opening up this wound again.
"It's funny, normally I would berate you for digging," she muses, cocking her head as her eyes focus on you once again.
"Why aren't you?"
"Feel like a weight got pulled off of my shoulders earlier tonight. Don't get me wrong, I will flay you if you turn into a soft little bitch, and don't expect me to be an emotional cuddlebug—"
"But it felt good to tell your plight to someone else," I finish for her.
"Yes."
"At least let me say I'm sorry you had to go through all that. Can't imagine it."
"Don't make this all mushy," she warns. "What's your plan going forward in regards to this 'Teddy?'"
I have to just shrug instinctively, which causes Midnight to frown.
"That's not reassuring," she says in a flat tone.
"Well, I'm not going to just lie to you – there is literally nothing I can find of anyone named Theodore or Teddy who's a renowned scientist or mad genius. It would probably be easier if I had a last name, but even then, no guarantees. For all intents and purposes, this is just your average guy that may or may not have been involved with the line of work that dabbles in making bots or..."
"Making things like me."
"Beings like you. Not things. Have a little more respect for yourself - remember how you pushed yourself as this image of a superior being before," I encourage her.
"Well, I am better than you, but that goes without saying," she jabs.
"Now hold on there, that wasn't what I meant," I snap, playing up the image of being offended.
"Perhaps not, but the point still stands. I'm turning around your business, aren't I?"
"I suppose," I pout. "But anyway, you and I are gonna get the parts for that order tomorrow, and I'll give him a call to notify him – maybe see if I can't get him to talk about what this is all about."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Wait for him to pick up the parts - he said when he did, he'd talk to you, right?"
"Yeah." Midnight's lack of enthusiasm makes it clear she doesn't like what I'm laying out.
But I can't just crucify the guy for knowing something. There aren't really any other options here.
I know Midnight understands. But it certainly throws her back into an uncomfortable situation, and for good reason.
"Don't stress about it – I mean it when I say I got your back. Remember that," I reassure her, going to pat her on the side. Midnight is keenly aware of my movement and eyes me with disapproval.
"Sorry," I apologize while pulling my hand back. "So you're really done sleeping?"
"Yep. And I'm not going to listen to your alarm go off two or three times before you get your ass up in the morning, so call it a night," she instructs.
"Fine. What are you gonna do?"
Midnight merely points a hoof to the laptop that rests upon my legs.
"Gee, what a surprise," I respond, setting it down in front of her.
"Oh shut up and get to bed already. And you better not be sick tomorrow when you get up."
"Man, I hope not. I'm not even going to joke about that," I reply, rising up to my feet and stretching. "You want the lights on, or nah?"
"I'll get them at some point," she says dismissively, already beginning to delve into information on the screen in front of her.
"Alright then. G'night," I tell her before shuffling off to my room.
"Hey, John?"
"Hm?" I turn around.
Midnight sits upright on the couch facing me, her forelegs draped over the back of the furniture. "Thank you for listening to my bullshit," she says solemnly.
I wave my hand, reminded back to when I said the same thing to her. "I figure it comes with the territory of having someone to help me out with this place. Don't worry about it."
The response surprises Midnight at first before the realization hits her.
She grins, just wide enough to show her canines.
"G'night, doofus."
That's about the nicest thing she's ever called me.
How cute.
"Holy shit, you did all of this yesterday?!"
Midnight doesn't reply to me – instead, she holds her head high and puffs her chest out.
I managed to get a little bit of sleep last night – but again, I really didn't need it. A quick breakfast later and the two of us set out to empty the back of the Trailduster.
Midnight wasn't kidding when she said a lot of backlogged orders were knocked out.
"There might have been a couple of items that were in the back before I started yesterday, but other than that – all me."
I don't know if she was trying to be humble, or just gloat further with that comment. She kind of failed at the former, but I will let her celebrate this victory however she chooses.
Regardless, the ass end of the Trailduster is legitimately sagging from all of the weight in the back. Sure, the shocks and springs are worn out, but this is still a rare sight.
"Guess we have our morning planned out – see if we can't get all this packed up and ready to ship."
A few parts shuffle about on top of the pile before levitating out to the counter. It's only now as I round the corner to get started sorting this stuff that I catch sight of the boxes piled off to the side already set for shipping.
"Wait, you did this, too?" I ask, turning back around to face Midnight.
"I started on it."
Jesus, she's really shown me up. But I guess that isn't hard to accomplish when I spent my free time fucking around on the internet. She's got good reason to take pride in yesterday.
After booting up the old desktop computer, I start going through orders, matching up names and addresses with the parts currently being laid out. Whenever she's untangling parts, I double-check the packing slips Midnight already placed within each box.
All looks good thus far. I have shown her a little bit of how it all comes together – the rest must have come with observation and connecting the dots.
As much as Midnight protested about how little I mattered in her mind in those first couple of weeks, I always caught her watching me. It was a little creepy at first, I won't lie. But I figured it had something to do with her programming, being a robot and all.
That's out the window now. Sorta.
"So, did you actually get all this accomplished because you were bored, trying to get ahead of the game, or just to show me up, Middie?"
"Are you seriously going to start using that name?" she whines, halting her unloading for a moment to leer at me in disdain.
"Aww, come on, it's cute," I tease.
"In case you hadn't noticed, I don't do cute," she snorts. As she has done in the past to prove her point, she bares her teeth and pins her ears back. One final touch she adds today is fanning out her wings as if preparing to leap and savagely attack me.
"What would you do if I said that was cute?" I press onward, finding enjoyment in where this train of stupidity is heading.
My rebuttal makes her hesitate.
"Then I'd have to assume there's something very wrong with you in a mental sense," she counters, dropping her act and resuming normal posture.
"I figured there was. Huh, guess that proves it," I muse, shrugging it off before I get back to packing up parts.
"How did you even catch wind of the name?" she asks.
"What, 'Maddie'? I don't really know, yesterday is sort of a blur. Probably one of the few times I was up. I'll give you props on creativity, but I'm assuming there were questions about your real name?"
She nods. "It was annoying to have to explain it every time, so I just came up with something. I was afraid you would run with it if you overheard me."
"Luckily I'm not doing that – I called you 'Middie,' which conveniently can be a shortened nickname for 'Midnight'."
"Uh-huh. Even though there's the same amount of syllables?" she challenges. Another wave of parts is heaved onto the countertop.
"It's fewer letters," I point out.
Midnight stomps a hoof in frustration, but her face has lightened up – to the point I see the ends of her mouth ticking upward.
"That doesn't matter when you're saying it!" she cries.
"Alright, I'll go back to 'Turbo.' How does that sound, Turbo?"
Her muzzle scrunches up at that nickname almost instantly. "Fine. Never utter that stupid name again, and you can use Middie. Sparingly ," she replies, making sure to emphasize her point.
"Works for me, Middie."
"Smartass."
After the stress of yesterday, even the slightest return to normalcy and banter is a welcome feeling.
...that's sort of odd to think, with the journey I have been on with her for close to two months now.
"So I take it the stuff you didn't get to yesterday afternoon is heavier shit?"
"I wouldn't say that; after all, I proved to you I could lift a whole engine, didn't I? Repeatedly?"
"You did, and then you ran out of juice."
"Hence why I picked my battles," she explains, looking just a bit ashamed of her prior folly.
"Hey, at least you learned that just because you can, doesn't mean you should, yeah?"
Midnight gets a chuckle out of that. "Listen to you trying to pass out nuggets of wisdom," she chides.
"Every once in a while I got something remotely intelligent to share that isn't car-related," I argue.
"True. I'll give you that – you know a lot of silly little things about cars," Midnight muses, halting her progress to trot over. She rears up and rests her hooves on the countertop, inspecting how my side of the job is going.
"The other half of what I didn't accomplish was parts and pieces I was unfamiliar with," she adds, casually inspecting an ignition distributor assembly as it twists and turns within the invisible force she wields.
"Trim pieces?"
Again, she nods in affirmation.
"Yeah, depending on the car and what particular pieces they are, that can be a miserable task, I don't blame you there. I know you ran through every manual I have - but unless it's drivetrain or running gear related, they can be rather vague, especially when it comes to little shit like that."
"Just comes with experience I'm assuming?"
"Pretty much. Sometimes you find a neat little trick that works just by screwing up a time or two. Some pieces are just going to be a lesson in misery every time to try to remove it – like drip edge molding around the windows."
Midnight's ears perk up at the last bit.
"Oh, what a coincidence - that happens to be one of the orders I didn't complete!" Midnight exclaims, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
"Aw piss - guess you get to see how awful that job is. Glad you didn't tackle that one, otherwise the result would have been either a twisted mess of shiny chrome or a flipped-over car."
"And what would you base that assumption on?" she demands, her smarmy expression fading as she slightly bristles at my criticism.
"The first few days of you tearing apart motors in the shop," I remind her.
"And I improved on reeling in my frustration, did I not?"
"You did. I'm just fucking with you. Mostly."
"Mostly, huh?" she repeats, seemingly unamused. "Well, I suppose in that case, you'll have to forgive me if I do somehow lose my temper and try to flip a car over."
"No, you won't," I state, crossing my arms.
"Oh? And why would that be?" she challenges, standing up just a little bit higher and straightening her neck as her grin grows more devious. "Are you going to tell me no? Step in and stop me?"
"I'll pet you," I quietly warn.
Her arrogance and taunting instantly falter, concurrent with the smirk being wiped off of her face. "You wouldn't dare."
"I would." I quickly reach toward her with a hand to demonstrate. She recoils quickly in reaction, but not before nipping at the air near my outstretched fingers.
"Oh no, we aren't done here," I demand, stepping around the corner while keeping a straight face.
"John, I swear, don't you—"
Reaching toward her in a deft movement isn't enough, as Midnight merely sidesteps with surprising agility. She ends up behind me while I grasp thin air.
I feel something small and solid smack off the back of my head.
"I said stop it, you dumb bastard."
"Ow," I grimace, rubbing the smarting spot while trying to locate the offending weapon that I hear clattering across the floor.
A small rusted bolt finally loses its momentum and stops, spinning for just a brief moment.
"I warned you," Midnight sasses.
Turning back around, I find Midnight once again reared up and resting on the counter – albeit on the other side, where I was moments ago. Once again, that same devious smirk as before lines her face, while her raised brows offer an air of confident nonchalance. She offers a shrug as my eyes meet hers.
"Touche," I relent. "But I don't think you had to throw that."
"That's a matter of opinion - I could have thrown it harder."
"Please don't - I don't want to find out you can put a hole clean through my head. That would be messy," I respond, the pain subsiding as I drop my arms back to my sides.
Midnight chuckles. "Oh, that's the issue you have with it," she muses.
"To be honest though, I have a pretty thick skull - I don't think you could do much damage," I announce, taking pride in the implications.
It gets the desired result, Midnight perking up just even more. "I don't doubt it," she retorts.
Mission accomplished.
... I don't know why that was a mission in the first place. Of course, I don't want it all reverting back to the pall that has hung in the air since last night's discussion and what lies ahead in that respect.
But...
Going to bed this morning, turning around, and seeing that face. That genuine smile as she thanked me for listening to her. I'd like to see that more often. Seeing her happy put me in a place I don't ever recall being before.
"Hey."
Midnight's voice breaks me from my train of thought. She stares, befuddled and a little concerned.
Or maybe creeped out.
"Sorry, zoned out. That everything out of the truck...?"
"One last time - ready?"
"Yep."
"One, two, three!"
In unison, the pair of us carefully strike either end of the long and slender scrap of wood with mallets. Like clockwork, the last piece of window trim pops off of the car.
A '62 Cadillac. That was so much damn stainless trim to take off. But it went better than expected - nothing got beaten up or twisted. Call it a miracle - I've seen this kind of shit go wrong on many occasions.
It's why many people just mask over this kind of brightwork when painting a classic car rather than take it all off.
Others...
Well, sometimes they are the reason I have these kinds of orders. It takes a lot of patience and care to get trim off. Not everyone is capable of that kind of discipline.
"Awesome work, thank you," I compliment my assistant.
Midnight beams proudly at that, despite initially being frustrated her powers wouldn't work on the part. Not much iron in that kind of stuff.
That's alright - with two working on either end and meeting in the middle, it went quickly. Relatively speaking.
"What next?" I ask Midnight as I set the final piece of brightwork next to the others in the back of the truck. I turn around to find Midnight with pursed lips and mum on details.
"Cutlass?"
Just a nod.
She won't admit to it of course, but Midnight is very anxious about this whole situation. Even though we are just fetching the order, knowing who these parts are destined for gets her tensed up.
For much of the day, I have kept her distracted enough to keep thoughts of the future at bay, but now we're left with the elephant in the room.
Her outlook has not gotten any better since first letting loose this bombshell last night. If anything, she's gotten worse.
I understand where she's coming from. But on my end, I would prefer to see a silver lining. It would be great if this guy could help her out somehow. Maybe he's genuine - and maybe he can somehow score her some sort of RFID chip or a workaround.
Midnight might not be a bot that requires it, but a chip will allow her to pass off as a legal one and be able to go beyond the junkyard gates with much less risk.
That is if that's what she so desires. Midnight might just be a homebody, similar to me nowadays. Clearly, she's not much of a socialite.
For now, anyway. That could always change.
Now that I have had time to think about it, I can't help but wonder if her lack of social skills has blown this all out of proportion. Not that I blame her - she can't help she's been isolated and tested on by virtually everyone she's ever known.
But with that being said, there's the possibility signals got crossed along the way when this guy was sincerely offering his assistance. It's well worth playing the meeting calm and cordial.
I hope Midnight can do that. But how do I approach her on this proposition when she's already showing senses of dread - and we don't even have the damn parts to contact Theodore yet?
Any way I can conjure this whole situation being a big misunderstanding ends up sounding like I'm dismissing her worries in my head. But letting her stew over this is no good, either. For better or worse, I think I need to share my thoughts sooner rather than later.
Once both of us climb back into the Trailduster to set out in search of Cutlass parts, I take the opportunity to speak up.
"Midnight, when I say that I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure nothing happens to you, you believe me, right?"
"Yeah. I don't really like admitting it, but you have done a lot," she mumbles, quite sheepishly. Whether that's due to my question coming from out of nowhere, or the increasingly common-but-still-rare moment of gratitude spoken aloud by her is anyone's guess.
"I just want to make it clear that I'm sticking by that because I'm really beginning to consider we have this whole situation wrong."
"You don't trust my judgment?"
Her question is ice cold. The look she has on her face matches it as she eyes you with a small amount of hurt inside.
"No, I do trust your judgment, and I fully understand why you're concerned about this," I reply, keeping calm.
"But?"
"We can both agree you haven't had much experience in terms of social situations and discussions, just based on what you've told me, right?"
"That isn't my fault, John," she spits in irritation.
"I understand that, and I'm not blaming you-"
"But you'll use that as an excuse to tell me I'm overreacting now, right? I've seen you staring at me like I'm some sort of paranoid idiot all day!" she accuses, revealing some simmering angst.
Crap - I am losing control of this situation, far quicker than I could have anticipated.
"No, I do not think you're paranoid, I think you have every right to be nervous about thi-"
"I'm not nervous!" she shouts - at a volume many more decibels than needed for the interior of this SUV.
I give her a moment to realize the severity of her outburst, which she acknowledges with an averted gaze and a scowl.
A particularly rough patch of the lane we're driving down sends both of us bouncing in our seats.
Be nice when those damn leaf springs come in. I see no sense in doing just the shocks right now since they would have to be removed again when replacing the leaf springs.
"Okay, you have concerns, how about that?"
"I have reservations about this," she corrects, indignant to the end in an attempt to save face.
"Alright - regardless, I get it, and you have justifications to feel that way - but neither you nor I can afford to be completely close-minded and pessimistic, right?"
Midnight hardly looks swayed by my argument, her eyes narrowed.
"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," I scold her, giving her my own matching leer for just a moment.
The stupid comment at least knocks her off balance, softening her stone-cold posture.
"That doesn't make any damn sense," she replies after a slight hesitation.
"Very good, glad you noticed," I reply with a cheeky smile.
"Jackass," she mutters.
"Middie, all I'm trying to say is to pass him off as someone that's out to get you isn't right - there are genuinely nice people out there."
"And what are we really going to solve?"
I have to do a double-take at that response.
"Did I stutter?" Midnight barks back.
"No, but - hell, there's a whole world beyond these gates. I get we're sorting things out to make this place private, but you don't want to be stuck here forever, right?"
Midnight turns her head away from me and looks out her window, silent. She doesn't give me an opportunity to read her emotions. I'm left befuddled as to why she's suddenly calm and quiet.
I wait a few more moments to see if she has anything to add, in case she's deep in thought over this whole conversation. Turning down the correct row of cars, I finally come to the area with mid-size Oldsmobiles and stop the truck.
"All I'm trying to do is look out for your best interest. Let me be clear on one thing though - if he does try something funny or take you, I'll shoot the son of a bitch if I have to."
"And if he does somehow help us... you know, forge my identity or something like that... what do you expect of me?"
"What? Am I supposed to expect something?"
Midnight turns back to focus upon me again - still possessing a face virtually lacking any emotion.
"You're keen on me being able to leave, it's clear. So what do you expect of me? To find somewhere else to live? Venture out on my own?" she asks with a hint of venom in her voice.
"So we can go and do things outside of the junkyard, you dolt!" I shout back, more out of astonishment than anything else.
Is she for real right now?
"Hey, you're the one so adamant on getting me out of here, how am I supposed to know what's in that empty space between your ears?!" she snaps back, displeased and startled by my volume.
"Sorry, sorry," I apologize, kicking myself for shouting despite not meaning ill will. I didn't really mean to call her a name either. But she is being thick-headed right now.
"So, this really is just about... being able to do stuff? Like what?" Midnight sounds surprised as she acknowledges the information my outburst actually contained.
"Like... well, what would you want to do?"
Midnight scoffs at my attempts to pass this off to her.
"How am I supposed to know what there is? Almost everything I know about the outside world is what I've gleaned from eavesdropping or what I've come across while reading on your laptop. Entertainment is not high on the priority list in terms of learning."
"Fair enough. I guess I don't really have any suggestions other than dining out at restaurants - I'm sure as hell not a top-notch cook. There are some good places around. Things to check out in terms of sights, that sort of thing."
"And what if I have no desire to explore the world? What if... I already sort of have what I need, don't I?" she asks, as if unsure of herself.
I feel awkward just trying to come up with any sort of reasonable answer to that. Particularly because she's basically been deprived of... well, living.
Actually enjoying life.
Yet this shithole is good enough for her?
"I guess so. Maybe we're getting too far ahead here," I admit. "I just wanted to say that I get your reservations about this, and I'm a little nervous, too. But we'll play it cool and cautious, and see how the cards fall, okay? Just don't stress from now until then, please?"
I put on my best pouting, pleading face, complete with sad eyes.
Midnight cringes, the door behind her opening quickly under her spell.
"Never make that face again. What the hell is that?" she responds with utter disgust.
"A secret weapon, don't forget it," I joke, overemphasizing a serious tone of voice.
"I couldn't if I wanted to," she shoots back, still sounding disturbed as she slides out of the passenger side and out of view.
Mirroring her actions, I push open my door and set out for the final few parts of the early evening.
"Steak any good?"
"I think you did a decent job with it. But I'm no connoisseur - I could have eaten it raw without issue."
Dinner time has come around again after a surprisingly smooth day of work. Impressed with how much Midnight had accomplished the prior day, combined with the difficulties in slowing down her overactive mind, I decided to break out something a little more upscale.
A nice pair of ribeye steaks, one cooked rare - if that. Midnight wanted it bloody, and as she just mentioned - raw would not have been an issue for her.
It's still odd to watch someone who should really be an herbivore mowing down red meat with vigor. So far she hasn't noticed I gave her the choice steak out of the two. Middie would probably flip shit that I was spoiling her or something like that.
As much as she's come around to me, she's got her odd streaks of reluctance to accept anything above the bare minimum. Maybe she thinks I'm trying to bribe her or something. Weird, but what else is there?
All I'm looking to try to do is try to make the highlight of my life happy.
...alright, that sounds fucking weird. Back that train up.
I'm trying to make my friend happy because she's dealt with too much misfortune. She's a highlight because I don't have friends I keep in contact with any longer. Otherwise, all I have is work.
So Midnight is... her existence is the most interesting thing I deal with, in the sense of the doldrums of day-to-day life, because I don't live alone anymore.
That's a better explanation.
Complicated and meandering thoughts aside, there had been no excitement tonight when I gave a call to Theodore, notifying him his parts were ready for pickup whenever he had time.
Midnight insisted upon the call right away, despite my attempts to alleviate her mind of thinking about this earlier. Relief and disappointment replaced the palpable tension when I only heard the droning voicemail introduction cut in. I left a short message, only notifying him his parts were ready whenever he desired to pick them up, and my phone number in case of any delays or questions.
And that was that.
"Same old, same old tonight?" I ask Midnight while she goes to town on her meal. It must be pretty damn good or she's hungrier than normal because table manners are on the verge of disappearing entirely. Granted, I also made her wait until my food was done - so she had to just stare at it. Next time, I plan on starting mine first instead of doing them together.
"I unno," Midnight replies, shrugging with a mouthful of chewed-up steak distorting her response.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, heathen."
Rather than respond again with words, Midnight opens her mouth and gives me a clear view of her meal in a childish manner.
"How pleasant. Thank you for that," I groan, mildly disgusted by the sight.
Midnight seems content with that response, finishing that mouthful before speaking up.
"Don't ask questions when you aren't ready for the answer next time," she suggests.
"Okay, you can answer now - just the same old routine tonight?"
"Should I be doing something else?" she replies with her own inquiry.
"I didn't know if you had some other plans for the website or the junkyard in general - or maybe something new you're reading about."
Another shrug of the shoulders ensues whilst continuing her feast. I follow her hint and continue with my own plate.
It isn't until after Midnight polishes off the last of her dinner that she breaks the silence.
"What's gotten into you asking me about my plans?"
"Trying to converse, I guess. Show I have some interest since you live with me," I clarify. "Just sort of what friends do - we are friends, yeah?"
"Are we?" she proposes, raising an eyebrow.
The response makes me feel like I just got kicked in the gut. Maybe I am playing this closer to my heart than I thought.
"I didn't mean it like that," Midnight chimes in, her ears dipping as she looks at me with some sympathy. I didn't think I made a face about it, but evidently, she picked up on some sort of visual cue.
"What?"
Midnight is visibly uncomfortable as I try to keep my inquiry as vague as her answer.
"It's... you stupid bastard. I told you I didn't want you to get all queer and sappy after last night," she grumbles, rolling her eyes as she attempts to dismiss her own discomfort.
"I didn't do anything!"
"Bullshit, you took some sort of offense to my question like I hurt your feelings. I could see it in how you dropped your head!" she accuses, pointing a hoof at me.
"And you're pointing it out and apologizing for it like you feel bad that you did it," I remind her.
Midnight recoils, her face twisted into an odd amalgam of emotions.
"No. Don't turn this on me. I live with you, I don't need you crying for a hug," she mutters, looking off to the side.
"So what didn't you mean?" I ask, now finding some amusement in how she's gotten spun up about nothing.
"Stop it."
"No, you can't accuse me of doing something as a result of something you said that was left rather ambiguous."
"That's a rather big word for you - 'ambiguous.' Do you actually know what it means?" she asks in a sly attempt to shift the squabble.
"I do, but I don't know what you meant by asking if we were friends, but not actually meaning to ask it," I offer in rebuttal, crossing my arms over my chest.
"What's your definition of 'friend'?" she finally relents, albeit with a grumbling tone.
"What's yours?"
"I don't have one. So don't play this off on me," she says.
"You've never had a friend?"
She looks at me with incredulity staining her expression.
"Are you being dense on purpose now? I was born in a test lab - what kind of social situations do you think I've experienced?" she counters. "Might I remind you that you pointed out earlier today that I apparently possess no social grace - but you're expectant of me to have had a friend?"
Yeah, that might have been a stupid question to ask, with that earlier conversation in mind. But still, I would expect she had at least one...
Pony? Or person?
Someone that she conversed with.
"You didn't have anyone to talk to? At all, that whole time you were... wherever you were?" I inquire with caution. I feel like I'm treading on thin ice now.
"Not really," Midnight says, sounding rather impatient with this branch of conversation. "Maybe before the whole... the start of the experiments with augmentations. Biological ponies like - well I guess like I was - we were kept completely separate from the robots. After all, we aren't supposed to exist. But we were kept sort of together, I think. Like a common gathering area."
"You think, or you know?"
I get a glare from Midnight before she even responds with words.
"I told you things are hazy for me, John," she mutters in frustration. "I only recall being - I guess reintroduced to that area."
Rather than ask for her to go on, I sit and nod my head. If this discussion is going to progress, it will have to be on Midnight's terms.
Midnight has sort of zoned out, her eyes glazed over in thought.
"I don't know, it felt familiar. But it was just so... fake. All of it," she says, sounding disgusted. "And some of the others - I don't know, they didn't feel like complete strangers, but..."
"Did you try talking to them?" I suggest.
She glances up, unenthused by the inquiry.
"You don't really 'converse' with bio-ponies - not the ones I was around, anyway," she scoffs. "They can speak, but there's very little of substance going on in their head, compared to me."
Midnight pauses and sighs, looking rather apologetic for that crass review.
"Honestly, I didn't want much to do with them. There might have been some idle 'hellos' and 'goodbyes,' but it just felt like everyone else was... content. Placid. Superficial. So I just sort of isolated myself out of frustration, trying to understand what the hell was going on, why I felt that way, why everything felt so wrong."
"So what happened then?"
"Eventually I got my own area. If you could call it that," she answers with an accompanying bitter chuckle. "It was more or less a glass room with a locked door. Never saw any of those ponies again - or any ponies, for that matter, aside from the occasional robot. Other than those rare sights, it was humans - and most of them looked at me like an exotic being or a thing to tinker with rather than something sentient."
Midnight's tone turns bitter and angry as she finishes. Her bright blue eyes harden again as her focus returns to me.
"So no, I don't have any experience with 'friends' - the ball is squarely in your court," she states with finality.
As much as I like having my curiosity sated when Midnight opens up, it's never satisfying. It seems like it's always something painful, whether she understands it or not.
"Well, friends can converse about idle shit - but there's a level of trust that goes beyond that. It's someone you trust with your personal issues and your memories. Someone you rely on in times of need. Someone you know won't judge you or make fun of you for something embarrassing - though you can usually rib each other for it. But it's someone that - well, you enjoy their company, their discussions, and their ear when you need to talk."
Midnight listens intently but offers no response. Likewise, I only sit there - before realizing I haven't finished eating. Might be a little cold now, but no sense in letting it go to waste.
"I know what the term means, John," she says in a subdued voice. "Kind of a fruity way to explain it - but I know what a friend is. Just never had one that I can recall."
"Oh," is all I can muster up for that little anecdote.
Silence wins over any sort of idle chit-chat while I finish up dinner. Rather than shuffle off to the couch and the comfortable isolation of the laptop screen, Midnight still sits at the kitchen counter across from me. Her attention isn't really honed in on anything in particular. Just watching her tell that tidbit of the past, I could tell she was experiencing it all over again.
And yet... That's it.
She has no response to my explanation.
I was hoping to get some sort of agreement or affirmation. But I get it - she's a macho mare. Even so, I cannot deny her insistence to keep up this barrier does sting just a bit.
Yet I still consider her a friend - just a very moody one. Then again, that's sort of her odd, slightly rough charm, isn't it?
I think I'm getting worked up over something stupid - a label.
Stop being a dumbass, dumbass.
Pulling myself out of that cacophony of thoughts, I take both empty plates and slip them into the sink. Along with the other dishes from this morning.
Maybe I'll get them washed tomorrow.
"If I get to that couch first, I'm lying down on it," I announce loudly, pretending to be oblivious to Midnight's presence.
"The hell you will," she sneers, staring a hole through me.
I lock eyes with her as if preparing for a duel. Just as I make a motion to get around the counter, Midnight bolts up and makes a beeline for her seat, leaping onto the couch.
"Not fair, you got a head start," I whine.
"Fuck you, you can share," she sasses. "Unless you want the victor to have the whole couch, as you essentially proposed.
"Fine," I huff, waltzing out into the living room and plopping down on my familiar cushion without any sort of grace or fanfare.
I flip on the TV with the remote and fish my phone out of a pocket.
Time to relax and look up stupid shit.
I feel the couch shift a little bit, and as I look up, the one cushion buffer between Midnight and I has evaporated - she's now on that middle cushion.
Midnight ignores my perplexed gaze while she shifts about to regain her normal posture - laying down, half-curled up, and flopped over on one side, with her forehooves dangling off the front of the couch.
"Punishment for being so damn slow, friend ," she mocks me, booting up the laptop.
I can't help but smirk.
"Damnit. Guess that's what I get for making idle threats."
"Wasn't too smart, was it?"
I consider reaching over and ruffling her mane but think better of it. Midnight has her own odd way of expressing herself - it just takes time.
I can wait. I think it will be worth it.
If I was not aware when signing for the package and observing the size, Midnight made sure I knew what the large and unwieldy cardboard box contained.
The leaf springs for the Trailduster arrived well ahead of schedule, and she wants no part in dilly-dallying to get them installed.
Fair enough.
As the lift in the garage bay slowly rises from the ground with the truck at the whims of its might, Midnight is already tearing up packaging like a kid on Christmas.
Albeit wielding a box cutter.
I'm pretty sure I saw her teeth get in on the action as well.
Damn savage.
"Just a reminder, if we don't get this done by evening, you're carrying me around while we pick parts," I joke.
"I never agreed to that, so bite me," Midnight strikes back.
"Should have read the fine print - deal's a deal."
"Do you listen to yourself when you talk? That makes absolutely no sense," she snorts.
"I try not to listen - that way I don't know when I say something stupid. Then it's deny, deny, deny."
"Yeah? And how does that work out?"
"How does what work out?"
Midnight starts to react as I watch those metaphorical gears in her head start to grind. But she stops herself, catching onto my subtle, idiotic ruse.
"Funny guy," she says unenthusiastically.
"Aw, thanks. I'll be here all week."
Midnight just shakes her head as she starts sorting out parts and pieces. Nevertheless, she can't hide that mildly amused grin.
Maybe she isn't trying. After all, things are... different. A few nights ago, when she decided to sit beside me on the couch - well, that was just a joke for five minutes before putting the normal space between the two of us, right?
Doesn't seem like it. Every night, her spot has been on the cushion next to me, rather than the opposite end.
I know better than to point it out, though. More than likely, she would clam up again and revert to old habits. It's only a move of a foot or two - but there is an increased sense of solidarity just in that closeness.
In addition, whether it's because I inquired that same night about our friend status or on her own accord, Midnight has also been keen to show me things she finds of interest, or asking more questions about a topic. It has become less about the occasional banter and conversation between periods of silence, and more about conversation with some banter - and the occasional silence.
That speech about friendship was undeniably lame, but it seems like it struck a chord with her, for whatever reason. Who knew she could be such a softie?
That comment, if uttered aloud, could very well result in lost digits, though. But jokes aside, hopefully it's a step in the right direction.
That direction, at least in part, is to get the rest of the trauma she's experienced out of her. There is something that I find really haunting about the tale that she described. How everything was suddenly...
Alien.
Just the thought of having my brain cranked on to the point where nothing is the same - but not understanding why...
A chill runs up my spine, making me let go of that ugly musing.
My focus returns to the present as I start looking over fasteners that will require removal. Well, they're all rusted, but that's to be expected for something dating back to the '70s. I have seen far, far worse out of decades-newer cars, so I won't complain one bit.
With any luck, we won't have any major casualties in terms of broken bolts or stripped heads.
"So, are we dropping the axles?"
The question makes me chuckle as Midnight joins my side underneath the vehicle. Her focus is on the workspace, rather than me - so my chuckle doesn't irk her at all.
"No way, that's way more work than we need to do," I reply. "I'm going to get some chains or heavy straps and lash both axles in place on either side, and we'll take off one leaf spring and shock absorber at a time. Otherwise, we would be removing drive shafts, brake lines, and steering linkage. I want no part in that."
"So, you're corner-cutting," she says, unimpressed.
"No, we're doing this the smart way rather than by the book - there's a reason that mechanics make a fair bit of dough - they get paid by the hour."
I look over to Midnight, who still does not seem convinced of my ways, preferring to leer at me with a healthy dose of skepticism.
"If you really want to do it the proper, technical service manual way, I'd be glad to - but it's gonna cost you some money."
"Money that I don't have," she reminds me with a smug edge to her voice.
"Good, we're on the same page," I cheer, clapping my hands together.
However, I take note that Midnight appears to remain quite dissuaded by the logic I have fed her thus far.
"In all seriousness Midnight - doing it this way is fine. I get being a stickler when it comes to the official manual - but remember how they don't even go in-depth on topics like trim," I remind her. "If it was something where we were truly at risk of cocking something up or hurting ourselves - then no, I wouldn't do it this way."
"So it is a legitimate shortcut, rather than you being lazy?"
"Swear on it. Maybe it looks lazy and jacked up to strap the damn things up there, but we would otherwise be draining the transmission to get the driveshafts out and refilling them, and then having to purge and bleed the brakes. And I'm a walking hazard when it comes to dealing with automotive fluids."
"Well, when you mention that, I want to see how much of a clusterfuck you can create," she ribs me.
"Believe me, you'll see it sooner or later. And you'll help me clean it up."
"Nuh-uh," she says, shaking her head while turning back to her prior organization of parts.
"Where the hell are you going?"
Pivoting on the spot to look back at me, Midnight looks lost as she cocks her head sideways.
"What do you mean?"
I point at a few key bolts that have to be removed. "You wanted to do this, didn't you?"
"Of course!" The way she perks up instantly at the question is undeniably adorable. I don't think I have ever seen someone so happy to do work. But hey, who am I to complain?
"Get started on breaking loose those U-bolts around the axles, the bolts on either end of the leaf springs, and the shock mounts top and bottom while I get something to tie up them axles," I explain, thumbing over to the storage room. "Impact gun or ratchet, your choice - just try to be cautious as much as you can. I'm sure I have some bolts to replace whatever gets busted, but I dunno where they are for sure."
"The leaf springs came with new bolts," Midnight chimes in. "Both the U-bolts and mounting the shackles to the frame."
"Sweet. That's an unexpected but welcome surprise."
This may go even better than anticipated.
As Midnight trots over to my battered red toolbox to select her choice of tools, I wander my way over to the storeroom and head inside. Right away, I spot a few tow straps - but they're the smaller kind.
I would prefer something beefier when it comes to drivetrain components hanging over my head.
I shuffle further in, barely able to walk straight forward within the tight proximity all of these shelves are located.
I should have reconsidered and had Midnight do this. Not because I don't trust her with getting started on the truck - but because she's much more lithe than I am when it comes to getting through this shit.
Someday, I should get another building put up - solely for part storage. Or make this one a bit more tidy.
Yeah, someday...
Finally, I stumble upon the heavy-duty shit in the back corner. I grab a few chains and a couple of sets of straps, silently cursing why I had to put them all the way back here rather than right inside the door like the other tow straps.
Having not heard the rattling tune of the impact gun yet, it's safe to assume Midnight went with the physical route of a ratchet.
... is it really physical for her though?
Regardless, I am not surprised - she's complained before about the volume and the racket it creates.
Her hearing is probably more sensitive. But an impact would have been the safer option to break those bolts loose.
As I stumble along back to the entrance with my prizes slung over my shoulder, I can hear the murmur of a voice out in the garage. I don't think it's Midnight though...
"John!!"
That one is. The sheer volume of her shout quickens my pulse, even without any context. I haven't heard her shout like that before, and she's dealt with customers on more than one occasion now, with the obvious one that comes to mind being-
It's Theodore.
I hustle as quickly as I can through the corridor, banging my arms once or twice on parts that stick out beyond their respective shelves. Whether she's flipping her shit just from pent-up stress and anxiety with his appearance or if Teddy is trying something nefarious doesn't matter right now.
I am not dawdling or taking chances.
Reaching the open door and sprinting out into the garage proper, I find Midnight has everything under control...
Relatively speaking.
I do indeed recognize the elder gentleman, even as he stands just a few steps inside the building. With a pair of weathered khakis and a vintage GM shirt, he certainly doesn't come off as a crazy scientist.
Midnight has him standing at a fair distance from herself. Her ears are pinned back while she bares her teeth at our guest, her deep blue and violet-highlighted tail swishing back and forth with irritation as her eyes are locked on him like a target.
Well, she certainly isn't scared of him, in a sense.
"Midnight," I call to her in a calm voice.
She doesn't turn or move, but I can see Midnight's tensed muscles in her shoulders and hips relax just a bit.
"I uh... I didn't do very well in my first impression, did I?" Theodore quips in a surprisingly lighthearted southern drawl. For his part, the guy doesn't look too concerned about being stared down by someone prepared to attack.
I allow myself to relax a bit while closing the distance between me and the two of them.
"Yeah, Midnight has been... a little bit stressed," I admit as I pass beside her. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her gaze shift to me, snorting once before putting tucking those sharp pearly whites away.
All that fuss about being called a guard dog...
I stick my hand out to greet our awaited guest. "I know we've already talked before, but I guess this is a bit more formal," I say, feeling awkward. "You must be Theodore."
"Oh please - this isn't that formal. Call me Teddy," he replies with a chuckle and a grin while accepting my gesture.
"Of course, you and Midnight have met," I announce, turning back to her. She's calmed down now but remains guarded, her posture straight and stiff.
So much for giving the guy a chance...
"Yeah, I guess my bedside manners aren't very good. They never really were," he wisecracks.
"You're a doctor?" I ask, surprised and perplexed by the off-the-wall comment.
"That's what the degree says, anyway - not an actual doctor like in a hospital or anything like that," he clarifies, reaching behind his back and pulling out his wallet. "But before I forget, I ought to get those parts paid for and in the back of my truck. Is that ok?"
"Of course - got em back here behind the counter," I say, waving for him to follow me as I head in that direction.
Midnight quickly meets my stride as I pass by her, sticking close. Whether that's more for my protection or hers - I'm not sure. She doesn't say anything, but just a peek at her tells me she remains none too pleased about this whole situation.
I need to talk to her again - and Teddy heading out to his truck with his purchases will present the perfect opportunity.
After presenting the parts to him and finagling just a bit on the price, Teddy hands me the cash and heads back out for the time being with his acquisitions.
I spin around to Midnight, who is practically my shadow at this point.
"Midnight, what was that all about?" I ask, more concerned than disappointed. "I thought we agreed that we would give him a fair shake."
"I'm not going with him, John!" she blurts out angrily, stomping a hoof down with a reverberating crack. "I have fought for this place, I'm still fighting for this place, I have you - I don't need anything else, no matter what he offers!"
She pauses to take a seat on her haunches, while I'm left utterly dumbfounded by the small avalanche she just unleashed.
"I could live without you, if need be - but you're a perk living here, I'll admit that," she quickly adds, ruffling her wings with mild anxiousness.
"Who the hell said you were going to leave?" I grill her, getting down on a knee to achieve a closer eye level.
... Midnight has to bring her head down just a tad to meet me now.
Regardless, I get a better look at the torment, fury, and instability that swirls in those magnificent blue eyes- which have begun to glow as her tirade resumes.
"He said he would take me away from here if this wasn't suitable to me if you were a dickhead or something like that - I don't know," she snarls. "But fuck him! I'm not leaving! This is my home, and I will end him and anyone else that gets in my way!"
I've only seen her this carried away with seething fury once if the sheer luminescence of her eyes is anything to go by. The first night, when I called her 'princess.'
This is almost as scary. Particularly as her breathing is on the verge of hyperventilation.
"Well dammit, you never told me any of that," I tell her. Only now do I realize I have started running my hands through her mane in an attempt to temper her rage. "Goddamn girl, you need to talk about this kind of shit. I keep trying to get that through to you, I'm here to listen to your issues. Keeping that kind of shit in doesn't make you stronger, and talking about it doesn't make you a wuss."
As I speak to her, Midnight begins to come to her senses, her inhales and exhales coming slower and deeper.
"You're fine, Midnight. You got this, I got your back, alright? One step at a time here," I encourage her, trying to pep her up as I pat her shoulder. "You and me."
Midnight doesn't say anything, only nodding slightly at my words as her eyes begin to dim back to normal.
"I got this," she reiterates after a moment. "You have my back."
"Exactly."
Having helped Midnight reel herself back in, I feel confident enough to stand up. As I do so, I see Teddy has returned - albeit standing at some distance. I feel embarrassed and vulnerable.
How long has he been back, and how much did he hear of that?
My answer comes in his reaction. Teddy puts his hands up and palms out toward me. 'Sorry,' he mouths out.
I return my focus to Midnight, who stands back up straight. Curious about what I had been looking at, she follows my prior gaze over to Teddy...
A little bit of tension returns to her body, but that's about it. She remains much calmer than just a few minutes ago.
I follow her example, ready to iron out what I expect to be an interesting discussion with our guest.
"Why don't we sit down and have a little chat?"
I'm not used to having company - but there are always seats to be found in a junkyard. Maybe a little dusty, but they are more comfortable than any lawn chair.
In the shade of the garage, I set up the three of us with our own seats from cars long gone. Despite the comfort and space, everyone shares uneasy looks with each other, waiting for someone else to speak up.
"Well, I guess I'll start by saying I didn't mean to come off the way I did to you, Midnight," Teddy apologizes, rubbing the back of his head.
"How did you mean to, as you say, 'come off,'?" Midnight interrogates, making it clear there is still much skepticism in her mind.
"I was just... impressed. I can't say I've seen anything as - well, natural as you. And I've been around for a while."
"You worked with ponies, I'm assuming?" I speak up.
Teddy nods. "Yeah, most of my working life. Obviously not around here, mind you," he says with a chuckle, highlighting his accent with a bit more drawl than normal. "I graduated from college and started in the field of robotics well before manufacturers even thought of creating pony bots - but I was there when they began."
Teddy chuckles again as he reminisces about the past. "I thought my company was batshit when the idea was proposed, figured there was no way the company I was with would find any sort of profit margin in em - how wrong I was, huh?"
"I can't say I'm really familiar with any of it," I admit. "Never had any interest in... well, any of that robotic stuff. Ponies - well, forget it. Where did you work?"
"Well that's alright - it isn't for everyone. But... all I can really say is the company I worked for was pretty early in the game. Can't say much more than that."
I find little comfort in his reluctance to answer one of my first questions.
"So because you finger-fucked the internals of a few robots means you can tell from a glance what I am, huh?" Midnight interjects with a scathing comment.
I try my damndest not to laugh despite her blunt rudeness - but Teddy doesn't bother. He unleashes a hearty guffaw, much to Midnight's surprise.
"Wow, she's a firecracker, isn't she?" he asks, looking over to me.
"She's got a bit of snark in her," I agree, looking over to Midnight. She doesn't look too happy about the exchange.
Perhaps because he asked me, instead of talking directly to her.
Like I'm her owner.
"That's a question better discussed with her, though," I add, motioning over to Midnight. Pleasantly, I see her give the faintest of smiles - for only a split second. After that, the stone-faced mare returns.
"Ah, I'm sorry about that," Teddy says to her, understanding my hint right away. "Here I am crowing about you to start with, and then I'm acting like you aren't on our level."
"I would argue I'm above, but duly noted," she replies.
Dammit, Midnight...
At least Teddy doesn't seem to take offense.
"Anyway, I specialized in the - well, I guess you could call it the brain," he continues, scratching his temple. "We all did a little bit of everything in the development group, though. But with the brain, it's not only about getting everything to work together as far as limbs and movement, it's about the personality, too. That was a really big focus since all of the models we made were based on characters of the show."
I nod in understanding. Behind the scenes, I can't even begin to fathom how different the personalities could be between miniature talking horses. From a kid's show.
"Obviously at the start, things were rough - we were going for as 'real' or 'alive' as possible, but that sort of thing takes time. A few tweaks here or there, better actuators for more fluid movements, variances in voice modulation for better tone shifts, that sort of thing."
"So you did that kind of stuff with the actual robots they sell, but you know of others like Midnight?" I ask.
Midnight nods at my question, eager as I am to understand how it all fits together based on his previous talk with her.
"You can spend all the money in the world for the best materials and the best scientists - but there is no replacement for the real thing, is there?" Teddy sighs. "It took about ten years, but we hit a brick wall when it came to improving the product any further. Not just us - all the companies doing this sort of stuff. So naturally, people started looking into bioengineering."
"Which is against the law," Midnight states in a disapproving voice.
"Not when we started doing it - that was a grey area. Humans were off-limits, but companions or pets..."
Teddy has to trail off as Midnight takes exception to those words, sporting a glare that could cut through steel.
"I know that seems like I'm being offensive. But that is what - ponies as pets were the end goal, you know?" he pleads.
"Midnight, he's not being a dick, just cut him some slack - it's just the world we live in," you explain.
Midnight huffs, but after making eye contact with me, drops her shoulders and relaxes her pinned-back ears.
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," she mutters.
"No, you don't have to like it - and I didn't like it either," Teddy replies, shaking his head.
"So you worked on trying to make bio-ponies a reality? How the heck does a company go from robotics to genetic engineering?"
Teddy turns his attention back to me. His expression is that of someone pained by the inquiry - or the explanation he has to tell.
"Well, we weren't solely into making robo-ponies - no one really is that dug in on one thing. We also had a big part in making prosthetics - not just for looks, but function. And a lot of that takes an understanding of biology and how the brain works in order to connect everything and make an arm function as it should. Besides that, I guess if you can figure out how to make a living pony for a pet, imagine what else you can do. And the amount of money you could sell that research and information for?"
"And you're proud of that."
Midnight is proving to be relentless in her verbal shaming of Teddy.
"No, no I'm not. Mind you, I didn't do any of the genetic engineering - I guess I was more of an overseer of sorts based on what I had accomplished with the robots. But overall, I took a back seat, mainly helping with how the movements of our robots already in production worked, explaining that to the lab rats that were trying to duplicate that in flesh."
He takes a deep breath, as if hesitant to continue. Just the sickened look on his face tells me nothing particularly pleasant lies ahead.
"Go on," Midnight urges him, her interest piqued to the point that she is leaning forward now.
"Just like robots, you're not going to get things right the first time. My god, some of the poor things that came out of the beginning stages -" He shakes his head, collecting his thoughts for a moment. "That's why I had such an issue with going down that road. Robots - sure, they're circuits and servos, but not actually living, breathing creatures, you know? Even the robo-ponies, a defective irreparable one... I found it hard to deactivate em without feeling some sort of sorrow for the thing. They really are something else."
Just listening to his works makes me feel a bit ill. Midnight doesn't look so intrigued by what this discussion entails, either.
"They at least got to a point where the ponies they were creating could actually - they could actually walk and function, as disturbing as that sounds. I had enough early on and well before that point, so I was relieved when the government stepped in and outlawed any sort of bioengineering of creatures."
"It didn't end there," Midnight reminds him.
Teddy cringes at that comment. "No, I'm afraid it didn't - just went further behind the scenes, in secrecy. That legislation they passed was a pretty volatile topic, and it wasn't universally praised - it barely passed, if I remember right," Teddy explains. "I can't speak for everyone, but my company was still pursuing the development with the sense that the law could be repealed or modified at some point - and they all wanted to be ahead of the game. Or see what else they could learn. I didn't."
"You stepped back on your own?"
"In a way. Frankly, I had seen enough and I couldn't bear it anymore. I spoke out against it, bitched at every upper management member I could about how what we were doing was wrong - and the best they could do to appease me was an early retirement package with the stipulation that I don't take up any employment with another company for at least five years, and to never speak about that ongoing project. Or mention the company name where I worked."
"So, is talking about it now..."
"I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us," he says with a nod. "I got far away from that place and ended up here about four years ago. So what they're up to now - I have no idea. I don't want to know."
He clears his throat, turning his focus squarely upon Midnight.
"So to answer your earlier question - I've been around a lot of robots. Seen how they move, they act, so on and so forth," he elaborates. "How you act, how you talk, your movements - far beyond what a robot could do, unless these companies have made incredible strides in the last half-decade. And I doubt that. But with everything that I've been through dealing with robo-ponies, and to a lesser extent, bio-ponies - I keep my eyes open."
"Curiosity of how far science can go, I would assume," Midnight suggests.
"No, to try to help. I was skeptical when I first started developing em, but as I said - there is something special about ponies. I can't deny it. I've settled down here in this area, but for a year or so, I wandered a bit, traveled a bit - saw more than a fair share of discarded robo-ponies. Done what I can, because it really does pull at my heartstrings. Been fortunate to find em homes sometimes, or at the very least improve their life. And then there's the rare few like you..."
Midnight cocks her head at the way Teddy trails off.
"But that's a story for another time. I am legitimately curious about you, because as I said the last time we spoke - you're well above any other that I've encountered."
Despite the flash of cockiness she showed earlier, Midnight is a bit embarrassed by Teddy's notation, fidgeting a bit in her seat while she glances at me. Her bashful demeanor dies away, leaving her with a look of skepticism.
You get she's cautious, but Teddy seems pretty genuine...
"You can tell him, I'd rather not revisit that," she says, devoid of emotion. "I'll work on the Trailduster as I planned."
She gets up and saunters back toward the lift without another word.
I sigh, empathetic to her pain that lingers.
"That's the sad thing about the whole market with companions, be it robots or biological," Teddy says quietly. "For every one that is in a good home, there's at least one or two that end up tossed to the side."
"Just like traditional pets, except these can actually talk," you reply.
"Yep. The other big reason I was against delving into bio-ponies - but where there's potential money to be made, businesses are going to gun for it. Sorta makes me regret doing a lot of that work over all the years, seeing where everything led."
"Midnight's been through the wringer, I know that much. It's why she's got such an attitude."
"Yeah, I've certainly seen that," he says with a chuckle. "Suppose that's my own fault. I didn't mean to cause either of you any trouble."
"I guess the biggest thing that had her bothered was, aside from you identifying her as something other than robotic - I guess you mentioned taking her away from here? What was that about?"
I keep my voice calm and courteous - but I want an answer to that before anything else.
Teddy shifts uncomfortably at the inquiry. "Like I said, these ponies - they tug at my heartstrings quite a bit. Just feel a bit - like I'm the one responsible for their plight, you know? My company was the first to market with em, and I was a big part of that project," he sighs. "If it wouldn't have been us, it'd have been another company, but still -"
"With all due respect, Midnight's been focused on that idea that you would take her from here - and she's been festering on it because she doesn't like to talk about her issues," I interrupt with a firm voice. "She doesn't like seeming weak, even though that isn't true. What happened earlier, that you walked in on - that was the breaking point there. I don't know what she's really capable of, but you've seen the dental work she's packing - and this was her last stand, as far as she was concerned. So please cut to the chase."
Teddy wrings his hands, looking rather ashamed as he glances behind me, undoubtedly to where Midnight is at work.
"Boy, she really does enjoy doing that sort of stuff, huh?" he asks, managing a small smile.
Even from this distance, I can see the relaxed grin that has graced her face.
"That's what she spent months reading about in the back of the junkyard before I stumbled upon her," I explain, turning back to him.
"That was my biggest concern, particularly because she's not some servant robot - she's a living breathing being. I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense to you. Or her, for that matter. But after watching you help her earlier - you really care about her, don't you?"
"Of course I do," I blurt, almost hurt by the rhetorical question. "I wasn't too thrilled to find her at first because I've got no interest in ponies or robots - none of that. And it was pretty rough, but... yeah, there's some charm to her, in a weird way. And I want to help her because she's been through hell."
Teddy nods, sporting an ear-to-ear grin as I finish.
"Ah, sounds like a road familiar to this old fart," he says with a chuckle. "So she was out in your junkyard?"
I briefly explain where I think she came from, some of the experiments they did, as well as when and how I discovered her.
"So that really isn't all for show? Midnight's an actual carnivore?" Teddy asks toward the end of your tale.
"More or less. She's had a few other items here or there, but meat is her default," I say with a shrug.
"Man, that's just awful what they put her through, but her attitude makes a lot more sense to me now."
"Yeah, life treats you like shit, and you tend to treat everyone around you like it, I guess."
However, Teddy shakes his head in disagreement.
"No, it's - I realize you don't know much about ponies from the show, but they all have distinctly different personalities. Having two chips or personalities, I would have to believe they sort of feed off of each other - and perhaps interfere with each other. That's not to say she isn't an individual, but she certainly has familiar quirks and mannerisms from those chips that tie into her personality as a whole."
That does sound like what she mentioned about her mind being overly active...
"So, you mean kind of like how she has a strong pull toward learning new things, reading and shit, yeah?" I ask.
"Yep, that sounds an awful lot like Twilight Sparkle. As well as the anxiety, to a certain degree. But I'd assume the other chip is Luna?"
"I... think so? What makes you guess that?"
"Well, to be fair, I'm not completely familiar with the manufacturer you mentioned, but everyone gravitates toward the same set of traits or personalities for certain ponies. Luna models tend to be a bit more independent and a little reserved - but fiercely loyal and protective. I certainly see that in her, and tying in with a Twilight model's sometimes spastic behavior - well, no wonder she's such a fiery mare."
Teddy chuckles at his own quip, before settling down into a more serious tone.
"John, I'm awfully glad you found her and took her in. You seem like you have a good heart," he says. "And just the way you talk about her, how you look at her, I can tell you love her an awful lot already."
The way he says 'love,' it feels like there's a different connotation to it...
"I think you might be looking too much into that, dude," I say with a half chuckle, waiting for him to give me a light ribbing as I begin to feel a bit warm.
But Teddy remains relatively straight-faced. "Oh come on, there ain't no shame in it," he says in a sympathetic tone. "I saw the way you were stroking her mane, how concerned you were despite how - well, pardon me for saying it, but how terrifying and wild she looked. You were focused on her, beyond that. Been there, done that."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, unsure of where this odd road of conversation is leading...
"Like I said, I've only seen a select few like her, and I've been down your road," he says, a wink of his eye following shortly thereafter.
Right...
This is getting weird now.
"Well, I appreciate you at least explaining uh... well, everything, I guess," I say quickly, getting up to my feet.
"Figured I owed it to ya, to settle both your mind and hers," he says, waving a hand dismissively.
As he slowly stands up, he abruptly starts patting down the front of his shorts.
"Oh shit, I almost forgot," he says, reaching into his right pocket. He pulls out a silvery chain with a pendant.
"Now, this isn't completely foolproof, but it will certainly keep her a lot more inconspicuous," he says, grabbing onto the pendant itself and showing it to me.
The silver chain matches the pendant - which is in the shape of a crescent moon, much like the marks on Midnight's rear. It's fairly large, about the size of a half-dollar coin, and has some thickness to it, which gradually tapers off toward the points.
"Erm, jewelry?" I ask, even more perplexed after the conversation moments ago.
"It's got an RFID chip inside of it," he says quietly, pointing to the pendant. "It's not foolproof - after all, she's not a production model, let alone a bot - and it doesn't have your name, address and all that on it, either. But it will at least keep her safe in case of passive scanners like at restaurants or stores - basically average public places. I just try to find something that fits with the pony in question, and I'd say this fits the bill for her, huh?"
He hands it off, allowing me to inspect it.
There's the slightest seam separating the front and back of the moon but otherwise appears as a solid piece of sterling silver. The chain itself is a bit heftier than a standard jewelry necklace - it wouldn't surprise me if it was made specifically for ponies.
Well, bots.
"I'm sure I'll need more parts at some point - my Cutlass is coming along nicely, but it was nothing short of a basketcase when I got it," he says with a laugh. "I take it you still have my number?"
I nod.
"If you need anything for her, give me a call. I can take care of some things, and I have a couple of friends that I trust with this sort of sensitive stuff. Just above all, try to keep her possessing a somewhat low profile - I can't say what would happen to her in a legal sense, but I can guarantee wherever she came from - well, those people would rather not get caught experimenting with bio-engineering because of her existence."
While that is a thought that crossed my mind, hearing someone else mention it causes me to shudder with dread. Even with the added security of an RFID chip, Midnight is not completely safe.
"Will do. I appreciate it," I thank Teddy, shaking his hand again.
"It was nice meeting you, Midnight," Teddy calls over to the mare.
While still remaining rather standoffish, Midnight at least takes a moment to stop and offer a half-hearted wave of a hoof.
With that, Teddy wanders back outside, while I consider everything he's told me.
But first things first...
"Hey Midnight, got something for you," I try to entice her.
"Unless it's chains to hold up these axles, I don't have any interest right now," she chastises. "I'm waiting on you now."
Despite the attitude, Midnight shifts her attention from the undercarriage of the Trailduster to me as I approach. I hold the chain in my hand, allowing the silvery crescent moon to dangle for her eyes to see.
"Did you seriously buy me jewelry? The fuck?" she spouts, recoiling a bit in apprehension.
"No, it's an RFID chip, inside of this," I explain, pointing to the pendant.
"Inside of fucking jewelry." she reiterates.
"Alright, I'll just throw it out then," I say, putting it in my pocket.
Midnight sighs in frustration. "Give the damn thing here. Weirdo."
Try as she might to hide it, there's a distinct look of awe in her eyes when I pull the chain back out.
"You know Teddy is the one that got this, right?" I remind her.
"Yeah, and who's the one keen on throwing it around my neck? To go out to a restaurant? That sounds like some pretty odd desires..."
I bite my tongue as my face grows warm again, kneeling down and unfastening the chain.
While I expect to hear some more taunts, she says nothing as I loop it around her neck and snap the clasp back into place.
It really does look good against her dark coat...
She looks down at it, lightly batting at the pendant with her hoof.
"I guess it will do," she says in a restrained voice. "This does not make me your pet, though."
"You're your own mare, Midnight. Just a little bit safer."
"I hope so," she says. "Now seriously, I'm chomping at the bit to get this done - come on."
With gusto, I stand up and get back to the original plan of the day. Albeit a little more comfortable, a little confused, and a little unsure of my feelings...
"Moment of truth - feeling nervous?"
"Don't be a prick - I have no concerns this will be fine."
"Just remember it's your ass on the line here, not mine..."
Midnight sneers at me from the passenger seat following my continued run of antagonization.
"And you're going to be fucking walking back if it falls apart, you smartass."
I have to stifle a chuckle from her outburst, knowing full well I have her where I want her.
"Hey, I'm just making sure I'm not being too nice now."
That comment garners me a brief deadpan stare - until the metaphorical light bulb goes off in her head.
"Ah. That's what this is all about, isn't it?" she says, motioning to her necklace. "Strike a nerve earlier, did I?"
"More like you couldn't seem to shut up about your new bling. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you love it."
It's not an exaggeration. All day, as Midnight and I wrenched on the Trailduster, she marveled at her new accessory. She proceeded to make many passing comments and made sure to tease me about giving it to her, as well. On more than one occasion, Midnight also tried to pass it off as something to get used to - a bit of a nuisance.
But she adores it. And it probably also helps that there is an extra sense of security with the RFID chip inside of it.
So naturally, after finishing up with the work and setting the truck back on all fours, it's time to deal Midnight her own medicine. I know she did everything right, so there's no worry in my mind. It's doubtful Midnight has any qualms about her handiwork either - so I don't feel bad about feeding her bullshit.
"Alright, here we go. Cross your fingers Middie," I announce as I pull the shifter into reverse.
"If I had fingers, I'd be showing you one," she grumbles.
I can't help but laugh at that line while we pull out of the garage and to a stop. Setting the transmission into drive, I point the truck to a heading set for the first test of the suspension.
"All jokes aside Midnight, how do you feel after everything that's happened today?" I ask, keenly interested in her perception.
"You sure seem to trust Teddy," she says, lacking enthusiasm.
"You don't?"
"I've not made a clear decision on that. Personally, I think it's convenient I have something around my neck that may be an RFID chip to get past passive scanners, or it could be a GPS that lets someone track my every movement."
That's hardly a vague and inconclusive thought...
"Then why are you still wearing it?" I challenge, skeptical of her pessimism.
"I'll say it again, I'm not decided."
The Trailduster hits the first few rough spots of the main lane. While it's still a jolt when the right front wheel slips down into a rut, the truck stops bouncing very quickly.
Hell of a lot better than the previous trampoline bounce experience. With new leaf springs, the initial bump is a little bit harder, but that will get better with time.
It's a short-term compromise.
"You realize that Teddy could have just told your whereabouts to some mysterious ne'er-do-wells that wanted that information without going through the trouble of making that, right?"
"...shut up." Midnight tries to dismiss my comment, but she can't hide the mild embarrassment.
"I'm not trying to call you out, just wanted to point that out."
"I get it, I'm paranoid," she mutters.
"I'm not ripping on you. Not on purpose, I mean. But there's being cautious, and then there's - well yeah, irrationally paranoid. It isn't your fault, but-"
"You need to talk to me about it," she says in a mocking tone, complete with exaggerated gestures via her hooves.
I stop the truck and just stare at Midnight. After watching her come to the precipice of attacking someone who was here to help earlier in the day, the sarcasm isn't amusing.
"Midnight, no jokes now. You can't keep letting shit bottle up and let it pop off all at once. Today was a wake-up call for me, and it should be for you, as well."
She rolls her eyes, but I don't give her a chance to unleash any more attitude to deflect.
"I'm serious. I'm glad you're protective of me and your home, I'm glad you have a lot of fight in you that's allowed you to come this far in life - but you need to harness it and reel it in now," I reply, putting my foot down.
"Protective of you?"
"It was pretty obvious today. Unless you were scared and had to keep me around to feel safe."
Midnight is getting visibly angry as her eyes narrow and her sneer turns into a genuine frown of displeasure.
"Stop making shit up to fit your objectives," she says in a harsh, warning tone.
I throw the shifter into park, as this discussion is too important and requires all of my attention.
"Did you not shout for me today when he first came into the building, Midnight? Did you not shadow me for the ensuing ten minutes? Did I not need to calm you down from being on the verge of slaughter, judging by your words and your raw fury?"
"Oh, come off of it, John!" she shouts, her eyes beginning to glow in tune with her building anger.
"No, you need to come off your high horse, Midnight. Today was an eye-opener - you need to get a hold of yourself, and you need to trust me with your concerns," I shoot back, pointing at her.
"I'll take that goddamn finger off, monkey," she growls.
"Do it."
She looks genuinely taken aback by my daring response.
I don't like taking this gamble and I don't like getting stern with her like this. But if there's any chance of allowing her outside of the junkyard, she needs to find some self-control.
We sit in this standoff for what seems like minutes, the rumble of the engine the only sound that reaches our ears.
"Well?" I spout, wiggling my finger enticingly.
"Fuck you." Midnight glares, staring directly into my eyes as she basically cops to her bluff.
"I get to some extent you can't help it, some of it is because of your chips, but-"
"Excuse me?" Midnight coldly interrupts.
"Teddy told me today that with what they experimented with, there are familiar characteristics from those chips, and some of those traits interact with each other and feed off of each other. So I get it, you have some anxiety because of Twilight Sparkle's personality, and you don't really like being forward with your thoughts because of Luna, so-"
"So I'm just a fucking machine that can easily be broken down and understood now? I really am just an experiment that went wrong? Is that your point, John?!"
Maybe that wasn't the best thing to bring up, now that I think of it. I've spent the better part of a month and a half building her up as a valuable living being, independent of her cybernetic implants...
And I essentially went back to square one, portraying her mannerisms as nothing more than coding.
What the fuck am I doing?
Midnight's telekinetic force violently wrenches the interior door handle and flings her door open, allowing her to leap out of the Trailduster.
"Midnight, wait!" I plead with her. "How I meant to say that wasn't what came out!"
"Then how the fuck was it supposed to sound?!" she shouts back, pausing for just a moment to turn and face me. "I trust you when you sit there and tell me over and over how unique and an individual I am, how proud you are of me, and then you tell me shit that makes me feel like I'm back in the lab! Telling me how I'm not right, how things are fucked up in my head, how I don't act as I should!"
She starts to stomp away angrily down a branching path to the right. I jump out of my side of the truck to catch her, hoping to rectify my mistake before she gets far.
"Midnight!"
"Leave me alone."
I don't listen to her. Instead, I reach her side and march in stride, while she looks straight ahead and ignores my presence.
"I didn't mean to dehumanize- er, deponize?" I suggest, before shaking my head. "Whatever. My point is, that was wrong of me. No, you aren't perfect, but I'm not either. But that means you can change yourself - and that's what I'm trying to help you with, trying to get you to understand."
"So pointing out what two electronics jammed in my brain do to my personality-"
"That was idiotic of me to mention. It doesn't matter where those issues come from, it's something I can help you work on, and I want to do that. My focus is on you - you're pulling me out of debt, that's your focus, and you've got it well under control. So I suppose I got some free time now."
Midnight comes to a halt, her eyes locked on the horizon. "So what are you saying?" she demands.
"I'm saying I care a lot more about you than I have anyone else. It goes beyond just wanting to see you improve - I want you to find what makes you happy and make peace with what's happened, and move on. Learn from things that maybe you could have done differently. Accepting a mistake doesn't mean you're a failure - and you need to stop thinking about what was said to you back before I met you. Those people clearly didn't give a fuck about you."
"No, they didn't," she says as a matter of fact.
"I'm sorry for acting like I know your issues just because of computer parts. I sort of meant it in a sense that it confirmed what I had deducted myself in terms of your... let's not even call them flaws, let's call em quirks. Regardless, I didn't realize how offensive that was when I said it."
"I'm not offended by it-"
I squat down next to her. "Midnight, for fuck's sake, stop lying."
She huffs but says nothing.
"Today overall was a good day. You did good with the Trailduster, and all things considered, you did well with Teddy after I helped you calm down some. You can at least admit that, right?"
"I suppose," she says, hanging her head a bit.
"You aren't perfect - no one that's a living, breathing being is perfect. That's not something to be ashamed of, so stop pretending like there's nothing wrong. Me pointing something out doesn't mean you need to be defensive, it means there's a way to improve. That's why you read, to improve your knowledge, right?"
Midnight says nothing.
Likewise, I decide to let silence end the conversation for now. It gives me time to think back about what Teddy said earlier, as well as what I said moments before.
Shit has changed a lot in the short span of time since I found her. My whole outlook has shifted. My opinions on many things have shifted.
Including my view of her.
"As much as you enjoy acting like a dumbass, you can say some things that make sense," Midnight comments.
"I really do care about you Midnight. I want you to know that - however gay it sounds."
"It can't really be gay if it's toward a female, yeah?" she suggests.
"Feelings are kind of gay."
Midnight gives a slight chuckle.
I feel something brush against my back before softly cradling me. I look over to my other side and see a dark violet feather just barely sticking past my arm.
Midnight is embracing me with one of her wings.
"I suppose I do have a lot yet to learn about life, as much as it pains me to admit," she says.
"It's a neverending journey, Middie," I say, reaching up and stroking her mane. A lazy smile comes over her face for a bit, though she does restrain it after a short period.
"I'm still going to give you a hard time," she says.
"I'd rather it be that way. I need you to keep my wits sharp. And I don't need you to turn into a sappy fucking mess."
"Ha! As if you could ever do such a thing. Dream on."
"That a challenge?" I tease.
It gets her to finally turn and smirk.
"Shut the hell up and get back to the truck."
"Only if you're coming with me," I say, standing up just as Midnight retracts her wing.
Midnight doesn't say anything, so I cross my arms expectantly and stare at her.
"That pose makes you look like a bitch."
"Perfect. That was the look I was going for."
"I'm sure it was. Come on," she retorts, turning around and heading back to the nearby idling truck.
I follow suit, right beside her.
Another productive but exhaustive day is coming to an end on the couch. For Midnight, it already has - she barely made it to nine o'clock before falling asleep sprawled out.
Right beside me.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Such a drastic change - when we first met, she could barely tolerate my mere presence. Or get any sort of meaningful shuteye.
The same acknowledgment of change can be said of my attitude. I've had too much time to think. Teddy has given me some clarity on emotions that I hadn't recognized.
I've gotten attached to Midnight far more than I expected.
Why?
In the beginning, I had to tolerate her. The thought of having her here long-term was virtually unacceptable.
That changed quickly once she demonstrated her knowledge. Then, it was her abilities, the fact that she had ideas to help turn my situation around...
Now, it's...
I'm at the door to the answer, but I'm hesitant to twist the knob.
People are fucking weird. I do not want to be one of those weird people that I've always heard about and looked at with disdain. Fetishists obsessed with a show and the characters - characters that aren't human.
That's been a lot of the market for this sort of thing, hasn't it?
Well, the bot market.
But Midnight isn't a bot.
It's still in the same vein, isn't it...?
Not really. I've never watched the show and I don't know shit about it. This goes beyond that.
I've gotten attached to Midnight despite her connections to the franchise.
That attachment itself is something I don't understand. She's moody, sarcastic, and unpredictable to a severe degree. What about that is enjoyable?
Yet, now I have a better understanding of that.
She's hurt.
That's why Midnight acts the way she does. She doesn't know anything other than that, so she faces every situation with the same worn tools as always.
But that's shifted, hasn't it? Slowly but surely, she's warmed up to my advice, my ideas...
Maybe I have a weird savior complex. Maybe everything about this is a road headed toward ruin.
How the hell would I know? How long has it been since I had any sort of relationship?
I honestly can't answer that, as I stopped caring many years ago.
Now ...
Suddenly I have an interest. In a goddamned pony.
But rather than cute and cuddly, she's abusive and perhaps a little unsettling.
Who knew such a thing was possible? And why doesn't it bother me?
Somehow, I'm looking past that. I think what lies beneath that spiny exterior is a legitimately good mare. And I want to get to know her better.
I've seen glimpses of her - such as tonight when I fucked up and mentioned her electronic implants in her brain that made her possibly a bit predictable.
Man, that was stupid of me. Really managed to put my foot in my mouth.
Yet...
Midnight listened when I explained myself. She gave me a chance to redeem myself when she really didn't need to do so. She was receptive to my message, even offered a slight embrace of forgiveness with her wing.
During the meeting with Teddy, I helped Midnight regain control of her short temper and anxiety. Despite the inherent risk to myself.
It's oddly complex how I've been drawn in toward her. I know at least part of it is those eyes. It can be easy to get lost in them.
Some say they are the window to the soul. But I've never been one to wistfully dream of that sappy sort of shit.
Midnight would probably hate it. Or at least say she did.
She's full of surprises nowadays.
As much as I hate it, I can't deny that I somehow have feelings for her now. The how or why does not matter at this junction.
But that's just it - I feel like I currently face a crossroad.
There is inherently a weighty risk with pursuing her. I could legitimately destroy everything that I have worked for - and that she has worked for - by making things weird.
Above all else, I want to protect what I have now - a friend. But with as much as she's warmed up to me, maybe there is a chance...
I think I'm willing to take a chance. A careful, slow, methodical chance...
Author's Note
My bad on the 'phantom update.' I mistakenly hit publish on the chapter while I was finishing up reading and editing last night.
Chapter 17
"Holy shit, what a nightmare."
I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter before meandering over to the familiar old couch. Flopping down backward over the armrest, the tired old couch cushions let out a whump before sagging. It feels like everything Midnight and I had to retrieve out back this afternoon was either broken, rusted to hell, or otherwise a major project to remove.
As a result, a lot of new swears and insults had been invented by both of us. A Nobel Prize might be in the cards for our contributions to the world today.
*Ahem*
I can feel Midnight's eyes staring at me with disapproval as she noisily reminds me of her presence. Rather than pay her any direct attention, I look up at the ceiling before closing my eyes.
"No room at the inn."
"I'll make room if need be," she warns.
I point in the general direction of the chair that sits against the wall, opposite the couch. "That's free, there ya go."
"Alright then."
I feel a weight suddenly manifest upon my legs, forcing me to open my eyes for a gander at what she just did.
Midnight has hopped up to lay not on the couch but on top of my lower legs. Despite her size, she's lighter than I ever would have expected.
"Get off, you fatass," I grumble despite that internal observation.
"I gave you a choice, and this is the fate you chose. Deal with it," she shoots back, sticking her nose up like some snob.
"At least I got you back on your side of the couch," I retort.
"Yeah, I'm not moving any further up because I don't trust you with how clingy you've become."
Oh-ho-ho.
"Well now, who is the one thinking about where my crotch is?" I tease.
With a deeply chiseled frown, Midnight reaches over with a hoof and swats me right in the aforementioned area.
It takes a few seconds for agony to manifest - but it's nausea-inducing.
"Ow ow ow! You fucker!" I howl, shielding my jewels from any further attack while attempting to sit up.
Midnight allows that movement, rising off of my legs before sitting down in the now-empty void.
"As I said, you had a choice," she haughtily repeats before clearing her throat."What are we doing for food tonight?"
"You're really going to ask me about dinner after doing that?!"
She merely shrugs, indifferent to my pain. "I suppose I'll just eat some raw hamburger or some jerky if you're going to continue to be a little girl. That was self-inflicted, as far as I'm concerned."
Man, she's cold.
Right now, anyway.
In reality, Midnight has been quite receptive to personal discussion lately. Discussions about her feelings, her anxieties, and concerns. It has been a daily routine for me to inquire about such things because I know it's the only way to spur such conversations with her.
Regardless it's a step in the right direction.
Fortunately, she's been much more relaxed once the whole thing with Teddy blew over.
Of course, in her mind, I'm being clingy now.
If only she knew how I really felt. But now is not the time for that.
The pain eventually subsides and I swing my legs and feet over onto the floor rather than the couch. That's all it takes for Midnight to jump over to the middle cushion, right beside me.
"So who's being clingy again?" I ask, gesturing to her movements.
"I'm sorry, do you want more pain?" she threatens, raising a hoof with a smirk.
"No."
"Then shut up."
"Man, you're really abusive."
"Aw, who are you gonna tell?" she sarcastically pouts.
"I'll call the cops," I threaten, reaching for the phone in my pocket.
"Call the cops, I don't give a fuck," she replies "Imagine how they will react when you tell em a pony beat you up."
I do pull my phone out, but it's merely to toss it on the coffee table in front of me.
"Well, jokes aside - what do you want for food?" I ask.
Again, I get a shrug.
"I dunno. I thought maybe you had something in mind," she answers, returning to a more calm and reserved tone and posture.
"Not really. I'd honestly rather not even fuck with cooking after today's struggles. Probably mess something else up," I respond with an accompanying half chuckle.
"You know me. I already told you what I'm good with if you aren't up for food."
She really has become somewhat addicted to beef jerky since the one time I brought it home for myself. Midnight evidently thought it was for her - and the first time I went to get a snack, it was gone.
She ate the whole damn bag in one sitting - I was a little miffed about that. But it at least gave me an idea for something else to buy for her to munch on.
Even though she has no qualms about eating raw meat, I still don't like the idea. Midnight does it anyway, of course. Or because she knows I don't like it.
"Well... did you maybe want to try going out somewhere to get something to eat?" I suggest, feeling hopeful.
Even though she manages to keep a straight face, I notice Midnight tensing up at the suggestion, as I expected. After a week of having the necklace with the secret chip in it, she has still been hesitant to venture out.
I've only mentioned it a couple of times, but the reaction has been cold every time.
"Like what?" she inquires, remaining cautious.
"Could just do fast food - burgers or something like that," I reply. "I know you still have some reservations about going out and about, but it shouldn't be too bad if we stay in the truck, right?"
"Maybe," she answers. Her voice betrays the insincerity behind it.
"Middie, are you ever going to feel comfortable with the idea of going out in public? I'm not trying to be mean, but I feel like, at some point, I'm going to have to twist your arm on this."
"First off, I don't have arms," she replies.
"It's a saying. Stop trying to change the subject."
Midnight frowns, disappointed that I didn't take the obvious bait.
"I... don't feel like it's a necessary risk, John," she admits. "What if it doesn't work? What if someone like Teddy recognizes me for the freak that I am - except they aren't so sympathetic?"
"You aren't a freak, stop saying that," I scold her.
It's a term I'm finding she uses toward herself from time to time when she's feeling insecure. I absolutely despise hearing it now.
"Fine. We'll use your word - 'unique,'" she replies with an attitude and accompanying loathful face.
I merely stare at her, unimpressed.
"Can we get past that hangup?"
"I'm going to be a dickhead about it until you stop using that toward yourself, so that's entirely up to you," I remind her. "But aside from that - look, there's a lot of what-ifs in the world. At some point, if you worry too much about what could happen, you miss out on things. I'm not saying you have no reason to feel some sort of concern because it's better to be cautious than carefree. But I really think it would be good for you to venture out, even if it was still inside a vehicle."
"And you're going to keep nagging me about it until I agree, aren't you?"
I nod my head, causing Midnight to exhale.
"Fine."
I mentally fist pump at the small victory, while calmly getting back up off of the couch.
Midnight falls in line behind me as I fetch my keys off of the counter. The thought that we're really going out in the world for the first time causes me to turn to make sure Midnight still has her pendant on. I rarely see her without it, but better safe than sorry.
"You gonna gawk at me, or are we going?" she sasses.
"Both, maybe?" I joke.
Midnight isn't too thrilled with that response, but I know it's due to the circumstances she faces now. After all - this will be the first time she's seen the outside world. The gravity of that is beginning to hit me as we track out of the upstairs living quarters and down the steps.
Obviously, she's seen some people being out in the junkyard - but it's never been very busy. Nothing like even the small town nearby.
At least it's just that - a small, rather quiet town. Anything else might be a sensory overload for her.
Midnight opens the gate while I get in the Trailduster and crank it up, driving through while she holds the path clear. Once past, I park while Midnight closes up again and clambers back into the passenger seat.
"Seat belt," I say in jest, motioning to the apparatus on the roof pillar.
"I will smack the fuck out of you if you seriously make me sit in an awkward way to fit that damn thing," she barks.
"Take a deep breath, Midnight," I quietly instruct her.
She makes a face at my efforts of guidance but nonetheless follows the advice with a slow inhale and exhale.
"Good. Thank you."
"Will you just go already?" she spouts.
Like a bandaid, it is clear we are just going to have to bear it and rip this off.
Following her orders, I set off down the road. The chunky tread of the tires makes their presence known early on with a loud hum against the pavement.
"What is that noise?" Midnight asks, confused.
"Tires are more for offroad than pavement, so the tread makes that noise. Nothing to worry about."
"You ever consider getting another vehicle then? You know, so you don't have to drive this thing on the road?"
"Not really. I got used to it, and as you're aware, I've not had the funds to really feel comfortable with buying a second car."
It does feel a bit better on the road with the new shocks and springs. The roads aren't particularly smooth around here, so it would sometimes feel like riding a trampoline at fifty miles per hour.
As we make our way toward town, we pass a few oncoming cars with their headlights on, making me realize the days are ever so slightly beginning to grow shorter.
I've grown accustomed to the heat, but this summer has been pretty brutal. I'm looking forward to the temperatures that fall and winter will bring.
Fortunately, I won't have to deal with the white bullshit they call 'snow.'
I flick on the headlights before bringing attention to my passenger's movements. It's something I have noticed out of the corner of my vision.
Every time oncoming traffic gets close, Midnight is hunching down in her seat.
This night really isn't going to be fun for her. I'm starting to feel bad about forcing Midnight from her comfort zone. But, she will never get comfortable unless she's exposed to this sort of thing.
"Have you been able to make out the faces of any drivers or passengers in the cars we've passed?" I ask after about the fourth instance.
"...No?" Midnight responds, confused as to the correct answer for such an odd question.
"I assure you neither can they. You can relax, Middie."
"You've really taken to that name, haven't you?" she muses.
"You don't really seem to be bothered by it anymore," I reply.
"There are worse names you could use - I'll pick my battles here," she reasons. "I still don't know why you like it."
I can't help but grin a little bit before answering.
"Because it sounds cute."
Midnight's face scrunches up in disapproval and disgust. "I'm not cute," she argues.
I cock my head and grin wider.
"You're so damn cute when you're grumpy."
"Eyes on the road, please," she grumbles, turning away.
At the very least, that's two cars she hasn't noticed go by while I've toyed with her.
It is only a ten-minute drive into town, just enough time to settle on an old-style drive-in fast food joint that I have stopped by on occasion. They aren't exactly as fast as a modern fast food restaurant, and they are more expensive - but the atmosphere and the quality make it worthwhile in my personal opinion.
Midnight isn't one to dress up her food in regards to toppings or even spices, but the barbeque they have to offer is probably going to be right up her alley.
"I know from experience their brisket is good when they have it. That's only a special once in a while."
"What's brisket?"
"...you know what, I don't really know. But it's meat, and it's good."
My choices on food are more open - but now that I mentioned the brisket to her...
Midnight watches as a waitress streaks by on a pair of roller skates.
"Is this a normal occurrence?" she asks, raising a brow at the scene.
"No. I think it kinda was at one time, but this is sort of a retro joint. They bring the food out to you, and those roller skates make service a bit quicker, I guess. Or just for show."
"Have you ever seen one wipe out?"
I cock my head at the question. "Boy, you have some evil thoughts."
Midnight retains her deadpan stare that's focused squarely upon me at this point. "Yet you're trying not to smile. So who's really in the wrong here?" she shoots back.
"I would never laugh at such a sight," I say, pretending to be aghast.
"Uh-huh. So I take it that's a lie, because you have seen it, and you did laugh."
"I felt guilty about it afterward," I mumble, hanging my head.
Before Midnight can respond with another remark, the waitress who zipped by just moments ago appears at my window.
"Hiya, how are you doing tonight?" she greets me, apparently oblivious to my passenger.
"I think we're doing pretty good," I answer with a smile.
The blonde glances over and spies Midnight. "Aww, it's another one of those pony bots!" she gushes with enthusiasm. "She looks so cute."
"I'm not cute," Midnight mutters through gritted teeth.
"Don't mind her, she's a little sensitive about that sort of thing," I reassure the girl as her smile fades just a bit.
"Sorry about that," she says to Midnight. "What can I get for you tonight?"
I glance back over to Midnight, who is taken aback by the attention on her so suddenly.
"What?"
"You know what you want?"
"I think so," she replies, somewhat hesitant.
I better go first.
"Gimme the brisket sandwich," I say, turning my attention back to the blonde as she pulls out a pen and pad of paper.
"Just the sandwich, or the basket?" she asks. "We have fries, onion rings-"
"Hell yeah, onion rings. And whatever cola you got."
"Cool, got it," she says, finishing her scribbles before her eyes dart to my passenger. "We have a fresh salad, it's really good - carrots, tomatoes, cheese-"
"Ew. No," Midnight interrupts, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "I'll take the sandwich he's getting."
The waitress looks taken aback by the idea, glancing back over to you for confirmation.
"The... brisket sandwich?" she finally sputters.
"You sure you don't want the whole meal, Midnight?" I ask her.
I can practically see the poor girl's mind on the verge of exploding as she tries to make sense of this whole situation.
"I don't really feel all that hungry - and if I get thirsty, I'll just have some of your drink."
"Ahahaha, no. I'm not playing that game," I interrupt her, turning back to the waitress. "She's gonna have the basket with fries and a drink."
"I didn't say that, asshole," Midnight remarks. "What if I find out I don't even like fries?"
"Don't worry, I'll eat em then. Maybe I'll even let you have some of my brisket to even out. Fair?"
"Alright. But why don't I just get two sandwiches then?"
"Because I want fries and onion rings."
Midnight narrows her eyes at me, her brow creasing in disapproval.
"Pig."
"Pony."
"...that's not even an insult," she says, briefly dumbstruck by the comment.
"I thought we were just naming off animals now."
"Just - fine," Midnight finally relents. "I'll take fries and... what else do you have to drink?"
"We have lemonade if you don't want soda. Or iced tea, sweet tea - we do have water, but it would still be the same price as any other drink."
"That's fine, he's the one paying, anyways," Midnight answers, shooting me a smarmy grin.
The waitress hurriedly scrawls it all down. "Alright, I'll get this in and it should be out to ya shortly," she announces before shooting off toward the main building at an even quicker pace.
"Wow, you really got her all confused," I comment to Midnight
"I can't believe they let you out in public," Midnight's brooding voice complains.
"No one can stop me is the problem," I tell her, flashing an innocent smile.
"Do you think she will actually come back with our orders?" Just from the way she says that and the look on her face, Midnight is genuine with that question.
"I'm sure she's seen things more dysfunctional than that whole menagerie," I reassure her. "Plus, look on the bright side - she thought you were a bot. Didn't think of it at the time, but I guess you weren't lying about them being able to eat for energy."
"Some of the later high-end models do from what I have seen and read, but it's not as efficient as charging. More of a realism thing for people wanting that, I guess."
"You read up on bots?"
"Well, It's the cover I have to go with, may as well try to fit it best I can. Now that I think of it, could have said bots don't eat, and we wouldn't be on this trip," she comments, sounding disappointed with the wasted excuse.
I would have found something else. But hey, she believes you."
"I don't think she paid very much attention to discern the difference," Midnight remarks, sounding just a touch unhappy.
I shrug, uncertain of what Midnight wants or even expects from others. "Does it matter? You want to blend in, right?"
"Well yeah, obviously."
"So why does it bother you she didn't pay much attention?"
"I don't know!" Midnight snaps, suddenly frustrated by the questions. Or perhaps her own mixed emotions.
It doesn't make much sense to me, that is certain.
"You do realize I'm not trying to get under your skin with this discussion, right?"
Midnight just stares, incredulous at my claim.
"I'm legitimately just talking about the last thirty seconds or so, not while the waitress was here," I make sure to clarify.
"I know. I still find it hard to believe you pulled that bullshit."
"Do you at least see my point how wanting attention while trying to avoid much attention conflict with each other?"
She nods reluctantly instead of offering any sort of verbal response.
With things settled down, I scan the rest of the drive-in patrons. There are only two other cars, both parked some ways away, neither of which I recognize, not that I'm surprised by that note.
To be fair, it is a weeknight - but I would still have expected there to be more people here. It's not even eight o'clock yet.
But funny enough, I think I do see another four-legged pony friend in another car. Either that or it's one weird-looking dog.
With pink fur.
I briefly entertain the thought of mentioning it to Midnight but decide it better to keep her focus on us.
"How much longer do you think you will keep the junkyard open to self-service?"
My attention returns to my friend in the passenger seat.
"Sort of depends on how things look in terms of money. That and we really ought to advertise or mention to the public ahead of time that we will be going behind closed doors at a certain time. I know I wouldn't be happy to show up somewhere and abruptly find out they don't do walk-ins."
"Fair point - but what exactly are you looking for in terms of money? Any set goal?"
"Profit for once, maybe?" I propose.
Again, Midnight stares at me, dumbfounded. "When was the last time you bothered to check your computer in terms of revenue?"
"I... got into the habit of avoiding it, to be frank."
Midnight can only put a hoof to her head in response to my confession.
"At least I didn't lie about it," I add.
"Yes - but if you had bothered to look, you would see we had already begun making a profit for this month - early last week."
"Are you screwing with me right now?" I press her, cautious about the claim.
"I assure you I am not."
Holy shit. There is still just over a week left to go in this month, and we're already up for the month.
What is this sorcery?!
I can't contain myself- the wonderful news forces a big grin out of me as I fist pump. Even Midnight can't help but smile.
But the poor, poor mare...
I end up leaning over and wrapping my arms around her, hugging her tight.
"Ow, what the hell are you doing, dummy?!" she squawks.
"Thank you, holy shit, this is amazing! Why didn't you tell me before?!" I exclaim.
Despite the outburst, Midnight has not really put forth an effort to get away from me.
"I didn't think you were that ignorant, why are you doing this?"
"Just shut up and deal with it," I command, now curious as to how far I can push my luck.
Apparently farther than I expected, as one of Midnight's wings brushes past me.
"Hurry the hell up, people are probably staring at us," she mumbles uncomfortably after a few seconds.
"Alright, alright."
I finally sit back upright and release Midnight, who is quick to inspect her fanned-out wing. It causes me to pause my celebrations out of concern.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"You are very weird, I want you to know that," she mutters.
"I was asking about your wing."
Midnight finally looks up at me, hardly fazed by my question.
"It's a matter of getting used to the sensation of these, I guess," she replies. "I've had them for quite a while now, but I haven't ever really used them to... feel."
"You mean hug?"
"That's your word, not mine," she sharply responds, averting her eyes.
Riiight.
"Anyway - that's absolutely awesome we're already ahead."
"That is something we can both agree on."
The waitress from earlier skates by with a pair of drinks in a holder.
"Here's these for right now, food will be out shortly - gonna come out to sixteen-fifty tonight."
"Alrighty," I agree, setting down the drinks she handed to me and fetching my wallet. With a handoff of a twenty-dollar bill, the gal zips off once again.
"See? All is good, we didn't traumatize her," I jest, pulling out the cup holders and setting each beverage down inside before inserting the straws.
Midnight inspects the cup nearest to her seat. More specifically, the straw that sticks out of it.
Must be she's never seen nor used a straw before.
Rather than make it awkward for her, I pretend to not notice, grabbing my own drink and demonstrating how it works - albeit in a somewhat exaggerated fashion.
"I'm not surprised you want to show off how good you are at sucking on things," Midnight abruptly jabs me.
"Did you want me to laugh at you for not knowing what a straw is?" I quickly rebut.
"I don't recall ever saying that..." She puts a hoof to her chin as if trying to reminisce about such an event.
After holding that pose for a moment, she finally shrugs as a long piece of metal wire she's begun to keep intertwined in her necklace chain floats through the air toward her cup. It wraps itself around the styrofoam vessel elegantly, before the whole cup floats toward Midnight.
She takes a sip while eyeing me, unable to keep herself from giving a mischievous grin.
"I see how it is. Guess I'm eating your fries."
"No, you won't."
Once again, the waitress rolls up, this time with two open-top boxes packed with food.
"Here you are, this is the one with fries," she says while handing it off to me.
Grabbing it with one hand, I use the other to take several fresh fries out and jam them in my mouth.
"You dickhead!" Midnight shouts as I set the down beside her on the armrest.
The waitress looks at us wide-eyed in surprise as she hands off the second part of the order.
"Sorry about that, she's got a potty mouth," I quip. "Keep the change for your troubles."
That last bit quickly snaps the blonde from her stupor and puts a big smile on her face. "Thanks! Enjoy your meal, you two!"
With that, she's finally released from the horror I have unleashed upon the world.
"Give me an onion ring, I want to try one," Midnight demands as I try to get situated and comfortable again.
"No way!"
"You just ate some of my fries!"
"That I ordered for you, remember?" I reply, finishing off with a shit-eating grin.
Her nostrils flare as she snorts in disapproval.
"You didn't really think I was going to be that much of a prick, did you?"
"Half the time, I don't know what to expect from you."
"Someday you'll learn," I chide. "Now, let's eat."
"All things considered, was tonight as awful as you thought it would be?"
I let the truck coast to a stop and throw the shifter into park while awaiting Midnight's final verdict. The food was top-notch, but the stress of the day had caught up with both of us by the time we finished up.
I didn't have any other plans than food, but it still felt like a missed opportunity to show her more things.
"To be fair, I never said I thought it would be awful," Midnight clarifies.
"Oh, I know, I'm just giving you shit."
"It was nice to see more of the world, nonetheless."
"That's what I was hoping to hear."
Midnight exhales, looking straight ahead out the windshield at the dusky skyline over the rows of cars.
"I guess I've gotten a little bit spooked since Teddy was able to pick me out so easily. It isn't that I don't want to do things, I've just - there's a lot more insecurity there."
"I sort of figured that. You were all gung-ho about opening up shop yourself that day - that hasn't happened since."
"No. Funny how this thing was supposed to make me feel better," she replies, tapping the crescent moon charm.
"You'll get there again. I just might have to help you stray from your comfort zone once in a while. Don't think I'm doing it just to be an ass."
Midnight nods, though I can tell she's still hesitant to be in full agreement to explore the world.
"Shit like tonight is all I'm after, Middie," I continue in an effort to clear her reservations a bit more. "I'm not out to explore the uncharted areas of the world or sightsee - I just want us to be able to get out once in a while and try things other than my rudimentary cooking and the same bland TV shows every night."
"Your food isn't that bad," she scoffs.
"Would you rather what I would have served up tonight, or what we ended up having?"
"That brisket was really damn good, I'll give you that," she yields. "But you also are a pain in the ass to be around."
"Don't lie, it was fun," I retort.
"Maybe a little bit."
That's good enough for me.
With that statement, Midnight opens her door and hops out, leaving me to mirror her exit on my side of the truck.
I join her side in quick succession on the walk to the shop, in part thanks to Midnight taking her sweet time. Despite that, I have enough time to note the way her violet-streaked tail swishes back and forth with every step she takes, the sauntering, swaying movement drawing my eyes toward it.
...I never noticed or looked before, but Midnight actually has a pretty damn nice caboose... And the way those markings just seem to frame it... And there's the full complement...
Holy shit, what the fuck am I doing?
I gotta get my head out of the gutter. Why does Midnight do this to me?
"Do you think we could ever go to a car show?"
"Hm?"
"A car show. A gathering of older cars and stuff like that," Midnight explains. "I've seen pictures of cars mentioning being taken at a show like that online - are those still a thing?"
Thank god, something to shift my degenerate mind.
"Yeah, I'm sure they are," I reply, somewhat surprised by the inquiry and interest. "You know those end up being pretty busy gatherings though, right?"
"It didn't look like there were tons of people in the pictures, though..." she trails off, perplexed by my answer.
"You probably really weren't looking for people when it's the car you were focusing on."
"It sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that."
"Not at all. I can't say I'm the most observant person. You've had to point out the dumb shit I've done in the past - and some of that was truly dumb."
"Regardless, I'm not cut out for that kind of thing, I'm pretty sure you will agree with me."
"I don't see why we can't make that a goal, though. Work our way up to that point by doing little things like tonight. I know you can handle it with enough experience."
"Fair enough. I didn't realize those were really... gatherings."
"Yeah, every car has an owner that either drives it or trailers it there - it's not like a museum or something like that. I'm guessing that's what you were thinking - like a permanent display?"
She nods.
Maybe we need to set goals to make progress. My mind flicks back to something else from tonight.
"How about we set another goal tonight?"
"That being..."
"No more self-deprecation. No more talk about how you're a freak."
"Why does that piss you off so much all of a sudden?" she asks, shooting me a quizzical look.
"Because what you are isn't your fault - why belittle yourself over things that were completely out of your control?"
"It isn't like that at all," she dismissively shoots back, pointing a hoof to the locked man door of the shop.
I fiddle with my keys and unlock it, opening the door for her and following behind.
"Then what is it? Remember the first week or so with me - you boasted about how amazing you were. Above any other pony, smarter than me, need I go on?"
"No."
"What happened to where I'm now trying to prevent you from basically insulting yourself? I don't get it, so try and help me understand."
"It was something to keep me going," she replies dryly. "I don't know... I needed to feel like I had a purpose, that I was something special. Above everyone, everything else. And then - well, that sort of just goes away when someone takes a look at you and just separates you into individual things that compose your makeup."
I can't help but feel I had a hand in that when trying to reason her mannerisms.
Meanwhile, Midnight grimaces as she finishes, clearly ashamed of her own admittance.
"God damn, that whole thing with Teddy and my comments really rattled you that much?"
That came out far harsher than I meant it to be, but her explanation is beyond anything I could have expected. She's tough - but...
"That makes me feel a lot better, thanks," she hisses, trotting up the steps to my living space.
"Midnight, do you really hate yourself that much?"
Midnight pauses before opening the door and slipping through, allowing me to scale the stairs and join her at the landing.
Her jaw is clenched as she just stares at the door.
"I hate what I stand for, John. I hate what I symbolize - greed."
She stomps a hoof down.
"At the end of it all, that's the only reason why I have the sentience and intelligence that I do. It's all about money, isn't it? It could have been any other pony that they decided to toy with - I just happened to be the one chosen for this marvelous experiment."
"Why even focus on that, if that were the case?"
Midnight turns her head to look at me. "I... what do you mean?"
"If your origins aren't that special, why focus on them? Acknowledge where you came from, but other than that - you just need to let it go. All it's doing is dragging you down. The parts and pieces don't matter to me - you're one hundred percent genuine pony, as far as I'm concerned. If that helps, I mean."
I kneel down beside her, honing in on her left wing.
"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammers, recoiling a bit.
Rather than answer her, I inspect the joints and the transition where her wing joins her body.
There is legitimately nothing visual that would tell me that these limbs never belonged to her from birth. The feathers aren't the same color as her coat, but they complement it well with a similar dark hue and fit with the lighter shade of violet in her mane. Maybe there would be something below the fur, like scar tissue - but really, that's trivial in nature.
"Middie, have you ever really looked at your wings?" I ask. "Because if you had never told me they were cybernetic add-ons, I would be none the wiser."
I can tell just from her turning away, she's embarrassed - yet she nonetheless fans her wing out.
Damn, these things are massive.
Sure, she'd spread them out before in a show of defiance or intimidation, but I guess I never appreciated their sheer size.
To be fair, she's a big pony - she probably needs these to this scale to get her off the ground, if she can indeed fly. Some of the bots do - so maybe it's not too far-fetched. Just one wing is probably close to being as wide as she is tall - maybe closer to my height.
But right now it's not at full span - there's simply not enough space on the landing with the close proximity of the wall to our left.
It really is amazing she can control these - and the fact they are synthetic in nature. I take another moment to feel the incredibly soft down - a sensation that makes Midnight twitch just a bit.
"I stand by what I said. Only you know the true nature of these."
"And you want me to ignore that."
"I want you to take pride in yourself again. You shouldn't be ashamed. Above all else, make peace with yourself and accept it."
Her wing folds away neatly once again as she circles around and faces me.
"No more talk of being a freak, alright? I like you for you right now. Think of yourself as one in a million - how far you've come, what you're capable of accomplishing."
"You're just making things weird now," she says with a half-laugh, shaking her head.
But she can't hide those eyes, and they speak volumes as they shift back and forth across the floor between the two of us.
Midnight doesn't know what to say. She's probably never heard anything quite like that.
I can't put my finger on it - nothing particularly specific, at least - but Midnight is... I dunno. I always thought those people that like their pony more than a friend were fucking freaks.
... maybe I can reconcile that judgment as premature now.
"Alright, dumb-dumb, we got work tomorrow. Hopefully, it won't be as much of a clusterfuck as today was, yeah?"
With that, she turns and opens the door, walking into the kitchen and leaving me still kneeling on the landing.
Whether she had any inkling or not of what I was battling there is hard to say. Perhaps it was fortuitous timing on her part.
Hopefully, that's what it was. Though she might have just dick-stomped me had she known.
Regardless, I need to reel myself in. Tonight was a good night, and I'm damn lucky to not have just spoiled it by... whatever the hell I thought I was trying to do there. I lost my brain.
With a sigh, I rise back to my feet, focusing on the little victories tonight. Hopefully, I have at least helped her begin to overcome the skittishness she's developed.
I almost find it hard to believe she's gotten so rattled. But I suppose focusing on the past like she has - particularly the negatives - it's only a matter of time before one starts looking for confirmation that the past is catching up even as he or she tries to leave it behind.
She needs to keep stepping forward and looking forward. With a new goal, that may help her.
I'm better off focusing on helping her with that goal. Before I do something stupid.
Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter. The rest of the shopping experience ended up relatively uneventful. John and I didn't dawdle by any means, but there were no interruptions or comments from other shoppers aside from a glance or two that lasted longer than I felt necessary.
John also sold me on some sort of boxed good called "Hamburger Helper." Half meat, half noodles along with seasonings. A fair compromise for both of us I suppose. He ended up getting one of each kind.
Now, both of us stroll out into the night air, which has dropped in temp with the absence of the sun as well as lack of cloud cover.
"Man, you are an expensive date."
"Excuse me? The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm joking, chill out," he replies defensively, taken aback by the harsh tone of my voice.
It really wasn't that funny of a joke. And I don't like the connotations that would bring if anyone heard him. That would be embarrassing. But I am aware that there are people who have a romantic investment in ponies. Is that even legal?
...why that was the first thing that popped into my head is questionable, but regardless, those kinds of people are fucked up.
"Sorry, I just think that was a really retarded joke - I'd rather someone not overhear you and actually believe that."
"Alright, my bad." His apology sounds... off. A bit disappointed.
Maybe he had been working on that lame comment for a while. Hard to believe his pea-brain could take that long for something so simple, but who knows? Whatever the reason, that's on him.
"I'm sorry I left you to that Twilight bot. I would never have done that had I thought the meeting would go south like that," he adds.
"You seemed to be enjoying it," I chastise, irked that my prior suspicions proved to be correct.
"To be fair, it was one of those things where you had to see your own face. I didn't think you would hate interacting with her that much, though."
"I suppose she wasn't really that bad," I begrudgingly admit. "But I detest how utterly... oblivious they are. Maybe that was an older one, I don't know."
"You mean like how she couldn't tell you weren't interested in conversation?"
"Exactly. But I haven't really ever had a long conversation with a bot, so again - maybe they're all like that."
"So you have interacted with em before on more than one occasion?" John asks, stopping the cart before reaching the rear bumper of the Trailduster to open up the glass hatch above the tailgate.
"Yeah. From time to time, they had helper bots in the experiment facility - sometimes full units, others stripped to bare bones. Sort of depended on why they were there, I guess. Wasn't just me they were toying with, and not just bio-ponies."
John has nothing to say. Instead, I find him glancing around the parking lot.
Unnerved by his sudden shift in demeanor, I do the same. No one in sight among the cars left in the lot.
"I just figured this conversation might be a little sensitive for foreign ears," he elaborates.
"Good point."
"Back to - well, what happened in there," he says, taking a moment from loading groceries in the back of the truck to point at the store. "Kids are naive as hell. I don't think you did anything wrong. They'll freak out over the dumbest shit. It's why I don't much care for interacting with kids."
"Oh good, at least you aren't a kiddie fiddler."
"Now that's just perverted, you sicko."
"Yeah, because you haven't said questionable shit before," I retort with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
"Excuse me!"
With the exclamation, both of us turn our heads to see a middle-aged woman marching our way pushing a shopping cart. A little girl and a lavender unicorn tag along behind her.
Great. Even from a distance, I can see her face is cross, leering at both John and me. She pauses a moment to point something at a nearby SUV. The headlights flash briefly while she ushers her child toward the vehicle.
The girl runs off to the vehicle, glancing my way briefly with an aversive expression before hopping inside.
Meanwhile, Twilight looks upon me somewhat forlornly, albeit a step back and partially behind the woman's legs.
"Fuck me," John mumbles under his breath, barely audible as he finishes offloading his purchases.
As the woman resumes her trek toward us and gets closer, John plasters on the most polite, innocent face he can muster. "Don't say anything. It's not that I don't trust you, it's that this is probably not going to be a pleasant discussion," he says out of the corner of his mouth.
Is this Karen? Or a Karen? I still don't understand that name or terminology. Culture jargon is only something I have stumbled upon during my laptop searches from time to time, aside from overhearing conversations back when I lived in the junkyard. It's not a topic I research out of pure interest.
"Hi, can I help you?" John greets the lady as she halts a few steps away.
The woman looks at him, then at me. Disdain practically pours out of her before she shifts her attention back to John. "Can you tell me why you thought you could just bring your pony that's based on an evil character into a store where children are almost guaranteed to be present?" she demands.
"I... didn't see a sign anywhere that said she wasn't allowed. She's not evil, I can tell you that much," John replies, taken aback by her tone. It already looks like he's on his back foot in this interaction.
"My daughter came screaming to me in fear from another aisle because of your bot," she says, pointing an accusing finger in my face. "She was afraid that she was going to be attacked or eaten up by this thing! I've never seen the show, but my little girl wouldn't just make something like that up."
"Okay, I'm not really in the know on the show either, but-"
"So do you normally buy things without knowing what they are? That doesn't seem smart," she interrupts, seething with anger.
Is this bitch serious? If anyone is going to insult John's intelligence, it's me. Besides that - didn't she just say that she doesn't have a clue about the show?
I can't help but scowl at her now.
"She was a gift to me, okay?" John quickly lies. "Regardless of that, Midnight wasn't harming anyone - she was looking through the shelves just a few feet away from me when your bot sparked a conversation with her - a friendly interaction, might I add."
I note Twilight's ears droop in shame as she is unwittingly dragged into the argument.
"So you're saying it's her fault? Is that right?" the woman rebuts, now pointing to the sulking pony behind her
"I just got excited to see her and I wanted to talk," Twilight interjects, her voice apologetic and pleading as she looks up at her owner.
"I didn't ask for you to speak. I'll deal with you later."
John looks almost as frustrated as I feel with the tone directed toward the honest little pony.
Twilight looks over to me with a somber, defeated look on her face. She was the one who approached me, but... Well, she obviously didn't know all of this would happen.
'I'm sorry.'
I find myself taken aback to see Twilight mouth those words to me. But she really doesn't have anything to apologize for...
'It's not your fault,' I silently relay back to her. It at least manages to perk her up a bit. That sad expression fades, replaced by just the slightest hint of a relieved smile.
"Look, it's all just a misunderstanding. I'm sorry your daughter got spooked by Midnight," John speaks up.
The mother doesn't seem to feel the same way as she eyes John with a renewed ire. "No, I fully understand that you're a grown man walking around with a pony that's meant to be offputting - and you think that's perfectly fine. I'm telling you it isn't!" she spouts back, raising her voice just a bit more.
"What do you want from me?!" John asks, throwing his hands out to either side, palms up. "I said sorry, what else do you want?!"
"Don't raise your voice at me! I will call the cops if you're going to be belligerent, they will sort this out!"
"Enough!" I throw a wing between the woman and John as I take a step forward.
The crazy lady takes a step back, acting far more startled by my interruption than believable for the situation I have now thrust myself into. "Are you threatening me? Is your bot seriously threatening me?!"
"I am not threatening you, I am saying enough is enough," I clarify in a calm but stern tone. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see John's eyes widen. He's got to be sweating bullets now that I have stepped into the ring. But this argument is absurd and getting worse for no damn reason.
"You don't have a say in this, you don't have rights. And how dare you scare my daughter!"
I take another step forward and to the side, positioning my form in front of John as I tuck my wing away and stand my ground. "He didn't do anything wrong, nor did I. I can't help what I look like, and I'm sorry that my appearance scares your daughter. But perhaps you need to keep both her and your bot closer to you, considering I never saw you during this entire incident in the store."
"Are you questioning my parenting?"
"I'm questioning your logic."
Left mentally off-balance by my argument, the lady takes another step back. She almost trips over Twilight, who is still standing behind her. "Watch what you're doing!" she shouts, turning to look at Twilight.
"Sorry!" Twilight quickly apologizes, cowering just a bit at the outburst.
While this is happening, I cast my gaze on the woman's unattended cart loaded with groceries off to her right. I focus on it with an idea and just a subtle touch...
It starts to roll as I nudge it with my ability. In a split second, it picks up speed as the slope of the parking lot aids its egress from the argument taking place. The noisy caster wheels upon the cracked tarmac quickly grab our foe's attention. She stares wide-eyed for a moment before rushing after it. The clatter of her heels is music to my ears as I turn and nudge John.
"Get in the damn truck and let's go," I instruct.
He quickly jumps at my direction while I rush over to the passenger side, feeling around for the lock mechanism at the top of the door through the window and popping it open myself. I manage to hop into my seat at about the same time John is cranking the engine. In the blink of an eye, the rear tires chirp under sudden duress and we're off, leaving the volatile situation rapidly in the rearview mirror.
"God damn, what the hell is wrong with people?!" John cries once we get out onto the road.
"Are you asking to explain from my own experience, or..."
"No, I know you could give me a good explanation. But you know jumping into that argument was not going to help your cause, right?"
"Because you were really defusing it in a timely fashion. Bravo," I remark, clapping my hooves in a sarcastic manner.
"I don't think there was any reasoning with her. That's a fucking Karen for you - looking for an argument by any means necessary, to prove she's right."
"So, a Karen is a bitch?"
"Pretty much. Bitchy, middle-aged, entitled woman."
"I can't say I'm thrilled to have understood that definition by experience."
"Wasn't fun for me either. I'm assuming that shopping cart didn't start rolling on its own," he muses, eying me expectantly.
I shrug and flash a smirk. "I didn't tell her to park it there at the beginning of a slope towards the storm drain."
The answer garners a smile from him. "That was good thinking to get us out of there without making things worse. Thank you."
"Well, I'm not going to let some miserable bitch use my personal punching bag."
"Jesus. I don't know whether to be flattered or offended, Middie," John gasps.
"You enjoy the abuse, don't put up an act."
"Only because you do it in a caring manner," he teases.
I exhale deeply, relieving the tension that had welled up inside since the initial situation unfolded in the store.
"I am sorry I didn't take how kids might react to you into account," John says quietly.
"I can't blame you for that, John. You said so yourself - you really don't have a clue when it comes to - well, the character I'm based upon. To be honest, I don't know shit about me, either. Er, Nightmare Moon."
"Are you curious about it at all?" he asks rather hesitantly.
I glance over at him. John looks uncertain about his own question.
Or perhaps how I will react.
I am not really that interested. After all, that isn't me. I wasn't even planned to look like said character in the beginning. Not even my initial project name bore hints of Nightmare Moon. Yet I may now be forever tied to her, whether I like it or not.
I am not an exact match for looks - but that doesn't matter to the passing eye. It's unfair - but life isn't fair. Rather than sulk about it, I just have to deal with that notion the best I can, now that I see the problems it may cause. Perhaps some knowledge of what I'm up against in terms of background and reputation could help me at least understand.
I try to keep a straight face, but a mischievous hint of a grin cracks through just a bit. "You wanna watch some pretty pastel ponies when we get home?"
As the credits roll, John and I exchange looks, awaiting a response from the other to break the silence. A silence that has enveloped our home for the better part of two episodes.
After putting away groceries, John hooked my laptop up to the TV with a cable, while I searched the internet for episodes of "My Little Pony" where Nightmare Moon appears. Incidentally, the first two episodes of the "Friendship is Magic" series were the first hits. It looked like there were a few other appearances sprinkled here and there, but not much. Evidently, she's not a major character or villain.
"Well." John has the courtesy to speak first but brings absolutely nothing of substance.
"Very insightful, thank you."
"I mean... it was something," he says, albeit with much reluctance in his voice.
"Indeed. I believe that is what is referred to as a 'cartoon.' Often directed toward younger audiences."
"At least it didn't piss you off," John replies with a chuckle.
"Were you really afraid of that, or are you joking?" I inquire, uncertain of his true stance.
"I wouldn't say I was worried, more... aware that it could be something upsetting to you."
"There really wasn't much to be upset about - again, it isn't me," I remind him.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to hear that, Middie."
"But I can't say I'm fond of being thought of as a spiteful thousand-year-old megalomaniac prone to belittling others to cover up her own insecurities."
"Yeah. They really did a good job matching your personality up with hers, huh?"
I don't need to look to know John is sporting a shit-eating grin right beside me. Instead of humoring him, I spread out my left wing and smack him in the face.
"Ow," he says, lacking any sort of tone. "You know I was joking about that though, right?"
"Yes, but I'm also keenly aware I should have thought about what I said beforehand," I admit, tucking away my wing once again. "What did you really think about it?"
"Kinda odd how you're sorta like the alter ego of the pony you were meant to be, and possess part of her personality chip," John muses. "Even odder how you have another chip that is the primary opposition to Nightmare Moon."
"Wow."
"Yeah, sort of deep when you really get into it," he says with a nod.
I shake my head. "No, I'm just surprised how many relatively big words you used in one explanation," I wisecrack.
"Asshole."
"Don't forget it."
"Really though... it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he admits. "I still don't get the appeal."
"You should go make a post about that online."
"What?"
"Hm?"
He shakes his head. "Whatever. But I guess now we know what you're up against."
"It really doesn't make it any better - but I didn't think it would. Still, she's hardly something I would consider scary."
"Sorry. Kids are stupid," John answers with a courtesy shrug.
Despite going into this with curiosity, I now find myself left with frustration. There really isn't anything I can do if children find this kind of shit scary and relate me with her. It may very well be a matter of avoiding the matter altogether.
Which isn't completely bothersome...
After all, I finally have a place I can genuinely call home. That is a calming and warm feeling to know - whatever happens, I have somewhere to retreat that is safe and comfortable. Why would I want to leave that?
"I guess I just have to avoid those situations in the future. Need I remind you, you're more keen on me being in public than I am. I'm content with sticking with you and conversing with you - far more than anyone else."
John chuckles a little bit at that, smiling just a bit wider. "Come a long way from seeing me as a means to an end, huh?"
"Perhaps there's a bit more to you than that," I reply, averting my eyes. I feel awkward after spouting that. Saying I care or see him as a friend out loud just seems like an uncomfortable gesture.
He pretty much knows it anyway. But I'm beginning to wonder if he sees more than that. I recall earlier tonight, the stupid 'date' joke that left him sounding almost a little disappointed. Or the way he steals glances at me. Or the physical contact.
It's... weird. I've only started noticing those little things recently. At first, I chalked it up to my own mind trying to make something out of nothing.
But... I really need to know.
"I didn't mean anything by that other than I respect you," I add, honing in on his facial expression.
He nods, though his smile does falter a bit.
Alright, I am not going to ignore that. "John, what's gotten into you lately?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean like now. Or the way I notice you looking at me from time to time. Or the push to get me to open up. Why?"
John looks like I caught him red-handed with stolen property. "Getting you to open up is for your benefit in the sense of not bottling things up that bother you. Would you agree with that?" he proposes.
"I can, but I feel like there's more to it than just helping me, John," I press onward, unfazed by that feeble attempt to dissuade me.
"There is," he concedes with a sigh. "I guess - look, I don't know how or why, and I get that it's fucking weird, but... I guess I have sort of developed feelings for you."
Feelings for me. There it is.
What in the fuck. What in the goddamn is wrong with him? My initial gut reaction is to call him a degenerate, a pervert, a sick bastard - something demeaning. Maybe make a dry heave gesture.
With all the stupid comments, the attitude, the insults that I have fed him...
And he has feelings for me. How?
"Midnight, I don't want things to be weird between us. I do respect you as my friend, first and foremost," John adds. "I didn't want to say anything because I wanted to... I wanted to try to figure out if there was anything as far as feelings on your end, but without destroying what we had."
Well, he didn't do well attempting to be discreet. But I at least respect that he isn't literally crawling over to me, telling me how much he adores me, how he can't stop thinking about me...
He isn't desperate even as I've caught him out; he's not making a last stand. I can at least appreciate that.
I do like how things are - or at least were - up until this point, too.
"You aren't going to try throwing me out in a blind rage, are you?" I ask in a joking manner. Or at least I try to make it sound like a joke. My stomach starts to knot as I consider what answer could greet me.
"Fuck no. This is your home, Midnight," John says emphatically. "It's out in the open now, I'm a fucking weirdo-"
"That was obvious from the beginning."
"Yet you were willing to put up with me. But I assume based on your question, I'm- those feelings... of the romantic kind... They aren't mutual, are they?"
I really don't understand what he could even see in me to develop "feelings." There's nothing there. I have nothing to bring to the table. I've only recently let it go that I'm a freak of nature who really has no business in being alive. I'm making the best of it - it wasn't my choice to come out this way, after all.
How he looks beyond that is...
I don't get it.
But it doesn't matter. I don't feel anything toward him aside from the initial reaction of wanting to call him a fruitcake.
Of course, I really don't know what he is talking about in the sense of "attraction." That's a foreign idea to me. But, he at least deserves some closure and respect.
As my friend.
"No, John. I don't feel that way toward you."
John winces my utterance but manages to offer up an awkward, accepting smile. "I guess now I know for sure. You don't want to kick my ass or insult me now, do you?"
"I don't want you to turn into a quivering, sobbing mess. I'll leave you alone."
"Middie, I'm fine," John tries to assure me, reaching over and-
Stopping. He pulls his hand back. "Seriously, I'm fine," he reiterates calmly.
"I don't have a problem with friendly pats," I acquiesce, trying to at least throw him a bone and return things to relative normality. "No funny business or your hand becomes my next dinner."
He laughs, reaching over again and patting my side this time. A little awkward, but that's to be expected.
... this is quite the change, isn't it? As much as I like to rib him and put up a fuss over his antics and decisions, I'm willing to cut him slack here. He is right, I do see him as more than a means to an end...
It's a friend thing.
Holy shit, I really am starting to go soft. Maybe some insults would do me some good.
"You know I am going to give you shit for this at some point, right?"
"I would expect it. Otherwise, I would think you were turning funny," he retorts.
"Yeah, I don't think you have a leg to stand on here."
"Aww, is Middie turning into a softie?" John gushes.
"Aww, does John get a hard peepee watching children's cartoons?"
"Now you're just stretching this out to fit what you want it to," he protests.
"I don't recall saying I thought the show was decent."
"You enjoyed it, don't lie."
"It wasn't horrible," I reply sternly.
"But you were quiet and focused on it the whole time, without making any sort of stupid comments."
"And I have to do that to prove I don't like something?"
"You normally do."
"...shut up, ponyfucker."
"Karen."
He smirks as I just glare at him.
"New nickname, perhaps?"
Without a word, I focus on one of my metal tools, using it to grab hold of a pillow situated behind me and chuck it at him.
I manage to catch him completely by surprise as the pillow beans him square in the face.
"I guess that's a no."
"Did you ever end up getting that ad for us buying cars put up on the website?"
Midnight looks up from the laptop upon hearing my question. "I'm waiting another month - coincide with the shift to pick up or shipping only. I figure we should make another month of profit before allowing you to go hog wild."
"I said I would be better than I was in the past," I protest.
Midnight leans into the back of the bucket seat set near the counter behind me, offering up a sly grin.
"Sure you will. Like how I asked you to name a few cars that you'd love to own, which ended up being almost three hours' worth of a list. Over the span of two days."
"You kept asking questions, which kept reminding me of other things. By the way, you never told me what that was about."
"Boredom - conversation to pass the time," she replies while shifting her attention back to the screen.
I don't believe her. With the 'fun' she had working on the suspension components of the Trailduster and enjoying the extra time we've had to focus on pulling parts rather than waiting on customers, I figure she's looking for a project.
It's rather obvious, but it would be better to hear it from her rather than say it aloud. She already has enough reasons to call me a dumbass.
Now, I am not opposed to a project. But everything I listed off was a dream car that would be almost impossible to obtain for a reasonable price - and in a salvageable condition. There's a line between project and basketcase - and I don't want to encroach upon it.
Maybe I will give her a few cars more acceptable and affordable down the road - but I think it's too early for that kind of planning.
In the meantime, I'm expecting Teddy to show up sometime this afternoon to pick up a speedometer. In fact, I may end up helping install a speedometer - as Teddy wanted to show off the car, and I wanted to make sure the speedometer itself was the issue.
Speaking of which...
A low rumbling exhaust note becomes audible just outside the shop, getting louder by the second. Midnight looks up about the same time the mystery vehicle comes into view from the open garage door.
A robin egg blue Cutlass convertible rolls up to the opening, swinging around to point the nose toward the empty garage bay.
Looks like Teddy is here.
I can't actually tell because of the glare of the sun off the windshield and the chrome - and the paint itself. I wave him into the garage with a chuckle, impressed with what I'm seeing so far.
It's only as he rolls into the shade and out of the glaring sun that I can see him against the white interior.
As well as a passenger - of the pony kind.
Teddy brings the Cutlass to a stop just before the lift and kills the engine. He shares a glance with his passenger, then looks at me.
"Good afternoon," he says with a beaming smile.
"Good afternoon. And I see you have company with you."
"Indeed I do," Teddy says with a chuckle, throwing an arm around his sidekick. "John, this is Starla."
The mare in the seat next to him looks over my way with cool violet-magenta eyes, a pleasing and distinct contrast to the warm white color of her coat. Her golden blonde hair is interspersed with streaks of orange, the color most apparent around her bangs that part around the horn on her head. Here, her hair ends almost purely orange, like the end of a licking flame. It's as if someone took the idea of strawberry blonde hair and cranked up the saturation and contrast several notches.
The rest of her hair stays relatively blonde aside from the orange highlights - varying groups of hair strands that look to be a different color scattered about. It all flows down into a neat braid that drifts onto her right shoulder, also appearing to end in orange.
Maybe it's a trick of the light - I can't help but see striking similarities between her and Midnight in terms of color distribution of hair - though the hues themselves between the two mares are on opposite ends of the spectrum.
Curiously, from what I can see, her front legs are... off. They don't seem to be the same shade of white; while her coat has a hint of cream in it, there's a touch of pink in those limbs.
Teddy opens his door and climbs out, going around the front to get the door for Starla.
"Such a gentleman," she says, possessing the same twang of Southern accent as Teddy. Her voice is rich and mature - yet she's playful enough to offer a giggle and a quick blep of her tongue as he bows toward her.
Once Starla slides out of her seat, I get a better view of the rest of her. Unlike Midnight, she is a pure unicorn - though she matches Midnight's stature, if not exceeding it by a tiny bit. There doesn't seem to be any other markings or coloration aside from her tail, which matches the color of her hair and mane. The last third of it is in a neat braid, mirroring her hairstyle.
I take a moment to glance over to Midnight's corner for the first time since this grand entrance - only to find her hunched down in the seat, her face almost completely obscured by the laptop, clearly on purpose.
She's certainly receptive to company of her own kind...
"Teddy has been telling me about how helpful you've been, it's nice to meet you," Starla says as she sidles up to the counter. She rears up and sets one foreleg on the counter for balance, while she extends the other out for a... hoofshake.
I accept her gesture, noting how her limb has a certain... artificialness to it. The fur is soft, but underneath is quite solid.
The exchange also gives me a moment to note the golden chain necklace she wears around her neck, set off by a heart-shaped locket.
"And this must be Midnight whom I've heard about," Starla continues, her eyes flicking over to my right.
I turn my head - and jump just a bit as I find Midnight right next to me, leaning on the counter like Starla.
"I told you I'm going to put a bell on you if you keep doing that."
"Bite me, asshat," Midnight replies. Her eyes do not stray from our new guest even as she speaks to me.
For her part, Starla offers a generous smile toward Midnight - but she soon drops back to all fours and eases back a few steps.
"The hell is your problem?" I whisper out of the side of my mouth to Midnight.
"It's called being wary. You might want to try it once in a while," she shoots back quietly.
Really? She's paranoid about Starla?
"Don't mind her, she gets broody from time to time, particularly when it comes to meeting new folks," I apologize, shifting my vision between Starla and Teddy.
"Aw, no worries. I get it - and I think Starla can sympathize with you, Midnight," Teddy says, directing his focus to the darker mare.
"How so?" Midnight responds, sounding wholly unconvinced.
"From what I have been told by Teddy, you were an experiment like me," Starla speaks up. "I spent most of my life as a subject to be studied, and with my deformity, there wasn't much reason for me to be around afterward."
"Starla was a subject back in Georgia when I still worked there. I helped with her a fair bit - I suppose I got pulled in by her sweetness to assist as much as I could with 'tests.'"
"As I recall, you didn't help with tests so much as help to keep me upbeat," Starla giggles as she saunters over to Teddy.
"Guilty, I suppose," he admits with a chuckle, leaning over and smooching her on the cheek.
I can hear Midnight let out a groan as she drops down to the floor. But I don't pay her any attention. She's acting like a real brat, and it's already getting on my nerves.
"So you're really another biological pony like Midnight?"
"Mostly. I suppose you're a bit confused by these?" Starla suggests as she raises one of her off-color legs.
"I... well, I didn't mean to be rude-"
"No need to be ashamed - I'm not," Starla reassures me.
Regardless of her dismissal, I feel like an asshole - even if I didn't point out the discoloration.
"When I was born, my front legs were virtually useless - something went wrong when they were... making me?"
Starla looks over to Teddy, who nods his head.
"That term works. No need to be a stickler for my sake, Star," he says.
"You make it sound so much more interesting when you use your words," she replies before turning back to me. "Anyway, my front legs didn't have any joints other than at the shoulder. Even that was limited movement, and it was awkward and painful."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I like to think it made me stronger going through that. But when the time came to... once the head people were done with me, I suppose disposal was next."
"And I wasn't going to let that happen," Teddy interjects. "I suggested an experiment with grafting prosthetics of the robotic kind to prolong her stay - and I suppose in the back of my mind, find a way out for her."
"So off they went, and these came from a Celestia bot," Starla finishes, rearing up and flexing the joints. "I'd say it was a success."
The way she mentioned her legs getting hacked off in such a nonchalant manner is a little disturbing to me. But if it drastically improved her quality of life - makes sense not to miss her original limbs.
"It was a success, and we actually learned a fair bit from the procedure - I can't help but wonder if the information we garnered from that somehow made its way here," Teddy remarks, eyeing over to Midnight. "But anyway, after that - well, the higher-ups were completely done with her, so they left it to me to "dispose" of her."
"And she just happened to be disposed of in your home," I finish for him.
"Pretty much. They didn't ask or demand specifics since I was pretty high on the totem pole of reliability, so it was a perfect opportunity. From there - well, I've helped her to find her passions, now that she's free to live life."
"And you helped me with the basics, like reading, among other things. Smarts have not come easy for me," she teases Teddy.
He reaches over with a grin and ruffles her hair. "You've become one hell of a cook, though. I certainly didn't teach you that."
I can't help but emit an amused chuckle while looking over in Midnight's direction again.
She's found her way back to the corner, though the laptop has disinterested her for the time being. Instead, she's keeping a bead on me and everyone else - sporting no emotions, just a cold, calculated stare.
It's unsettling, and more than a little weird at this point.
"Now, I'm itching to show off this old gal and see what you think - and see if we can't get some working gauges in here," Teddy chuckles, patting the fender of the Cutlass.
Out of the direct sunlight, I can finally appreciate the depth and sheen of the paint - definitely a couple of layers of clearcoat there. I make my way around the counter as Teddy makes his way back to the driver's door and reaches in to pop the hood.
As I meet Teddy at the front of the Cutlass and admire the show-quality paint job up close, I can also feel Midnight's presence beside me once again, like a living, breathing shadow.
So it's gonna be like this, huh?
"Midnight, why don't you and Starla head upstairs or outside while Teddy and I work on this, yeah?" I suggest, turning to her.
"Why?"
"Because I think it would do you good to talk to someone like you. And you're not really going to be able to help with the dashboard stuff."
Midnight doesn't look pleased with my explanation, to say the least. Her muzzle is lined with a harsh frown, further embittered by the instructions.
"Fine. If you get kidnapped, don't expect me to look for you," she grumbles.
"Duly noted. And for God's sake, be nice."
She mutters something else under her breath, but I don't ask for clarification as she struts away.
"Come on, let's leave these two queers to their skin flute duet," she sasses while passing Starla.
Starla, to her credit, keeps a positive aura and smile up - though she does momentarily look a bit shocked by the language.
I have to just shake my head while Midnight trudges up the steps, her fellow refugee in tow.
"Man, I'm sorry about that," I apologize to Teddy.
"Aw hell, John - stop apologizing," he says with a wave. "Midnight's rough around the edges. There's no way around that, and obviously, she's still got a lot of trust issues. I don't think I can blame her."
"Yet Starla is so proper and welcoming - she's the exact opposite."
"Yes - but I've also lived with her much longer - but I'll admit, she was always a sweetheart. Part of the trouble with something organic - your results may vary."
"Middie's been a lot more mellow lately when it's me and her - I don't understand why she's putting up such a fuss today. It's like she's gotta appear like a macho mare or something."
"Well, there's two things there - she doesn't trust outsiders, first of all. Obviously, I'm still very much a stranger, as is Starla and - well, everyone other than you."
"We went out to eat once at that drive-in place and also went shopping once - Midnight was anxious, but she didn't act like that bullshit she just demonstrated."
"Those places also aren't her home - that's not her territory to defend. But did you ever talk to anyone in the store?"
"No. She ended up being approached by a pony bot, and that didn't go so well. Ended up in an argument later in the parking lot."
"Did Midnight get involved?" he asks, a brow raising with interest.
"...sort of. She basically halted it by putting herself in front of me, and then distracting the crazy lady so we could get out of there."
Teddy nods as if he expected to hear that. "John, she's protective of you. Almost instinctually - beyond what I would expect from a Luna model, which was what I sort of assumed."
"She was fine at the drive-in with the waitress, though," I argue.
"Yes, but I assume you were in the truck the whole time. Less she has to protect since you could get out of there quickly in the vehicle."
"So - I mean, what do I do?" I ask, confused by the point and sudden wealth of information and insight.
"I don't really think you have to do anything - after all, she isn't aggressive in a physical manner. Seems like she just resorts to insults or overall passive-aggressive tactics," he explains. "That's the thing with genetic engineering - some things slip through, and I think some animal instincts of whatever they used to make her sort of coincide with the protective and intimate nature of Luna bots. It's actually interesting to think about."
"So... I'm like part of her territory?"
Teddy gets a sly grin. "Or her mate."
I have to laugh. "No, she doesn't want that. I kinda let it slip that I had feelings for her, and she has no interest."
"Good on you to at least be honest - though I'm sorry it didn't pan out."
"Well, I'm leaving it alone now. I value her friendship, and I don't want to ruin that when she has no interest beyond that."
"You might be surprised at what time will bring - today has been a surprise watching her try to keep you safe. Maybe she doesn't really know what she wants," he suggests.
"This is all just so weird," I admit. My mind feels overwhelmed by everything about this discussion.
"Confound these ponies, they'll drive you to drink," the replies with a laugh, lightly slapping me on the back. "But I don't really know, John. You're in uncharted territory - all I can do is make educated guesses on what I'm seeing and hearing. I certainly wouldn't worry about her actually being aggressive in a physical manner - I think if that were the case, she would have shredded me the last time I was here. She listens to you, and she trusts you - just go with it, and don't think too much about it."
"I guess that's about the best advice I can get, so I'll go with it," I sigh. "Now, I need something mechanical to distract myself. This sounded really good rolling up - show off what you got under the hood."
"I was waiting to hear you ask."
Fucking John.
'Why don't you and Starla go upstairs while we work on the car down here?'
As if I'm some stupid child constantly getting in the way.
I stomp my way up the stairs while the two men start up another conversation down below. Meanwhile, I can also hear my 'playmate' tagging behind - in a lighter-stepped fashion.
Part of me doesn't like her at all. She's only greeted me once, and I haven't said anything to her.
I don't know why, I just don't like her.
"This shithole is nothing fancy, so don't get too excited," I mutter upon reaching the landing. "Beats the hell out of a van, I guess."
"You lived in a van?"
"Squatted in a van out back would be the better term, I guess."
Throwing John a bone and not wanting to spend the day completely miserable, I show some decency by opening the door and holding it for Starla to enter first.
She stares at it in awe, then at me.
"What, you've never seen a door? What kind of a heap do you live in?"
"That door opened by itself, didn't it? Is there a switch or something John made for you?" she asks.
"It's magic."
"No, it's not. Teddy assured me magic doesn't exist in the world," she says with a giggle, shaking her head.
Ugh.
"The door handle is metal, I can move it because I have a magnet lovingly rammed in my head that makes it work. Make sense?"
Starla doesn't say anything as she proceeds on and crosses the threshold, but her smile dims as a result of my mild lashing.
I take a deep breath and follow her in, closing the door behind me. At the same time, I try to clear my mind of anxiety and bitterness.
It's fine, it's just a weird old dude and his bubbly horse wife - who I don't trust.
Let it go.
"I've only heard bits and pieces about you - I'm curious to hear about what you've been through, Midnight," Starla says as she eyes the couch.
"You can sit there, I'll sit over here," I instruct her, gesturing with a hoof to either end of the couch.
"Thank you."
"What's so intriguing about me?" I grill her, skeptical of her true intentions.
"Well, your looks for one. I've encountered many bots while out with Ted, and a handful of others like us - you certainly are an eyecatcher."
"You trying to hit on me, or is that an insult?"
"It was a compliment, my dear," Starla says with a half laugh - clearly taken aback by my attitude. "I certainly don't intend to offend you in your own home - and I'm perfectly satisfied with my man."
I can't help but wrinkle my nose in disgust at that descriptor.
"What's wrong?" she asks innocently.
"That's... weird," I manage to push out. "Honestly too much information."
"I'm sorry, I didn't necessarily mean it like... to make you uncomfortable. But you and John..."
"He's a friend, nothing more."
"Oh."
The way she responds rubs me the wrong way.
"Oh?"
"I just got a different impression when I met John earlier. My mistake."
"I was making sure you weren't going to do anything funny," I explain.
"Like...?"
"Attack him? I kinda need him alive to stay here."
"Oh."
The short and inane answer irritates me, but I leave it alone.
"Anyway, like you, I was an experiment to try to make real ponies. They tried making something close to Princess Luna and - well, I came out with these colors. Without wings. Or these eyes. Or teeth," I describe, gesturing to each feature. "Those all got tacked on later. What was their goal with you?"
"Goal? The same as you, I suppose."
"You're supposed to be Luna?"
"Oh, no," Starla replies with a chuckle. "To be honest, I don't believe there were really any plans to make me look like a particular pony. Some might say Celestia but... I don't really see it. It's a passing resemblance, at best."
She abruptly frowns as she finishes her explanation, looking me over.
"What?"
"Your tale is much more unhappy than mine, isn't it?"
I shrug off her concerns. "You got legs to improve your life, I got crap added on for fun, I guess."
"It's more than that- I mean, yes, that sounds awful but..."
"Will you just spit it out?" I snap, flustered by her leisurely pace and demeanor.
"You never had anyone like I did, did you?"
...
"Well that's rather vague, isn't it? What the hell are you talking about?"
"I had Teddy very early on. I don't know why, but he just got attached to me, I guess," she says, blushing through her creamy fur. "It really helped me a lot, felt like among all those faces and lab coats, someone was interested in me for - me. He would stop by to where I was in the facility, and talk to me. There was support there, and I think it helped me keep a good outlook."
"Good for you," I snidely comment. "Not all of us are that fortunate."
"That's my point Midnight," she says solemnly. "I'm not looking for an argument, I'm just trying to understand why someone who is free from the misery she endured would still be so... sour."
"Why do I have to explain myself to you? I don't trust you, Starla. And I don't trust Teddy. I don't trust anyone outside these gates because they haven't proven themselves to me."
"Why should they have to, Midnight?" Starla asks, continuing to endure with heaps of patience.
I find myself utterly befuddled by the question - and her continued laid-back demeanor.
"Why the hell am I going to blindly trust anyone? After what I've been put through, with no one stepping in to say 'Oh wow, we're putting this pony through a lot, maybe we should stop,' why should I trust that anyone has good intentions? Does anyone really have good intentions? The next person around the corner might be someone in the know of who or what you are - and we're escapees. Doesn't that bother you?"
"Is that the way you want to live your life?"
"Fuck no, but it's reality."
Starla doesn't look happy about that harsh reply but remains unmoved.
"And what about John?"
I freeze when she brings his name into the discussion.
"What about him?" I ask cautiously.
"You trust him. Why?" she asks, cocking her head.
"I had no choice. He found me, my back was against the wall. I knew it was a matter of time beforehand, so I sort of studied up what I could on cars to make myself of use if and when the time came."
"Wow, that's pretty smart," she says, blinking rapidly a few times at the notion.
"I'm not really like you. I used to be, but I have circuitry in my head - there are a lot more smarts up there than the average pony," I answer, unable to keep myself from boasting just a bit.
"That still doesn't really explain why you trust John, but can't trust anyone else," Starla says. "What if I wanted to be your friend?"
I scoff at the idea. "Why? What reason would you have?"
"Do I need a reason?"
What?
Starla takes my dumbfounded silence to speak up as she scoots toward me. "Midnight, you know what's most different between you and me? I don't think about everything."
That's obvious.
"I don't examine everything around me, looking for a fault. Why should I? By all accounts, I should no longer be alive - but I was saved by Teddy," she says, smiling as she reminisces. "Every day is a gift because it's a day longer than my original time was meant to last. Why should I concern myself with what could happen in a worst-case scenario? Why assume everyone around me is bad?"
She reaches out with her hoof and places it upon mine.
"Maybe I was fortunate enough to get a head start, and that's why I see things differently - but I give everyone I have a chance to meet a chance to tell their story. Even those that aren't forthcoming - or perhaps not in the best of moods," she says with a knowing smile. "Maybe some of it is what I've witnessed watching Teddy help bots or ponies he's found over the years - I suppose that's sort of rubbed off on me. To be honest, I asked Teddy to bring me, because I overheard you on the phone the other day... and I dunno. I just felt like I should come and meet you."
"So... what, I'm supposed to just start going out and talking to everyone and anyone? Without giving a thought?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying," she says, lightly swatting at my hoof. "Give people a chance - you're a stranger to them just as they are to you. How would you like it to have someone utterly freaked out by your initial appearance?"
Instantly, my mind conjures up the debacle at the grocery store. That was a low feeling - I've tried to pass it off as nothing, but that girl freaking out because I looked similar to a show villain...
That hurt. I don't know why, but it bothered me. It still does.
"Just try not to analyze everything. Maybe that's also easier for me, as I have no circuits in my head. Some might say I'm a little dumb - it did take me a couple of years to read and understand other basic things, but I'm proud of who I am."
"Yet you can sit here and spout all of... this?"
She shrugs, a bit of laughter escaping her. "As I said, I've been around Teddy and seen him try to help others. And I may have been helpful on a few occasions as well."
Starla takes a moment to sigh - somewhat unhappily.
"That man really carries a lot of guilt for having a hand in creating us - both bot and living beings," she muses. "I don't know if he will ever feel like he's done enough."
"It isn't really his fault people are greedy," I suggest.
"Oh, you're defending him now?"
"No..."
"You are," she says with a smirk. "Come on, don't play coy."
"I suppose he did give me this," I relent, brushing my necklace.
"Ah, that's where that piece went. I remember seeing him work on it, but I never put two and two together. Now it makes sense," she says, looking at my flank.
"How'd you even get your name?" I question, finding no markings or anything else on her. Even the locket bears no hint as to its origins.
Starla laughs "Teddy. Started calling me 'Star' while helping to take care of me, on account of my project name and number. I don't remember what it was, but Teddy might. Part of it was 'S-T-4-R,' and that's just what he went with. He just decided to make it a little fancier, and I loved how he doted on me. But - now it's your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"Your name! It fits you well, but is there any sort of meaning to it beyond looks?"
"I came up with it. can tell you it certainly isn't based on my project code. 'XGE-BI/EMLP-000/NMM' doesn't exactly roll off the tongue or bring up whimsical fantasies, does it?"
"X.. G..."
"Experimental Genetically Engineered - Bionic Implant/ElectroMagnetic Levitation Pony triple zero "NightMare Moon," I rattle off. "They just kept tacking shit onto my file, I guess."
"And... you remember that." Her voice betrays both skepticism and concern with that notation.
"I remember seeing it along with the imminent termination of my project when one of the dumbshits in charge of me dropped a document while leaving my room. That's when I decided I needed to find a way to leave."
"I'm sorry. Did they at least give you a name while you were there?" she asks, hoping for any silver lining.
I sigh bitterly. "Princess. Apparently thought that was the best way to build me up to go through all this shit like I was special - and I guess because I was originally meant to be Luna. I hated it, and it became more of a sarcastic name anyway as time wore on."
I trail off as another bitter memory floods my mind.
"John didn't know that when we first met, and he used that name. I sort of took offense to that."
"He doesn't seem to hold it against you. From what I've seen, he holds you in high regard - and vice versa."
She pauses a moment.
"But you're just friends."
"Yeah, and?"
"Nothing."
"No, you don't just say that and leave it, what was that?" I demand.
"It just seems like there's... more," she hesitantly replies.
"John... considered it," I begrudgingly admit.
"But you said no."
"Of course I did! That's fucked up!" I shout, exasperated.
"But you care about him."
While she's suggested a new way to look at life, Starla stringing me along with whatever this is has begun to burn me.
"Yes, I guess! What's it to you?!"
"I just thought it was odd you were so jumpy when I approached him earlier. You certainly didn't seem too worried about me doing harm, just... something else."
"You can see whatever you want to see," I dismiss her.
"I also couldn't help but notice you were keen on me sitting here, and you over there," Starla adds with a slight grin.
What the fuck?
"This is my spot. I always sit here."
"This is your spot," she says, patting the center couch cushion." I can smell that. I can also smell the spot you're sitting at. That's a very... human smell."
I scowl at Starla's insinuations. "We're friends, I have no interest in... what you and Teddy have," I repeat.
"All I'm saying is you sort of send mixed messages. Honestly, I believe you think too much - you need to mellow out, and let your mind relax. Just see where life takes you Midnight. Give people a chance. For me?"
"And I take it I'm supposed to start with you."
"I'm not a person. I'm a pony like you. That's gotta count for something, right?"
Honestly, I want to tell her no, just so she isn't right. I want to tell her she sounds stupid spouting all this sunshine and rainbows bullshit.
But I can't deny how happy and carefree she appears... and not even in an airhead sense. She's shared an insight that took time and thought to manifest.
Maybe... maybe I'm just a bit jealous. At some point, life just starts feeling like a burden when I'm glancing around, waiting for something sinister.
Starla is certainly right on one thing - every day I'm alive is a day I probably shouldn't have. Why protect something if I don't even enjoy it? Why did I escape if I didn't want something better?
Starla makes a lot of sense. Maybe there is something to not planning everything out...
"I think I can try," I agree.
Starla instantly becomes excited, bouncing with glee as her face lights up with a huge smile. "You can do it, I know you can! I'll share with you some tricks and little things I've found over the years to help me adjust..."
"Might be better to wait and put everything else back together after we make doubly sure it works."
"I'm confident it will after we tested the old one - but you're right. No sense in tearing it all apart twice."
It didn't take too long to swap out speedometers - the simplicity of old cars is a wonderful thing.
But I have to admit during the whole process, I was distracted.
I'm worried about Midnight. It's been quiet since she and Starla went upstairs. At some point, I expected to hear her throw a tantrum or witness one of them storming out from our living space.
That hasn't happened.
On the one hand, I feel like a piece of shit for assuming the worst from Middie.
On the other hand - well, she was bratty enough earlier today. And I live with her - I know how she is.
But maybe Teddy is right - maybe her attitude is partly because of me. Specifically, feeling an instinctual need to keep others away from me.
It seemed farfetched and silly when it was first brought up... But hell, Midnight isn't exactly rational when it comes to her emotions.
"Well, if you want - go out and test it. I can check on the gals while you're out."
"I'm sure they're fine, John," Teddy replies with a wave.
"I know... but doesn't hurt to check, right?"
"Nah. I get it - but I think you underestimate Starla if you're worried about Midnight hurting her feelings or something."
The 'or something' is most concerning.
Teddy hops in the Cutlass and cranks the engine, firing up surprisingly quickly for an old car. With an old electrical system, no less.
Teddy definitely has good hands in a mechanical sense. Wonder if robotics and shit transfer to cars to an extent...
Maybe a little. Regardless, it's been nice to shoot the shit and work on the car during the afternoon. While things got off to a rocky start, I appreciate Teddy's laid-back personality and sense of humor.
Now if Starla and Midnight can get along, and Midnight can just be mellow...
As Teddy rolls back out of the garage, I head up the stairs to my home, undeniably tense.
Maybe getting away from me helped her to chill out a bit. Which only makes me feel more nervous. After all, if I trigger her bullshit... Well, then I'm not a very good influence, which is a troubling thought.
When I get to the landing, I can already hear voices from the other side. And they sound rather close to the door.
Why would they be in the kitchen?
"Yes, just like that. And you just keep going back and forth until you get to the end."
What?
That was Starla's voice giving... some sort of instruction
I gingerly push open the door and peek in.
Both mares are in the kitchen, very close to the door...
...Looking at the microwave?
Much to my surprise, Midnight is in the midst of braiding her mane like Starla's, using the window of the microwave to inspect her progress. Starla stands beside her with a big smile plastered on her face while she gives instructions.
Meanwhile, I also note Middie has already fiddled with her tail and matched it close to Starla's braid, as well.
Well then...
This is unexpected.
"I really don't know if this is a look for me. I preferred the ponytail look - or just plain natural," Midnight comments.
"There's nothing wrong with that - I just wanted to see you do it again so you know how to do it. Sometimes doing it in the mirror can get disorienting."
"Yeah, it would be nice if John had an actual mirror instead of using a piss-poor reflection off of an appliance."
"Ask him for one."
"No way! Do you know how embarrassing it would be to put that out there?" Midnight scoffs. "'Hey John, I want to try doing different mane styles and looks - could you buy me a mirror?' No thanks, I can't imagine how much fun he would have with that."
"He only does it because he likes you," Starla teases.
"Shut up."
"Why are you doing this if you don't want him to see you all prettied up?"
"Please shut up?"
Midnight drops her braid in progress, letting it fall back to its natural flow. Likewise, the braid in her tail unravels with aid from one of her many metal tools scattered around.
A rubber band with wire tied around it floats up while yet another bit of metal corrals her mane, allowing her to pull it up and band it into a ponytail. Another band follows - though it only winds up an inch or two up from the end.
"I don't know if I prefer this, or just having it flow freely."
... damn she looks good. It's an adorable look.
...and it starts to get a rise out of me.
Shit. Think of grandma naked, think of grandma naked...
Now I feel like throwing up. But it does stop the train and back it up.
I want to barge in and tell her how good she looks, but it's not a wise idea. Instead, I silently close the door and gently turn the knob back to its home position, before rapping lightly on the door.
Frenzied shuffling and spastic mutterings can be heard on the other side. Virtually all of it from Midnight of course.
"What do you want?" she asks in a brusque manner, sounding further away than just a moment ago.
"Nicer," I hear Starla whisper, barely audible.
"That was nice - normally I'd ask him what the fuck he wanted."
"You two okay?"
"Fine. Why?"
"Just haven't heard anything in a while, wanted to make sure everything was good. Can I come in?"
"I guess."
I pop open the door and glance around.
Midnight takes note of my hesitant entry right away as she sits on a barstool at the kitchen island. Starla sits in my normal spot across from her - albeit turned to face me. She's calm and collected with a look of content.
Midnight seems mostly relaxed. ...mostly.
"You were spying on us, weren't you?" she accuses.
"I was not, actually. I may have overheard some things, but-"
"I thought I heard the door open," Starla says as if hit by an epiphany.
"And you didn't say anything?!"
"Well, you didn't seem to hear it - I thought maybe it was some noise that was normal for this place."
Midnight looks positively annoyed and flustered, shooting Starla a look of anger before her wings spread out and wrap around to obscure herself.
Starla merely giggles before her focus flashes back to me. "How is work on the car going?"
"Teddy's out taking it for a test drive before we completely button everything back up. What have you two been doing? Seems like you're getting along decent enough."
"Talking, mostly. Trying to help her out a little bit," she says, pointing a hoof to the cocooned figure on the other side of the island.
Well, I can't leave this alone.
"Helping her with what?"
"Relax, learn to live life. I thought maybe I could help a bit since - well, I've been in her hooves. Perhaps not quite as anxious, but... it is hard. I've experienced it, and I've seen it from other rejects on the streets."
Damn. I hadn't expected to come up here and find out Midnight's been getting a pep talk.
"Midnight?"
"What?"
"Can you stop being embarrassed for a moment?"
Slowly, her wings slide away from her face, those sky-blue eyes piercing through the feathers momentarily before I finally get a clear view of her face.
"Don't you dare say anything about... what you might have seen," she mutters unhappily.
"I wouldn't dream of it," I assure her, absolutely stoic and serious.
"So you admit you saw... things."
"...Maybe. but I didn't think it was bad. It was cute."
"I'm not fucking cute."
"It's a compliment, dear."
"You aren't helping right now, Starla."
Starla slides out of her seat and saunters toward me, trying not to laugh. "I'm going to go back downstairs - I think you two should talk privately for a few moments," she says quietly.
"Alright..."
She nods and smiles reassuringly before stepping out behind me.
"What's up, Middie?" I ask, shuffling over and sitting down where Starla was moments ago.
"Starla is smarter than she seems, I'll say that much," Midnight sighs.
"I never thought she seemed dim in any way, to be honest."
"Hm. I guess that's sort of the point, isn't it?" she asks, slightly amused.
This is a side of Midnight I haven't seen in some time. She's talking to me, but her eyes show she isn't really focused on me.
She's focused internally.
I keep quiet in the meantime, giving her a moment to collect up whatever she's mulling over at this point in time.
"I'm not happy, John," she says quietly.
The blunt statement sends a jolt through my system. I can't help my mind try to race to a conclusion. That it's me leading to her issues...
But I force any knee-jerk reactions back for the time being.
"About what?"
Midnight initially shrugs a bit, looking rather downtrodden as she just stares at the countertop.
"A lot of things, I guess. Looking at Starla, listening to her talk, listening to what she went through - we are similar in many ways. It's what happened afterward that sets us apart. She moved on, and I didn't."
"We're working through it, right? Talking about things here and th-"
"Don't. Stop," Midnight cuts in, her eyes darting to me.
She doesn't look angry - but her tone is firm.
"No more excuses. Not from me, not from you."
"Okay. I'm sorry about that."
Midnight exhales deeply, shaking her head. "Starla can look past what happened to her, why it happened, who was involved. She's past that - it's a memory, she hasn't forgotten it, but she's - she doesn't let it impact her everyday life."
Middie forces out a small laugh as she pauses. "Starting to talk to her, I just thought she was stupid, you know? Like how I said all biological ponies were - that I met, anyway. I just lump em together regardless, right off the bat. And that right there is the issue."
"You don't give anyone a chance."
"No. I just look at anyone and everyone - and I guess I just feel like I'm looking at the labcoats in the facility again - observing me, ready to move on to some other stupid test to gauge some aspect of me. I look and see people, and I feel like they're in on that - they're all out to get me. It is paranoia."
I have sort of hinted she was being overly paranoid on occasion, but hearing her say that...
It's rough.
It's rough listening to Midnight bring her walls down, so to speak. She isn't visibly upset - but just from her voice, I can tell it's hard for her to come to terms with this.
Especially after denying it for so long.
"I got out of hell because I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be free to do what I wanted, not exist for someone else to toy with. But I'm still imprisoned. I'm imprisoning myself because I can't let go that something might happen, that someone in the world will recognize me and contact those who probably want me back - just to destroy me. But living in anticipation for that, dreading that, trying to prepare for it, and being skeptical of everyone - that's not really living, is it?"
"I suppose not really. It's one thing to be cautious but..."
"It's another to distrust everyone at face value. Like that little girl at the store instantly assuming the worst in me," Midnight says forlornly. "I want to be happy John. I thought I was but - not really. Not like Starla, who can live without a care. And maybe that's why I hated her at first - seeing her so happy and carefree. Maybe that's why I don't like bots or biological ponies - they don't think about the things I do. Maybe I just think too much."
Midnight pauses again, collecting more thoughts while I sit patiently.
"And I guess... there might be a part of me that sort of - I don't know, care about you. More than I'm willing to admit. Maybe that's part of my problem too."
"Care how?"
Midnight locks eyes with me.
"I don't know."
What do I make of that? Her face remains virtually emotionless, not allowing me any hints.
"I've numbed myself for a long time, John. I guess I'm not really used to... feeling. So I don't know what else to really say, other than I need to make changes. I need to try to be better. Maybe I've always known that a little - but having someone like me, yet live such a vastly different lifestyle and possess a vastly different outlook on life... it sort of puts everything in perspective to where I can understand it."
Midnight looks uncomfortable after spitting all that out.
Vulnerable. But relieved.
"Is there anything you want me to do to help?"
"Be you," she says quietly, pausing a moment. "Maybe lay off the stupidity and jokes a tad, but... be John."
"I think I can do that."
Midnight's ears perk up just as I begin to hear the tell-tale signs of Teddy's return.
"I was starting to wonder if he got lost. Probably having too much fun," I quip.
"How... much did you really see and hear earlier?" Midnight asks, her voice lowering in embarrassment.
I shrug, playing it off as nothing. "I don't really think it's that important. I already forgot," I answer. "But I do think you look pretty good with a ponytail if that means anything."
She bites her lip, looking around anywhere other than me. "I might do that once in a while. Not for you, obviously, just... I sort of like the look, too."
"Fair enough. What do you say we head downstairs and see where we are with the Cutlass, huh?"
"Alright."
I give her a smile of reassurance before getting back to my feet and turning for the door.
"Wait."
Midnight's command stops me dead in my tracks. I spin around just as she trots up to meet me.
"Something else?"
Without a word, Midnight spreads her wings, mindful of their size in relation to the confines of our kitchen. She takes a step forward, resting her head on my chest before her wings envelop my entire form.
Somewhat shocked at first, I relax, then put my arms gently around her neck and hold her close.
"Thank you, John."
What exactly she's thanking me for - well, that's sort of hard to discern. I would ask, but...
She already laid out so much more than I expected. It's best to just leave it at that. It's best to just support her however she needs me at this time, and however I can do so in the future.
"No problem, Middie."
The rest of the afternoon went surprisingly smooth. I could tell Midnight was putting forth an effort to engage in any sort of little conversation with Starla.
Starla was more than happy to oblige.
By the end of the visit, Midnight had been able to relax a bit more and actually show a few smiles and a bit of laughter. Before our guests left with the unanimous agreement that there would be another meetup with all of us, Midnight took a moment to thank Teddy for the necklace.
It was rather awkward - but it was a start. Definitely a night and day difference from when Teddy and Starla had arrived to the time they had left.
Junkyard work went by in a flash, leaving relaxation and dinner time the objectives.
Tonight is Hamburger Helper night - time to see if this is something Midnight would be enjoying, or tolerating. Chili mac doesn't go too hard in terms of exotics, so I feel confident.
While I have been dicking around with the stove, Midnight has remained seated at the island in her normal spot. She's been rather quiet, though I have to believe some of that is just due to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions she's been put through today.
"You doing okay?"
"Relatively speaking, yes. I'm just tired," Midnight replies, the fatigue palpable in her voice.
"Nothing wrong with that. Just surprised you've not said much, and I wanted to make sure."
"I get it. Today's just given me a lot to think about."
"I thought you said you think too much," I remind her in a light-hearted tone.
It at least gets a mild smirk out of her. "Somewhat of a paradox, isn't it?"
"A little bit. But it's not like changing your mindset is as simple as a snap of the fingers, either."
"I don't have fingers."
"Exactly - that makes it harder still for you."
"You know, that was a really awful joke."
"Wasn't wrong, though, was I?"
While she shakes her head, I tend to the browning ground beef that's sizzling away in the skillet.
"On a lighter note - and not because I want to tease, mind you..."
"Yes?"
"How did mane styling suddenly become a topic today?" I question, returning my attention to her.
Midnight is a little hesitant to reply - but she doesn't really seem offended like I would have normally expected.
The fact that she got along well enough with Starla reminded me that assuming Midnight's actions and reactions wasn't very helpful or productive. I need to keep an open mind, too.
"I was just curious about her hair. She doesn't have electromagnetism as I do, so I wanted to know how she managed to get it like that."
"And I'm guessing Teddy likes to style it for her?"
"Probably."
"You didn't get an answer?" I respond, scratching my head.
Midnight can't help but laugh just a bit. "No, because she took that as me wanting a demonstration of how to make braids. As well as other hairstyles."
"And you just left it at that."
Midnight casually shrugs. "One of the things she told me to try and do is to 'go with the flow.' Try not to question everything, just follow an interaction or discussion wherever it leads. I sort of thought it was a test, to be honest with you."
"Wow, she really had you jumping through loops today, didn't she?"
That came out wrong. Midnight probably knows it too, but that doesn't stop her from hardening her expression in disapproval.
"Sorry. I don't think enough before I speak."
"I could have told you that on day one."
"What I meant to say was she's really inspired you to make a change, just from one day."
"Well, yeah. Like I said - to meet someone else who has been through similar circumstances, but can get over it and find happiness without worrying about the next thing... it opened my eyes. She suggested a bit of it had to do with her having Teddy early on as support and I had basically nothing. Nothing but a revolving door of scientists and pencil pushers. I stopped paying any attention to them as they came and went - I probably couldn't pick out a single one from a lineup. I had me, and that was it."
Figuring the beef is good enough, I start adding the other ingredients to the skillet, before covering it up to let it simmer and cook the noodles. That done, I take a seat in my normal spot across from Midnight.
"I was reminded today about the first day we met," Midnight idly mentions. "I know it's really late but sorry for snapping at you back then."
There were a lot of short-temper instances in those first few days - most of it all blends together. But one does stick out.
"Was that the 'p-word' thing?" I tepidly inquire.
"Princess. And yes," she replies, nodding slowly.
"I never understood what that was all about, but I figured it was best not to ask. How did that get brought up?"
"Discussing each other's names and how they came to be. That was what they called me - never had an official name other than acronym jargon."
"Till the first day we met."
"Until that first day. Yes."
"I guess while we're on the subject of apologies, sorry for being a dick the first couple of days you were here living with me," I chime in. "I think we both know now I wasn't in a good mindset in general at that time, but I certainly wasn't receptive to giving a pony a chance. And then, of course, there's the antagonizing shit I did. So, sorry for... all of that."
"Guess both of us are sort of in the same boat, huh?"
"Needing to apologize? Yeah, I guess you're right."
But Midnight shakes her head. "No. Needing someone else to kick us out of our comfort zone and get us out of a rut."
"Hadn't thought of it like that... you sure Starla and you didn't just swap places? Or maybe she brainwashed you?"
"Maybe you need to shut your cock holster and give the food on the stove a stir," she calmly responds.
"Alright, that's definitely you."
I get up and tend to dinner, making sure things aren't starting to burn. It was starting to stick on the bottom...
"Do you still want to make this place closed to the public for the most part, or are you having second thoughts of that?"
"John, I'm willing to make a change for the better and give people a chance. That doesn't mean I want to become an all-out socialite," she clarifies, a little disturbed by my question. "Besides - there isn't any reason to stand around day after day waiting to go out and pick parts when we might see three whole customers in that time."
"I'm just gauging where you're at, that's all."
She sighs, her muscles going slack and letting her chin hit the counter with a thump. "As much as I try to pretend, my head is a mess, John. It really is," she mumbles.
"Middie, you said yourself you need to just stop thinking so much," I try to reason with her. "Today was an impactful day - you aren't going to come up with all the answers at once."
"I know. I just don't like having answers. And it's like my brain won't shut up about it."
"Just one day at a time, Midnight. That's all we gotta do."
She looks up at me, rather unimpressed with the response I have to offer.
I just have to give her a look of sympathy. it feels like this is a move in the right direction. But it is going to be hard for her.
And in reality, there's not much I can do aside from being a cheerleader.
It's a frustrating feeling. In some respects, it almost feels like a step back. But it is a new challenge.
And then there's the other bombshell. Midnight cares about me - but doesn't really know much about that 'caring.'
That brings so many more questions to my mind. Does it mean that she's considering what Teddy has with Starla? Maybe there was some discussion about that today, too - and she didn't want to divulge that detail.
I can't really ask about that bit. She has enough on her plate now.
I will have to wait - which was already set in my mind, but...
Well, it feels like the door may have been opened a crack, and I now have to restrain myself from peeking.
I really don't know how long I zoned out considering all of these new obstacles.
Turning to check on Midnight, I find her eyes glued to the countertop again.
This may end up with some uncomfortably awkward few days ahead while everything slowly shakes out. It's a sobering thought, after feeling like things had finally clicked with both of us finding our respective places.
I distract myself by consciously checking on the progress of dinner.
Looks pretty close...
But I feel the overwhelming need to get things back to normal. Even if only a temporary measure.
I spoon out a single, sauce-covered noodle and carefully pick it up with my bare fingers. Feeling Midnight's eyes gazing upon what I am doing, I toss the noodle behind me at the wall, before turning around.
It splatters against the white-painted plaster, leaving an orange-red stain at ground zero before it falls to the floor.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Checking to see if the noodles are done, duh," I say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Why not just try eating one?"
"Because it's hot. I don't want to burn my mouth."
Midnight stares, mouth agape as she tries to comprehend my excuses.
"I swear, you have to be retarded on some level."
"Didn't we already discuss this before? Of course I'm retarded."
As Midnight comes off of the initial shock of my antics, a relaxed smile slowly graces her face. She knows what that was all about.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me just yet- dinner isn't dished out," I say, turning off the burner and bringing the skillet over to the island. Setting it on a hot pad, Midnight takes a whiff of what awaits while I grab plates out of the cupboard.
"It at least smells decent enough," she comments.
"It's good, I think you will like it."
Author's Note
Confused by the sudden appearance of a chapter title?
This and any other titled installments are one-shots I alluded to in the comments previously. They're short little things that tie into the universe.
At least one of these little ditties is left up to the reader to consider it canon or not - and I'll mention that in another note once we get to it...
Shadow
I feel like I have a really good life. After all, I get fed daily without needing to do anything for it, a place to sleep and to play.
And plenty of friends.
But...
I do miss Shadow.
I remember when she first arrived... wherever we are. Never really thought about this being a place, and there being other places, but Shadow wasn't from here.
She was scared the first day. She didn't look like the rest of us. And there's quite a few of us.
Shadow's coat was a lot darker than anyone else's - super dark blue. And she was a unicorn - which was pretty uncommon.
Most of us are just regular plain ponies.
And she had other markings that stood out, from the blue and purple mane to the light purple mottling on her flanks. And another mark that I didn't recognize.
She had really pretty green eyes, too. Like emeralds.
I was the first one to greet her, excited to meet another friend.
It took a while for her to get settled in, but we took to each other right away. Kinda funny, since my bright orange coat and yellowish mane were sort of the opposite of hers.
I helped come up with her name - we all do that for each other, based on our looks. Like my name - Sunrise.
Shadow mentioned something about being meant to turn out like a show character or something.
...Luna? I don't know, but she apparently doesn't look like that. But her dark coat is sort of like the dark or the shadows created by the little suns set in the sky at night when they dim. Shadow fit her really well for a name.
The men in white don't really seem to care about names. They usually just point at one of us when they come into our pasture for something. Most of em aren't bad - some are actually pretty nice.
But the one guy that seems to be in charge - he's sorta mean. And he says some harsh and angry-sounding words a lot. I'm glad we don't see him very much - then and now.
Every once in a while, someone will take one of us for a checkup, or some sort of test - then we come back. Then we get to go back to playing around or just relaxing.
But I remember when Shadow disappeared for a long, long time. I figured it would just be like any other day- just a little while, maybe an afternoon.
I waited for her, hoping she wasn't too nervous. Shadow still got a bit worried about when others left for a bit. It wasn't so bad when I was with her though.
We were practically inseparable. Of course, we're all friends here.
But me and Shadow are besties...
I don't know how long it was until she came back. It felt like forever.
But then one day, she finally came back alongside the angry man who then disappeared like normal beyond the fence.
I was so excited and so relieved that she was back!
I galloped right up to her, expecting her to be so happy to see me after so long apart!
But Shadow was... She looked lost and kept looking around at things as I ran up to her.
She looked around like everything was new again.
"Shadow, you're back!" I cheered, unable to stop smiling or calm my voice. "I was so worried about you!"
She took a step back, staring at me as if trying to make sense of what I had said.
Or who I was.
"'Shadow'?"
"Oh come on, don't play those silly games right now."
"I'm not playing any games. Who are you?"
Hearing that question hurt. Because just from her serious face, I knew this was not a joke.
"I'm Sunrise. You know, your bestie?"
"'Bestie'?"
Shadow glanced around, those glimmering green eyes scanning the rest of the herd and the pasture.
"Your... best friend?"
"I'm sorry, I don't think I know you," she said, calm and without any emotion. "I don't think I've ever been here before."
"...Oh," was all I could manage, my head hanging at that painful statement. "What do you remember?"
She merely shrugged. I don't think she saw or understood the sadness I felt.
"Not much. Everything is mostly a blur until I woke up. Something was done to me, I guess? I really don't know."
Whatever happened to her must have messed with her mind. It meant having to start over like it was the first day we met.
I still held a little hope though. Maybe a familiar area or smell or sound - something could make her remember.
"Well, that's okay! Come on, I'll show you around. We'll be besties again before you know it."
"Isn't this kind of it?"
I stopped prancing around. "What do you mean?"
"I mean - this is it. This pasture, some trees, a few little houses. What else would there be? I can see pretty much everything from here - this is just an enclosure, isn't it?"
"I... guess? This is your home, Shadow."
"It... doesn't feel like it. And I still don't know about that name - are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else?"
Everything she said was so... I don't know, really.
It was like Shadow had become another pony. A pony starting over in a new place, but not nervous at all about it.
Shadow looked around again, focusing on something on a far wall.
"EquisCo. We're part of something. Like a business."
"Huh?"
I turned to follow where she was looking. It was a bunch of weird shapes way up there that have been present for - well, forever.
Do they mean something?
"Maybe - but come on, you must be exhausted. Let's go relax and meet everyone else, okay?"
"Maybe in a bit," was the bored reply. Shadow started looking around for... something else.
Like she was trying to solve a mystery.
"Okay... I'm gonna go get something to eat though - I'll be right over there."
"Okay."
Things never got better.
Shadow really wasn't Shadow anymore.
Something had changed in her. She always seemed to be thinking about something or had a paper of some sort she was studying.
Reading stuff.
I never knew anyone who could read other than the men in white.
I tried to get her to play with the rest of us, but it just never interested her for very long. It was like she could not just relax.
I don't know if I ever really saw her sleep, either.
And Shadow would come and go a lot with the men in white, as well. Sometimes for a whole day, even longer.
She always had something new to look at, to read. It sort of became the only thing she cared about...
"Come on Shadow, looking at that stuff has to be sooo boring. Let's play," I suggested the last day I remember seeing her.
"I'm busy - I was told this is something I should try to understand," she said, pointing a hoof to a book.
"That can wait until later, can't it? Come on, don't you want to run around with me - your bestie, Sunrise?"
"I don't know you. I told you that, I told you that just running around for no reason bores me. What else do you want?" she snapped at me.
"But Shadow, we're..."
"Just stop! I don't remember you from any before time! I don't remember any of this!" she shouted angrily.
It made me take a step back as she rose to her hooves. Being taller than me - or anyone else... it was a little scary.
"You keep telling me all of this like I'm stupid or something! All you do is ask me to play tag or hide and seek or something else all day every day! Or run around mindlessly, even after I tell you I have other things to do!"
"I just wanted to be nice," I replied sadly. "That's great that you can read and stuff now but... don't you just want to relax and have fun? Like we used to do?"
"I can't. I feel like - I can't stop thinking. I need to be occupied with something. I'm sorry, but this 'Shadow,' if she was me... I think she's gone."
"Don't say that!" I gasped, stepping toward her. "You just need to try to remember harder, just get away from... from... all of that!"
Shadow looked at the pile of papers and other articles she was given over time to study by the men in white. She shut her eyes and grimaced as if she was in pain.
"Shadow..."
"Shut up! Just shut up, I can't take this!" Shadow shouted, raising a hoof to her head. "I'm not this pony you keep talking about, I don't - I can't just stop learning! I have to! I can't stand doing nothing! I'm supposed to learn things for a bigger purpose anyway! Just leave me alone!"
I don't think I've ever felt so sad and alone to hear my best friend say all of that. It was a pain I don't think I have ever felt before.
"Okay, I'll leave you alone then... I'm sorry - erm, whoever you are now."
"I don't have a name. If I do, I don't know it," she replied sternly.
Shadow settled back down, drawn back to her book like before, while I walked away.
I didn't want to, but I was clearly making her upset by trying to return things back to the way they once were. She was taken away later that day by the men in white.
I still had hope after a day away, something would change, and she would come back. Like those men had made a mistake with... whatever they did, and could undo it.
I asked a couple of times whenever the men in white came in, but no one would ever answer if they did know.
I never saw Shadow again.
I still have my other friends, and I still enjoy just being me and having a good time.
But...
I miss the games of tag Shadow and I played that could last for almost the whole day.
The afternoon naps in the grass.
Seeing her smile, those green eyes so full of happiness.
I miss my bestie.
I'm sorry things ended up the way they did. I don't blame her - whatever happened wasn't her fault.
It makes me a little worried that something might happen to one of us like it did Shadow. But like I told her - there's no reason to worry about it. Every once in a while, someone gets adopted to a new home, which is exciting and a little sad, I admit. I wish they would tell us before it happens. But at least no one has come back... changed. Lost.
Maybe I tried too hard to return things to normal, too.
I don't know. I just know in my heart I still miss Shadow. I've never heard anything about her since she was relocated.
I won't forget her regardless - I still think of her as my friend.
I hope Shadow is at least happy and doing good.
Wherever she is...
This is a very awkward situation.
I really don't want to embarrass Midnight - even though she probably thinks otherwise. But the meeting with Starla a couple of days ago really got my noggin joggin.
For quite possibly the first time, Midnight was interested in her hairstyle. More importantly - the way that she looked.
From someone who has admitted she abhors what she is - that's gotta be a positive step forward.
And I have decided to capitalize on that opportunity and promote it.
Now, it would be nice to have a proper occasion to surprise her, such as Christmas or a birthday. But Christmas is too far away for me to wait, and I have no idea what Midnight's actual birthdate is.
It's likely she doesn't even know that. A hazy memory of times before the experimentation phase combined with relative isolation has made sure of that.
Hell, how old is she? Obviously, she's an adult, just from her size and mannerisms, but...
That really doesn't matter - I realize I'm thinking myself off the rails.
This evening, I decided to make a quick trip to the store to get a mirror for Midnight - one that doesn't require her to head downstairs to the bathroom or use a kitchen appliance.
She really needs to take pride in herself. I feel like it would go a long way toward helping her adapt to a new life and a new outlook. So bashfulness be damned, Midnight is getting a mirror.
It's one of those tall mirrors designed to hang from a door. It limits where it can be placed, but allows a full-body view for whoever is using it.
Of course, the next must-have items would be proper hair bands and a brush or two.
...man, these are some really girly thoughts.
Maybe this is going too far. What if Midnight now thinks I'm belittling her? The last couple of days have been awkward enough. It's been hard to get any sort of conversation going - or argument, for that matter. Despite saying she was prone to overthinking things, she's been lost in thought and quite distracted.
It has gotten to the point I've had to repeat tool requests - which she is usually sharp as a razor to retrieve.
It was obvious this was going to be a long battle. But I didn't expect it to completely fuck everything.
Not that I blame her. It just sucks that after everything got comfortable, the two of us have sort of lost what we had going.
At the very least, I have tried to be mindful of my compliments and other comments, so as to not make her start overthinking those as some sort of come-on.
And now I have bought her a mirror to perfect her looks.
Perhaps this plan wasn't so great after all...
My other concern is Midnight doesn't come off as overly feminine. The thought has occurred that I may have caught her at that one in a million times that she decided to just try something.
But she did say she was considering wearing her hair in a ponytail from time to time...
No, this is the right decision.
Finally coming to a conclusion with my internal debate - despite having already made the purchase - I pull myself out of the Trailduster and grab the box out of the back.
I'm going to assume Middie has herself buried in something on the laptop again - meaning I will get some semblance of a surprise out of her.
Making the trek up the stairs, I balance the present while fiddling with the doorknob before sliding the box through the open doorway.
"Well that didn't take long," I hear Midnight comment.
"I told you I wouldn't be," I answer. I catch sight of her on the couch as I close the door behind me.
I remain mindful enough to turn the box so the side that faces her is the plain, unprinted cardboard facing that offers no clues to Middie.
Regardless of my caution, I don't think Midnight has pried her eyes away from the screen for even a second - she hasn't seen a thing. The TV is on, adding some white noise to my humble abode - but is otherwise of little interest to her, as well.
"You got a minute?"
"If I tell you no, you're going to proceed with whatever it is anyway," she says, looking over into the kitchen. Her eyes instantly spot the plain brown box I'm holding.
"What did you buy?" The tone of her voice is almost scolding as if expecting this to be something expensive and useless.
"Oh, suddenly you're interested?"
I take a few more steps, stopping in the walkway between the kitchen island and the wall.
"What is it?"
"It's for you, I will say that."
"What. Is. It?" she demands impatiently.
"If you're going to have an attitude, never mind," I haughtily threaten, turning up my nose. I give her a second to stew in silence.
"Don't be an asshole, John."
"Alright. But promise me one thing."
"Maybe."
"Don't get all broody and embarrassed."
"What kind of a promise is th-"
As she responds, I spin the box around to cut her off. Midnight's initial reaction is one of confusion - before she actually focuses on the print.
"Are you shitting me?" she laments.
"I said no broodiness or embarrassment, Midnight."
"I - well I never agreed to that," she says.
"It was close enough."
"Did you seriously go out and buy this tonight?"
"Yep."
"...all because of what you witnessed Starla and I doing?"
"Yep."
Midnight purses her lips, trying to come up with something else to say.
A drawn-out silence allows me to actually enter the living room and open the box.
"It hangs up on a door, so I figure you can decide whether the inside of the door in the kitchen is best, or either side of my bedroom door. I'll leave it up to you."
"And you bought this just for me?"
I shrug. "I mean, I guess I can use it, too. It really wasn't expensive, Middie."
"I - just... why?"
"Because for the first time, you were looking at yourself in a way that wasn't just negativity. You should be happy with who you are, and maybe exploring different looks will help with that," I explain, holding the mirror out so she can view her reflection. "It seemed like you and Starla at least had some amusement out of the experience - the least I can do is try to stoke that ember, yeah?"
"You pick the weirdest damn things to focus on, John," she remarks.
"You might have a point - but I'm really just trying to help you find your place in the world. That's all."
"So it isn't for you?"
"I already said that it-"
"I mean it isn't for you - as in, to enjoy the results?" she suggests.
"Stop concerning yourself with me - I said I wasn't going to make things weird."
Midnight doesn't seem convinced, giving me an accusatory glare.
Okay, so this wasn't the right idea after all.
"Midnight - I was trying to be nice, I saw an opportunity to get you something to help you out. I'm sorry if you think there are additional connotations to this gift but... well, should I just take it back?"
It really didn't cost me that much. But I will not keep something that Midnight thinks is a ploy to get me closer to her.
"...no."
Midnight slides off the couch, approaching me and her gift with uncertainty. She spreads out her wings, glancing at herself at different angles.
"I still can't help but find it a little weird you bought this."
"And you're free to feel that way - but it isn't a gift in the way you dread it is."
"I never said I dreaded that," she replies, almost instantly grimacing at her choice of words. "I just don't know how I should feel about this. It's just... odd."
"We're in an odd situation now. Partly because of me, and partly due to other factors. All I can say is stop thinking about it - as you told me you were going to try to do. Go with the flow, Midnight."
"I guess..."
"Would it have been less embarrassing if I had asked first? Or brought it up in the store the next time we went together?"
Midnight doesn't say anything. She just continues to look at herself in the mirror.
"Midnight."
"You know, maybe braids wouldn't look so bad. I feel like I'd just be copying Starla's style, though," she muses, acting as if she did not hear anything I said.
Rather than overthink it, I take my own advice.
"If you think about it, that would be a lot nicer to deal with on windy days when we're working outside. Maybe it's just an idea to keep around in the back of your head - assuming you can do it. I sure as hell don't know anything about hair."
"Well thank goodness for small favors. I would expect you to know jack shit about hair."
"Because I'm a guy, or because I don't have long hair?"
"Bit of both."
"What if I had long hair at one point?"
"Did you?"
"No."
"Then what the hell was the point of that question?"
"I dunno. I felt like it was a question needing to be asked."
Midnight rolls her eyes in response, spinning around and hopping back up on the couch.
"Any idea where you want to put this, or is that a decision for later?"
"Later. Probably on your bedroom door - back of the kitchen door, there's a bigger risk of getting smacked in the face if someone opens it - since that is purely an entrance door."
Satisfied with that answer, I lean the mirror up against the far wall for now.
"Hadn't thought of that," I admit, taking a seat in my normal spot on the end. "Honestly, I wish you hadn't, either."
"...what?"
"It would have been good for a laugh the first time it happened."
Midnight goes from an expression of confusion to 'Are you kidding me' in the blink of an eye.
"I never specified a person or pony that had to be on the receiving end. Don't look at me in that tone of voice."
"There's one particular individual that would be more likely to suffer being the butt of the joke."
"Well, shit happens," I say with a shrug.
Midnight turns her head away from me, levitating her laptop over.
Without warning, she flops over, her head resting on my leg and her mane virtually burying it.
Um... What.
"You know I'm not a pillow, right?"
"I'm not going to go searching for one. Blame yourself for not buying any - though the mirror is nice."
I cast a glance over to the other end of the couch. Where a small pillow lies unused.
"I'll put it on my list of shit I habitually forget to buy."
"You ready?"
"Can't be any worse than the last time, can it?"
I stare at Midnight, unamused by her feeble attempt at wit. I can tell it's more of a negative thought than an actual joke.
Midnight relents with a sigh. "Fine. Sorry."
Tonight is attempt number two at going out to a public place outside of the truck. This time, it's dining in at a local restaurant...
Alright, so it's a step or two above dive bar territory - but the food is pretty good. There are folks that genuinely come here for a meal in addition to the bar patrons.
There is a decent place with Italian food not too far away but - well, that would come off kinda like a stereotypical date, wouldn't it? And that's food just a bit too jazzed up for Midnight's taste.
A date night is not what this is about, and I made sure to explain that to Middie.
Repeatedly.
She might have understood it the second time, but five times doesn't hurt anything, right?
...alright, so I'm also feeling a little nervous.
It's a multitude of things combining together here. There is the whole idea of dining in with a pony - that might come off as a little funny. Really, I should be over that by now, but it remains a nag in the back of my head.
There's also the matter of this being the first public test of what Midnight has been trying to change with her attitude.
And then there's me. And her. Trying to sort of dance around each other.
Or maybe it's just me doing that.
For instance, take the night I came home with that mirror. For whatever reason, Midnight suddenly decided to lay her head on my leg for the rest of the night.
Why? I dunno. I was hesitant to ask.
Other than a minor stupid comment, I mentioned nothing of it, nor did she. The action was not repeated on any ensuing nights.
Was she just sort of... feeling things out? Seeing what being closer together might be like? Did she expect me to do something, like comb or play with her mane?
I wanted to...
Maybe I fucked up. Or it's all in my head.
God damn, it is aggravating.
I want to ask so many questions, but I'm afraid of what that could unleash. Midnight is not as volatile as she once was, but there is no mistaking she's in a vulnerable position while she works through her mannerisms, her emotions - everything.
I care about her. I care more than I can right now. It's a sobering reality, and it's one I need to keep in focus. I promised to keep that shit in check, and I will do so.
Clear of those conflicting thoughts, I find myself already opening one of the doors to the restaurant entrance, holding it for Midnight to step through and join me in the lobby. I peer around the dim interior toward the more warmly lit dining room while waiting for someone to serve us.
Not too busy tonight, which is good. It is a weeknight after all - likely a much different story were it the weekend.
A younger man heads our way from a back corner of the dining room, wearing casual attire.
"Hi..."
No sooner does he greet us that his eyes fall upon Midnight, leaving him momentarily speechless with surprise.
"Hello. Two of us," I speak up, motioning to me and her.
That breaks him from the trance, offering a quick and apologetic smile.
"Right. Sorry about that."
"No offense taken. You aren't the first one to be shellshocked."
Now I'm the one caught by surprise. The calm and quite smooth comment from Midnight forces me to cast a glance at her. While the waiter leans down to grab a pair of menus from the pedestal, Midnight takes notice of my staring.
"What?" she whispers.
I wave my hand and shake my head to dismiss her uneasiness for the time being.
"Alright, follow me," the waiter directs us.
Weaving our way through tables, the waiter leads us toward a booth off to one side of the room. There are a few glances here and there from diners we pass en route, but nothing much more than passing interest.
Yet I do see Midnight tense up, her jaw clenched ever so slightly as she keeps her view pointed straight ahead.
After a quick rundown of specials while me and Midnight get seated, the waiter takes off to tend to another table, leaving us both alone for a moment.
"Was I just supposed to stay quiet?" Midnight is finally able to ask me. She retains the relataive calmness displayed thus far tonight, but I can hear a tinge of uncertainty in her voice.
"No, I was surprised, Middie. Now worries from me - that was good."
"Really?"
I can't help but chuckle slightly at her tone of authentic astonishment in addition to how she suddenly perks up.
"About as good as I've heard from anyone."
"Well, Starla recommended treating someone staring as a compliment, rather than a threat. That's how she sort of got over that initial stress."
"Not a bad idea at all. I suppose having several people gawking at once while walking back here was a bit beyond the scope of that thought, though."
"A little," she admits. "But I said I was going to try, didn't I?"
"And you're doing fine so far. Sounds like Starla talked your ear off with all kinds of helpful things, to be honest with you."
An amused grin crosses Midnight's face. "Well, it was her idea to come along with Teddy. Evidently, she overheard us on the phone a few nights prior. I guess she wanted to help me."
"Really? That's awesome - and makes more sense now. Why didn't you tell me before?"
I only get a shrug in response.
"Can I get you two started on drinks tonight?"
Our waiter appears again, making me painfully aware both of us have yet to view the menu.
"Just a small glass of water," Midnight replies.
"Ah, you got Coke?" I ask.
"Pepsi okay?"
"I can stomach it."
It at least gets some amusement out of the guy. "I do have to mention our ice machine is busted, so we don't have any ice - is that okay?"
"Hey, more soda and less ice sounds good to me.
"I figured - just making sure. Be right back," he says before hurriedly scurrying off.
"What do you recommend?" Midnight asks as her trusty old wire snakes its way out of her necklace chain to pinch the laminated pages of the menu in front of her.
"I dunno. Been a long time since I was here. Hell, I think they had a different name before."
"That's not very reassuring, John."
"Names change just based on owners - doesn't mean much. And I already see what section you're going to be choosing from."
Midnight shoots me a funny look before turning the page to where I currently am on the menu.
As expected, her eyes light up.
"Sirloin, ribeye, and a rack of ribs. Perfect," she says gleefully.
"There is no way you're gonna eat all of that. You'll probably tap out after one steak."
"Then we can take some home."
"Choose one, Middie. We have stuff at home."
She mockingly grumbles something under her breath. Meanwhile our waiter makes his way over with a tray of drinks.
"Here we go, Pepsi and a small water," he announces while placing each respective glass down.
Evidently, he took Midnight's request for a small glass to heart, as the size looks more appropriate for a toddler than anyone else.
"Are you ready to order?"
"Nah, give me a few more minutes, I was running my mouth more than my eyes across the menu."
The waiter nods and shuffles off yet again in the meantime.
Sirloin does sound pretty good - but so do ribs.
Maybe I will wait to see what Middie gets, then suggest a little trade with-
Midnight's abrupt hacking breaks me from planning.
"Hey, you okay?" I ask with worry.
Midnight is grimacing in discomfort as she drops her now half-empty glass of water back on the table. It teeters a bit but stays upright.
"What the fuck are they putting in their water here?" she manages to gasp.
"What?"
"That shit burns!"
I grab the glass from her side of the table and cautiously go to take a sip. But I don't need to sample the contents - just a whiff practically burns my nose hairs.
Strong, strong alcohol.
With Midnight's little outburst, the young man tending to our table rushes back
"Is everything all right?"
"She asked for water, not paint thinner," I chide, holding the glass out for him to sample a whiff
"Oh - ah shit, I must have grabbed the wrong glass!" he exclaims, putting a hand on his forehead in dismay.
"Then what the hell is that?"
"Probably my moonshine!"
The call comes from a burly older man several tables down who holds up his own glass of clear liquid. "Either that or they really water down their drinks here."
Jesus Christ, that dude got a hollow leg, or is he planning to go comatose? I can hardly tolerate the fumes coming off of it without my eyes watering.
"Can you get her an actual water - and maybe some breadsticks or something? I don't know how that's gonna affect her," I tell the waiter, pausing a moment as I watch his face turn from mild concern to confusion.
Oh, right. Probably expecting her to be a bot - and alcohol meant nothing to her. I ought to be thankful he's not viewing me as a complete loon with my current level of distress.
"She's a prototype. Dialing up the realism a bit more on these things, you know?" I whisper to him.
"Oh! Yes, absolutely. I'm really sorry," he replies upon my 'revelation', profusely apologizing a couple more times before darting for the kitchen.
I'm glad that Hail Mary loaded with bullshit worked.
"People actually - ugh, enjoy that stuff?" Midnight asks, still reeling from the stiff drink.
"Sometimes - or just the after-effects," I reply. "Guess you were too thirsty to take note of the smell - I take it you've never had alcohol of any kind, huh?
"Does gasoline count?"
...
"You've drunk gasoline?"
"No, I'm just being a smartass like you would be," she replies with a smirk, grimacing a bit yet again as she clears her throat.
"Well, you're probably gonna feel weird and loopy, considering that was some strong shit and you haven't eaten anything today since breakfast."
"Fantastic."
Our waiter comes back with a larger glass of I would assume has been double-checked to be water, along with a basket of Texas-style garlic bread.
"I am so sorry about that - bread is on the house," he apologizes.
"It was an accident, I get it. Thanks," I say with a sigh, feeling a bit tense now regarding Midnight's well-being.
She'll probably be okay... right?
After mindlessly ordering something following Midnight, I pull out my cellphone and shoot Teddy a text.
He will probably know.
I already have my car keys in hand in anticipation of this being an emergency.
"Midnight, try some of the toast."
"That really doesn't sound appetizing," she says, looking over the golden bread with a healthy bit of skepticism.
"I don't want you completely fucked up - you need something in your stomach now."
"You mean other than fire?"
"Yes."
Middie cautiously snags a piece and takes a nibble, while my eyes stay glued to the phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Just... checking something."
"With a death grip on your phone? Bullshit."
"Fine. I'm asking Teddy if alcohol is something to worry about with you."
"...do you think it is?"
"I don't know."
"What did he say?"
"I'm waiting for an answer."
"...how long will that take?"
I don't know if this is Middie just being a pain in the ass or worried herself, but it is not helping me at the moment.
Thankfully, my phone dings as if on cue.
'She will be fine - may hate herself in the morning though. lol!'
Thank God.
"You're going to be fine. Just possibly suffer a hangover, depending on how your tolerance is."
"I've heard that term, but what is it?"
"Which one?"
"Hangover."
"Basically regret all decisions from the night before, swear off alcohol entirely. Also includes headaches, upset stomach, among other things. Just generally feel like shit."
"So why do people like alcohol?" she asks, mildly dismayed by my description.
"Loosens em up, gets rid of inhibitions, I guess. Forget stress and life troubles," I respond while trying some of the free appetizers.
Pretty good.
Midnight is almost finished with her piece - evidently, she likes it, too.
But I begin to wonder if we should just nix the evening out. In the back of my mind, I worry about what Midnight is like under the influence of alcohol...
What if she's one of those people -
Er...
What if she gets angry and belligerent?
"Midnight, did you want to just go?"
"What? Why?" She almost sounds hurt by my question.
"I guess I'm just a little worried about you. Alcohol makes people do dumb shit, and I don't want there to be a scene or anything like that."
"No, I'll be fine. I don't really feel anything other than... I just kinda feel good, I guess."
Midnight grins with that statement - an expression that is more relaxed and carefree than normal.
There's no mistaking the sign. It begins.
"Alright, just checking. Just uh... well, I guess this will be interesting."
Midnight snags another piece of garlic bread and munches on it. "This is actually pretty good - do we have any crunchy flavored bread at home like this?"
"Can certainly get some - I didn't expect you to actually like it."
"Surprise, I do," she says with a giggle.
I don't even know where to go with a conversation. Just by the unfocused look in her eyes, the moonshine is already starting to kick her hard.
Damn lightweight.
Then again, that stuff would more than likely put me on my ass.
"Sooo..."
I wait a moment as Midnight pauses, apparently in thought as she freezes.
"What's up?"
She shrugs. "I unno. I forgot," she says, her brow creasing as she continues to think.
"That's alright. Shit happens, particularly when you're drunk."
"Do you ever drink?"
"I have once in a while," I admit.
She stares at me - sort of. There's a fog in those eyes coinciding with a slight sway of her whole body.
"Liar."
"What?"
She leans over the table, poking me with a hoof.
"I dunno what it is, but I can - you're lying to me about that, I can tell," she slurs, narrowing her eyes with disapproval.
"Okay, I used to drink a fair amount."
"And then you stopped? Why?"
"Because you started living with me."
"...oh."
Midnight returns back to her side of the booth, blindsided by that answer. "Why though?"
"I don't really know. Sort of didn't trust you at first, then it was the mystery about you, our stupid little discussions - just never felt the need to crack open a bottle, I suppose."
"And you trust me now?"
"Should I not?"
"I unno."
Riiight.
"You're weird when you're drunk."
"You're weird all the time. Ash-hole."
"Well, at least you didn't call me an asshole," I tease her.
"...what did I say?" she asks, dumbfounded.
"Ash-hole."
It takes a second for that to register with her - but she ends up snickering at it.
"That was so stupid. Why is everything so... fuzzy?"
She starts looking around the dining room in awe, her mouth agape.
"Midnight, you're drunk."
"No," she gasps, turning quickly to face me. "This is drunk?"
Out of the corner of my vision, I see our waiter making his way toward us carrying a large tray.
"Food's here," I warn Midnight.
"Oh, that's right! We ordered food!" Midnight cheers, clopping her front hooves together repeatedly in excitement.
Holy shit. She's a glitzy, happy drunk.
I stifle my laughter the best I can while Midnight oohs and aahs as both plates are laid down.
"So... I take it the alcohol has kicked in?" the waiter asks, a mixture of slight amusement and palpable anxiety.
"A little bit."
"Again, I'm really sorry about that. Usually with ice water - well, there's ice. I got complacent."
"I know. Shit happens. Food looks good though, thanks."
"Of course. Let me know if you two need anything. Enjoy!"
"Is this really for me?" Midnight asks as the waiter departs.
"Yep. And that might help with diluting some of that moonshine in you, so dig in."
"That was goood," Midnight sighs with contentment.
Despite my initial fears, the night ended up being a good one - and not just because of the food.
Pleasantly, Midnight is quite docile while under the effects of alcohol - something I hadn't anticipated.
Now, that isn't to say I want to make this a habit or prefer her when she's drunk. It's just been mildly entertaining and has gone better than expected. There were a few times I had to remind her to use an indoor voice - but no one really seemed to mind.
Now, as the two of us leave...
...Midnight isn't walking too well.
"What the fuck, why is the floor swaying?" she whines in the midst of her struggle.
"Midnight, you're drunk."
"Sho? What's that got to do with... whatever I said?"
"You want me to carry you to the truck?" I ask her as she nearly trips over her own legs.
"I'm fan - fine. You worry too much shumtimes." Her wings, normally tucked neatly away on her sides, have flared out just a bit. A feeble attempt to right her poor balance.
A few other patrons look on with mild amusement as the two of us make our way through the restaurant.
"No karaoke tonight?" I hear called out from the bar.
Surprised by the odd question out of the blue, I stop and turn.
A middle-aged woman behind the bar tries to hide a smirk as she passes off a glass to a patron in front of her.
"What's car-hockey?" Midnight asks.
Oh no.
"Well, you come up over here, pick out a song, and the lyrics on this TV screen help you to sing it," the bartender explains, motioning to a small platform by the bar where the TV and microphone are set up.
"...I wanna try."
"Midnight, are you sure?"
"Yesh. I said I need to try to open up and stuff - maybe trying this would be a good shing."
"What's your name?"
"Ma-hidnight," she hiccups back to the woman. "Midnight, sorry."
I don't want to take advantage of her current state. We really should get out of here. But Midnight is already weaving over to that corner.
I pass by the bar before the woman makes her way around to help Midnight get started.
"What are you up to?" I ask her quietly.
That grin she's been trying to hide breaks the surface. "Giving the two of you a push. Trust me, I see and hear a lot about strained relationships - I know one when I see it, and I've seen you two all evening over there off to the side," she muses.
I don't know if that's meant to be a snide joke or what...
"That's not-"
"How does this work?"
Midnight's question distracts me long enough to give the bartender a reprieve, and she seizes the opportunity to circle around the bar and over to where the mare stands.
"Do you know what song you want?" the woman asks as she turns on the machine's screen and begins toggling through menus.
"...no. I don't really know much."
"That's alright, I'm sure I can come up with something for you..."
Dammit, way to misread the situation, lady. Or she's doing this for her own amusement - I don't know. I want to yank Midnight away from this and head home, but she seems genuinely excited...
When her inhibitions and mental blocks based on logic are swept away, she's a lot different. But I'm afraid of this night getting carried away now.
"Oh, this is perfect! " the lady crows, turning away from the screen just enough to flash me a cheeky, mischievous grin. "So when I hit play, this will start playing the music - just the instrumental though. When it's time for the lyrics, they will pop up on this screen, and highlight in time when they should be sung, into this microphone," the woman explains, pointing to each significant piece as she mentions it.
"Wooow."
Midnight looks astounded by the wealth of information delivered to her. Likely on a delay.
At least she seemed to level off during dinner in terms of intoxication.
I never did hear what kind of moonshine it was she had - in particular, the alcohol content. But moonshine hardly ever goes light...
With nothing else to do, I take a seat at the table nearest Midnight's little stage.
Oh boy, this be wonderful if she somehow remembers this excursion. I briefly consider taking a video with my cellphone...
No, I don't have a death wish. I'm already pushing my luck not physically dragging her out of here.
As the bartender leaves Midnight to the whim of the machine, the music starts up.
What did she pick...?
Oh. Oh god.
Midnight's glazed eyes light up at the sound of the intro. "Ahahaha, thish is the song you sing with the radio in the shower!" she says, pointing a hoof at me.
I play stupid while chuckles and giggle fits of laughter filter in from those present who have come to the attention of the impending spectacle.
Alright, the gloves are off now.
I snatch my phone from a pocket and set it up with the salt and pepper shakers on the table and start recording.
Midnight's already starting to sway with the beat. Or maybe the room isn't holding still for her in sync with the music. But her eyes dart to the screen when she notices the words pop up.
"I wasn't jealous before we met..."
Her hoof stomps down with authority on the ensuing line, getting into the song.
She's... actually not doing too bad. Midnight is no Agnetha Fältskog, and there's a bit of slurring here and there, but she's got a nice voice when she gets into it.
Yet I can't help but feel a little warm as a couple of inebriated people at the bar yip upon Midnight reaching the chorus lines for the first time. If that wasn't enough, I note how Midnight ogles me with half-lidded glowing eyes and a small smirk.
Well then.
I readjust my seating position and my shorts while Midnight twirls a bit, readying for the next verses.
How many times did she hear me sing this damn song in the shower?
Midnight waltzes over to me unsteadily with the next verse, then skips back to the screen.
I can't help but wonder...
How much of this is the alcohol, and how much of this is the "caring" part of her that she doesn't understand?
"Unsatisfied, I skip my pride - I beg you deeeeear!"
Again, Midnight stumbles off the stage and sashays over to me.
"Midnight-"
"Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on meeee!"
The happy, giddy smile on her face tells me she's enjoying every bit of this as she does her best to dance and frolic with a compromised balance.
I glance over to the bar as the instrumental kicks in. The lady at the bar waves to me and Midnight - and offers a sly smile.
Goddammit, miss.
I turn back and find Midnight with her back turned to me just a couple of feet away, swaying with the beat. Her hair and mane bounce lightly with every movement, highlighted by the lights overhead, while her tail swishes back and forth opposite the sway of her flanks...
I swear she's doing this on purpose now...
Again, she hops up on the platform, barely missing the lip with her forehooves.
Her eyes dart to me again as the song lyrics continue, and it's an almost predatory look.
She glances back over to the screen as the music swells.
"Cause everything is new! And everything is you! And all I've learned has overturned! What can I doooo?!"
As she goes to move toward me again for the chorus, her luck runs out. Midnight misses her step and goes sprawling out onto the floor in a half-tumble. Her chin and underside smack the floor with an audible thump upon the hardwood.
The graceless flop onto the floor leaves her eyes unfocused with the shock.
"Midnight!" I shout, rushing over to her side.
"Ow..." she says, dazed as the music carries on without her. "Wha happened?"
"I think it's time to go home, Midnight," I tell her, brushing away a few stray hairs from her face.
"Kay."
She stumbles and slips as she tries to pick herself up - but I've seen quite enough tonight. I reach over the table and grab my phone, then hook my arms under her barrel and lift.
Once again, I find her surprisingly light - or at least lighter than I expected.
With some finagling, I manage to twist her around onto her back and cradle her in my arms as best as I can, given her size.
I barely make note of the laughter, murmurs, and applause as I head toward the door and push it open with my foot.
"I can walk..." Midnight mumbles. She squirms a bit - a token attempt, anyway.
"You already took one nasty spill tonight, I'd rather not repeat that," I offer as a rebuttal. "How are you feeling?"
Her eyes focus on me, finally sweeping away some of the fog that fall had injected into her noggin.
"Okay, I think. Still feel kinda... fuzzy."
"Alcohol fuzzy, or concussion fuzzy?"
"You worry too much," she says with a giggle. "It's still the moonshine."
She glances around the parking lot a bit, before focusing forward. Midnight still has a bit of wit about her or is at least coming to, for the passenger door of the Trailduster opens with the faintest click as I approach.
"So you aren't completely smashed, huh?" I ask her cautiously while elbowing the door the rest of the way open.
"I think... maybe the dancing helped a little bit? Or the fall. I dunno."
I set her up in the seat, making sure she wasn't about to fall before closing the door and circling around to the driver's side.
Climbing in, I find Midnight staring intently at me. Or the best attempt at an intent gaze.
"What?"
"Was this a date?"
"Huh? No, I told you it wasn't."
"Oh yeah."
I crank the engine while Midnight turns to look out her window.
"It was fun, wasn't it?"
"Memorable, I know that much," I remark with a chuckle. "I didn't expect you to be a good singer."
"Really?"
Before we get moving, I look over to Midnight, drawn by the cheeriness and optimism in her response. Her ears have folded back a bit as she bashfully looks up at me from a head-down position.
Jesus, she's adorable...
"Not lying. I thought you did really good."
"It felt right..."
She suddenly looks conflicted.
"What's wrong?" I ask, taken aback by the sudden shift to a more negative tone.
"Starla said something about how I act. Like being around you triggers incest."
...
"You wanna try that one again?"
"Er, insects. No, instincts. Instincts!" she cries as the right word finally tumbles out.
I still don't really know where she's going with this. I'm not sure I want to, since it's drunken rambling.
"Midnight, you're still drunk, whether you want to admit it or not," I state, taking the opportunity to brush aside a few strands of her deep blue and violet hair that has obscured her left eye from me.
"I know. But... maybe she's right. Maybe I don't realize it, but..." She flicks her head a bit, tossing her messed hair back in an instant so I can see her face.
"That song... kinda felt good to sing. It felt right."
As much as my heart begins to race and my mind begins to run through the lyrics and the impact behind the words...
As I said to myself seconds ago, she's not all there right now. This is the alcohol talking.
I already feel like I've taken advantage of her a bit tonight, and feel bad for how her song ended...
Reading into this as anything other than a tipsy mare with a conflicted mind would make me feel like a piece of shit.
"Why don't we go home, sleep this shit off, and see what tomorrow brings, yeah?"
Midnight smiles at my calm response, though you can't help but feel like she's masking a hint of sadness behind it.
"Okay."
With that agreement, I finally set off for home. Midnight sits back in her seat, looking like the head rush and the burst of energy from earlier has been sapped away.
I can't help but quietly chuckle.
"I think we've both had enough excitement tonight."
It's rather early the next morning when I initially wake up. On the couch, no less.
With as hard as the alcohol hit her last night, I put Midnight in my bed.
She settled down on the drive home, saying very little as the adrenaline wore off and the intoxication began to make her more fatigued and sluggish. By the time we got home, she was on the precipice of sleep.
Like leaving the restaurant, I carried her inside - and took her straight to bed. I didn't last much longer into the night before I fell asleep.
Now, at six in the morning, my phone dings. Awfully early to be getting messages...
It makes sense once I grab the device and wearily glance at the illuminated screen.
'Memory Full - Video Capture Stopped'
Fuck. I never shut off the recording after Midnight's performance. However, my concern when grabbing the phone was Middie's well-being and getting her home.
Still, I feel like a dumbass.
Straight-up deleting it is not an option - that spectacle was too good to not remain in video format for future viewing pleasures. Hell, I could probably blackmail her with that.
Why I would or for what purpose is up for debate. Regardless, it was cute as fuck.
I'm gonna have to figure out how to cut the video down. While I'm not completely lost when it comes to working with computers, video editing is something I have never touched.
Oh well, maybe after just a few more minutes of sleep, I will look into it...
The next time I open my eyes, sunlight is streaming through the one window that offers a view outside from my living room, behind my head.
Another glance at my phone...
9 AM. Good timing.
Sitting up, I'm pleasantly surprised that I don't have any noticeable aches in my body. The couch is old as hell and really doesn't offer much in terms of support. Maybe it was just luck this time.
But my next thought is to check on Midnight. She's probably still asleep, but just to be sure...
I lazily shuffle across the carpet to my bedroom door. I push it open as quietly as possible, though the aged hinges still creak just a bit.
That sound, even though slight, garners an accompanying quiet groan emanating from the bed. A mass lays under the covers, huddled up and hidden away from the world.
"Midnight?" I quietly call.
Another groan, this one a bit louder as I spy movement.
"Not feeling too good this morning, I'm guessing."
"Death would be a welcome gift," she mumbles in a pained voice. "Where the hell am I, and what time is it?"
"I slept on the couch, you slept in my bed last night," I explain, pushing the door open just enough to slip through and wander over to my ailing friend. "It's nine in the morning - you apparently decided to cocoon yourself under the covers."
"Oh."
"But I wouldn't recommend-"
Before I can complete my sentence, Midnight raises her head and tosses the covers aside with one sharp movement, her eyes already open. Once the light shining in from the window above hits her pupils, she instantly regrets that decision. She lets out a tortured cry as her hooves quickly cover her face and she falls back to the bed.
"I should have spoken a bit faster."
"Why does everything suck this morning?" she whines, her voice muffled from the bed she lays upon as well as her hooves covering her head.
"Hangover. I figured today was going to be rough for you," I console her, reaching over and lightly patting her blanketed back.
She recoils a bit but settles back down. "How long am I going to feel like this? It feels like the worst case of illness I've ever had," she says, pausing a moment. "Or the day after a 'procedure'."
"You're probably gonna feel like hell for a fair bit of today. Sorry, Mid - I think you need to take the day off from work."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Sleep, rest, and hydrate. I think I'll be fine on my own for one day."
"I guess. I do still feel a bit tired..."
"What do you remember from last night?" I ask, curious to hear her side of the expedition.
"Well... I remember going in and having that awful drink," she is quick to recall. "I sorta remember having dinner and talking about... stuff? I don't know. I do remember being told to quiet down a couple of times."
"You got a little loud once or twice - otherwise, you were fine," I reassure her. "I have to say, you're quite the giggly chatterbox when you've had a stiff drink."
"Yeah, the end result is really worth it," she grumbles. "Sounds like you enjoyed me making an idiot of myself."
"No, I enjoyed seeing you enjoy yourself," I clarify. "The idiotic behavior was a boon. Just curious, anything else you remember?"
Midnight is silent, giving me the time to stand up and move to the window, closing the blinds. The room falls into shadows before I sit back down.
"Sun is gone."
Midnight cautiously moves her hooves away from her face, ensuring my words are not a cruel prank before gingerly raising her head. Her face betrays a feeling of utter confusion.
"Did we... dance last night?" she asks hesitantly.
"I didn't, you... sorta did."
"I feel like there's more to it than that."
"Very long story - might be better to explain the whole thing later. But anything after that?"
I shouldn't be pushing on. I don't why I am. I'm well aware it's a selfish reason that I keep asking. But I have to know - does she remember the discussion in the truck?
What she said to me?
As much as I want to be patient about this...
My stomach is in a knot. I need to know. Even though I know it was the alcohol talking.
There's always a chance it was more than that...
"I remember getting in the truck... maybe talking a bit on the way home? It's all kind of a jumbled blurry mess after the meal, John. Why?"
I make sure to keep as stone-cold as possible on the outside, for fear of making Midnight concerned. What she said to me really isn't something she should be worried about.
I know my boundaries. I'll get over it.
"Curiosity. You were pretty smashed, so I'm not surprised that your memory just ends there - thank goodness you didn't down that whole glass. Half a glass fucked you up more than enough."
"Don't remind me, asshat."
She lays her head back down on the mattress and closes her eyes.
"Sorry. You know I really didn't mean for that to happen."
"You didn't do anything wrong, John. It was that stupid fucking waiter."
"I know - but still, doesn't mean I can't feel bad for the wicked hangover you're fighting, right?"
"I suppose - thanks."
I give her another light pat before getting up.
"Anything you want before I go downstairs and open up shop? Some water, possibly something light to eat?"
"Ugh, I don't think my guts can handle anything other than water."
"I'll fill a big thermos or something with cold water and set it on the table there."
I head out into the kitchen, fumbling through the cupboards for the largest drinking vessel I possess. I come up with the mentioned crappy old thermos fairly quickly, and after a generous amount of ice, I fill the rest with water and bring it back to Midnight.
"Get some rest. If you need anything, just give me a holler, okay?"
"Your bedside manners are a lot better than mine were when you were ill," she comments quietly. Almost sounding a bit guilty.
"Eh, you've learned a lot since then. No worries."
With that, I ease my way back out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Time to officially start my day - without my copilot. So odd to think that way when I consider how things started out. We have both come a long way. The business has come a long way.
And yet I still yearn for more. I can't lie to myself about it.
Last night was magical - but it wasn't real. And I'm glad I didn't seize the moment and take advantage of the situation, especially since she doesn't remember shit.
I did the right thing. But to hear what she said last night, how it felt right to say those things and then have no clue the next day...
It's like being told I've reached the summit of a mountain, only for the clouds to clear and show I've only come to an outcropping at the base of the peak.
All I can do is push on as friends - which is still good. Just not what I had hoped. At some point, I'm going to have to show Midnight the video of her dancing and singing, though.
She deserves to know I took that.
Oh, it will be glorious. And perhaps result in a missing finger or two.
Worth it.
Alright, so maybe I am stupid - at least when it comes to doing anything with computers. That weakness is rearing its ugly head today as I try to figure out how to trim down the video from last night.
Oh sure, the internet says it's easy - just download this free program! Then hit the goddamn paywall when actually trying to use the software for anything other than viewing the video.
With the solitude afforded by a run-of-the-mill slow day, I've been piddling around on the shop PC. It isn't terribly outdated - but the laptop would be better for this task. It just runs so much faster, and there are some compatibility issues with some of the stuff I find.
But using the laptop is a dangerous proposition, as Midnight uses the computer more than I do. I don't know if I can get this done today, and I can't leave that on the laptop for her to find.
Of course, I am going to show it to her at some point anyway...
Maybe I'm just overthinking things? Midnight could probably help me with this task.
One thing is certain out of this whole day thus far. She really is the highlight of my otherwise dull life. This would just be an otherwise ordinary day before her, and I would not have batted an eye at the quiet solitude I'm sitting through now.
But now? This sucks. Even on her worst days, Midnight was a good distraction. Now we both get along better, so there are plenty of actual discussions, debates, banter...
Just her being there off to the side, in what I've just come to dub 'Middie's Corner' is a comforting feeling.
But I don't have that today. Furthermore, I have forced myself to not check on her - it's a hangover, after all. Being disturbed while going through that the next day just makes it worse.
I still worry a bit. However, I also find myself wondering about her actions and demeanor when drunk.
it was quite a startling change. Giddy, excitable, chatty, and open to trying new things. And perhaps just a little dimwitted.
Makes me curious if that's how she used to be - a sort of peek into the past when she wasn't cybernetically enhanced. It doesn't matter - but it's an intriguing idea to consider.
But I would not want to repeat the experience to probe her mind. Who knows what all she's seen and forgotten - things that could just as easily be dredged up even as the night becomes a blur.
Out of sheer boredom and having made no progress in video editing, I just start playing the video from last night for a chuckle. Honestly, I lucked out on how quickly I was able to set up the phone.
At almost the perfect angle, no less. The video really did turn out great despite it coming from a rather dated phone.
One thing I can't help but focus on now - Midnight really knows how to swing that thing...
Damn.
Her voice still sounds just as good as it did to me last night. I never took her for a singer. But she pleasantly surprised me.
Then again, that's sort of been her thing this whole time, hasn't it? Midnight is full of surprises, once that tough exterior she wears has been allowed to relax. Obviously last night, this was aided by substance.
"Hey, dude?"
Fuckfuckfuck.
I quickly close out of the video before looking up at my sudden unannounced guest.
It's a guy in probably his twenties with long unkempt hair. Even beyond that, I can't help but take note of his slovenly looks. While I may have at first considered this man was homeless, the pungent odor of marijuana coming off of him as he steps up to the counter, and laid-back, indifferent demeanor toward me says otherwise.
Holy shit, did he smoke a whole fucking plant before coming in here? Or did he just finish fingerblasting a dead skunk?
"Sorry, can I help you?"
It appears to take a moment for my greeting to make the connection in his brain.
Yeah, he seems like a genuine stereotypical burnout.
"Yeah, yeah. Hey, I'm looking for a hood and front bumper for cheap?"
"Depending on the condition and car, I can go pretty cheap. What car are you needing parts for?" I ask. Putting my early judgment aside, I bring up the catalog on my computer screen.
"A Cobalt, I think? Chevy, right?"
...really? Did he miss the vintage auto parts bit on the sign out front?
"Sorry, this is a junkyard for classic and older cars. I don't do new stuff like that."
"No, it's not new, man," he says with a slight laugh. "It's like ten years old or somewhere around there. I hit a car in a parking lot, messed up the hood and stuff."
"Yeah, when I say old, I'm talking pre-nineties cars."
"Holy shit, that's like ancient, dude."
God damn...
"Okay, but I don't have anything out back in the yard that will work for you. Sorry."
"Could you at least have someone look? No offense, dude, but you're just the counter guy - starting out on the bottom rung, you know? I get it man."
Despite a poor attempt at a chuckle toward the end, I don't find him amusing at all.
"I'm the only employee here - because I own this salvage yard, and I know it like the back of my hand. I can't help you - I don't have any parts for a Chevy Cobalt. Thanks for stopping, have a nice day."
Admittedly, I lay the sarcasm on just a bit at the end, and stoner boy takes notice.
"Well, you don't have to be rude about it. I'm a paying customer."
"You haven't bought anything, and I've told you twice I don't have your parts."
"You didn't even look, bro!"
"Because I know I don't have it! Do you even know where the hell you are?"
"Fuck you dude!"
"Get out of here before I make you regret stepping foot in this garage."
Both of us jump as Midnight's voice growls out a warning. I turn and crane my neck, finding Midnight at the top of the landing above us, leering at the "customer." She still doesn't look particularly steady standing there...
"Really? You're one of those weird dudes that keeps ponies?" the young man snickers. "Wow, couldn't imagine being that lonely to need a cute little pony bot to keep you happy."
Quick as a whip, Midnight snaps her wings open, leaping and gliding down to the floor just a few steps away from the guy. Her eyes glow brightly as she bares her teeth.
Astonished by either her speed or her looks, the burnout backs up several steps.
"Get. The. Fuck. Out," Midnight snarls, taking a calculated step forward with each word.
That intimidation maneuver is all it takes for the fool to scramble off and around the corner without another word.
Midnight exhales deeply, closing her eyes and grimacing.
"You didn't need to do that."
"No, but I was headed down here anyway, and I didn't see any reason for that little pissing contest to drag on longer, John," she explains.
"Middie, I got it under control - you don't need to be down here," I console her as she steps up to the counter. "Just rest."
"Oh no, I'm not down here to work," she retorts. There's a biting tone in her voice as her eyes narrow with suspicion upon me.
Uh...
"What's wrong?"
"A curious thing happened as I woke from a nap and decided to fetch my laptop from the living room," she says, beginning to pace in front of me. "I would have sworn - before hearing your little squabble, mind you - that I heard my own voice from somewhere down here. Care to explain that odd occurrence?"
"You... heard that?" I ask, slumping with shame.
"It isn't like your home is soundproof - what else is there to make noise upstairs if I'm trying to nap and relax in peace?"
"I guess when you put it that way-"
"Stop bullshitting me, John. I have a pounding headache still antagonizing me and I'm in no mood to dance around a fucking answer," she coldly interrupts, her eyes beginning to glow again as her ire builds. "What was I hearing? What happened last night? A short and concise answer here would serve you well."
The jig is up - I was hoping to just show her because it would be...
Would it be any better to see it than explain it? I took a video of my friend completely smashed, singing and dancing in front of an audience.
It sounds worse now when I really think about it - while I'm backed into a corner.
"You got drunk last night, and when we were trying to leave, the bartender suggested karaoke to you, which is singing along with a song. And you really wanted to do it."
"So you tell me no, how hard is that? Are you really that spineless?"
"You just - I just wanted you to enjoy yourself, Mid."
She rears up and plants her hooves on the counter across from me, narrowing the gap between her and me.
"So me enjoying myself in a compromised state also includes videotaping me for future laughs? Is that what we're getting at here? Do you really want to keep digging your grave?"
"I only ended up recording it because you sort of embarrassed me by mentioning the song that came on was the one I sing in the shower occasionally. So I guess that was my little way to get back at you later, between you and me. I had no intentions of sharing it with anyone else, and I still don't."
"And why are you watching it down here?"
"I'm trying to trim it down to just the singing and dancing. Left it recording all night because I was in a rush to get you home."
"Why?"
"Because you tripped and fell, and I was worried."
Midnight is silent as her questioning ceases - but she doesn't dare to take an eye off of me.
"Midnight, I know that you're mad, but-"
"Shut up, John. Just shut the fuck up before you spout something else to piss me off," she warns, her voice full of hurt and betrayal. "I don't know whether I should believe that's all there is to it. If I were you, I would leave that video as is, and we will watch it tonight. I feel like it will be pretty obvious if you've fucked with it - unless you already started deleting shit."
"I haven't gotten that far. Can't seem to find a program for free that will do-"
"Leave it, John."
I just nod my head silently as her bright blue eyes begin to return to normal. She drops back down to the floor without another word, making her way back to the stairs.
"Midnight, I'm sorry," I apologize as she starts to climb her way back up to our living space.
"Are you really? Or are you just sorry for getting caught?" Midnight inquires, keeping her eyes fixated on the door at the top.
"...both."
"That's about the smartest answer you could have had," she replies emotionlessly. "I'm going back to bed, and I hope you don't have any other secret pieces of media to peruse because I'm keeping an eye and ear open now."
"That's all there is. I swear."
Midnight looks down at me as she reaches the landing above, her muzzle creased with a deep frown as she leers in disapproval.
"Perhaps try focusing on being constructive with your job rather than fuck around with stupid shit, John," she suggests before the door behind her opens and she slips inside.
Well, that was nice work, dumbass.
I really touched a nerve and hurt her with this stupid stunt. I don't have anyone to blame but myself. Suddenly, the amusement of that video isn't palatable to me.
Needless to say, I'm going to heed her advice and leave it alone. But I hope that somehow, I can smooth things over with her tonight - and regain her trust.
Yeah, turns out I'm really stupid.
What a miserable day.
After the confrontation with Midnight, all I could think about was how to make things right. How to apologize enough for my fuckup. I have yet to come up with any idea in that regard.
Part of the problem is I don't know what she's most upset about. Should I have declined her wish to try karaoke? Does the video bother her? Does she feel like I am trying to hide it all from her?
... it's probably a combination of all the points put forth. Why try to split hairs at this point?
I have told myself that repeatedly, as well as reiterating that there was nothing to be done at this point in time.
That has not helped.
Yet now, both Midnight and I sit at the kitchen island, across from one another as we finish eating dinner. Beef stroganoff Hamburger Helper.
"Well, what did you think of that one?"
Midnight mulls her answer while finishing up the last few bites on her plate. "Not bad. I wouldn't say it is a favorite of mine, but I don't dislike it," she finally responds.
There is a sense of relief that she doesn't seem to be actively holding earlier events against me too harshly. However, a legitimate discussion has been difficult to muster with that pall hanging over our heads, whether we want to acknowledge it or not.
She is clearly feeling better in a physical sense though - especially considering she has an appetite.
"So... should we confront the elephant in the room now?" I finally suggest.
"Personally, I didn't think you were that fat, but if that's how you feel..."
Midnight trails off with nothing else but a smarmy grin to offer, fangs and all.
"Well, that's better than wanting to tear me limb from limb."
"I'm still not happy with you, John - I will admit to that," she says, returning to a more serious demeanor. "It's pretty damn insulting to find out someone you trust took advantage of the situation at hand for a few laughs."
"I didn't... that wasn't what I had in mind at the time. But that doesn't make it any better," I admit, slumping my shoulders. "I don't know - I don't really have an excuse, Middie. I felt a bit insulted that you mentioned I sing in the shower in front of everyone there, so I guess that was retribution in my mind. Just a video between me and you."
"Wait, what song was it?" she asks cautiously.
"The ABBA song."
"Oh for fuck's sake - why that one?!" she exclaims.
"The bartender picked it out - hoping to help our 'strained relationship.'"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Midnight, I'm not making any jokes about this situation or what happened. I swear on it. But I think she just wanted free entertainment for the night. I'm not sure."
She groans in response. "I really don't get society. Are pony and person relationships more common than I was led to believe?"
"Teddy is the only one I know of - believe me, I was surprised by that bullshit she fed to me. But again, I think it was for her own perverted pleasure."
Midnight doesn't seem particularly thrilled with my response but has no rebuttal to offer.
"So, should we watch it now, or later?"
"Now - either the laptop or the TV," she replies. "Just get this over with. I suppose I have a sort of macabre interest in this, to see how much of an ass I made of myself."
Midnight turns and slides out of her seat, trotting over to the couch and opening up the laptop on the coffee table.
Meanwhile, I fetch the empty dishes on the counter and place them in the sink, giving them a passive rinse. Circling around and heading to the couch, I take my normal seat, right beside Midnight.
It takes a few moments after hooking up my phone to download the video onto the laptop because it's such a massive file - thanks to my stupidity.
That little wait is a tense affair, even with Midnight's surprisingly mellow attitude tonight.
I would ask why she's not so upset as earlier, but I don't feel like tickling the dragon's tail would be a smart move. I should just be thankful she's not harboring a grudge.
However, the migraine and general unwellness she felt earlier having now dissipated would be my guess on her shift in attitude.
"So, why is this such a big video, and what were you trying to do with it?" Midnight inquires toward the end of the transfer.
"It kept running after you took a tumble and I got us out of there and headed home. I just quickly picked up my phone off the table - I never thought to stop it. So it ran until around 6 this morning."
"That was intelligent."
"My focus was on your well-being, you ass," I shoot back without a thought.
Midnight is taken aback by my shot across her bow, eyes widening just a bit. She hesitates for a moment before offering any sort of response.
"Touche," she finally comments, relaxing as her vision returns to the laptop's screen.
Man, Midnight is getting harder and harder to read as her edges have smoothed out. I never really know what I'm going to get in terms of attitude. I suppose that is a step up from total hostility.
It just makes for some unsettling moments - especially when I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
"Now, before I start this, will you promise me one thing?"
Midnight gives me a look of pure skepticism but stays silent once again.
"Warn me before you hit me."
She scoffs. "If I get that mad, I'm just going outside for a while."
"Fair enough. You just want to watch it on the laptop?"
I catch sight of a cable snaking its way along the floor toward the coffee table, before arching up and plugging into the side of the computer.
"If you're going to leave HDMI cables laying out, you could at least use them once in a while," she sasses.
"I forget about that thing."
"Except when you trip over it."
Grabbing the remote and flipping on the power, the TV screen lights up, and I begin cycling through the inputs.
"Any idea which input it is?"
"The one with the laptop screen on it."
"Very helpful, thank you."
"Always happy to lend a hoof, stupid."
I turn to her, unable to leave this alone any longer.
"You're in a chipper mood tonight despite this potentially upsetting media - you were pretty angry earlier. What changed, Middie?"
She looks a little uncomfortable with the question, averting her eyes from me.
"I don't really know... I guess I just sort of decided it wasn't worth brooding over?"
"Are you telling me, or asking me?"
"I - just be thankful," she replies curtly, her wings ruffling with discomfort.
"I am. It's just been a surprise," I remark, patting her back. Rather than jump just a bit like normal, she sort of leans back into the motion.
"So, you ready then?"
"I suppose. I swear if you share this with anyone else-"
"Who the hell am I going to share it with?"
Midnight doesn't respond, merely motioning with her hoof to get this rolling.
Reaching over to the touchpad, I move the cursor over to the file and open the video.
It starts playing right away, picking up just as the tempo picks up at the beginning.
Next to me, Midnight cringes at her drunken swaying form on the screen.
"Relax. It gets better."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"You're a pretty damn good singer if I'm to be completely honest with you."
Midnight has nothing to say to that comment, though her slumping form and her ears laying flat against her head says all I need. Again, I reach over and pat her for reassurance, just as she starts to sing on the video.
'And I'm possessive, it isn't nice!'
A few whoops caught by the phone in the background get a groan from Midnight.
At this point, I feel it's best to just leave her alone. Meaning I can just enjoy the show.
And what a show it is. She does as well as I remember, both with the moves as well as the voice.
Once again, it gets a rise out of me...
Thank god for pillows.
Midnight takes notice of my quick pillow snatch.
"Seriously?" she asks, unenthused.
"Hey, I can't help it. You were sort of being a tease."
She rolls her eyes but has no rebuttal.
As it goes on, I note how Midnight herself seems somewhat captivated by the performance. She doesn't glance over at me anymore, merely soaking in the sights and sounds from the camera lens of a phone.
Is she...
Midnight is mouthing the words as it goes on. It's very subtle, but there's no denying she remembers the words.
At least she doesn't seem so embarrassed anymore. But of course, the time comes when Midnight takes her spill off of the stage.
I have to grimace with empathy as I watch the tumble again.
"I guess that's why my chin hurt a bit today," Midnight muses.
"Yeah, I'm sorry I let you get that carried away. You don't remember any of it?"
"Maybe a little bit now," she admits quietly. "That was... something, wasn't it?"
"As I said, I was impressed."
"And apparently turned on, pervert."
"I wasn't the one swinging my derriere around, Middie. I can't help that."
She fidgets nervously at that, her eyes returning to the black TV screen after I've jammed the phone into my pocket.
"That's it though. My dumb ass just never turned off the phone, so it just kept recording."
'What?'
'Was this a date?'
I go to stop the video - well, audio, but Midnight slaps my hand away with a hoof.
'No, I told you it wasn't.'
"Midnight, this is just drunken rambling now, this was what I wanted to delete."
"I want to hear it."
It's my turn to feel uncomfortable, but I sit there and deal with it as the conversation goes on awkwardly.
'Starla said something about how I act. Like being around you triggers incest.'
'You wanna try that one again?'
'Insects - no, instincts!'
'Midnight, you're still drunk, whether you want to admit it or not.'
The aforementioned mare sits next to me in the present, staring down at the coffee table and focusing on the words.
'I know. But maybe she's right. Maybe I didn't realize it, but that song felt good to sing. It felt right.'
Hearing this the second time, I now notice the wistful desire in her voice.
Midnight does as well, as she slumps just a bit more in shame.
'Why don't we go home, sleep this shit off, and see what tomorrow brings, yeah?'
The drop of that line instantly draws Midnight's eyes over to me.
"What?" I ask, unsure of her thoughts.
"You didn't... you just ended it there?" she asks, sounding lost and confused.
"Well yeah. What the fuck was I supposed to do, turn on the charm and take advantage of your compromised position?"
"But right there was... that's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"You really think my goal was getting you in bed for happy fun time? I respect you way more than that, Midnight," I sternly tell her.
She doesn't say anything, her attention going back to the laptop. Without a word, she starts skipping around through the rest of the time bar.
"Middie, that's it. It's just us coming home and going to sleep."
'This couch is more comfortable than I remember.'
Midnight's drunken and fatigued voice on the video stops me or her from saying anything else.
'That's because you're sleeping in my bed. You need it with as awful as you're probably going to feel tomorrow.'
'It smells... nice,' her voice coos, inhaling deeply.
I spy Midnight turning to look away just as I do from hearing that awkward comment.
"I told you that it was just drunken rambling, Middie..."
"Yeah..."
'Where are you going?'
'Sleeping on the couch.'
'But this is your bed. You don't want to sleep here...?'
'Get some sleep, Middie. I'll be fine on the couch.'
'Okay...'
The door can be heard closing, then a brief bit of light as the phone gets taken from my pocket, then sat on the coffee table.
'That mare is gonna be the death of me if she gets drunk and tries that again. Holy Jesus.'
With that line, the video abruptly halts under Midnight's control, who turns away again and stares into the kitchen.
"Midnight, I wasn't trying to embarrass you. I'm sorry for taking that video."
Nothing.
"You see why I wanted to cut it down now? Alcohol makes people do and say off-the-wall shit."
"No."
It's a firm command... but one I don't understand.
"John, I'm smart - but there are things I still don't understand," she says after a brief moment of silence.
"Well... Midnight, no one knows everything," I console her, albeit cautiously and more than a little perplexed.
"I know that."
"Alright..."
Silence. Neither of us move.
"Is there something you want me to do?"
She rises up from her seat, dropping down to the floor and ambling away.
"Midnight?"
"I'm going to go outside for a bit," she laments as the door to the shop floor opens.
"You sure you're okay?"
I'm left helpless to watch as she slips out the door in the kitchen, the latch barely making a sound behind her as the door eases shut.
Fuck...
I don't really know what she's thinking, and it makes me uneasy. I should have just deleted the damn video - there is no reason for it to exist.
Hell, I should have never recorded the fucking thing.
Now... Well, now what?
What is she trying to understand? What is she thinking now?
As much as I hate to face the music, I will have to wait to get the answer from her.
Man, I've really fucked this whole thing up.
Hopefully, it's not a permanent fuckup.
I awaken to an awful cramp in my back. It takes a moment before I realize I fell asleep on the couch in an awkward position.
Smooth move.
Arching my back to get the muscles stretched out, I jump as the moonlight filtering in through the window illuminates Midnight's form sitting just a couple of feet away on the floor.
"What the fuck?"
The exclamation brings just a bit more light into the living room as Midnight's luminescent eyes creep open to focus upon me.
"You're in my spot," she comments in a quiet and numb tone.
"So you just decided to sit there and watch me sleep like some sort of weirdo?"
"Shut up," she replies with a stab of gruffness, turning her nose up at the accusation. "Why are you sleeping on the couch, anyway?"
I take a moment to sit up and gain my bearings before answering.
Actually, why am I sleeping on the couch?
I remember watching Midnight leave - feeling nervous and uncomfortable about the whole situation...
And then I just fell asleep?
I guess it was a long day...
"I just drifted off, I guess. Waiting for you to come back and... well, here I am now."
"What, you didn't think I was going to return?"
"Not necessarily - I was just worried. You left pretty abruptly and without an explanation."
Midnight brushes past me to take a seat on the couch.
"Was there something I was supposed to say before excusing myself?"
I have to just shrug, not having a response to that question.
"I needed time to digest... all of that."
"I'll say it again - I'm sorry I recorded you. I wasn't trying to be an asshole, I just... well, I don't know what I was trying to accomplish."
"I would say I'm mad at you for that, but... I'm really not bothered by it, John. Obviously, I was at first, but I sort of got over that."
...
"Isn't that why you went out, because you were miffed at me?"
In the light of the moon, I can see Midnight shake her head.
"So... where do we stand? On all of this? Because I'm shit at reading the situation."
"I don't know," she says hesitantly.
"Then where is your mindset on all of this? Obviously... well, there's nothing obvious here, other than something is on your mind."
"I'm trying to understand... things. In a way, I'm kinda glad you took the video because I see you aren't trying to take advantage or force something... between us."
She fidgets a bit with the uncertainty of those last words.
"I told you that I wasn't gonna try anything funny after our discussion regarding how I felt about you."
"There were still doubts in the back of my mind," she sighs rather forlornly. "It's not so much a lack of trust specifically toward you, it's just a result of everything I've been through."
"I get that."
With my agreement, the room falls silent. The clock ticking away on the wall is the only sound that reaches my ears.
"I was very drunk, John."
The statement sounds more like an attempt to convince herself than to reiterate the situation to me again.
"I carried you to the truck. I know you were absolutely shit-faced. Don't worry about what happened."
"I'm not worried about it. But I can't pretend it didn't happen, and there were things that I said when I was drunk."
"Most everyone starts saying dumb shit when they get alcohol in em. Been there, done that myself."
"Have you ever had a moment of clarity while drunk?"
"I... not that I remember. But I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Middie."
Once again, Midnight squirms in her seat.
"I mean I don't remember everything that happened after our food arrived, but watching that video, listening to my dumb ass sing and skip around, and then the short discussion in the truck... I can't just say that was nothing. I can't sit here and deny that everything was just the result of a drink. Because I don't think it was."
I wait patiently for my friend to collect her thoughts, trying not to draw early conclusions.
"John, you are someone I feel attached to, that much is obvious. I've not had any friends that I remember, so this has all been new to me. Understanding connections. Trust. It's still something that I find somewhat foreign. My mind wants to put everything into a concise and understandable form - and I just get angry and irritated when I can't do that."
She suddenly lets out a chuckle, an odd mixture of light-hearted and bitter tones.
"And then that song. That goddamn song I've heard you sing on multiple occasions in the shower - because apparently, you think I'm deaf."
"Hey, you could have told me any time that you heard me and I would have been embarrassed enough to stop then and there," I correct her.
Even in the dim room, I can see the smirk that's formed on Midnight's face.
"I found it amusing, to be honest. Such an odd song for you - a man - to be singing. A single man, might I add."
"Is there a point to this, or are you just trying to make me want to crawl under a rock and never come out again?"
"Stop being a fucking baby. Yes, I have a point," she curtly replies, letting some of her normal attitude slip in.
"Then what?"
She stares at me for a moment without a word.
"I was very drunk that night, John. But I can't lie that hearing that song, me singing it, and what I said in the truck... there must be some truth to it. As much as I try laughing off the notion that I could ever consider a... thing - between us, that Starla could be right about how and why I act around you... I don't know."
I just have to stare back at her incredulously while my mind tries to wrap itself around her explanation.
Is she serious? Is this just a joke to get back at me?
It doesn't seem like it...
"Will you fucking say something?" she pleads quietly, clearly feeling the pressure of the silence in the room now.
"I... don't really know what to say, Midnight. What should I say about that?"
"I don't know... I figured - well, I don't know what I expected. But silence wasn't it."
"This is just all from reliving the video?"
"It's... mostly that," she hesitantly replies.
"...I don't really know."
"Alright."
We both sit here on the worn couch, waiting for the other to speak up. The timepiece on the wall continues to tick the seconds away.
"So, with all of this out there... what does it mean? With us, I mean?"
Midnight takes a deep breath, holding it for a spell.
"It means as weird as I still think it may be, there might be something to look into. Between us," she says in a quick exhale.
"Are you fucking with me right now?" I ask, unable to help to be a bit skeptical.
"What? Fuck no, why would I be screwing around about this?! You think that was easy for me to say?!"
Midnight's voice abruptly reveals how flustered she really is underneath, if her ears pinned back against her head weren't already a decent indicator.
It took a lot for her to say that.
"Sorry, I guess I'm just - well, it's surprising to hear," you reassure her. "I really am just at a loss for words."
"Alright."
She doesn't sound particularly convinced or is still just feeling the stress of spilling her guts to me.
It's hard to tell. Still, she really needs a bit more than words...
Ever so slowly, I reach around her back with my right arm and gently pull her a bit closer to me.
"You're fine, Midnight. Remember, we're both kind of in an awkward position. So pardon me for being a little quiet."
"Okay."
It's another short answer, but I can tell there is a hint of relief.
Hell, she already knew how I felt. Was she seriously this worked up about how I would react?
"...you aren't going to try to kiss me or anything like that, are you?"
I pause before answering that.
"Not unless you want me to. In my mind, I'm playing to your limits, if you're serious about actually... well, working toward what Teddy and Starla have."
"A relationship."
"You said it, not me."
The rebuttal garners a snort from Midnight as she leans in and bumps me with her shoulder.
"How did we go from hating each other to even considering this?"
"To be fair, I never hated you."
"Alright - barely tolerating each other's presence. How about that, smartass?"
"The phrasing doesn't really matter - I still don't have an answer for you."
"You're just being a jackass now."
"Remember what you told me the night after Starla and Teddy's visit? 'Be John.' So I'm living up to that promise."
"Uh-huh. And what if I choose to 'be Midnight'?" she challenges in a teasing manner. "What if I make you work for this despite what I've said tonight?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way and you know it, Middie. Keep those fangs."
The air in the room feels so much lighter than it did when I woke up.
Physically, nothing has changed. But I feel like I've fallen into a new reality.
One that I relish exploring... at Midnight's pace, of course.
"You know, as much as I'd love to just stay up and chat, we probably should get some sleep. Or at least I should. But you gotta work tomorrow, too."
"Good, because laying in bed all day was really boring," Midnight comments.
So today wasn't fun for either of us.
With that, I slowly get up off the couch and shuffle off toward bed.
"Where are you going?"
I turn to look at Midnight, who sits expectantly at attention.
"My bed? I fell asleep by accident on the couch, and my back isn't very happy about it."
"Yeah, your bed is more comfortable..."
I narrow my eyes at her, knowing she can see the face I'm making in the dark.
"Are you agreeing with me, or hinting at something else?"
"Shut up," she says defiantly, turning her head away from me. "I'm just saying your bed is better than the couch."
Really?
"...did you want to sleep in bed with me?"
"That just sounds weird."
"Would you like to sleep on the same bed as me, as friends with space in between and no funny business?"
"...I guess I could do that," she replies after a moment of hesitance. Despite the act, she's all too eager to drop back to the floor and plod to my side.
"You really are going to be a pain in the ass, aren't you?" I joke.
"You want me to be me, don't you?"
"Can I take back what I said?"
"Nope."
"Well, that's bullshit."
"Enough with the bickering - I thought you said you needed your beauty sleep?"
"I said I needed to get some sleep. That isn't going to help me look any better."
I watch Midnight's eyes scan me up and down for a moment in the darkness before disappearing as she turns and heads into my room.
"Eh, I've seen worse," she says quietly.
It's been a few days since the little midnight heart-to-heart. Honestly, things haven't changed too much. Not to say that's a bad thing - quite the opposite, in fact. But there really haven't been any further discussions about... us.
However, Midnight has occasionally been using my shoulder or leg to rest her head. On one occasion, I messed with her mane when she was being particularly fussy about something. I got a glare that could have cut through steel for that stunt. But she didn't yell or say anything, so maybe that's part of the game?
Nevertheless, I didn't want things to be turned upside down overnight, so the constants remain nice. But the few notable changes are nice, such as waking up next to her.
Well, not right next to her. That would just be weird, wouldn't it?
Her words, not mine.
However, wasn't that the point of the whole breakthrough? Being closer?
Ah well.
But Midnight actually is right next to me this morning. She's sprawled out on her side facing me, with one hoof lying on my arm.
I twist around just enough to get a look at her face...
She's still soundly asleep. God damn is she cute.
As soon as she wakes up, I know I'll hear an excuse for why this happened.
That's alright. Being able to gaze upon her and marvel at her up close is worth it.
As much as she's been through and all the tests and experiments, she still looks gorgeous, with no hint that some of her features are synthetic. But just the features she was born with...
How the hell did they get those colors? As much as I enjoy looking into her eyes, her mane is quite something in itself. After all, blue with violet streaks is not a particularly common hair color...
Well, other than crazy people.
I've only had the pleasure of messing with it twice, and honestly, I could easily lose my hands in it without realizing it. It's that silky smooth.
And she's got quite the bedhead this morning. The wildly mussed hair only makes the sight even more adorable.
Whether it be by chance or a slight movement I made, I spy Midnight's eyelids slowly fluttering open to let the morning light in. Still somewhat glazed over with sleep, her eyes lazily peek around, before honing in on me.
At that point, they get a little wider.
"What are you doing?" she mumbles, trying to put a bit of gruff in her voice. It falls rather flat.
"Laying in my bed. What are you doing?"
"Wondering why you're laying so close to me."
"I'm not, though."
"Bullshit you aren't," she says, retracting her hoof away from my arm and using it to poke me in the side.
"Do I need to put down tape lines to mark boundaries and prove you wrong?"
Midnight raises her head sluggishly, looking over me to my side of the bed and what little space I have to the edge. She has to straighten her body to gander behind to her own expansive side of the bed for comparison.
Then her focus returns to me. "What the fuck?"
"Told you."
She quickly scooches over to put space between the two of us.
"What, you're afraid I'm gonna bite now?" I joke. "You seemed content enough to be beside me while you were sleeping..."
"...I must have gotten a bit cold last night," she muses quietly.
"Probably. It did get down to a chilly seventy degrees last night," I comment with a shit-eating grin crossing my face.
Midnight's face twists as I call her out on the excuse. I can practically hear the gears twirling in her head as she comes up with the next best reasoning.
Yeah, not gonna happen.
"You know I'm not judging you, right?"
"Why would you be judging me for a mere coincidence?" she suggests.
"Midnight."
"What?"
"Relax. Isn't shit like this the reason we talked a few nights ago?"
Midnight mulls that question for a moment as I take the opportunity to comb some of her mane with my fingers. Initially, she tenses up at my gesture... But the hesitance fades quickly enough.
"I don't like feeling... I'm not a wuss," she says slowly.
I have to hold myself back from scoffing at that, reminding myself this is a genuine issue for her. Even after months, she's fighting with the idea of letting someone else in.
Rather than reply with some sort of inane comment about understanding, I continue my ministrations with her hair.
"What time is it, anyway?" she asks after a short spell.
"Early enough to not worry about getting up yet. Just think, another week or two, and our focus is spending the day pulling parts, rather than standing around."
"How will you cope with having to actually work all day?"
"You're right - you might have to do most of it," I threaten.
"I figured you were going to answer with something like that."
"Hey, I'm just doing my part."
"Oh, being my personal hairdresser?" Midnight quips, finally alluding to my current fascination.
"You got it all fucked up, Middie," I say, scolding her in jest. "Were you just rolling around on the bed all night? Is that why I woke up before you did?"
"Yeah, well..." Midnight trails off, trying to think of a comeback. Or anything in response.
"Remember what you told me about how you overthink things and it ends up riling you up?"
"...I need to stop rationalizing everything."
"Yep."
While she answered the question for herself, Midnight's face still scrunches up in mild irritation.
"I don't think you realize how difficult that is for me."
"I have a vague idea. But when it comes down to it, what's really bad about this? What are you trying to rationalize?"
I can feel the mattress shift underneath us just a bit as Midnight merely offers a shrug to my question.
"Don't be coy. I'm trying to help you."
"Playing twenty questions is your way of helping me?" she responds, raising an eyebrow.
I stop fiddling with her hair, pulling my hand back far enough to hone in on her snout, booping her right between the nostrils.
She snorts and recoils a bit at that. "Hey!"
"I'm trying to help us both understand why you're so... well, uptight."
"You want me to be your concubine?" Midnight retorts, an edge to her voice.
"No. I want you to not be so adamant in keeping to yourself. Lean on me - metaphorically and literally."
"Ugh, you keep pushing that," she grumbles, rolling her eyes as she pushes away from me a bit.
"I am. But I'm curious - do you feel better or worse about life since the day we first met?"
"Do I even need to answer that?"
"No, but that proves my point, doesn't it?"
Silence.
Midnight studies me for a moment, before shuffling back to a position closer to me.
"I hate you," she mutters.
I can feel the heat radiating from her face as she blushes underneath that midnight blue fur. Rather than respond with a snappy comment, I reach over her form with my left arm and gingerly rest it upon her side. The hand itself finds an area of her back between her wings to tend.
"I know you do."
"...you don't take me seriously anymore, do you?"
"I do. But I refuse to hate you."
"I meant my threats."
"Oh. Not really, no."
"I feel like you're making me lose my edge."
There it is. The pinch of worry in her voice combined with the frown of uncertainty chiseled into her muzzle makes it clear this is also a major sticking point for her.
"Midnight, you know we've been around each other for a while now, right?"
"Yeah, I can't get rid of your clingy ass. I don't want you rubbing off on me."
"I'm serious, Midnight."
Midnight shuts down any other remarks she has in store for me as her face softens.
"Midnight, I've been around you long enough to feel comfortable around you. So no, I don't have this fear you're going to harm me or you're dangerous because I know you give a shit about my well-being, as I care about yours. But that's me we are talking about - you scared the shit out of that stoner a few days ago."
I'm not sure how well that does to get my point across, but Midnight remains quiet even as I pause. She seems to sense I'm not done explaining.
"Midnight, you don't need to act like a hardass all the time. I understand that's how you've managed to come this far to where you are now, but... well, is that all you want out of life? An image?"
"You really know how to say that in a demeaning and shallow way," she huffs.
"All I'm saying is I know you well and you know me. There's no shame in letting that tough mare relax a bit in private. While I realize that night we went out you got drunk, it let another side of you come out that I've never seen. The macho mare is still renowned in the public eye and as much as I love the snappy back-and-forth interactions we have, I want to get to know the mare behind that. Does that make sense?"
"...maybe."
Even though her agreement with my reasoning sounds hesitant, I feel the tension in her back muscles practically melt away.
"Consider this a new chapter in your life, Middie. You got a home, you got someone to talk to, and who cares - you don't have to fight twenty-four-seven. Just like how I can act like a dumbass, I can be serious and display a fair amount of intelligence. I'm still the same person, just different facets of me and different moods for different situations. You said you couldn't deny that what you said that night - what about how you acted? All alcohol does is wash away inhibitions, Middie."
"You can act like a dumbass and you can be serious, but I'm going to call bullshit on the last claim about yourself regarding intelligence," she remarks with a smirk.
While I would normally go along with it, this conversation has become heavy for me. I bite my tongue, keeping a stoic face to show this conversation is serious business. I don't want her hiding behind shallow jokes to avoid this.
I want to see her be able to relax.
To have fun.
To feel love.
"I'm not going to just sit back and be this happy-go-lucky bubbly mare, either," she warns before her hardened face softens up a bit. "But I don't know. I do have more than I expected to have at any point in my life. It's an actual life now, not just... living. But it's hard to just... let go of that mindset too, you know?"
"You'll get there. I'm not asking you to change yourself. I'm trying to help you find yourself," I explain, moving my hand back to her hair. "The fact that you're willing to acknowledge what I'm saying means a lot."
"Maybe you aren't as stupid as you seem sometimes," she says quietly. "But now what? Are we gonna get up, or just lay here all morning?"
"We can get up. You're gonna have to pull me up, though."
"I gotta do everything around here."
"Because you're good at getting shit done."
"I suppose you're good at being a sap."
"And someday, you'll learn to be sappy, too."
"I think you just need to stop talking now."
Interesting... That wasn't a no. For now, I enjoy this morning's small victory.
"I'm all done."
"Done?"
"Done."
"As in..."
"Finished. Completed one hundred percent, ready for your viewing and use," Midnight elaborates as she plops the laptop onto my lap.
After weeks of fiddling with layouts, entering in information, and piecing everything together, Midnight has finished compiling all the cars our yard has and where they are in the yard in one neat file.
And holy shit, is it a piece of work.
I have not seen much of her work in progress, as Midnight was dead determined to keep her creation under wraps until the very end. Sure, I managed a few glances - but it was always an inopportune time. More often than not, I was greeted by a page of gibberish or a wall of text - or at least that was all I could make out.
But as I hover the cursor over various squares, another window pops up with information on what car is located there, along with VIN and other information.
It's one thing to hear about this being planned out in words. But to actually see it is astounding.
I can say that I know my own junkyard by the back of my hand - but this will make sure that what I believe is back in the yard is truly available for parts.
"Midnight, this is amazing."
"Oh, I know," she replies in an attempt to reclaim her arrogant, nonchalant visage. It doesn't work, as she is turning almost violet with how deeply she is blushing.
"I'm serious, Mid. I could have finger-fucked this keyboard for two years straight and still wouldn't have come up with anything like this. Take the compliment - you did a hell of a job."
"I appreciate it. There was a lot to learn as I progressed with the whole spreadsheet. You probably could have done it - give or take ten years."
"Give me more credit than that, damn."
"John, you're technologically retarded. That's the cold hard facts."
Well, I can't really argue with that. But I also don't really put forth an effort when it comes to shit with computers, either.
"You're feeling savage tonight, huh?"
"I haven't really roasted you in a while. I have to make up for that, don't I?" she says with a devious grin.
"I can kick you out of my bed if you hurt my feelings too much."
That cocky grin fades quickly as she narrows her eyes.
"You wouldn't."
"I dunno, you can keep trying your luck..."
"You don't have feelings anyway."
"Well, no - feelings are gay. But if I did, and you hurt them, then I'd kick you out."
"Interesting way to save face," she comments, lying down against me.
"Kinda like you insulting me before snuggling up close to me, huh?"
"Shut up."
"I thought so."
"You wanted this, didn't you?" she asks in a wry manner.
"It's still fun to point out and make you squirm," I say, petting her side. "I'm surprised you took the plunge this deep already."
"I'm not going to say no to a servant dedicated to keeping me happy."
"Oh, in that case..."
I pull my hand away from her coat and set it back in my lap.
"Fucker."
"Life's tough."
Midnight shifts around on the couch, laying on her belly now. It's a pause in banter that lets me share a thought I've harbored for a couple of days now.
"You know, we should try to do something more than our own separate things in the evening."
"What do you mean?"
"Like how I'm usually flipping through the channels on the tube or fiddling with my phone, while your eyes are glued to that computer screen," I explain, gesturing to each piece of technology.
"Okay, humor me - what do you have in mind?" she inquires, her attention piqued.
Shit. Maybe suggesting that now wasn't the best idea. I... never actually thought up any ideas beforehand.
"You don't have any ideas, do you?"
"I do, I'm just thinking which one would be best to offer up first."
"Holy shit, do you think I'm stupid enough to believe that lie?"
"Miracles happen," I say with a shrug and a sheepish grin.
Midnight possesses a distinct lack of enthusiasm with my answer.
"You could have just said that you were open to suggestions."
"Well, I am open to suggestions, now that you mention it."
"Alright... what do people normally do?"
"I dunno... cards maybe? I mean, I don't know how to play, but we could probably figure it out. Maybe board games or something?"
Neither option really connects with Midnight, who looks at me with a healthy dose of skepticism.
"Honestly, what's wrong with what we're doing now? It isn't like we're ignoring each other - we're just... we're just living in harmony, aren't we? And then at some point, you or I find something to mention and discuss or bicker about like children."
"There's nothing wrong with it. I just feel like sometimes, we're just sorta..."
Midnight places a hoof upon my leg. "You need to stop thinking - it isn't your strong suit," she says in a slightly smarmy tone.
"Fine," I say, crossing my arms and pouting in an exaggerated fashion.
"Very attractive look there, John."
"Aw, thanks."
Midnight snatches up her laptop again, sitting up and positioning herself so she is side by side with me.
"This better? A more togetherness feeling?" she asks, laying her head on my shoulder. Her hair splays out over my right side, making me acutely aware of how easily she could entangle me in it.
"I feel like I have a mop hanging on my shoulder now," I joke.
For my efforts, I get a light blow from a hoof on my leg, dangerously close to my no-no square.
"It was a little funny."
"Not really."
"I thought it was funny."
"You have poor taste in humor, among many other things."
"What about in ponies?"
"... that's one of your few bright spots. You have impeccable taste in that category."
"I'll agree with that," I reply with a chuckle, throwing an arm around her. She's become more used to that gesture as I've done it more and more. I don't feel her tense up for even a moment.
"We could always have a small fire out back on a cooler evening. That might be nice."
"Why?" she asks. It's not a disappointed or skeptical question - her voice makes it clear this idea and the reasoning are completely foreign to her.
"Honestly, it's something that is hard to put into words," I admit. "There's just something being around a fire ring with others, listening to the crackle and the smell, the warmth it gives off... I'll see if I can't get some firewood to burn, we're going to do that one of these nights. Maybe try to cook on it, too - definitely brings a different flavor out that the stovetop or gas grill won't do."
"Alright. I'm game for that, I suppose."
"I'll just need to get a bare rim from out back, that way I'm not burning the whole junkyard down."
"What, afraid that sand is flammable?"
"With the number of crapwagons that have been hauled in and out of here and the leaks they possess, I wouldn't be totally shocked, Middie."
She clearly didn't expect that answer but nods in agreement with my reasoning and caution.
"Maybe someday we'll do a double date with Teddy and Starla."
"Okay, now you're getting too far ahead of yourself," Midnight scolds.
"I said someday, not tomorrow," I reiterate. "Though it's good to know you're not opposed to actively dating in the public eye."
I am teasing her. Sort of.
"We're testing the waters right now. You're also testing your luck."
"Maybe," I say, reaching over with my left hand and ruffling her hair up even more than it already is at this point. "But it's fun seeing you all worked up, little wisps of steam coming out of your ears..."
"Oh, shut up," she says quietly, doing her best to hide her head from me while she undoubtedly fights off embarrassment. It's funny to see her like this.
"You know, if you're looking for shit that we can both do together, you still haven't really considered my suggestion from before."
"Midnight, it's very early in this relationship to be thinking about the horizontal bop."
"What?" she asks, confused enough to raise her head off of my shoulder and flip her hair back to look at me.
I really don't want to explain that one to her...
"Nothing. What were you talking about?" I ask innocently.
She keeps silent for a spell, her eyes practically piercing through me as if searching for a proper answer.
"Pictures last longer, you know."
"How do you know I can't do that with these?" she asks with a smirk. Her sky blue eyes that always subtly glow seem to get just a bit brighter after that statement.
...I don't know if that's a joke or not. Even after all this time, I don't know what she's capable of doing.
"Can you actually do that?"
"No, but I at least made you ask like a dumbass. Anyway, I'm talking about building a car. Kinda like Teddy has, you know?"
"I remember you hinting at that before... would you really want to work on that after a day of pulling parts?"
"I don't see why not. It's just a suggestion."
"Shit costs money, too. You want to spend that on a shitbox after only recently making a profit?"
That inquiry oddly elicits a smile from Midnight. "Well look at you being responsible and thinking fiscally," she gushes. "But you know, there's plenty of cars to pull out of the yard..."
"Maybe. But that reminds me, you wanted to go to a car show at some point. We ought to do that soon before taking that step."
Her eyes light up at that offer - in the figurative sense this time.
"Yeah? Know of any shows soon?"
"Small ones, which are probably best suited for us. I know Sunday morning once a month, there's a little gathering at a coffee shop in town. Want to go to that next time?"
"Trust me to be well-behaved?"
"Just don't bite anyone, I think you'll be good. Maybe a bit of alcohol will help you out."
"Yeah, let's not bother with that last suggestion," she says, sticking her tongue out in disgust.
"Fiiiine. Gonna have to do it sooner or later, so I can hear that singing voice draw me in like a siren again."
With a smirk and a blush, Midnight lightly bodychecks me.
"How about we just do our 'normal' thing tonight? I'll even let you share my laptop."
"You mean my laptop?"
"Same thing."
Once again, Midnight rests her head on my shoulder, while the computer screen scrolls under the work of Midnight's 'magic.'
This is a situation miles beyond anything I could have anticipated months ago. But for whatever reason, fate has led us down this path. With Middie's receptiveness, I'm more than happy to cruise the path laid before us.
"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.
Before my senses become aware of any other stimuli, I feel something prodding at my back. It takes a lot of effort just to reach back with my arm and shoo away whatever is trying to disturb me.
"Get up, you lazy shit," I hear Midnight mumble behind me.
"No."
The intruding limb returns, this time between my shoulder blades for a few seconds. I'm still too slow to catch it - but I'm not helped by it being in an awkward position for me to reach.
"Twenty more minutes."
"You said 'five more minutes' about ten minutes ago."
"Changed my mind. Goodnight."
This time, I feel Midnight's hoof on the back of my head. Gentle - but firmly goading me to get out of bed. With no warning, I whip around to face her.
Midnight hasn't gotten out of bed either. She lays about a foot from me, sporting her traditional bedhead-styled hair, wild and free with errant hairs sticking out in every direction imaginable.
"You shouldn't be throwing stones if you live in a glass house."
"Why am I going to get out of bed if you're going to just lay here?"
"What if I started poking you while you were trying to sleep?"
"You would go to sleep and never wake up again."
"Well, that's not sleep, now is it?"
"You're awake now. Shut up and get out of bed."
"You first."
"No, I've been waiting on you."
"Sucks to suck, I guess."
Midnight frowns as she raises her head off of her pillow. In a swift movement, she grabs it with her teeth and throws it atop my head with a resounding *whump* , transforming the sunlit bedroom back into a pitch-black abyss.
"Aww, thanks, dear. Much easier to sleep this way."
I hear her snort as the bed shifts under her movements. "You're fucking insufferable when it comes to the mornings," she chides, followed by a thump as hooves meet the thin carpeting that covers the floor.
"Blame the person that invented mornings, not me," I groan, tossing aside the pillow to reluctantly greet a new day.
Okay, mornings really aren't that bad. But it's more fun to fuck around with Midnight. Especially as of late.
"I don't think anyone invented mornings, John," she laments, whipping her head back and forth in a half-assed attempt to fix her hair.
It improves... maybe a little?
"So you mean to tell me mornings were just... always mornings? That doesn't make sense," I comment, straining to keep a serious face.
"You're going to make the next several hours a pain in the ass, aren't you?"
"Now why would you say such a thing?" I gasp mockingly.
She can't help but smirk even as she goes wide-eyed. "Well, gee, I dunno," she says in a mocking tone. "Maybe because at the end today, we're closing the doors to walk-ins and self-service. Does that ring a bell?"
"Hm. I could do without the attitude."
"Nah, I think you would rather have it."
Midnight takes a look at herself in the mirror mounted on the bedroom door.
"Holy shit - why do I always look like hell in the morning? I never had this problem on the couch, or out in the van..."
"You probably roll around, snuggle in, relax - sleeping okay?"
I get on my feet and shuffle over to her, helping her out with her hair. Midnight's power levitates a brush purchased just for her off of the top of my dresser while I make do with my fingers, straightening out some of the tangles.
"You should consider getting another brush," she suggests.
"This is more satisfying for me," I reply with a grin.
Even Midnight is sporting a smile, despite her recommendations. While I won't get it as smooth as a brush, it at least speeds things along. Even though this really doesn't take that long to begin with.
"You just like playing with my hair, don't you?"
"No, I'm trying to help," I whine in protest.
"Maybe you're the reason my hair gets all fucked up," she accuses, pouting at me through the mirror and using her brush to point at me.
I really have nothing to do with this recurring 'issue' - but part of me wants to see where leading her on and teasing her about it will lead.
I'll save that idea for another day.
"You never did answer my question, Middie - you sleeping okay?"
"I think so. Sleeping more than I traditionally have in the past."
"Probably because you're sleeping on something comfortable and not having to worry about coyotes."
That musing gets a glare and a disapproving snort out of her as she turns away from the mirror to loom directly at me.
"Bitch, please. I never feared coyotes out in the yard - those flea-bitten fucks feared me! "
"Not even in the beginning?"
Her gaze softens as she returns to the mirror, finishing up the last few strokes that lead all the way down her mane
"I was cautious in the beginning. Never scared, John," she retorts. "May I remind you, I had no idea what they were or what they were capable of - but they're pussies."
"Actually, they're canines."
Midnight turns to me, with a look of utter disdain. "That's enough out of you this morning, chucklefuck," she says, rapping me on the head with the back of her hairbrush before it gets tossed back onto the dresser.
"Oh, alright. I'm going to assume you want me to make breakfast."
"Honestly, I'm not that hungry - knock yourself out, I'll just do some jerky."
"Hell, if you're gonna make it a quick meal, I guess I will, too," I concede, opening the bedroom door and following Midnight into the kitchen.
"You getting dressed at some point, or are you wearing boxer shorts and a wife-beater all day?" she asks, pausing to turn and face me.
I look down at my aforementioned attire, then back at Midnight.
"I do look pretty damn fine, don't I?"
"You look like someone planning to put a really stupid suspension setup on a 4x4."
The comparison makes me instantly head back into my room.
"You win."
"I thought you might see things my way," she calls after you with an air of cockiness.
"Shut up and eat your damn jerky!" I holler back while rummaging through my dresser for clothes.
"Aww, someone sounds like a bitter little baby."
By the time I get some proper clothes on and head out to the kitchen, Midnight is already mowing down a bag of peppered beef jerky. Meanwhile, the space opposite her on the table already has a bowl sitting out, as well as some off-brand peanut butter crunch cereal.
"Well look at you go. Thanks."
"I figure you're at least attempting to look more presentable, I could at least put forth a token effort. Jerky?"
The bag hovers over to me.
"Uh, I'll pass. Jerky isn't breakfast food, you weirdo."
"Oh, but pizza is?" she sasses.
"Yeah. Now I kinda wish I had cold pizza for breakfast - thanks for that," I dish back to her.
"Just eat your damn cereal."
I oblige her command, pouring myself a bowl and digging the milk out of the fridge.
"I don't suppose you already took a gander at any new orders, have you?" I ask, pointing my spoon at the laptop set aside on the counter.
Midnight shakes her head. "Those orders will still be there in an hour."
"Starting to sound like me, Middie. Careful - that's a slippery slope."
"The difference between me and you is I will check it in an hour," she taunts, sticking her tongue out at me in defiance.
While I like giving her shit, the fact that she's not so anal about checking every little detail every minute of the day is a surprising change.
Maybe she's finally figuring out how to calm her mind.
"By the way, you know we should put up a sign somewhere out front or on the building that we don't do walk-ins or self-serve anymore after this week. Also, we need to finish pulling that transmission crossmember off of that '72 Malibu that you had a hissy fit with and gave up on last night."
Alright, maybe it's calmed a little bit.
"We'll get it. Promise. But I'm thinking we ought to set you up with a toolbag."
"I wouldn't be opposed to that," she says, her eyes betraying the excitement she is attempting to hide. "Two of us with separate lists could cover more ground."
"My thoughts exactly - at least when it's a bunch of simple little shit. Otherwise, it's you and me together."
"That sounds a lot nicer than it did a month ago," she muses.
"Oh, what part?" I ask knowingly.
"Your cereal is going to get mushy if you don't eat it," she replies, pointing at my bowl.
"Fine, mom. Geez."
"Stop dragging your feet."
"I'll go slower if you're going to whine how about that?"
I feel Midnight press her snout into my back between the shoulder blades, earnestly pushing me forward. in addition, I can feel the very tip of her horn graze the back of my neck as she leans into me.
"Hey, be careful there, rhino. I like my spinal cord. It does vital... spinal cord things."
"That's not my problem. Perhaps that's extra incentive to get a move on, hm?"
"I will be your problem if I'm paralyzed from the neck down. Then you will have to do all the work."
"I already assume I'm going to be quicker than you and get more done."
"Oh-ho, is that a challenge?"
"Nope, just speaking facts," she replies innocently.
With Midnight's assistance, I reach the junkyard gate, personally pulling one half of the gate closed while Midnight gets the other half, meeting in the middle. The clang and clatter of metal chains on chain link fence sends a message.
Closing time. For the last time.
Well, for self-serve customers anyway.
With a click, I ceremoniously snap the weathered padlock closed within the links of the chain. The sound is like a trigger for Midnight to let loose.
"Haha, that's it!" she shouts, trotting in place with excitement. "No more boring days of standing around doing nothing, no more being cooped up in the shop all day! Free roam over the whole yard and actually getting things done!"
"Okay, that's not normal to actually want to work," I remind her.
"It's not normal to have the hots for someone outside your species, either," she retorts with a devious grin. "But here you are, fucking that up."
"You know that comment puts you under the same blanket, right?"
Midnight halts her celebratory prancing. "...just shut up and let me have my moment. And nothing is definitive yet."
I smirk, but acquiesce with a nod and cross my arms, watching her prance around just a bit more before she calls it good.
"Now, I have to give you your due - this is possible because of all the effort you put into turning this place around and shifting it into a more productive direction. So you do deserve to brag, at least a little. But thank you for the little show, as well."
"Well, you didn't have to go and make it all awkward now," she replies, averting her gaze. "Remember, I basically did it for myself."
"Stop it, Middie. Take the compliment."
"God, you're so sappy," she grumbles.
"It's either that or I turn up the stupid. I think that would be out of place."
"Well I'll be damned - you actually considered what would be most appropriate for the occasion?"
I shrug. "Even a retarded squirrel finds a nut every now and then."
Midnight freezes, considering my comment for a moment.
"Isn't it 'even a blind squirrel finds a-'"
"Nope, we're sticking with retarded squirrel. Unless you're suddenly afraid of offending someone."
"I still call you retarded - what do you think?"
"Crass and crude - it's why I like you," I reply, heading back toward the shop and beckoning Midnight to follow me with a wave. "Come on, we still gotta get shit done tonight."
"No procrastination because pulling parts will be our daily job? I'm legitimately surprised," Midnight says with a straight face. "Hell, I would not have been opposed to the idea, personally."
Well...
Normally I would have said fuck it, but there's something else to be accomplished tonight.
She trots to my side while I amble along toward the Trailduster. It's a quiet walk - but I can practically feel Midnight studying me while I keep my gaze straight ahead.
Yeah, she knows something's up.
"What did you want for dinner once we get done with orders? Something here, or done out?" I ask while opening the driver's door.
"I dunno. You seem like you already have a plan," she replies without hesitation.
"Not for dinner, I don't."
I take a glance at her while she circles around to the other side of the SUV.
She's nervous now. That wasn't meant to happen.
"You would rather I don't do surprises, huh?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
"It scares me to think what your brain could come up with when left unoccupied," she retorts - a disguised confession.
"You're fine. Come on, hop in."
I slide into my seat while Midnight opens her door and stares at her side of the bench seat. Well, what's on her seat.
A plain cardboard box greets her, an almost perfect cube a little more than a foot long on each side.
"The fuck is this?"
"You can either ask me or open it, Middie. One option will be more satisfying than the other."
"Alright, what's in the box?" she snidely inquires with a grin.
I can't help but laugh at her remark, even though I want to see her reaction to the gift inside. It's not much, but I know she will get a lot of use out of it.
"Okay, wiseass. Get in here and open up the damn box before I throw it at you," I jokingly threaten while picking up the package and setting it on the armrest.
"No you wouldn't," she says calmly, hopping up and closing the door behind her.
"Because I'd be afraid of you tearing me limb from limb?"
"No - you wouldn't dare hurt this pretty face," she quickly replies, flicking her hair back with a quick motion of her head.
"...I mean, I could just avoid your head and throw it at your body."
"Oh, shut up."
While I pull open the flaps on either side, Midnight's electromagnetic ability lifts a large black bag out of the box by the metal grips affixed to the straps.
"What is—" Midnight sputters, her eyes fixated on the object - and I know the one specific point she's found.
"Time to put your money where your mouth is. If you're gonna show me up by pulling more parts any given day, you're gonna need your own tools and toolbag, right?"
"And you thought this would be a good surprise?" she asks you in a flat tone.
I thought it was. Maybe I made a mist—
Midnight practically leaps over the armrest between the two of us, smashing the empty cardboard box.
Her forelegs snake their way around my body and squeeze me into a hug.
"How? Where?" she asks gleefully, hovering the bag to my line of vision where I can spy "Midnight" embroidered in subtle yet striking blue and violet threads.
"Found a place online that did custom work, was able to arrange to buy this and have it shipped to em to get the threads done. I take it you actually approve of the gift?"
"I love it! But don't tell me you spent a fortune on all of this," she says somewhat concerned as she gently shakes it.
The light metallic clink of tools within reassures her it's already set up for use.
"Which part? The bag or the tools?"
I get a stern look in response.
"Yes."
"I gave you some good hand-me-down tools rather than buy some brand new Chinese crap that will break after the first use. Went through all of my shit between what's in here and what I had in the shop - you're set for virtually any hand tool you need to fetch shit when I'm working on something else. The bag was reasonable."
"Thank you, John," she mumbles, sounding almost as if she's on the verge of tears.
Happy tears, but nonetheless, I can't bear to see such a pretty mare cry.
"Think nothing of it, Middie," I reply, putting my arms around her and giving her a tight hug and loving pats on the back. "But do you still want to blow off tonight and get after it starting bright and early Monday morning?"
"Are you high? After surprising me with this?!" she cries in exasperation, returning to her seat quickly to show her wide-eyed, incredulous expression.
"I thought you might end up seeing things my way," I reply with a chuckle, starting up the truck.
"When did you do all of this?"
I shrug my shoulders. "I've been sitting on the bag for a few days. Sorting through my tools has been an on-and-off project when I have had time and you've been preoccupied. I don't want you to think I'm trying to be productive after all. You might start expecting that from me."
Midnight gives me a playful shove at that last line. "Now I know you can do things like this when you set your mind to em, so you dug your own grave."
"Ah fuck. Here, give that back," I demand, frantically grabbing for the toolbag.
"Nope, fuck you," she says with a blep of her tongue.
"Fiiine," I give in with a sigh as I crank over the engine of the Trailduster. "In all seriousness - what did you want for dinner tonight?"
"Brisket sounds pretty good. I know where we could get some..."
"Oh? Do tell. Wouldn't happen to be at a quaint little drive-in, would it?"
"Maybe."
"You got money?"
"As far as I'm concerned, your money is mine, so yes."
"This is gonna be one of those relationships, isn't it?"
"Oh, shut up," she mutters dismissively, her ears flipping back in a minor boutique of embarrassment.
She's still being coy about using the R-word - relationship. Somehow, it just makes the whole thing better.
Whether it's her excitement or mine doesn't matter - a quick blip of the throttle sets us out toward our final evening of work.
"Well this looks like some seriously primitive shit."
"Maybe an open mind will help with your perception?"
"...I never said I hated it."
I poke at the firepit that sits in front of us with a scrap length of rusted steel, moving the crackling wood chunks around to perk up the flames a bit. It isn't really that cold out, but as the sun sets, the warmth and light the fire provides is a welcome comfort.
It isn't particularly classy, considering the wood is arranged in a battered and weathered steel truck rim. That was a fortunate find over a tiny fourteen-inch car steelie. Another good find tonight was the worn and torn vinyl bench seat from a Biscayne to serve as a shared lawn chair for Midnight and I.
"I really don't hate this, by the way," Midnight clarifies, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice. "I just didn't know what to say."
"I know, you don't have to apologize," I reassure her. "We aren't fancy around here - otherwise, we wouldn't even be outside."
"Well, sort of like old times for me," Midnight says, a bit of a laugh following the comment.
It's a rather strained laugh, though. Midnight spent quite some time roughing it out in the junkyard before I found her. That fact isn't lost on me in the slightest.
"It doesn't bring up bad memories, does it?"
"Hm?"
"The early days? Living out here?"
"Oh - no, not really," she replies, waving a hoof. "You have to remember, other than the fear of getting caught, this was like paradise compared to the lab. Sure, I was provided for in there, climate control, all that... but there was no free will. It was just asking how high to jump when instructed, so to speak."
Midnight looks beyond the rows of cars, to the horizon where the sun is barely hanging on.
"I never saw the 'outside' until I was dumped here," she mumbles. "We had sunrises, sunsets, and night - but nothing like reality."
"That something that really can't be replicated."
"They really didn't try. Of course, everyone was complacent, took it all at face value. I probably did too before they started fucking with my head. After that - I guess I just saw through the whole charade. I don't know how, but I could just tell everything was... none of what they were telling us was real."
Midnight takes a deep breath and a short pause. I can tell there's a lot coming back to her mind with this current setting.
"What was it really like out here?"
"This would be one of the more relaxing periods during my time out here," Midnight says with an amused hum. "I knew once the sun was about gone, I didn't need to worry about people. That would be a load off of my mind. I could let my guard down just a bit."
She doesn't seem to be bothered by going through the past - and frankly, I'm curious as to how she managed to live out here for so long in more detail.
"So did you sleep at night then?"
"No, this was the time to find something to eat. I got my sleep during the day. Slept with one eye open, I guess - ready to jet and find somewhere to hide if I heard someone or something nearby. Maybe that's the real reason I never slept much - at least out here. Couldn't afford to do so."
"Yeah, you certainly get more shuteye now than when you first shacked up with me. I didn't expect that from someone who said they didn't need sleep - though I also didn't expect you were - well, you know, a living being."
"I didn't know what to expect either. I think actually doing things now has a lot to do with it, too. I don't think I ever slept a 'normal' amount before I was dropped out here, either. Naps more than anything. So I guess seven, eight hours of sleep is a change that I didn't anticipate, either."
She turns back to look at me. "Getting away from what this is supposed to be about though, aren't we?"
"There's not really a right or wrong way to enjoy a campfire, Middie. You don't seem upset discussing this. Almost sounds like a load off of your mind."
"Yeah, maybe. I feel like I've been able to start sorting things out."
"Oh?"
"I think I'm letting go of the past little by little. Everything Ive been through. I've begun to come to terms with it, I guess."
I toss another chunk of wood on the fire, watching as the flames hungrily envelop the newest morsel.
"I thought you said you were going to try cooking over a fire - what happened to that idea?"
"Laziness. Also, this is a really short fire ring - I would want something that I don't have to practically get on my knees to flip and check how food is cooking."
"You could have stopped at laziness."
"That doesn't mean I won't ever do it - just not with this setup," I say, leaning over and booping her on the nose.
As usual, she playfully gnashes at the presence of my finger as it departs.
"So you basically need to come up with something that sits higher."
"That would be ideal," I say with a nod. "Heck, I could probably stack a couple of rims on top of one another and tack weld em. I bet that would work well enough, assuming I can find some more of these truck rims. Probably have more somewhere..."
"That wasn't hard, now was it?" she chides with a smirk.
"You have no idea. Took all three of my brain cells to stop jerking each other off and connecting together in a short circuit to do that."
"Careful, that's actually a believable story."
From there, things fall quiet for a bit. Only the snap and pop of the fire and the distant sound of a passing car out front dares to intrude.
"What is the... end goal? With me."
"I... don't follow," I respond, turning to her for further context.
Midnight has shrunk down in the bench seat just a bit, feeling a bit exposed.
"Well, I don't really understand this whole - you and me. A relationship, I suppose. What is the end goal if this really gets to that point?"
That's a...
Hell, how do I even answer that?
Frankly, I'm stumped on where to start..
Midnight seems to sense my befuddlement. "That might just be the 'electronic' side of my brain, but I feel this nagging sense of what it all means. In an objective, black and white sense. You have to understand, I've never had anything like this. Having you as a friend was something rather new."
"I get it, Midnight," I reassure her, hooking my arm around her form and pulling her up next to me. She's surprisingly yielding tonight.
"I guess I don't have an answer to that. Relationships are... they're just a closer friendship, I suppose? Don't get me wrong, I don't have much experience, and it's been some time since my last attempt. But I like being around you, and you seem to be a bit more tolerable of me. So stuff like this, just talking, being close, enjoying each other's company... I guess that's what it's about."
I hone in on her face to see how well that was received.
Midnight's scrunched face tells me she's hesitant to reply.
"That wasn't very much help, was it?"
"A little bit."
"You could have just said no."
"I can tell you tried, though."
"And now you're worried about my feelings? Are you feeling okay?"
Midnight pokes me in the ribs with her hoof.
"Ow," I announce monotonously.
"Puss."
She leans her weight onto me, sighing contently.
"You know, for someone so full of hellfire and rage when we first met, you can be surprisingly mellow when you want to be. It's nice to see."
"You can actually be pleasant to be around sometimes when you stop trying to be funny all the time."
"Or picking at you for my own amusement."
"That too."
"I suppose life is a work in progress. To be fair, I didn't really know how to act around you. You didn't want much to do with me, and the only way I felt I could dispel the tension was by being a purposeful dumbass. And you are kind of cute when you're spitting fire."
"Cute, huh? You didn't seem to think so the first time you made me mad."
"...okay, so you can be a little frightening."
Midnight gets a snicker from that.
"I'm starting to understand the 'relaxing' thing more. It's easier when you don't have to worry about your situation or planning far into the future."
I understand the first part. The second is... murky.
"Planning? You mean getting the junkyard to make a profit?"
Midnight remains mum, her eyes focused on the fire as it glows, the only light afforded now that the sun has completely vanished.
Maybe there's something more.
"You good?"
"I really did see you as nothing more than a means to an end at one time, John," she says, sounding rather bitter.
"I know."
"You... don't. I mean, you do, but it's..."
I keep my lips sealed as Midnight mulls what she is trying to convey.
"I started trying to learn about cars because of you - er, you were part of the reason. I really do like reading, and that's what was available," she says, turning her head back to me. "I knew I couldn't hide out forever."
So...
Wait. Holy shit.
"You meant for me to find you?"
"Earlier than I wanted. I knew I was going to have to be useful to someone in order to have a chance at staying under the radar. It was either make some sort of connection here or risk trying to find somewhere else to hide."
"And you took a chance on me."
"I took a chance on you."
With no warning, Midnight raises her head, leaning in and planting a light kiss on my cheek that I would have missed had I blinked.
But I didn't blink.
As if ashamed or unsure of her actions, her ears pin back as her gaze goes straight into the flames once again.
Well that was...
Unexpected.
That's all my mind can come up with right now. Nothing in my brain wants to connect to say, do, think...
That was a thing. A very surprising thing.
"Sorry," Midnight mumbles. It's clear she's wondering if she actually did something wrong.
Dumbass, do something.
The only thing I can think of is to lean toward her.
Kiss the mare.
As I get closer to her, Midnight's eyes dart to me as she spies the movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns to face me head-on, her face stained with uncertainty.
"Hi."
That was the first thing that came to mind
Holy shit, dude...
"Hi," she repeats back quietly.
Yet somehow, that simple awkward exchange is enough. Midnight meets me in the middle, this time sure of herself as her and I gently lock lips.
There's no aggression. No heated, lustful passion behind it.
It's an overwhelming sense of unity.
We both took a chance upon each other. We both needed each other, without realizing it. Even despite lamenting the initial situation and arrangements.
Somehow... It's all led here.
Already having one arm around her back, I sling the other one around her and fully embrace her. Likewise, I feel her forelegs fumble around my midriff before finding a suitable location.
Even her wings are eager to join in the hug as the feathers brush past and nestle up over my back.
As she backs up a bit, I feel another exhale of content tickle my face, as the serene smile that greets my vision is a wonderful sight.
"Thanks for giving me a shot, John."
"Likewise, Middie."
While we both release each other from the embrace, neither of us scoots away. If anything, Midnight snuggles up next to me.
"I guess... maybe I can see this being a good thing."
"What's that?" I ask, amused by her feeble attempts to dismiss the moment we just shared.
"Us. Together. Maybe there is something to it."
"Are you really gonna try tiptoeing around it now?" I tease.
"I... shut up. I'm learning."
I can feel the heat radiating off of her face as she rests her head upon my shoulder. She's too damn cute for her own good.
But rather than pick at her, I leave it alone and enjoy the moment and the warmth she shares. After all, it can get cold at night in the desert...
Slowly ambling along the path, I keep a sharp eye out for movement. It's an ocean of Mercury as far as the eye can see down this row, but I'm looking for one model in particular.
I rumble past groups of Cougars, Montegos, Montereys...
There we go - Comets.
As I hit the model I'm looking for, all of the cars get smaller, the path just a little wider now with a lining of compacts on either side.
Well, compacts for '70s America.
But I'm not looking for the Ford Maverick clone. The intermediate they sold in the mid to late 1960s alongside the Ford Fairlane is what I'm after.
If that wasn't confusing enough, the Comet name was used on a stablemate to the Ford Falcon compact prior to the switch to an intermediate chassis.
Great work on that confusing mess, FoMoCo.
I finally spy Midnight's dark coat ahead on the left, practically sprawled over the engine bay of a '66 Comet. Evidently, she's gotten a part pull job from hell.
Fortunately for her, it's likely the last one for the day. Hard to believe I can say that with how busy I've been - but five o'clock is close at hand. It's certainly an adjustment to get used to working out in the sun all day.
And well - actually working all day. But it isn't too bad.
I come to a stop in front of the car, though Midnight has not moved or otherwise made note of my presence. As she fights with whatever parts are being trouble, her tail swishes back and forth idly.
Hm.
It makes for quite the view if I do say so myself.
... but I should probably stop being a pervert.
"What's cookin', good lookin'?" I comment, leaning out the window.
"Ah, there it is, the retarded comment I was waiting for," I hear Midnight muse, barely audible over the engine of the Trailduster and her head remaining buried in the engine compartment.
I throw the shifter into park and step out of the truck.
"Did I live up to your expectations?"
Midnight doesn't answer until I wander over to the passenger side fender to get a look at what's going on.
"It was wittier than I expected. So you kind of failed," she says, glancing over at me with those lustrous blue eyes.
"Damn," I sigh expressively before taking a more serious tone. "Everything going okay?"
"Getting there. I'm assuming you didn't purposely give this job to me knowing how awful it was going to be. Or did you?"
I quickly shake my head to dissuade any notion of asshattery on my part.
"Wiper motor, right?" I ask to be sure.
Midnight nods as her attention is directed back to the specific area of work - the cowl. "The mounting bolts were rusted to fuck - this car definitely didn't come from around here," she explains. "Took forever to get those damn things out - I've been fighting getting the nut and the linkage off of the shaft."
"Yeah, sometimes you really gotta work the shaft before you get a release," I reply, tongue-in-cheek.
Midnight does her damndest to scowl at the comment, but there's still the hint of an upturn at the corner of her mouth.
"That was fucking stupid. You should apologize for that," she laments after a moment and a clatter of metal within the cowl. The wiper motor comes free of the firewall and levitates over to me, dropping into my hands.
"See? It helped."
"No. You are not allowed any leeway for that."
Midnight gathers up her tools while I head around the back of the Trailduster and put the motor in the back amongst the pile of other pieces collected today.
The housing is pretty rusted and weathered - hopefully, a test will show it still works... Certainly does need the output shaft cleaned up, though. That's no joke - no wonder she struggled with this part.
More importantly, I'm proud of Midnight for showing patience with it - that's certainly been a learning curve for her.
Walking back to the open driver's door, I hop in just as Midnight climbs in and sets her bag behind the seat.
"That was good work, Middie. Sorry the last job of the day had to be a shit one."
"Yeah, that wasn't fun - but I got it," she exhales.
After I get us moving along, I glance back over at her.
She looks tired.
Aside from her hair being out of sorts from toiling in the nitty-gritty of ancient automobiles all day with the dust and grease that entails, she's slumped forward in her seat. Her eyes are noticeably lazy and unfocused as if sleep isn't too far away for her.
Without a word, I reach over and stroke her back, in between her wings. She arches her back a bit as I do so, not unlike a cat.
"What?" she asks, turning to me.
"I'm not poking fun at you when I say this - you look worn out."
For a moment, I don't get any sort of response. Not really unexpected.
"Truth be told... I didn't expect to actually feel like it was work," she states slowly. " Not saying I don't like doing it, it's just-"
"A lot of work."
"Yeah."
To be fair, she has been absolutely killing it when it comes to getting parts quickly. But in the back of my mind, I was wondering if that tenacious drive would catch up with her.
"I was joking when I told you to put your money where your mouth was in regards to pulling more parts than me - you know that, right?"
"Of course - it's a matter of personal pride," she says while sitting up straight, her chest thrust out just a bit.
"You don't need to kill yourself over it, though."
"I might be going at it a bit too hard," Midnight acknowledges, relaxing back to her previous state. "How the hell are you not tired?"
"I am a little bit - but remember, I did all of this shit by myself before you came along. In the shop for eight hours, then out back for three or four hours. So with eight hours and the two of us - yeah, I suppose I'm going at a slower pace. Let's be honest, I'm also using the truck - your stubborn ass walks all the way to the other side of the junkyard every time you decide to fetch a part without me."
"Yeah, and if I take the Trailduster, what are you gonna do?"
I shake my head. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying be smarter about it because I know you can look at what we need and determine what is close by. You're trying to prove something to me that I already know you can do."
Midnight scowls at me with that remark. Seems about right...
But surprisingly, that face of mild irritation softens up.
"You have a point. It really isn't a competition, is it?"
"No, no it's not," I reply, trying to hide the astonishment from my voice. A failed attempt, seeing as how Midnight stares back, suddenly perplexed.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing's wrong, I just didn't anticipate you agreeing with me."
"Oh. It was a good point, I have to admit that."
That's almost like being called intelligent. By Midnight.
"I try to say smart things."
"You do, you've gotten better at actually using what little you possess."
"Is that an insult, or a compliment?"
"Yes," she replies, clearing her throat. "But there was something else that you said that I've sort of been mulling for a little bit."
"What's that?"
"Well... maybe doing a night out, or a night here with Starla and Teddy... like a date, I suppose - maybe that's not such a bad idea."
I look back over to see her expression. She looks a bit sheepish after that proposal but is otherwise dead serious.
"You know I'm not opposed to that - what made you consider it?" I inquire.
"Starla suggested the same thing a couple of days ago when we were talking."
"Man, she's got a hold on you, doesn't she?"
"Bite me," Midnight growls.
"My bad, I didn't mean it quite as crude as that. I just meant you really do take what she has to say to heart, yeah?"
"Yeah - she's been through a similar situation, the same sort of background. That means something, you know? It isn't that I don't trust you - I do. But... it's a different perspective from someone like me. It's a connection that differs from what we have, and in some instances - it just resonates a bit better. Or maybe it was hearing it from someone else, I don't know."
"I think I get it - but it also sounds like you're apologizing to me," I suggest.
"I don't want you thinking that I'm only going to listen to her advice."
"You already proved to me at the start of this conversation you have an ear for my suggestions," I calmly remind her.
"...oh yeah," she laments, mocking a slap to her own forehead with a hoof.
"You really are burned out from today - don't sweat it," I console, momentarily leaning and putting an arm around her in a hug.
"Oh, speaking of ideas - Starla also agreed a project car would be something neat to tackle together," Midnight pipes up.
"What, you and her?"
"You and me, dum-dum."
"Welp, my turn to feel stupid now. Glad I'm used to it."
Midnight's disappointment is palpable. "Really? You couldn't let me hit that pitch?" she whines.
"Nope, too easy," I respond, smirking.
"Fiiine. But that's two opinions now that think a project car would be neat," she protests.
It's cute - she practically looks like she's begging with her ears folded back and a slight pout.
"There's three of us with the same opinion - it's about timing and the price."
"And the car."
"You think you can afford to be picky?"
"If we pull something from out back, yeah. Probably be more work but... hell, I'm for it."
"Well, I suppose - if something tickles your fancy, and it's not completely roasted, I'll consider it."
That gets an ear-to-ear grin from her, supplemented by the presence of fangs.
"And I get to pick."
"You get to pick. Pending final approval that it's something doable with parts availability."
It's only a couple more minutes before we arrive back in the shop, but Midnight has perked up a bit, her attention now directed toward the rows of cars that pass by.
Both of us quickly offload parts to end the workday after pulling into the shop, leaving the Trailduster sitting in the first bay of the garage.
"Food and rest now," Midnight affirms.
"Nope. Shower first - you look like you were rolling around in the dirt," I tease her.
"Shower isn't a bad idea. You probably need one, too."
We both need showers.
...should I suggest it?
They say you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take...
"Should we just knock out a shower together?" I suggest casually.
A look of incredulity spreads across Midnight's weary face, her eyes widening.
That'd be a no.
"I think you can handle a shower on your own, perv," she sasses, returning to normal. "You got a view earlier, that's enough for one day."
... Wait.
Midnight doesn't wait for any sort of expression or verbal response from me as she turns and saunters to the bathroom, slipping through the door without another word. Just a glance back at me before the door shuts - only visible thanks to the light from her eyes, apparently preferring instead to leave the lights off.
Any expression from her otherwise is left in a mystery.
It leaves me wondering whether the 'view' earlier was incidental or something more.
Just when I feel like I've figured her out, Midnight shows another layer underneath.
This evening is a shared weariness between Midnight and me. There are days that, for whatever reason, just suck from morning until quitting time.
This was one of those days.
Dropped tools, broken bolts, and seized up parts.
And the wind. Oh god, the wind.
The wind by itself was bad enough, making it a bit of a fight to walk or even stand. But then adding the sand all around us...
That was horrible. I don't remember ever experiencing a day with sandstorms like that.
Neither of us had to say it when trudging up the steps and walking into the kitchen. It's gonna be a lazy night.
And that's why I find myself as is. Lying on the couch. Just to hear Midnight protest when she gets back from a shower.
"Up, you greedy jerk."
There she is.
I tear my gaze from the ceiling to the mare standing beside me.
"Hi."
I give her a big smile. She doesn't return the gesture.
"Are we really gonna do this?"
"I just wanted to see you pout for your seat."
Midnight looks to mull that answer for a moment. But without warning, she leaps up on top of me, lying down.
"Hey, what-"
"You're the couch now, I guess," she interrupts. "Sucks to be you."
Her light weight means that there's no discomfort. It's actually pretty nice and cozy now... Maybe too much...
Down, John.
Midnight sighs away the troubles and fatigue of the day away as she gets comfortable. She lays her head on my chest so that I can look down and see her.
I'm having a hard time discerning whether Midnight is trying to tease me or if it's just my mind. Things weren't bad after the 'water-saving shower' idea a couple of days ago, but it did leave a trace of awkwardness the rest of that night.
I don't want to do that again. But she knows that I have an eye for her.
So...
Fuck, just focus on something else, dude. Enjoy this for what it is right now.
"Now what?" Midnight asks, breaking me free of my mental battle.
"TV, I guess."
"You mean flipping through channels and bitching about how nothing good is on?"
"Yeah, probably. You not computering tonight?"
"Sounds like work," she mumbles, turning her head to face the TV. "Entertain me."
"Fine. You're needy," I jab at her. "And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're using my greediness as an excuse to cuddle with me."
"I'd argue, but you're going to believe what you want anyway," she replies in a flat tone as I flip through the channels with the remote. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hogging the couch in the hopes I might do something like this."
"Guess we're at an impasse, then."
"Yep."
Banter ends there as the focus now turns on the television.
Why is everyone so damn obsessed with stupid reality shows? Or is that just what the networks fart out and people just learn to like it? I don't get it. Probably never will.
As I keep flipping through the slideshow of programming mundanity, the startup of an engine through the speakers makes me stop on a black screen.
What's this...
A golden vee badge appears on the screen as the engine revs up.
Oh. I haven't seen this in ages. There's the title.
"'Christine'? Are we really gonna watch a chick flick?"
I look down at Midnight while the opening credits flash on the screen to the tune of a vintage V8. Midnight eyes me with a hearty helping of skepticism.
"Who said it was a chick flick?"
"... the name? Just give me a break, I'm tired."
"So am I."
"You've probably heard of this before or something."
"Seen it. Just not in a while."
"Exactly - pound sand."
"Alright, just this once."
As our light-hearted bickering winds down, the music suddenly kicks in, seconds before a factory floor pans onto the screen. Then, the assembly line of cars appears.
I feel Midnight stir to attention at the scene.
"I can't say I've done too much reading on cars from the fifties..." she says aloud.
"Plymouths. '58 Plymouth Fury, to be exact," I note, knowing that was Midnight's reason for the comment.
"They all look the same, though. Color-wise, anyway."
For now...
"Yep, that's the only way they came. Cream white with gold trim. Gold interior."
"Huh. Not a bad combination."
"I always liked em, but then there's-"
I pause as 'she' suddenly makes an appearance on screen. Blood red with aluminum anodized side trim, red interior.
"All the same, huh?"
"In reality, yes. This one's actually a Belvedere - one trim level lower than the Fury, and they did come in this color combo. The movie just badged one as a Fury. You'll see why."
Both of us remain mum as the camera takes focus on various attributes, up until the assembly line stops.
I already know what comes next as a man opens the hood for inspection.
Probably not a good idea, bud...
I feel Midnight twitch just a bit at the ensuing 'malfunction' of the hood hinge springs.
"Haha, you jumped."
"Shut up, dick. What kind of movie is this?"
Some poor bastard getting in the car to relax with a smoke should be a good explanation...
A few moments later a fellow worker frantically opens the door. And out spills the smoker.
"Proof that smoking kills."
"Horror movie, I take it?"
"Yep. Hell hath no fury like a Plymouth Fury."
No response. I look to Midnight, who is clearly unenthused by that comment.
"Don't blame me, that was a tagline of the movie or book - something like that," I calmly protest.
"You repeated the lame line - I'm holding you partially accountable."
"I'm not gonna win this argument, so okay."
"Good boy."
There's not much chatter between us over the ensuing entrance of the characters and minor conflicts of their lives. Midnight and I exchange some idle comments or banter between us regarding them all, but it dies down as we tune into the movie itself as it progresses.
Particularly once Christine enters the fray.
To think - in her initial state that she's purchased would be considered a fairly decent project nowadays.
"Are most of the cars in that era so... flashy?"
"Yeah. It was all part of the times and what was going on in the world at the time," I reply, idly petting Midnight from her head to her neck. "Jet aircraft were all the rage - it was a new era in technology. So design cues carried over from one obsession to another. There were some claims that the fins helped aerodynamically, but it was just a sales gimmick, in that sense."
"Certainly stand out - can't miss em."
While I can only speak for myself, Midnight looks about as nauseous as I feel watching Christine get vandalized after all that hard work of restoration.
But then the fun really begins. The character infatuated with his car turns his back while trying to resurrect Christine one piece at a time. In moments, the sounds of metalwork can be heard - and the engine is suddenly looking like new in all of its black, gold, and chrome glory.
"What engine is that? It looks like a dual-quad carb setup."
"350."
"They put a Chevy engine in it for the movie? And those came as dual quads?"
I shake my head as Christine's headlights flash on, restoring herself in mere moments as the camera focuses on multiple areas during one of my favorite scenes.
"Chrysler had a 350 engine for a little bit - I think it was only during the fifties," I clarify for Midnight. "I really don't know a lot about em, just bits and pieces. 'Golden Commando 350' is what they called it if I remember right."
"Huh. I guess I found a whole new era of shit to go through," she comments.
"The fifties is when performance in terms of horsepower really started to become of interest in terms of selling points. Power numbers started going up across the board. It's when Chevy developed the first of their legendary small blocks, and when Chrysler brought the Hemi to the streets for its first stage appearance."
Again, things get quiet as Christine begins to enact her revenge upon those who destroyed her. The first one is always worth a little chuckle as Christine basically toys with her prey.
Then we get to see the rest of the posse cruising late at night in a Camaro, before again, Christine makes an appearance.
I always liked this whole set of scenes as the encounter goes from a mild annoyance to a life-and-death struggle.
Bye-bye, Camaro. And what a sendoff for it and the gas station.
"That escalated quickly."
"Shut up. I'm supposed to make the stupid comments."
"Hm. No." Midnight closes her eyes and sticks her nose up at me.
"You're gonna miss the next bit if you do that."
On cue, the sound of tires squealing from the fire and flames pulls both of us back in, as a ride that now looks straight from hell stalks the final victim.
"Why the hell doesn't he just get out of the road? Why would you just run straight down the centerline?" Midnight scoffs.
"Movie logic. Don't question it," I reply, waiting for the right moment...
Closer...
Christine is almost there...
"Boop!" I exclaim, touching my index finger to Midnight's nose just as Christine finishes off the last guy.
"Dumbass," Midnight grumbles, unamused.
"I was hoping you would jump."
"Nah, I'm used to your bullshit now."
"I'll have to change it up then."
"You don't have to."
Meanwhile, Jackhole McFatass the garage owner meets his end as well in a stupid way. And now the nerd who owns Christine is under suspicion for the murders. Or would it be better to say greaser rather than nerd, with his hair and clothes harkening back to another time?
But he's changed inside and outside - and his girl and jock friend have been pushed away.
"This guy does realize being a dick to everyone isn't helping him at all, right?"
I have to just stare at Midnight for a comment that is soaked in irony.
"What?" she asks, completely unaware of the situation.
"Pot, meet Kettle."
"I don't... oh."
I don't say anything else, merely smiling and rubbing one of her ears between my thumb and forefinger. She leans into it while the final pieces in this movie fall into place.
Both the jock and the ex-girlfriend want to save their friend. But Christine is in the way.
Getting close to the final showdown, boys. The would-be heroes hatch a plan and set up their trap in the old garage Christine calls home. But the Fury has other ideas.
The car springs its own trap and catches the girl out in the open.
The final battle begins. Bulldozer versus Plymouth.
It seems one-sided if one stops and thinks about it... But when a car can unfuck any damage caused to itself - well, that's a bit of an equalizer.
I feel Midnight tense up a bit as the bulldozer stalls, giving Christine a chance to make her move. But all too soon, after missed chances, we see the importance of seatbelts as Christine and her owner make a lunge for the former girlfriend, who takes shelter in a divided internal office.
"That's it?"
I can't help but smirk at Midnight's comment of mild disappointment. But I keep my mouth shut as we see the final moments between car and owner.
The radio in the car comes on with another song from the fifties shortly thereafter, signaling the start of round three. Through it all, it's a fight where Christine is even more reckless - now out for revenge. The brutish bulldozer eventually lands a wallop, dragging the Fury to a stop while practically riding atop it.
Now, it's...
Still not over yet. The radio comes on one more time as the Fury repairs itself, with the heroes resorting to repeatedly running the hot rod over and over. The car gives a last gasp as the radiator bursts before collapsing.
"Jesus. Is that all it took to kill the car?" Midnight snidely comments.
I laugh. "Yeah. It was that easy."
Christine is now a cube as the final few lines are exchanged between the remaining characters. And yet...
Part of the grille moves ever so slightly before the music cues in and the credits roll.
"Wait - is there a sequel?" Midnight hesitantly asks.
"No. I don't think there were ever plans for one. That's just the way they decided to end it, I guess."
Midnight looks a little disappointed with that.
"That movie teaches a strong lesson, though."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"Don't name your car."
I get a thump on the chest from Midnight's hoof for that inane comment.
"Fine - don't blame me if you don't heed the warning and whatever shitbox we start to work on begins terrorizing everyone."
"On the plus side, we would have to do less work if the car can fix and restore itself."
"Hm. That's a tough choice. But isn't fixing it up part of the fun?"
"I dunno. I guess we will find out at some point."
Without any warning, Midnight opens her mouth and lets out a big yawn.
"Yeah, someday - but not tonight. I think it's time for bed," I reply, catching the infectious yawning virus and mirroring Midnight's sentiments.
Rather than get up, Midnight lays her head back down on my chest.
"Meh. That sounds like work," she murmurs, closing her eyes.
"We have to turn the lights off anyway, Middie," I remind her, motioning to the kitchen light still streaming from the ceiling out there.
Without a word, Midnight raises her head and turns it, looking out toward the cursed fixture. I see something out in the kitchen float toward the light switch, flipping it down and throwing everything into darkness aside from what little moonlight outside trickles in through the window behind us.
Not to mention the muted blue glow from Midnight's eyes as she turns her head back toward me and resumes her prior position on my chest.
"Done."
"Alright, you put up a decent argument," I yield, putting my arms around her. "Goodnight."
I feel her shift higher up on my chest and feel her breath just under my chin.
"That's not a proper good night," she coos.
Holy shit, where has this part of Midnight come from? More importantly - why am I questioning it?
"No? What is a proper goodnight?"
Her lips gently press to mine, and I happily share a kiss with her for a few fleeting moments.
"Goodnight."
"G'night, Middie."
It's been almost a week since I gave Midnight the go-ahead for a project car of her choosing. The idea has become a source of excitement for me.
But...
Midnight has been mum on the subject beyond the first night. There has not been a single suggestion since then.
Now, she has continued to peer out the passenger window while we drive around the yard and pull parts. But there's been no signs of interest from her.
It's honestly starting to bother me a bit. Less about the car, and more about Midnight.
I can safely say that due to how excited she was when I agreed to the plan. Where did that excitement go?
Saturday morning feels like the right time to start asking questions and pick her brain to sate my own curiosity.
Today is that day - while both of us are being lazy on the couch.
"Whatcha doin?" I ask as I glance over to Midnight.
"Listening to you ask me what I'm doing," she drones, her face buried in the laptop as usual.
"What were you doing before that?"
"Checking orders."
I lean over so I'm resting on her barrel. "It's Saturday."
"Very astute observation, dumbshit."
"Aww, now I have to come up with a cute pet name for you too."
Midnight doesn't say anything, but she's trying hard not to smirk at that. Before she fails, her wing abruptly opens and swats me.
I yield for the time being - though as soon as her appendage is neatly folded back, I'm resting up against her again.
"You don't learn, do you?"
"No, I don't. Hit me again, mistress."
Midnight slowly turns her head, looking at me with disgust and concern.
"Too far?"
"What is wrong with you?"
"Well it is Saturday, so if you want me to spend the time, I can tell you everything."
"I'll pass, John."
"No one ever wants to hear my problems," I pout.
I give it a few moments of Midnight reading through items on her screen before speaking up again.
"Anything of interest car-wise or part-wise?" I ask, hopeful to hear a reaction from something she lists.
"Not too much. Taillight housings for a '63 Galaxie, tail panel trim for a '68 Dart GTS... a hood tachometer housing for a '70 Rebel Machine?" she finishes, turning to me for clarification.
"AMC Rebel Machine. One-year-only car - patriotic as hell, and rare as hell. I doubt I have that."
"Anyway - bumpers for a Buick Wildcat, door window glass for a Pontiac Lemans, et cetera, et cetera."
Nothing other than the single instance of further clarity from me - no real enthusiasm.
Damn.
"What's your issue all of a sudden?" she asks calmly, looking me up and down.
Maybe I made a face. Or some reflexive movement that she sensed. Who knows.
"I guess I'm just sort of shocked you haven't settled on a project car, Midnight," I admit reluctantly. "By no means am I pressuring you to decide, but with how excited you were with the prospect - haven't heard anything since."
"Well color me surprised," Midnight answers, closing her laptop with a hoof to focus squarely on me. "Do you take me for someone that rash when it comes to decisions?"
"Not really, I guess. I don't know - never gave it a thought."
"Okay - I'm not, not about something like this," she replies. "You gave me the stipulations of something we can find parts for and something that isn't a basket case. My biggest decision amongst that is finding something... right."
"Right?"
Midnight purses her lips as she sits and ponders an explanation.
As the lightbulb in her head lights up, so do her eyes - in a figurative sense.
"What's your favorite car of all time?"
That question is like getting hammered in the gut. "Whoa whoa whoa - you can't spring a question like that and expect an answer right away, Middie," I caution her.
"Oh? Why not?" she retorts with a lick of sarcasm and innocence dashed in her voice.
"That is something that requires a lot of soul-searching and thought to answer - if it is even possible at all," I wax with a flair of drama.
"Alright, dramatics aside - I'm doing the same thing. I don't know what I want for sure. But I want something that fits me in a sense."
"And you haven't found that particular something that just vibes with you," I add, beginning to understand her predicament.
"Yes, exactly."
I have my answer now, but I still don't feel very satisfied.
"Is there a certain kind of car you're looking for? Some sort of attribute that I can sort of work with to help, or is it just having to see it to know?"
Midnight's face contorts once again as she mulls what I've thrown out there for her. In the meantime, I sit up and pet her side, fixing the errant fur where I had been leaning against her.
"Well first off, it's gotta have some guts to it," she states matter-of-factly.
"Of course - I'm not putting something together that's all show and no go," I comment in agreement. "But let's not go overkill, either."
"What's 'overkill' in your definition?" she inquires, her mischievous grin growing wide enough to display her fangs.
"It should be something streetable. I don't want something that is miserable to drive around town or idles like shit because of a hot cam."
"Psh. Pussy."
"Believe me when I say you'll thank me for that boundary - been around enough to know unless you're drag racing or trying to win a dick-measuring contest, you can't completely sacrifice drivability. But that's stuff we can hammer out later in any car - either aftermarket parts or an engine swap. We got plenty of engines lying around."
"All right, point taken. That doesn't do much narrowing down then," she concedes reluctantly.
As I wait for her next thought, I start fucking around with her hair - twisting it and twirling it around.
"You're going to fix that later."
"Maybe. I want to see how stupid I can make your hair look. You have so much of it."
"You suggesting I should cut it?"
I can only offer a shrug. "I wouldn't go overboard. I like your long hair. Maybe a trim? That's up to you."
"Hm. Maybe."
"What else are you looking for in a car?"
"Something at least a little comfortable. I don't want to feel cramped inside of it."
"Like a full-size car - a land yacht?"
"Ehhh... maybe not that big," she backs off.
"But you don't want a Dart or a Nova."
"Nope. Add any pony car to that list."
"Aww, but then I can't make any lame 'pony in your pony car' jokes."
"Even better," Midnight cheerfully responds.
"So basically midsize and up, comfortable, and something that offers a good kick when you mash it."
"Yes. And something stylish, something as good-looking as me," she crows with cockiness.
"So why are we even trying then?"
The comment causes Midnight's gaze to snap directly to me with a glare.
"What?"
"We sure as shit ain't finding something as good-looking as you. Chill."
Midnight opens her mouth to respond - before her jolt of anger subsides as the comment finally registers.
"I think that's the first time you ever referred to yourself as good-looking, rather than disparaging," I say with a grin, reaching over and scratching an ear.
Midnight's muzzle scrunches up, unable to figure out any sort of reply. "We're talking about cars, John."
I can't help but sigh. "Fine, be that way."
With both hands, I ruffle up her hair and mane, making it worse than the traditional bedhead she wakes up with every morning.
"Seriously?" she asks, mildly annoyed.
"You look crazy now."
"I am crazy to deal with you every day."
"Is that really so bad?"
"... it's tolerable."
"So you like it."
Midnight's wing opens up again, this time reaching up to my head with the tip of her primary feathers. She swirls it around, apparently hoping to mess up my hair as badly as hers.
It doesn't really work, considering the short cut. But damn, it feels relaxing feeling the soft plumage graze my head. I emit an exaggerated content sigh, complete with a dumb smile.
"Bastard," she grumbles.
"That was a nice scalp massage, though. I could get used to this."
Midnight's wing whaps me in the face before retracting.
"That's abuse."
"Shaddup, stupid."
"Alright. So what do you want to do today?"
Midnight lazily shrugs. "It's been a long week. Do we need to do anything?"
"No, not really. You just want to lounge around on the couch all day?"
"Why not?"
"...eh, screw it. You talked me into it. I'm surprised you're learning to be a lazy ass."
"I'm full of surprises. But it's not being a lazy ass if I busted my ass all week."
"I can go with that argument. Now, entertain me," I demand, laying over on my side and using Midnight as a pillow again.
"John, you got a moment?"
Squinting as I pull my head out of the dim engine bay to brace for the bright desert sun, Midnight stands off to my right, directly in front of the car I'm wrenching on.
"I can make time. What's up?"
"...I'm having issues, and before I end up ruining something or lose my temper, I figured I should ask you."
Despite her hesitance, Midnight's honesty gets a smile out of me. It wasn't that long ago she would have let her temper and impatience take over rather than seek advice.
"Lead the way."
Midnight sets off at a decent trot, making me take steps at a rather brisk pace to keep up with her.
Okay, so her impatience isn't completely gone...
Or maybe it's excitement?
Nonetheless, it's only a dozen cars down the row and across the aisle before she stops and circles around the back of a low-slung blue coupe.
Well, well, well. It's a Chevy Corvair - second gen.
I join Midnight at the rear of the car - where the engine is.
"Am I crazy, or is the intake on this thing part of the cylinder head?" she asks, pointing a hoof down into the dirty, dingy engine bay.
I honestly don't know the answer offhand - meaning I need to poke my head in and get a closer look. I know these flat-six boxer engines are air-cooled, so the head should be aluminum...
And it is. I can also see where she's unbolted the top set of fasteners that hold the head to the cylinders themselves. But that has nothing to do with the intake...
Furthermore, I don't see any sort of seam where the grease-stained aluminum runner separates from the head. There are no other bolt heads or holes to be seen, aside from where the carburetor mounts.
"You are crazy, but that's a solid piece, Middie," I say as I rise back up out of the rather cramped space.
Midnight shakes her head as she snorts. "So do we chalk that order up to someone that doesn't have a fuck what they're doing?" she responds with mild frustration. "The order specifically said the intake - no head or anything else."
"Well, if you really feel adventurous, you can try taking the head off now. But yeah, we're gonna have to ask for clarification on that one."
"If I'm feeling adventurous, huh?"
I shrug, looking around at the engine again. Knowing little to jack squat, I'm more or less trying to gauge how much work it would be to pull it and have it handy in the shop.
Well, there's not much room side to side - might have to come out of the bottom. The exhaust is underneath, too... And I don't see any timing covers up front, either. It may not even be an overhead cam.
"I think it's more trouble than it would be worth right now - I think it's a pushrod engine," I announce, turning to her.
Midnight's nose instantly wrinkles at that revelation.
"In other words, take the valve cover off to take off the rocker arms and pushrods as well as your standard fare of bullshit. I'll pass."
"I figured as much, but who am I to judge if you had a wild hair up your ass?"
"What was the point of this, anyway - a cheap sports car, I assume?"
I scratch my head at the question as Midnight gathers up her tools and closes the rear decklid.
"I don't think that was the original intention, believe it or not. When Chevy first came out with the Corvair, it was touted as a compact economy car - like the Volkswagen Beetle. And that's what the engineering and design teams leaned toward - something that would stand out, rather than just a normal small car like Ford and Chrysler did."
"By the sounds of it, you like them."
"They have a certain charm, particularly the second generation," I reply, patting the weather-beaten fender of the car in question. "I don't know exactly when or why, but at some point, Chevy came out with the Nova - well, Chevy II when it first came out - and that was their economy car, and moved this to something more sport-oriented as far as advertising. But there were wagons and light pickups based on this chassis design, too."
Midnight glances around at different aspects and angles of the car with uncertainty.
"Thinking about this as a project?" I prod her with a grin.
In reality, it's in relatively good shape, and at a glance, looks quite complete. Certainly would be interesting to work on. But Midnight shakes her head, extinguishing any anticipation that had begun to build.
"I'm not a fan - I think it's fuck ugly. And if it's air-cooled, probably not a lot of power. So much for having any balls."
"Really? The Porsche 911 would like to disagree with you."
"Point, but no," she reiterates. "If this was such a good car, why don't they make anything like this nowadays?"
"Same as most failed GM products - bad press and questionable decisions."
I leave it at that and start to walk away, knowing full well what I'm doing.
"Asshole, that doesn't explain anything!" Midnight barks at me from behind.
I whirl back around, having only made it a few steps. "Well, that's the truth of it. What else should I say?" I respond, unable to prevent a shit-eating grin from crossing my face.
"I want the full rundown."
"You mean another storytime about shitbox cars? Albeit not a shitbox this time?"
"Stop being a queer," she laments with a roll of her eyes.
"Only a kiss from you can save me from the clutches of faggotry, Middie."
"I doubt that," she retorts as she trots up to me, meeting with a pucker of her lips as I bend down and smooch her.
"Anyway, the second generation didn't have an issue, but the damage was done by what happened with the first-gen. Having an engine in the ass end like that makes for much different handling qualities than your run-of-the-mill front-engined car."
"So people didn't know what to expect, or what?"
"A little bit of that. The issue is the first generation's rear suspension - swing axles. It's the same thing the Beetle uses, but we're talking about a heavier car here. And the thing with that kind of axle is it has massive amounts of camber change because the drive axle itself is only jointed where it goes into the trans, not the wheel. So you lose contact patch of the tire in situations where you're turning or hitting the brakes - or even bumps in the road. Makes the ass end want to come around when the weight starts shifting."
"And you're telling me the chucklefucks in charge of designing that didn't know?"
I can't help but let a small laugh escape. "Oh, they did, and the simple solution would be a front sway bar to counteract the issue. But the bean counters said that would not be cost-effective, so it was eliminated in favor of tire pressure differences between front and rear - which works if people paid attention to the owner's manual."
"Why is this one different, then?" Midnight inquires, pointing a hoof to the old blue coupe.
"Second generation went to fully independent rear suspension, similar to the Corvette's setup. Before that, GM made the front sway bar standard at some point in the first-gen."
I pause a moment as I decide how best to continue.
"But, to be honest, the problems were kinda exaggerated by some dick that wanted to sell a book. Guy was right about the omission of the front sway bar for cost reasons, but these things weren't out on the road endangering everyone's lives."
"In other words, there really isn't anything wrong with them."
"Not really, no. They weren't much worse than any other car, even taking those handling quirks into account."
Midnight shakes her head, trudging forward to the car I had previously been working on while I join right beside her.
"Humans have to be some of the dumbest fucking creatures on earth," she mutters as I follow her.
"Yeah, in some ways. But let me remind you that I fall into the category of human."
"Oh, I'm well aware of that fact, John," she replies with a grin.
"I figured as much."
"Anyway, what are you working on?" she asks as I resume my earlier position under the hood of a Buick.
"Taking a stubborn intake manifold off of this car. Let me reiterate that I don't give you shit jobs," I say, pointing the end of a ratchet to two bolt heads snapped clean off, now lying on the radiator support.
"Well, I picked my own out today, so I can't blame you if I wanted to," Midnight calmly replies.
"Oh yeah. I honestly forgot about that."
There's a pause in the conversation as I strain on the next intake bolt - which eases itself loose, bit by bit.
"All things considered, do you really think a car like that Corvair would have made it far in terms of production beyond... well, whenever they stopped?"
"It's an interesting question to consider. But honestly - probably not," I admit. "There's a lot that's unique just to that car, and once the seventies rolled around and everyone was struggling for sales - hell, you see how much badge-engineered crap GM made in the eighties. I think it would have been axed sooner or later. But it's a neat little footnote in history."
"Fair enough. But another question for you."
"Shoot."
"Are you going to pester me with the notion of every car I have questions about being a possible project car?"
I look up, finding Midnight staring at me knowingly.
"Sorry. Really not trying to be annoying, but you're also taking more time than I expected," I admit.
"Well, there is a little bit of fun watching you squirm over this," she cackles.
"Midnight, you already do that to me every time I watch you walk away."
"...what?"
"Hm?"
Midnight looks confounded by my remark, her brow raised while I go back to working on the intake.
"You're awful," she sputters after a time. "I'm going to get something else done and leave you with your sick mind."
"Okay, lemme know if you need anything."
"I hope not."
As Midnight walks away, I look up to see a more pronounced sway of her hips than normal.
Huh...
At that moment, she turns her head and narrows her eyes at me. "It's gonna be hard to get shit done when you aren't watching what you're doing, dumbass!" she taunts.
Is... she teasing me?
I might have just created a monster.
"Gonna be hard for you to get parts pulled when you're lollygagging!"
With that, Midnight gallops off down the path, leaving me to wonder where things exactly stand between the two of us yet again...
Goddammit. Leaning over the fender just got difficult and uncomfortable.
Stupid sexy Midnight.
"I'd say that went pretty smooth, how about you?"
"There weren't any frightened kids or arguments in the parking lot, so I'll agree with that."
Midnight and I are on the way home in the Trailduster after an uneventful trip to the grocery store this morning.
Midnight wanted to give being in the public eye another go, having finally put to rest the sour taste left in her mouth by the first trip once upon a time.
"I still can't get over that old lady commenting how cute you were in the deli section," I remind Midnight with a shit-eating grin.
"Yeah, she must have been blind, because I don't do cute," Midnight huffs. The relaxed smile she's been sporting virtually all morning diminishes just a bit with my comment.
"You're just so cute when you're grumpy!" I babble, reaching over and pinching her cheek.
"Hey - watch the road, you retard!" she snaps, flailing a foreleg to knock my arm away.
"Midnight, I can drive home blindfolded. It's muscle memory at this point."
"Really?" she asks, eyes widening.
"Well, not really. But close."
"Not close enough, because you just missed our turn."
I look in the mirror to see the familiar dilapidated shanty at the intersection getting smaller in the distance.
"Fuck."
"I don't feel sorry for you," Midnight interjects, turning her nose up at me.
"You're screwed out here and lost in the desert if I am, Middie."
"If you get lost when all we have to do is turn around or use your phone, I'll be impressed," she answers back, lowering her sightline back to me. "Besides the fact, I can leave your ass and just fly home."
"You know, I haven't seen you actually fly yet - can you really do it?" I ask.
I recall there was the day after Midnight got smashed that she used her wings to glide from the top of the stairs down to the shop floor, but that's as close as I've seen to flight from her.
"Just as any bot with wings can, yes," she calmly asserts. "Now, to be fair, it's been a while since I've done it, but you don't forget something like that. As I've said before - it takes a lot of energy - and it's counterintuitive when you're trying to lay low and not be seen."
"You don't have to lay low anymore - at least not at home."
"True - I may just decide to prove it to you sometime soon," she says, looking quite smug. As her eyes dart back to the road, she abruptly raises a hoof, pointing ahead to the right. "There's another turn right here."
I see the sign denoting the road and start slowing down. However, I'm only able to view the asphalt amidst the flat landscape of copper sand when I'm practically turning onto it.
"Sure hope you know what you're doing, captain," I say, staring forward and saluting.
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"The Hills Have Eyes."
"...what?"
"Don't worry about it."
The road is little more than a cracked run of pavement over an old cow path, forcing me to run in the middle of the road.
In reality, I'm not concerned for our well-being - but I don't know if I've ever bothered to go down this road. More than likely, I'll end up turning off to the right again and end up on the road I meant to turn on in the first place - it's just a matter of how far we gotta go.
... I could just hang a U-turn, but what's the fun in that? Backtracking is admitting defeat.
But neither of us says much as cacti and scrub brush pass by on either side; we're keeping a lookout for the next crossroad.
"Think that house is abandoned?" Midnight asks. She motions to a tired old shack that has popped up from the horizon in the distance, on the right side of the road.
"I dunno. Might be a hermit - you feeling social?"
"Not particularly."
When we get closer to the property, I see indecipherable junk scattered around the house, along with an old garage that looks to be on its last legs after years of neglect. Closer to the road, a few cars and a tractor sit in the sand. I slow down just a bit in curiosity as I get ready to drive by.
Either the individual that lives here is a crazy packrat, or this is an abandoned property used for dumping shit no one wants. Weird.
"John, wait."
"What?"
"I want to look at that," she spouts, pointing at one particular car in the line.
"Midnight, we got frozen food and other cold shit in the back, I'm already kinda pushing my luck taking the long way home," I remind her. "It's probably all junk anyway."
"It will be fine – just stop," she instructs.
With a sigh, I heed her request, unsure whether this is a good idea. If someone lives here, they could legit be crazy – and there's no 'for sale' signs out.
As I put the truck in park, Midnight practically bolts from the passenger seat, running over to a... actually, what is that?
My own curiosity drives my motions as I step out of the truck and wander to where Midnight is circling around in the sand
It's something from the fifties – the panoramic front windshield and the general body shape attest to the era. Once I get within arm's reach of the dust-covered car, I can finally make out the letters spaced out along the hood's leading edge. They offer a glint of chrome upon a dark blue-gray paint – which is more than likely a severely weather-faded black.
It's an old Chrysler.
Oddly, the windows are opaque, the glass backed by something yellowed-white on every corner. In addition, there's no chrome on the sides – very atypical for something from the era of glitz and glamour. But I do see holes in the sheetmetal where some trim likely once existed.
"It's interesting Midnight, but let's get going."
"This is it," she says, shuffling to the front of the car and staring at the trapezoidal grille.
"What is?"
She looks at me as if I just said something incredibly stupid. "This car! The project car!"
I initially think she's joking. But the look of anticipation and wonder on her face says otherwise.
Why would she want this?
"Midnight, do you see a 'For Sale' sign anywhere?" I hint.
"Why else would it be near the road?"
"Midnight, that doesn't mean an—"
The sound of a door slamming shut breaks my focus from Midnight and casts my eyes toward the house. What looks to be a frail old man steps off of the porch, ambling along with a cane through the yard.
"Hang on, sonny! I'm a-comin'!" he calls out in a rather hoarse voice.
Well, at least he doesn't seem like the serial killer kind...
The old man's liver-spotted bronze skin combined with his hunched-forward posture and bald head makes me more concerned for his well-being at this point than my own.
"Why would he be coming out here if it wasn't for sale?" Midnight whispers to me.
"To beat your ass with that cane for trespassing, stupid."
The old man finally reaches me and Midnight, straightening up a bit to at least stand at eye level with her. His gold-rimmed circular glasses on his deeply wrinkled face make his eyes look enormous – as if whoever made his spectacles used Coke bottles for the glass.
"Good morning!" he says, a little louder than necessary for those of normal hearing. His gaze shifts equally from Midnight to me.
"Good morning," Midnight offers back with a nod and a smile.
"Yeah, it is a nice morning. Didn't mean to bother you," I say apologetically.
"Oh, pish-posh," he replies with a laugh and a wave of his free hand. "It's a good thing for me to be getting out and about. And better yet, to have someone looking at what I got for sale."
"See?" Midnight says, looking over at me with a cocky grin.
"I suppose I'm a little out of the way for most folk, and I don't do that newfangled technology all the kids use - been a while since I had someone stop and take a gander," the old man continues, pausing as he turns to Midnight. "Oh, and no offense with the technology comment. Just not for me."
Midnight's expression instantly shifts to the same amount of befuddlement I feel for a moment, before realizing the guy thinks she's a pony bot.
"None taken," Midnight says, shaking her head as the realization hits her as well.
Good girl.
"Anyway - figured I'd head on out and greet you two. Like the look of the old Chrysler, eh?"
"It caught her eye," I reply, pointing to Midnight. "I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it - what is it?"
Looking at the grille, the old man motions to it for a moment, right before noting the empty circular socket at the top. He then waddles to the driver's side of the car, pointing to the rear quarter.
"Well, it says right here on the si—"
He stops and adjusts his glasses, while I look at the empty panel dotted only by the minute holes punched in the sheetmetal I had spied earlier.
"Well, it would say right here on the side. I must have put them inside the car," he finishes, reaching for the door handle. The latch opens with a healthy mechanical clunk, allowing the door to swing open and me and Midnight to look inside the car - and get hit with a wave of stale air.
First off, it appears that old newspapers were taped to the inside of the windows. While sun-faded on the outside to make that indiscernible, some of the ink on the paper is faintly visible on the inside. Regardless, their presence means that the tan leather interior – while showing some wear and tear from years of use and desert heat – hasn't been completely fried by the sun's rays.
Moreover, the chrome side spear trim from the sides lay on the front bench seat leather, with the red white, and blue medallions shining in the glare of the morning sun. Within those decorative medallions shines the chrome‐plated name.
300C.
Now I feel ashamed for not recognizing the grille - even if it's missing the emblem.
"Chrysler 300C. Bought it brand new in the spring of '57," the old man explains. "Boy, what a car."
"You kept this for that long?" Midnight gasps.
"Well sure I did - there were a lot of memories with this car," the man answers back. "Saved up a lot of money to buy it, and the honeys loved it, too."
He laughs again, a raspy noise that carries into a short cough. "Sorry about that. But it wasn't long after getting this car I met my love, Mildred. A lot of date nights in this car - drove it home from the wedding, too. Lord above, so many good memories - until I spun a bearing or something in it."
"You never looked into it?"
He shakes his head. "When you got a loving wife and two children to provide for and take care of, spend time with - cars don't mean too much, sonny," he replies. "I always thought someday I'd get back to it, once the kids grew up and started their own lives. But never did, I'm afraid. Truth be told, I sort of got into collecting all sorts of things after Mildred passed about - oh dear, probably thirty or so years ago. Something to distract the mind aside from the kids and the grandkids, when they couldn't be around."
Towards the end of his rambling, I hear emotions and pain creep into his voice - but a clearing of his throat makes it evaporate once he continues. "But enough about me - you didn't stop by just to hear an old coot share his life story, eh?"
"How much is it?" Midnight blurts out.
Dammit, Midnight...
I don't know a ton about these, but I do recall they were expensive when new and ended up quite rare. With as complete as this piece looks, there's no way it's going to fit into a budget no matter how much we stretch it.
"What she means to say is we were just passing by and were curious about it. Also, I'm sorry to hear about your wife."
"Oh, it's alright sonny. I appreciate it, but I'm fine. The kids come by pretty frequently, the grandkids too – that's how I still live out here without a license."
He pauses a moment, looking at me and Midnight. His gaze is curious as if sizing us up.
"Well, it's been out here for some time now, and heaven knows I don't have the body or mind to take care of it - you ain't gonna scrap it, are ya?"
"Absolutely not!" Midnight shouts, aghast by the suggestion.
It brings a smile to the old man's face. "I didn't think so, but better safe than sorry! I just want it to go to a good home... honestly, since it doesn't even run, I'll take fifteen hundred."
Fifteen hundred. This guy has to be fucking with us.
"Fifteen hundred, or fifteen thousand?" I cautiously ask.
"One thousand five hundred dollars. Might be worth more than that, but I'm getting old, boy. I don't need to be bringing in big bucks that I'll never do anything with."
'Might' be worth more than that...
I feel guilty.
"Sold!"
I look over at Midnight in shock, seeing her practically bouncing up and down with joy.
"Hey, I'm the one with the finances here, Middie," I remind her.
"And I'm the one that got us there," she replies, sticking her tongue out at me.
I look over at the seller, who seems perfectly content listening to the two of us banter in front of him.
"Just a moment, mister..."
"Ah, there's no need for formalities. Art's the name."
"Well Art, I'm John, and this is Midnight – and I think we need just a moment to discuss something," I reply, patting Midnight on the back of her neck to urge her away.
"Of course, take your time," he says with a nod.
After ten or so paces, we stop. Midnight turns to face me, looking mildly irritated. "What?"
"Is that really what you want?"
"You think this is just an elaborate joke on my part?" she warily answers back.
"It's..." I rub the back of my head, looking back at the old Chrysler. "I didn't expect a project from the fifties. We gonna cruise to the malt shop, me with a greaser haircut and you sporting a beehive, too?"
"Shut up, jackass – just look at it!" she cries, pointing back to the car. "It looks great, looks comfortable, and like you said, we can do an engine swap if it needs power."
Well, if I can put the engine back together, power won't be an issue. These Chryslers won races straight from the showroom floor. The transmission is a pushbutton shift, which is neat, too - and it is the first iteration of the reliable Torqueflite.
Those little notes go along with the simple fact it is a pretty sharp car, even in the rough. Would make for a nice cruiser, and it looks like most of the parts are there...
Fuck it. It's what she wants. Badly.
At first sight.
Which brings to mind...
"Midnight, you are not naming that car, and the first time the radio comes on by itself playing fifties rock and roll – it's gone."
"You need to stop watching movies," she replies, albeit with a smirk.
"I mean it, Arnie."
"You look more like Cuntface than me."
"Anyway, if you're really serious about this and that's what you want—"
"We have a deal!" Midnight sidesteps me and shouts.
"—I guess I'm in."
I can hear the ramps on the trailer rattle behind the Trailduster as I turn off the road and stop at the locked gate of our salvage yard.
"I'll get it," Midnight quickly chimes in. She hops out of the passenger side and trots over to the locked chain holding the path closed.
Needless to say, Midnight has been on cloud nine since this morning when spotting the old Chrysler.
Not that I'm not happy or excited about the purchase. Midnight is just on a whole other level. And it was a good thing she had that extra burst of adrenaline – it wasn't easy to load the 300 onto the trailer.
Two flat and dry rotted tires plus a froze-up brake – not to mention the two tons of weight this car hefts – meant the tired winch I had on the trailer wasn't quite enough to pull it up without some assistance. So Midnight and I had to strain and push while Art was kind enough to work the winch. Eventually, we got it there.
Offloading should be easier... fingers crossed.
Midnight flings both halves of the gate open, moving aside to allow access.
After rolling through and past the shop, I reverse and line the trailer up with one of the garage doors of the shop. Midnight waits to see which one I choose before she scampers inside through the man door and opens up the selected bay.
Once the end of the trailer is over the concrete floor, Middie signals to me with a wing to hold. I throw the truck in park and shut it off before meeting the excited mare by the trailer and its precious cargo.
"Ready for round two?" I ask, placing my hands on my hips and stretching my back.
"Well, we won't have to worry about it rolling away," Midnight jokes with a half-hearted smile.
"Ain't that the truth."
I circle around the back of the trailer and unfasten the chains tying the rear axle to the trailer, before heading up front and undoing those wrapped around the K-member. Midnight watches intently the whole time – despite checking beforehand to see if the car is in park and unable to roll.
"You know I started at the back to be sure if it did roll, it would be away from me – right?"
"It's not like I'm doing anything else right now," she says passively.
"I figured your mind would be full of ideas brewing about what to do with the car. No?"
Surprisingly, she shakes her head. With as adamant and ecstatic to buy this car as she appeared earlier, I anticipated something had clicked in her mind in regards to the finished product.
Of course, it isn't a bad thing she doesn't already have a plan, either. It means her mind is wide open to suggestions.
"Alright, chain is undone, winch is still attached to the front so it will go slow – or at least not allow the car to take off without us," I explain, slinging the last rusted chain off to the side of the trailer. The clang of metal on metal resonates for a moment.
I hop up onto the front of the trailer, followed shortly by the clatter of hooves with Middie on the other side. Winch remote in my hand, we both push on the sculpted front end in unison.
There's a slight metallic grind accompanied by the squeegee-like sound of rubber as the Chrysler reluctantly starts rolling off of the trailer. However, it only moves a couple of feet before being halted by the winch cable. I feed the line out a little bit – and am pleasantly surprised as the car continues to roll down the ramps on its own.
"Hell yeah!" I cheer, feeding more cable off the reel as the car heads down the ramp in a slow, controlled descent. It comes to an instant stop once it reaches level concrete.
"Well that went better than expected."
"Sometimes shit works out that way. Now, let's get it centered on the lift."
"Oh? And here I was thinking you didn't have any enthusiasm over this car," Midnight chides mischievously.
"You sucked me in – and yeah, I suppose this is sorta a whole new experience for me. I've never had the pleasure of really doing a deep dive into a car like this."
"Well in that case - perhaps you have a vision for it?"
"No, I don't want to intrude on your—"
"Our project car," Midnight interrupts. "Humor me, John."
I cross my arms as I look over the car, wandering around it at a leisurely pace. "First off, if it were me – I'd get better tires for it."
"Well no shit, Sherlock," Midnight replies, synchronized with a roll of her eyes.
"No, that wasn't me stating the obvious - I'm saying get rid of the skinny bias-ply tires they used back then. I don't have an issue with white walls- but more modern – and wider – rubber is going to be a hell of an improvement in ride and grip."
"That seems simple enough."
I can't help but grimace a little bit at that comment. "It sounds like it, but it's a matter of how much clearance we have to work with and how it fits," I cautiously explain, patting the front fender near the wheel opening. "You don't want the tire sticking out of the fender, and you don't want to hit the inside fender well when turning the wheel. So that's going to take time to figure out."
"Fair enough. What else?"
I back up to take the whole car's profile in, trying to get a better picture of what I would do if it were purely my canvas. "Honestly, most of the car I would keep the same. It's a clean design, chrome is already used conservatively. Maybe just a fresh coat of black paint in the future. But I could see lowering the car just an inch or two - nothing crazy, and certainly not slammed to the ground. Other than that, I don't really think it needs much in terms of personal touches as far as cosmetics. The car speaks for itself – I like the design."
"That was my thoughts on it. But I'm still surprised that John, the man with the silly anecdotes on every car, doesn't know much about this one," she teases, nudging my side.
"I know a fair bit, I just didn't want to throw you into a hissy fit."
"That sounds like an excuse, considering you had to ask what exactly it was..." Her smug grin grows into a proper toothy smile, looking downright devious.
"I'm rusty on my knowledge and identification. That doesn't mean I don't know anything.
"Excuuuses~" Midnight hums in response.
"The banker's hot rod."
My sudden utterance gets Midnight to halt her harassment. "What?"
"Affectionate name for the letter series cars from Chrysler – the banker's hot rod. Particularly the first few years, like this one."
"Any particular reason? I get Chrysler was more premium or luxury, but as far as power – was there something noteworthy, or were they just sort of ahead of the curve in terms of performance?"
"Ahead of the curve, I suppose, and because of..."
I trail off as I realize I made a major mistake. With Midnight's excitement and urge to buy the car this morning, I never took a look under the hood.
Good work, dumbass.
There's an engine under the hood – I know that from being underneath the front end to get a chain hooked up to the K-member. But the top end and condition of the engine bay...
Yes, this car was a good deal regardless, but what the fuck, dude? I feel sick as I quickly make my way over to the front of the car.
"What's got you bent out of shape all of a sudden?" Midnight questions as I fumble my hand around the top of the grille for the hood release.
"We got so caught up in all the banter and excitement, we never looked under the hood, Middie," I snap, in a harsher tone than I meant. I finally find the mechanism, pull the lever, and swing open the massive steel hood.
The hinges creak and moan in protest after years of rest, but the springs hold the hood taut in the raised position.
I can breathe a sigh of relief. Much like the rest of the car, the engine bay looks complete. The gold valve cover trim still has a nice sparkle to it despite the dust coating from years of sitting. Dual quad carburetors still sit atop the intake, capped further still by low-profile air cleaner housings, with the football-shaped filters themselves cast off to either side, a shade of gold also matching the valve covers.
I turn to face Midnight – whose ears are now folded flat against her head while a scowl stains her muzzle.
"Sorry. I wasn't blaming you, and I didn't mean to sound like a dick."
"Well, I suppose you blamed both of us for that," she says, her hard-edged expression softening up with my apology.
"And to be fair, you were caught up in the moment when we were looking this over."
She struts over to me, brushing up against my side before peering in to see the new discovery, ogling it in silence
"That's what put Chrysler and the letter series on the map," I announce, motioning to the silver and gold powerplant.
"Why are the valve covers so damn big? Dual overhead cams?"
"No, but the shape should look vaguely familiar for another reason – this is the first generation of Chrysler's Hemi engine – the forefather of the sixties and early seventies Street Hemi."
"So power won't be an issue, huh?"
"No way. These things went straight from the dealership to compete on dragstrips and dirt tracks – and won. These cars were outstanding in their time; the Tri-Five Chevrolets tend to overshadow that."
"So what size is the engine?"
"392. This was the last year, I think. Maybe one more – but it started out as... I believe a 354 cubic inch when they introduced it, at least in the letter series. But Dodge and DeSoto had their own smaller versions of the "Firepower," as Chrysler called it."
"Oh, but you don't know jackshit about thes— hey!"
As Midnight mocks me, I decide to cut her off by booping her nose. "What was that? Care to try again?" I crow.
Midnight hip checks me instead of replying – though she does offer a low growl as well.
"Oh stop that, you're much more sophisticated than a dog."
"As I recall once upon a time, you referred to me as a guard—"
"Anyway, with all of that being said – hopefully, we can keep this engine," I quickly continue, avoiding the completion of Midnight's musing. "I can almost guarantee I don't have any parts for this out in the yard, and I honestly don't know how easy it is to get parts for these. All depends on if it really is a bad bearing in the bottom end or something worse, but we'll figure something out regardless of that outcome."
"—dog."
There's a short staring contest with straight faces between us before I finally speak up again. "You will never let me live that down, will you?"
Midnight puts a hoof to her chin as her eyes dart upward as if pondering a physical manifestation of thought above her head. "Hm. Nope," she replies, offering just a hint of playfulness in her voice.
I drop the hood back down on the car, letting it rest unlatched on the striker plate. "It's gonna be a long road to getting it— well, back on the road," I remind her.
"I know it will. But that's all part of the fun, isn't it?"
"Fun, frustrating, fulfilling—"
"Probably some other words that start with 'F'."
I have to give a slight chuckle as I nod in agreement "Step by step, we'll get there."
"Yeah. But I get to be the first one to crank the engine when it's done."
I quickly snap my eyes to her. "The hell you will."
Midnight puts on an exaggerated smile as her eyes light up in the figurative sense. "Oh, I'm so glad you agree with me, John!" she cheers.
It's my turn to act irritated with that sassy response. "You are a pain in the ass."
The comment doesn't dim Midnight's attitude in the slightest. "You wouldn't have me any other way."
Throwing an arm around her, I aggressively pull Middie next to me. Meanwhile, I feel her wing brush against my back to wrap itself around my form.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
Author's Note
I haven't quite decided yet - but I may take a short hiatus from updates, a week or two at most. I have a five-part story I'm getting ready to post coinciding with the solar eclipse taking place on April 8 - starting sometime next week. Just a heads up if things abruptly slow down - I'm not dead, nor is the story. Might be a good time to regroup a bit - I feel like I've been slacking a bit with converting the last several updates.
That being said, hopefully this update makes up for any minor break in the action...
Chapter 35
Once Midnight and I had gotten the Chrysler centered on the car lift, we spent most of the afternoon in a lengthy inspection process. Any spots of rust found underneath proved to be surface rust at worst. With such solid steel and general cleanliness underneath, I found myself awestruck. The car had likely never seen an environment outside of the desert in its life.
Before even thinking about getting started on disassembly, proper documentation was in order. I took numerous pictures with my phone during the course of the deep dive. Some of it just to have 'before' photos of the car - but mainly to remind us later how things fit, special bolts or fasteners, and other shit like that.
It would have been miserable trying to fit everything back together later without some sort of guide and leaving it straight to memory. This might have been the first time I actually heeded that advice.
Sure, everything looked fairly good, but I was aware much of it would likely all have to come apart in the future.
For her part, Midnight displayed a lot of patience helping me to look things over. It would have been hard not to see she was chomping at the bit to start tearing the car down and getting started on the restoration. But she seemed to understand well enough that patience was needed.
Today's monumental event meant that the urge to celebrate in the evening was too much to resist. Hence before beginning to look over the car, prep started on dinner.
Steaks in a red wine marinade. Admittedly, it's something I've never done before - I had to look up a recipe online. But happily, they turned out great - tender, succulent, and full of flavor. Even if the wine I had was starting to get just a bit skunky…
I gambled with it anyway, and there was no hint of that in dinner. Midnight pounded down two of 'em, while I settled for one and some cheesy potatoes.
Now... Well, I don't care much for wine. But letting it go to waste would be a shame. The little over quarter bottle that was left is slowly disappearing – due to both Midnight and me.
I'm not smashed by any stretch of the mind, but my tolerance has gone down, being out of practice... Midnight has virtually no tolerance, of course - but she's not blitzed, either.
Instead, it's some good relaxing vibes on the couch while Midnight piddles with her laptop, looking up various parts for the Chrysler for amusement.
Meanwhile, my mind starts to mull the journey that lies ahead of us with the car…
Letting things sit for so long causes issues – there's no buts about it. My thoughts begin with all of those suspension bushings. After all, they're pushing seventy years in age; if they don't look completely rotted out at a glance, they are still probably as hard as a rock and virtually useless.
The next concern on my list is all the fluid lines - be it fuel, transmission, or brake. In their case, sitting for so long oftentimes becomes a recipe for any moisture inside to eat away at the tubing. Perhaps they're good - but that's going to take some time and a closer look.
"You know, the taste sort of grows on you," Midnight comments, forcing me back to the current situation. I turn my head to see Midnight taking another sip of wine from her glass.
"Yeah, like a tumor,” I joke.
Midnight snorts with a burst of infectious laughter that I succumb to fairly quickly.
"Anyway, what are you trying to wrestle me into buying now?" I ask after the short giggle fit.
"Nothing. Considering your credit card information is still on this site in the checkout, I can buy it on my own."
"I'm going to be broke, aren't I?"
"That kind of screws me over, too. Count your blessings," she answers, sticking her tongue out at me.
Peering over at the screen, I see her current focus is on exhaust systems. While not against the idea of a good sound, I'm not thrilled by her specific focus.
"Glass packs sound nice for a while, but they get blown out after a time,” I speak up. “I'd suggest looking at proper baffled mufflers, Middie."
"Alright. But what about headers?"
"Not necessary, but they look and sound nice. I'm assuming they don't make shorty headers?"
Midnight goes through a few filters and pages with a flurry of clicks before turning back to me. "Just full length. That an issue?"
I lazily shrug my shoulders. "They can be a bit of a pain in the ass to install or work around. We can make do if that's what you want."
"Well, I'm not buying it today anyway," she reassures me. "Maybe something will come up later."
"I'm going to doubt that, just because that is such an old motor with fewer and fewer available," I reply, reaching over and stroking her hair.
She lets out a sigh of contentment when I venture to scratch an ear. "Alright - what about shifters?" she continues
I stop my petting. "Midnight, you're drunk."
"I am not drunk," she protests with a huff. "I have a little bit of a buzz, but I know what I said."
"So you forgot that it's a pushbutton trans?"
I can't help but crack a grin when she hesitates for just a moment. "I forgot because I forgot, not because of booze, stupid,” she refutes.
"I feel like blaming alcohol would have been a better way to save face."
"What do you know? You're properly drunk," she offers back in rebuttal.
I can't help but laugh even before I can get the response out. "I'm sober enough to know there's no shifter in the car!"
"I - goddammit, I didn't think that through..."
Once again, I erupt in laughter, resuming my petting of the abruptly broody mare.
"We could make it a floor shifter though, right?" she suggests.
"Maybe - but why would you want to do that?"
"Reaching over and fingerfucking a few buttons just sounds lame."
"First off, you don't have fingers - so that phrase is exclusively mine."
"I do what I want,” Midnight barks, sticking her nose up.
"I know you will. Second - the pushbutton is actually a pretty neat little feature, and it was actually pretty popular with drag racers. To a point, some racers engineered the pushbutton mechanism into their later race cars when Chrysler discontinued that feature. So it stays."
"Okay, fine. I guess it might have been a little odd with the bench seat, anyway," she concedes, relaxing her haughty posture.
I scooch closer to Midnight, sinking down into the couch cushions. "The bench seat stays too, before you get any ideas. You know why?"
"Because it's comfortable?"
"Yeah. And it's easier to snuggle up with your passenger," I tease, leaning over and pecking her on the cheek.
"Man, that was fucking lame," she replies flatly. However, her ears flatten against her head as she averts eye contact.
"It's true, though."
"You're drunk."
"You're all flustered by it."
"Because you're a faggot."
"I know what you are, but what am I?"
"How old are you? Wait, don't answer that."
I exaggerate a sigh of relief. "Glad to hear that. I don't know anything beyond the number two."
"I really wish you'd shut up sometimes," she mutters, shaking her head.
"Aww come on, I have a beautiful voice. You would miss it."
"It never stops – how could I miss it?"
"Well, let me know if you figure out a way to silence me."
Midnight turns to me, looking over my face. "I mean, there are ways to do it – just most are permanent."
"So you would miss me," I coo, plastering on a smug grin just for her. "Don't worry, I'll keep talking just so you can—"
I'm quickly cut off by Midnight as she dares forward and presses her lips to mine. It isn't necessarily a shock – until I feel her tongue make its way through for an exploration.
Holy Jesus.
As my mind wraps around what's happening, I meet her ministrations – but only for a moment before she pulls away.
"That's one way to shut you up," she quietly gasps.
"Uh... huh?" I blabber, in a sudden haze. I already kind of was, but this is a different one as my shorts suddenly feel a bit more snug.
This is... That was aggressive
"That was a neat trick," I finally offer as a proper answer. In the back of my mind, I begin to worry. I'm thinking back to when Midnight got sloshed that one night. Is that what's happening now?
But I feel like she's been just a bit more... bold lately, outside of this moment. Even in this buzzed state of mind, while Midnight's eyes stare at me with hunger...
But I don't know if this is right.
"Midnight, you're drunk. Maybe we should call it a night." I stumble to my feet, feeling guilty over my teasing as I walk to the bedroom.
"Hey!"
Midnight's voice forces me to stop, and as I turn around, she drops to the floor. "I'm not drunk - I didn't have anywhere near as much as you, stupid," she reminds me, sounding frustrated.
"I get that, but that was... what was that?"
"Knowing what I want," she says quietly, almost predatory as she slowly saunters toward me.
"And what is that?"
"You really gonna be this coy now?"
Carefully walking backward into my room, Midnight continues to stalk me. "Are you sure?" I question.
Midnight's expression grows devious. "Drop your shorts, and you'll find out."
The exchange has already left a damp spot at the peak of the tent I'm currently pitching, and with her taunt, I'm more than willing to oblige her request.
"Good boy," she coos. Without warning, she bolts toward me and shoves me backward.
I fall back onto the mattress, while Midnight leaps up onto the bed. The scent of arousal begins to permeate the air almost as soon as she straddles my form, with her hooves on either side of my body.
"And the boxers..." she adds.
With any further apprehensive thoughts drowned out by hormones and instincts, I quickly do away with said garment, my raging erection springing free.
"I'm no stallion, by the way," I say sheepishly as she eyes my dick with curiosity.
Her eyes dart up to me as she closes in on my face. "Good thing I don't know any better."
Once again, Midnight presses her lips to mine – and her tongue is soon wrestling for space in my mouth again. I reach up and stroke her cheeks while our tongues twirling and twist around each other in an erotic dance.
She breaks the kiss abruptly with a growl as she lowers her hindquarters down. While I've had no view of her backside this whole time, I can practically feel the heat emanating from her slit on my crotch.
"That was enough of an appetizer for me," she says, kissing my dick with her nethers. I can feel that her thick lips are already drooling as she starts to grind on my stiff member - coating it in natural lube for the main event.
Her current priority gives me a chance to move my hands down to that pleasingly plush posterior to give it a squeeze. The lavender- splotched fur yields willingly enough to my motions - but I feel the muscles and the power that lays underneath that spankable padding.
She could literally wreck my crotch. And with the determination driven by raw lust she appears to have - she might.
I venture further still - my finger brushing past the plush donut between her cheeks. It elicits a gasp from her - as well as a wink from her clit against my rod as she continues to coat me in natural lube from her slit.
"You've been wanting to do that for a while, haven't you?" she pants.
"Which part?"
Without any answer or warning, Midnight raises up just enough to line up the head of my member with her folds. Despite her aggressive demeanor thus far, she takes her sweet time easing me into her depths, just to make me suffer. Even so, she can't help but moan at the sensation while her velvety walls massage my cock in a sweltering heat, inch by inch.
But there comes a point where I feel a bit of resistance. I'm momentarily confused and about to say something until it gives way with a sudden pop. Midnight's face coincides with that feeling as she winces in pain.
"Midnight, was that-"
She looks down at me, as she fights through discomfort. "You really are slow on the uptake when I say I wouldn't know, huh?" she groans.
"Shut up. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, just give me a moment."
It's a few moments before Midnight starts to move again – and she makes up for the pause, slamming down atop me and hilting herself upon my rod.
"Yesss~" she sighs, her eyes closed. She rises back up slowly while I involuntarily buck my hips at the sensation of her passage gliding around my dick.
"Goddamn, you gonna tease me all nig— Fuck! "
She slams her rump back down upon me, with another drawn-out, pleased moan.
The feeling of Middie's vaginal walls massaging and gripping me is already driving me wild as she continues at a slow methodical pace.
As she rises on one occasion, I spot a pair of teats down below that are deprived of attention. Without a word, I shift my hands from her hips downward and give the ample mounds some love.
"Ahn - fucker!" Midnight loses her focus and falls back down upon my loins with the sudden unexpected pleasure spike I just gave her.
"I – can't let you have all the fun, can I?"
"You could have warned me."
"Nonsense – those looked lonely," I tease, tweaking one of the nipples to get a short lustful cry from her. At this point, Midnight is done with any sort of pace as her motions become quicker and more frenzied as she rides me.
It's been a while since I've experienced this intimacy – and the throbbing pink bulb of her clitoris occasionally grinding against my length is making it tougher to hang on... I'm already feeling a strong tightness in my loins as I do my damnedest to fuck her by bucking my own hips even as she continues her movements.
"Remember – remember when I said not to make things – *ngh* – weird?" she pants.
"If this is weird, I'm good with it."
"Maybe I – should have done this – sooner."
"So you have been fucking teasing me!"
Even in her current state as her composure is starting to fade, Midnight is lucid enough to smirk and lean down to my ear. "Be a good boy and finish for me."
I move my hands back to her hips and pull her down with force, garnering a lewd squelch of fluids and a loud play as her hips meet mine for one final time.
As Midnight's eyes glaze over and her wings abruptly splay out, the rapid spasm of her vaginal walls and furiously winking clit forces her to howl in pleasure as she reaches her peak. But she quickly leans back down, her mouth agape at the overwhelming pleasure – and bites my shoulder.
The endorphin rush of the pain from her pointed teeth and the pleasure of her pussy clenching down on me – all mixed in with her prior taunt sends me over the edge in a haze that overwhelms my vision. My balls tense up hard enough to make my toes curl as I paint her insides with seed.
A fresh batch of fluids erupts from her, making a mess of me and very likely, the bed.
Not that I care. This mare atop me right now, coming to grips with the virgin sensations she's experiencing is all that matters.
As both of us slowly come down from our highs, Midnight relaxes and lets go of my shoulder. The points of her teeth are stained with a bit of crimson as she briefly raises her head and stares at me in a daze.
I can still feel my shoulder – well, aside from the throbbing pain, I know I'm not missing a chunk out of it. It's intact despite her clamping down upon it.
With a weary but content grin creeping onto her face, Midnight collapses onto my chest, still panting just a bit. "Mine," she whispers, poking my chest with a hoof.
I put an arm around her as I begin to get my own breathing and heart rate under control. "No, mine." I give her a squeeze.
At some point, her wings sag down to curl around me. I find myself draped in a soft blanket of feathers.
If it were any other time, I would comment that she should probably be careful – feathers can't be easy to clean.
But this moment now... no.
Words aren't needed as we both bask in the afterglow. In each other's embrace.
Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter. "How are we looking right now?"
Midnight wanders from one side of the Chrysler's engine bay to the other, her eyes honed in on any problem spots."... I think we're good. I don't see anything."
"Alright – I'm gonna take it slow, speak up if you see anything catch."
Having been working on the Chrysler for the better part of two hours tonight – starting with the rusted exhaust bolts that would not come loose the previous night – Midnight and I have been making great progress. Now, with seemingly everything unhooked, I have the engine hoist hooked up to the engine and ready to start the process of actually pulling it out of its home.
Now is a time of bated breath; it is very easy to miss a wire hookup or other small detail, or snag something on the engine while it's being lifted. Without a cautious watchful approach, something minor can turn into a big headache later – at the very least, require the replacement of a component.
As I slowly pump the hydraulic jack on the engine hoist, the engine starts to raise little by little – at an awkward nose-up angle. Even though Midnight is keeping watch and shifting from one side to the other, I'm just about to pause—
*Thunk*
The engine abruptly shifts on the chain that holds it to the hook as it levels out.
"Transmission's loose," Midnight announces.
"Duly noted, thank you." I catch my breath for a moment after that startling movement. I really don't want to fuck something up – I can't imagine there's loads of replacement parts for some things on this car.
Midnight is making a bit easier though; her 'telekinesis' means she can keep the engine steady without getting in the way, or harm's way. Her eyes continue to show their brighter glow during this time as a good indicator that she's got the engine block locked down. However, I only get a few more pumps on the jack handle before Midnight flares a wing open, a signal to hold.
"Wire caught on the engine head this side. Give me a sec," she explains. It allows me to take another deep inhale and exhale to expel some anxiety while Midnight is focusing elsewhere. Normally, I don't find pulling engines this tense – but I suppose there has been the question of how patient Midnight can be. It's why I'm the one controlling the hoist, while she keeps the lookout.
Yes, she's gotten better with patience, but—
"John, chill the fuck out."
"What?"
Midnight doesn't respond to my instinctive answer. Instead, her face grows stern while she raises an eyebrow.
"Alright, so I'm a little tense."
"Sure. That's like being 'a little pregnant'."
"Hey, stop using my lines."
"What's yours is mine, and what's mine is mine."
"Shut up! That's mine, too!"
Midnight just smirks at me for a moment. "You need to relax," she says. "You were looking like you were straining on a fart."
"What if I am?"
"Then I hope you shit your pants. Now come on, let's keep going. There's plenty of room now on every side of the engine."
Despite Midnight's encouragement, I still set on a slow, methodical pace of hoisting the engine out of its home. Midnight doesn't have to halt me even once as I see the heads appear above the radiator support, then the entirety of the engine block – and finally, the bottom of the oil pan.
"You're clear," Midnight calls out. Despite her assurances, Midnight herself emits a sigh of relief. Even so, she perks up again almost instantly. "I could probably take it from here, by the way."
"Nuh-uh. That's a lot of weight to be heaving around with your abilities, Mid," I warn her.
"And I've shown before I can do it."
"You sure did. And completely sapped all of your energy and whined about a headache."
"Hey, that was after handling a dozen of em, jackass," Midnight reminds me, her face souring with my comment. "But fine, we'll do it the hard way."
"It's really not that much har—"
"Lalala not listening to your bullshit!" she interrupts while heading off to get the engine stand nearby. It's but a moment before she returns with it wheeling in front of her, stopping beside me before transitioning her power to the engine again. "Ready when you are."
"Home stretch, " I add with a nod. Middie holds the engine again while I spin the hoist around on its caster wheels. All that's left is mounting the engine on this stand so I can start tearing it apart.
It only takes a few more minutes of finagling the hoist and stand in position before the engine is lowered down to the level of the engine stand. The clatter of metal begins as Midnight starts moving around the various arms of the engine stand to actually get the engine mounted.
"You know what you're doing, right?"
"Please, give me more credit than that," Midnight huffs. "It's basically a shitty puzzle, moving these mounting arms in the slots to line up with the transmission bolt holes in the block."
"Alright, I'll give you credit – but only because you said please in this rare fleeting instance."
It really isn't a hard task to accomplish, as Midnight has everything in place and bolted up in a matter of a minute or two. "There," Midnight says as she unhooks the lifting chain from the hoist. "Was that really as bad as you made it out to be?"
"I wasn't really that tense, Middie."
"You suck at lying."
"Bite me. No wait, you've shown that you will," I shoot back, making sure to plaster on a big smile for her to go with my little reminder.
"I don't think I like you anymore," she responds, turning her nose up at me.
"Oh please. You aren't prissy enough to be doing that."
With the engine now free to be manipulated in any way I want, I give the engine another good once over now that it's in open light. It's remarkably clean for one, with only a bit of rust bubbling out from the silver paint in a few areas. More importantly, there are not a lot of oil streaks or grease to indicate leaks – or prior disassembly and mechanical work prior to our ownership.
However, the oil was apparently drained long ago – a double‐edged sword. It means we thankfully don't have ancient oil caked in the pan, but it also offers no clues as to what happened internally to park the car. I would imagine the oil would be sparkly silver, but hopefully, no chunks.
But there's only one way to be sure – and my focus is on that while I carefully invert the Hemi so that the oil pan is facing up toward me.
"Wow, going one step further tonight. Somebody ate their Wheaties this morning."
I jokingly scowl at Midnight, whose face just lights up with glee again after using another one of my stupid lines. "You keep that up, and you'll start turning into me."
"Ha. There's no way I could free fall down to your level."
"Now I don't think I like you anymore."
"You couldn't live without me. I take it you're going to pull the oil pan and see what's up on the inside, huh?"
I nod my head. "Yeah, sort of the moment of truth now to see if we have something salvageable or a hefty lawn ornament."
"Is that what's got you wound up?"
"...kinda."
"Even though you said yourself this car was a good deal whether the engine could be repaired? Even though you suggested an engine swap would be simple enough in that case?"
"Hey, shut up. You make it sound irrational now."
Midnight goes silent, preferring to stare at me expectantly with a touch of amusement lining her slight grin.
"I'd just really like to keep the engine, I guess. It's... well, it's not unique, just different," I manage to piece together.
"Just open it up already," Midnight replies as a ratchet with the correct size socket snapped onto the end levitates into my open hand.
"Alright, but you're gonna have to deal with my sour mood if the reveal shows something unpleasant," I threaten her in jest, pointing the ratchet handle at her.
"Aha – no. You'll manage," she retorts.
With the ratchet, I work my way around the perimeter of the oil pan – first breaking loose each bolt, then returning in another circuit to remove them. Happily, none of them break or put up enough of a struggle to damage the bolt heads, despite having sat in the same location for damn near seventy years now.
"Drumroll, please," I announce while thumping the sides of the oil pan with a mallet to break the gasket seal loose.
"I'm not indulging your stupidity – it just encourages you."
"You just want to be a spoilsport. That's your pleasure," I argue.
"That's a perk, not a priority."
I'm unsure of exactly how the oil pickup is routed and what may possibly be stuck to the inside of the pan, so I take time and care to actually take the oil pan off of the bottom end. The gaskets are dried out enough to cause little issue, and before long, Midnight and I are staring at a collection of assembled cast and machined surfaces within the bottom of the engine block.
Well, everything is where it should be; there is no apparent shrapnel or missing parts – not that I expected to find that. But my attention quickly focuses on the crankshaft, and more specifically, the journals where it rides in the block and where the connecting rods for each piston rotate. The first two main bearing journals and the first four conrods and their running surfaces look clean from what I can see around the end caps.
It's when I get to viewing the connecting rod for cylinder number five that I see some ugliness. Unlike every other journal surface that still retains a relatively shiny silvery color, tinged gold via normal wear and oil residue, this one is a foreboding mixture of violet, blue, and brown hues that indicate excessive heat and friction.
This problem child was clearly not receiving the lubricating oil it needed. But it is a fortuitous find – the damage, if it proves more traumatic than scoring that could be cleaned up via a machining shop, is relegated to just the crank and the offending connecting rod and rod cap bearings.
"I'm assuming since one of these areas doesn't look like the others, that's bad," Midnight quips.
"Depends on your definition of bad," I answer her, looking up. "The block probably wasn't affected by that, and that was my biggest concern."
"Can that be fixed, though?"
"One way to find out – I gotta get a good view of that crank journal."
With the aid of a breaker bar, the resounding crack of two more bolts coming loose echoes through the shop. It takes only a token effort of prying to remove the rod end cap and get an unobstructed view of the crank journal in question. This time, it is not a welcome sight that greets my eyes.
With the rod bearings still in their respective homes of the block and the rod end cap, I can only assume something managed to slip its way into the tight gap and start eating away at the surface of the crank – or at the very least, starve it of oil. Just at a glance, there are enough deep gouges to assure me this crank is beyond help.
"I'm gonna take a wild guess we're going to be sourcing a replacement."
I look up at Midnight, greeted by a look of mild disappointment on her face. "Yeah, I wouldn't trust it. Sometimes you can have a machine shop mill down the journal to clean it up and use thicker bearings - but that only works to a point," I explain, running a fingernail across the damaged, grooved surface; it catches quite easily. "On the plus side – the crankshaft can become a new mailbox post or shop paperweight. Your choice."
She cracks a smile at that amusing little comment I tack onto the end. "Fair enough, she answers back. "I take it everything else is good?"
"As far as I can see with the naked eye, yes. It would still be a good idea to completely disassemble and send the block out for a thorough once over and clean up – but that was already my plan. But I feel a lot better now than I did when starting tonight."
"Well good – where should we continue with that bump in the road out of the way?" she inquires. I'm wary of that question – as I feel she forgot to add 'tonight' to the tail end.
"That sounds like a tomorrow problem," I remark, taking note of how her smile and optimism falter in a flash. "I'd like to get some rest and relaxation in before work tomorrow."
"Aww, come on. This has been relaxing," she fires back.
"Midnight, desperation is not a good look for you."
Her muzzle scrunches up at my response, but Midnight hesitates offering up a rebuttal. I'm sure she knows I won't let her come up with some other lame excuse to follow it.
"...fiiine."
"That's the spirit."
"Shut up, you sissy."
While the previous few days were relatively pleasant as far as temperature, Mother Nature has decided to crank up the thermostat for today. It has been hot from the start, and with the early afternoon sun beaming down now, I'm sure that the temperature is flirting with triple digits if it hasn't ticked past them already.
While I always bring plenty of water back to the yard with us while we work, I brought back three jugs packed with ice to compensate for the scorching temps. Even so, after three hours, the ice had virtually disappeared from one jug – and as I finish this particular container off, I find the last of the water to be getting warm.
"I'll take that after you're done with it," Midnight speaks up, returning to the Trailduster with another part pull. She tosses a trim piece in the back of the truck as I grimace to finish off the last unpalatable swig of lukewarm water.
"Nope, this one's dead," I reply, turning the container inverted and shaking it in demonstration.
"You part camel or something? I only got one drink out of that," Midnight quips, shaking her head before turning her focus to the next water jug in line.
"No, I just really like staying hydrated in heat like this," I reply. The comment makes me take note of the bead of sweat currently clinging to my brow. I wick it away with my forearm before it decides to drip into my eye and burn.
"I want to stay hydrated too, but I'm not drinking like it's going out of style," she jabs back, seizing the handle of another water jug with her ability. Despite her protests to my hydration pace, Midnight drinks deeply from the jug.
"Where are you off to next, and what part are you looking for?" I ask, curious about her plans to figure out my next move.
"Striker plate and hood latch for a '71 to '74 Dodge Charger," she answers, taking a brief pause from her thirst-quenching to also look over the water jug. "You just prepped this jug recently, didn't you?"
"I did this morning. Knew we were gonna need a lot of water today, so I wrapped some wire around the handle quickly and slapped some steel scrap on the bottom with duct tape," I explain, pointing out the patches of silvery tape that keep the temporary modifications in place.
"Color me impressed at the forethought on display today," she gushes before taking another drink of water.
"Yeah well... just wanna take care of best girl, you know?"
Upon making my comment, the water in Midnight's mouth she hasn't swallowed yet is spat out in a spray and a short cough.
"Wow, that bad, huh?" I question.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for that stupid comment," she rasps, clearing her throat. Despite the supposed unwelcome surprise, Midnight is unable to keep a sly grin from making itself known upon her muzzle.
"Oh. I was talking about the water."
Midnight allows her amusement to display this time as her grin widens – though her creased brow makes her appear devious, to say the least. "Try to save some water for the fish, stupid," she sasses, tossing me the water jug.
I take a quick swig to relish the cold water before setting it back in the truck "And tell me, what fish?" I retort, waving my arms out to direct her attention to the arid landscape around us.
"I'm absolutely shocked you were able to put two and two together."
"What's the number twenty-two got to do with it?"
"Alright, I think you need to get back to work now," Midnight laments, grabbing her tool bag and heading back off down the lane before I can give her another stupid comment.
"Have fun!" I call after her. She turns her head to eye me for a brief moment before shaking her head again.
But, she's right – there's still work to be done. I grab a few screwdrivers and a pair of pliers from my toolbox and head down the row on foot, just a few cars down, in the opposite direction of Midnight.
There are a lot of Chrysler parts to be pulled today, and I've parked the Trailduster dead-center of the group. Midnight isn't walking far to get to the B-bodies, while I'm in the thick of some F-bodies – hunting a glove box door for a Plymouth Volare. I'm used to oddities, but the order still surprises me; the cars were not built at a high quality and suffered from rust. It also didn't help that they were meant to be more economical transportation – use and throw away. They were not particularly beloved or cared for. Not like the beloved A-bodies that they replaced, such as the Dart, the Valiant, and the sportier Duster.
But I suppose I could be getting parts for a Volare Roadrunner. It was mainly a spoiler and sticker package, but they came with a peppy small block V8 and are still neat in the mid-to-late-'70s cheesy kind of way. There's also a chance of it being a Petty Kit Car package – though again, it's mostly show, not much go. Hard to miss em if the supplied '43' decals were applied to the doors.
Regardless of the home it will find, an order is an order. However, I will have to double-check between the Volare and its Dodge sibling, the Aspen – the glove box doors should be the same, but I'm not certain about that.
The first one I come across is a Dodge Aspen wagon, and it's a no-go just at a glance; the customer specifically asked for a door from a black interior, and this one is tan.
Following up right beside my first target is also a dud – a Dodge Aspen coupe that was missing the passenger door when I brought it back. While I remember putting a tarp over it in the delusional hope that it would save the interior, the remnants of the shredded cover are all that remain after the abuse of the sun and wind over time. I don't even bother looking inside – that interior is guaranteed to be shot just from exposure to the elements.
Well, this is going fantastic... I don't have many of these F-bodies lying around, so the fact I've already come up empty twice in quick succession is troubling.
Fortunately, the old 'third time's a charm' rings true as I circle around a Volare four-door sedan. While I can already tell the interior is black, I brush some of the dust away from the passenger front window to take a look. The interior looks to have taken a beating from the sun's rays, particularly the now cracked and split dashboard padding and vinyl seats – but from what I can see, the glovebox door being down far enough and recessed into the shade may have saved it.
I'm already flinching as I pop open the door, awaiting the surge of contained heat to escape. It never gets any better with experience, nor does the stench of weathered upholstery and stale air that hits me within that same tsunami. I turn my head away and take a breath as I fan the door open and closed rapidly, hoping to expel some more of that scorching heat and odor inside before I ease my way in
Sitting inside is still a tall task thanks to the vinyl upholstery; I grab the floor mat from the front passenger footwear and toss it onto the seat before gingerly inching my ass down. The car's ancient suspension groans under the presence of a new weight as I take a seat – followed by the skittering of something underneath the car making a quick exit.
Sorry critter – you can have your home back in a couple of minutes.
I pop open the glove box and set to work attacking the screws that hold the hinge to the door itself. After about three of them drop free onto the floor, the relative silence of my work is broken by a low growl just off to my right. I turn my head, finding myself just a few feet from a coyote, who stands at the rear edge of the open passenger door.
That would probably be the disturbed critter, who bears its teeth in anger and growls again as I eyeball the slender canine. Usually, these things are skittish, so the fact that this one is standing its ground rather than hightailing it is out of the norm of my experiences. Maybe she's got pups in a den underneath?
But if the matted and patchy brown and grey fur wasn't a clue, its trembling jaw and the strands of drool trailing from its mouth seal the deal that there is something seriously wrong with this animal.
Shitshitshit. It's too close to the door right now for me to have any confidence in reaching out and pulling the door close. I do not want to risk being bitten by this thing. My attention turns to what I have at my disposal to help – and I hope it's enough.
"Eat Phillips head, cocksucker!" I shout, hucking the tool in my hand at the rabid animal. The screwdriver conks the coyote in the head; surprised by the assault, the coyote recoils back far enough that I can quickly reach over to the open passenger door and slam it shut.
I'm safe from its bite now, but it's hardly a solution to my issue as the coyote is now riled enough to attack, throwing itself at the door and snarling madly. I scoot away from the door a bit, grimacing as the vinyl seat reminds me of its sizzling hot presence beyond the floormat I was using. Meanwhile, the coyote decides to get a better view, rearing up and scrabbling at the door glass while painting it with saliva.
This car isn't a Pinto, and that's not a Saint Bernard outside – but I'm still not enjoying this half-assed homage to a horror movie. If I wasn't already sweating enough, the enclosed space I'm now trapped in magnifies my perspiration, letting me know I can't stay in here for very long unless I would like to experience heatstroke.
I roll down the window just a crack, instinctively flinching every time the coyote lunges and snaps its jaws at me. "Just make like a tree and fuck off already!" I shout at it – more in frustration than actual hope it will scamper off. Obviously, it does nothing, so my next plan of action is equally as simple.
"Midnight!" I shout louder. "I need a little help over here!"
Beyond the continuing sounds of the frenzied coyote throwing itself at my enclosure, I cannot make out any response from Midnight, nor spy her form appearing over the horizon. I give it a few more moments and another shout before deciding I'm going to have to make the moves myself.
I start inching my way along the bench seat and toward the driver's door, hoping the animal is too stupid to realize what I'm doing – or the simple fact I'm moving to the other side. So far, it seems perfectly content to scrabble at the door glass on the passenger side than move elsewhere.
Within reach of the driver's side door handle, I take my chance now. In a swift motion, I wrench the handle and fling the door open, scrambling out and climbing up onto the roof of the Aspen wagon right beside the car I was just trapped in. The sheetmetal underneath my feet bows just a bit with a hollow metallic crack, but I keep my footing.
Hell, that went better than expected. But Cujo's little cousin isn't willing to give up as he darts around the Volare and up to the Aspen. Seemingly emboldened by my acrobatics, the coyote takes a leap up onto the hood, ready to lunge up to the roof where I am.
Fortunately, he doesn't account for the slickness of the windshield glass and slips down the first time while I move toward the back end of the wagon.
"MIDNIGHT!" I get one more shout in before the dog is up on the roof. As it scrambles toward me, and knowing I likely can't outrun the damn thing without a head start at the very least, I cock my leg back, wait for him to get closer, and kick at him.
My timing and my kick are solid, connecting my boot with his snout. It's a rather sickening sound and feeling as I thump him in the nose with the end of my boot. The coyote emits a sharp cry of pain and stumbles backward out of instinct – before rolling off the roof of the wagon. I don't wait around to see if he gets up – I jump down and start to run as fast as I can through the sand toward the Trailduster. It's not a far jaunt, and I have a rifle in there that can take care of this problem – as long as I can get there without being bit.
The canine may be small, but I guarantee he can run faster than me – and a quick glance behind is all I need to see I'm still being pursued. I'm not going to guesstimate how far it is behind or how much time I have. It's too close for comfort.
As I turn my head to focus all of my strength and energy forward, I catch sight of something dark whipping past my periphery in the blink of an eye – followed quickly thereafter by a sickening thump and a sharp yelp of pain once again. The suddenness of these events forces me to look back again—
"Midnight!"
At once I halt in my tracks and turn around. Just a few paces away, Midnight hovers above the coyote that was just a second ago giving pursuit. A slow steady beat of Middie's wings keeps her head and forehooves upright, while her hind legs hang down, looking ready for a kick if need be. But the coyote lays still on its side in the sand, whimpering faintly to accompany its ragged, shallow breathing. Blood drips from its snout, leaving a small pool of crimson to sink and meld with the copper sand.
Her face lined with a cross sneer, Midnight lightens up a bit as her gaze shifts to me. "I thought you were fucking around the first time you yelled," she mutters, her voice betraying a hint of guilt.
"I suppose I could have been a bit more... uh, clear, I guess. Sort of panicking a bit."
Midnight doesn't respond; instead, she stares intently at the injured coyote as she touches down on her hooves and folds away her wings.
"I'll go get my rifle out of the truck and put the thing out of its misery," I remark, thumbing back toward the Trailduster.
"I finish what I start," Midnight comments in a cold, emotionless tone. She warily steps around the animal before raising a hoof and slamming down firmly on its neck. There's a sickening audible crunch that turns my stomach as the coyote convulses for a brief moment, then falls completely still.
"Jesus," I mumble, awestruck by her actions and demeanor.
"What?" Midnight asks, looking up at me for just a split second as she circles and eyes the kill. "It beats making the thing wait a few more minutes while you grabbed something to kill it with."
"Yeah, I just — I dunno. I didn't expect that, I guess," I manage to stammer.
Satisfied that the coyote is well and truly neutralized, Midnight walks over to me, her face suddenly lined with concern.
"You didn't get bit, did you?" It's a question both of us ask one another almost in unison. Also in mirror images of each other, we both end up shaking our heads.
"I'm assuming you hit it with something or kicked it in the nose, because I didn't do that," Midnight speaks up, shooting one more glance at the lifeless body. "I figured if it was that aggressive, there was something wrong with it. It was completely focused on you – I kicked it in the ribs before it knew what was coming."
The picture Midnight paints allows me to take a breath I hadn't realized was lacking in the last several seconds.
It's a gesture that makes Midnight narrow her eyes and smirk at me. "Come on, you gotta give me more credit than that," she adds. "You really think I'm gonna let some stupid animal like that get a jump on me?"
"I never got a good look at what I did – I just kicked it in hopes that would drop the stupid thing and I ran," I clarify.
"Mm. Must have been a weak kick."
"Ha. Ha. Fuck you."
"I only joke because I know you're fine," she answers back, brushing my side and adding a light bump with her hip.
"Yeah, thanks to you," I add, patting her side before my thought drifts to another moment I realize I just witnessed. "Hey – I got to see you fly!"
I can't help but notice Midnight shies away from me just a bit following my comment as if flinching in response. It's an oddity that I can't let vanish without a word. "You aren't embarrassed by that... are you?" I gently float to her.
"I—A little bit, I guess," she admits with some reluctance, leaning against me. "It just feels sort of awkward, I'm sure it looks awkward as fuck, something as big as me flitting abo—"
"Shut up," you interrupt her, lightly thumping her side. "That was fucking cool! Don't be embarrassed by it!"
Midnight looks up at me, studying my expression after that comment. I nod at her and flash a smile to let her know there's no bullshit behind my remarks.
"I—I guess maybe it just feels like that because I don't do it much," she comments. After a moment, Midnight trots away from me, fanning out her wings yet again. With a few powerful pumps of those feathered limbs that move enough air to hit me with a breeze and a bit of dust, she takes to the air again, hovering just a few feet from the ground and turning to face me. "You think I'm a pretty good flier, huh?" she sings.
I think she was trying to be sassy about it, to mask the insecurity that flashed up before my reassurances. But her face doesn't show any hint of smugness – it's instead a genuine, proud smile almost stretching from ear to ear.
"Yeah, just like that," I respond with a chuckle. In the back of my mind, I wonder if the situation today is the only reason I would have ever seen her fly. After all, she mentioned it a few times, but other than the occasional glide to skip steps...
Is gliding that much different than full-fledged flight? Midnight has had a lot of hangups on seemingly innocent things in the past, so it's believable. Regardless, even as my adrenaline is starting to fade from the threatening situation just minutes ago – I'm sort of glad that it happened.
"Anyway, I should head back to what I was doing. No other coyotes besides that one, right?" Midnight asks.
"If I do stumble across another one, I'll be sure to let you know," I joke in response.
Midnight chuckles just a bit before setting off – through the air at low altitude, back toward her work area.
Maybe that's a view I'm going to see a bit more now. I'm certainly not opposed to it.
The second straight day of sizzling temperatures is coming to a close – and thank goodness for that. There are only a few drops of water left among the three jugs I brought along for work today.
Fortunately, that has been the only 'excitement' to occur today. Yesterday was enough of a rush when Midnight saved my ass from that coyote. Surprisingly, she hasn't teased me about it or brought it up since that event occurred. It remains an option I'm fine with because everything turned out okay in the end. I really don't know if I could have gotten back to the truck in time, and I can only hazard a guess that a bite would have been an injection of rabies...
I already know where our final parts run is going to lead us, as I mentally circled it and left it for last this afternoon. All we have left is an upper A-arm suspension piece for a Triumph Spitfire. It's an area I don't often visit for parts, but more significantly – it's where Midnight was initially dumped in the yard. The import section.
The collection of bots and other scrap she arrived with has been buried in a pit for a couple of months now, but I know that doesn't necessarily mean Midnight's aversiveness to the area will be buried with it. I have to imagine there's a lot of emotion tied just to the sights of the area – the first sight of freedom, and the first sight of a struggle to 'adapt and survive,' as Midnight said her motto to live by was while out here.
I ease onto the brake pedal as the Trailduster comes to the fork of the aisle we were on and the main path – left toward the back of the yard, and right to head back to the shop. Midnight looks as warm and weary as I feel, but the unannounced stop causes her to perk up in the passenger seat and glance around.
"This doesn't look like my stop," she comments rather playfully, turning to face me. "What gives?"
"I figured I should stop and mention the last area we need to go before heading there, Middie," I answer her in a subdued tone. "It's the import area."
Any upbeat mood within her sags as much as her ears do in the instant the last two words leave my lips. Even so, Midnight's face hardens, trying to keep a stoic face that prevents any emotion from poking through. It's that tough facade again. But I know better than that – there's dread and hesitance behind it. There's deep-seated pain behind those icy blue eyes.
"I'm not saying you can't handle going back there – especially now that the... reminders— they've been buried for a month or two now. I'm stopping to give you the option to head back to the shop if you would rather not visit that area."
"Alright... but what about next time?" she asks, matching my calm tone of voice.
"Next... what next time?" I ask, a little lost in regard to her thoughts.
"The next time we have to get parts out there. I get it's rare that we need anything from the imports, but sooner or later, we will."
"You want to face this now, rather than later."
"Avoiding it doesn't solve the issue behind the aversion, does it?" she proposes with an accompanying shrug. "It may not be as awful without the... 'reminders,' as you put it."
"I just wanted to give you the option," I reply, patting her on the withers in reassurance. "I'm good with whatever you decide to do."
"Then away we go," Midnight answers, nodding her head toward the left path. I ease my foot off the brake and turn the steering wheel, giving the throttle a light blip as we set off for the final job together.
"You really made sure to dance around that suggestion, didn't you?" Midnight comments. I turn to look at her, finding a trace of amusement easing her lips into a hint of a grin.
"I just wanted to be as neutral as possible. I know you aren't a puss that can't handle something like this," I explain, momentarily pausing for a rut in the trail we bounce through. "But you're not an emotionless hardass, either."
Midnight has no response, preferring to turn and look straight ahead once again. For the ensuing few minutes, only the engine of the truck and the occasional sound of parts in the back shifting about offer any soundtrack to the cab of the Trailduster. I consider turning on the radio but decide to leave it silent as well.
I know Midnight can handle this, but I still worry about her. Even with as far as she's come, old wounds can be hard to heal. I don't want tonight to turn into a night of prematurely tearing off bandages. But Midnight knows best. I think she's come far enough now that if this excursion really bothered her, she would have sat out and headed for home.
Hell, she's made progress in just a day; while I still don't understand Midnight's embarrassment that prevented her from flight, yesterday's events forcing her into action and my encouragement has led to a couple of occasions today where I spied her graceful form taking to the air. Maybe a better understanding behind that discomfort will come in time. Like tonight, that's a decision for her to make when she feels ready.
"I do appreciate you being... thoughtful on how to approach this situation," Midnight speaks up. "You know, acknowledging I am strong enough to do this, but... offering to leave it for another day."
I turn to look at Midnight, feeling my heart melt at the way her ears are flipped back and set low as well as the awkward smile she currently sports.
"No problem, Middie," is all I can come up with for a response. But as her eyes dart to what lies ahead of us, the moment and her adorable expression slip away.
Just ahead in the path is a T – the end of the line that signifies the imports and miscellaneous junk I've accrued over the years; I hang a left when we hit the junction. The rows of cars out here are further spaced apart, and often in clusters of cars sorted out by particular manufacturer geographical origin rather than by pure make as everywhere else.
"Do you know what a Triumph Spitfire looks like, Mid?" I question. "That's what we're after. This isn't particularly well-organized way out here."
"Mmm... vaguely. I'm sure once I put eyes on it, I'll know it," she answers, peering out her window for our target. "But if you had brought the laptop, I could tell you exactly where it is."
"If I brought the laptop, eh? The thing I hardly get to use anymore because it's always in use by you?"
"...shut up."
"Uh-huh. That's what I thought," I crow back at her.
"I'm letting you be a chewtoy for the next coyote you piss off."
Triumphs and other British machinery do not start appearing until we're closing in on the circular area that denotes the end of the trail – and the miscellaneous dumping spot. Minis, Midgets, and a couple of Rovers pass by before encountering a few Dolomites, some TR roadsters— And finally, the low-slung Spitfires.
Not a stone's throw away from these sports cars lays a large area of earth that still shows some tread marks and uneven mounds of sand where scrap was laid to rest not long ago. But my focus remains on our candidates for an A-arm – and one particular Spitfire in bright yellow is already propped up on some tires with the front wheels, brakes, and a spindle taken away. Only the upper and lower A-arms and spring remain on the driver's side – the side that I'm after.
"Hell, it looks like we lucked out. I just gotta get fortunate with the bolts that go into the frame and we're out of here," I cheer to Midnight.
Midnight nods in agreement, but her focus lies elsewhere. Those icy blue eyes are locked firmly upon the disturbed ground nearby.
I know Midnight can do this, but I should let her have some time alone. Rather than push her to talk, I throw the truck into park and kill the engine.
Even as I pop open my door and climb out, Midnight does not stray her sight from that mound of dirt or speak a word. Once I open the tailgate and start rummaging for tools, I hear the creak of the passenger door open and then close, followed shortly thereafter by the appearance of Midnight at my side.
"You good" I ask.
"Yeah," she murmurs, pausing for a deep breath. "I'm good."
I leave her statement at that, only offering a nod as we make our way out to the Triumph. It isn't a long walk, but I watch out of the corner of my eye as Midnight takes in a few lengthy stares at certain areas nearby.
I kneel down on the sandy ground and get to work, feeling relieved that the bolts on the A-arm don't look too corroded at first glance. Nevertheless, it takes a few silent minutes of spraying penetrating oil on the bolts and some muscle behind a breaker bar to crack everything loose.
All the while, Midnight fidgets beside me, continuing to take in the sights around us.
"A lot of unpleasant memories, huh?" I finally speak up.
Midnight's attention darts to me in an instant, as if she had forgotten I've been here the whole time. "This place is... burned into my memory in a way," she replies slowly. "It's just as I remember, minus the junkpile. Just the shock of it made an imprint, I guess – it surprises me how much of it I remember."
"The shock of ending up here?"
"Everything," she answers back, fanning out her wings to gesture at our surroundings. "I had never seen the outside until that moment in time when I crawled out of the scrap heap. I knew the lab wasn't what those people made it out to be, but aside from some vague idea of what lay beyond the walls based on those chips in my head..." Midnight's voice trails off at that.
"Did it spook you seeing all of these cars at first? At least, until you sorta figured out what they were?"
Midnight can't help but scoff at my inquiry, vehemently shaking her head. "I knew what they were. Like many things I encounter, it's like a light switch goes off – I could identify them and their purpose at a glance. Like I said before, the chips have a lot of information on em that is just... there."
I'm sort of lost on what else to say at this point. It doesn't sound like she's dealing with any sort of particularly painful emotions or memories – it's merely seeing this sight again and being blindsided by how closely it matches what she remembers. With my last order pull still requiring much of my focus and effort, some time passes before I speak up again to break a short silence.
"I never did hear how you got out of there," I comment. It's been something I've wondered for a while on and off but now seems as good of a time as any to find out. As the hardest work is done and I'm merely unthreading the bolts out of the frame by hand, I turn my head to look at Middie.
Initially, she just offers me a shrug, silence continuing to prevail for a while longer. "Not much to really say about it," she answers after a short spell of inflection. "Give someone enough time, misery, and means to manipulate it, one can figure out how to fuck with a lock – even an electronically actuated latch. I don't think anyone anticipated what I could do with my electromagnetic abilities. I sure as hell didn't let them know everything I could do. A lot of times, at what I would assume was the night shift with so few people around, I'd practice how to move things, and get the hang of fine control."
I can't quite put my finger on it, but Midnight's explanation feels... off. Not in the sense that she's lying about it – but something that feels off to her about the escape. Nevertheless, I've finally freed the last fastener holding the A-arm to the frame and wrench it out of the wheel well for Midnight to see.
But at this point, Midnight is looking off... somewhere.
"You sure you're okay?" I press her.
"I'd still like to know who took pity on me," she says aloud.
"What do you mean 'pity'?"
"The only reason I decided it was time to leave was someone conveniently dropped a document from the project file in my room. I don't think it was by accident, and it let me know my project was being... 'terminated ,' she explains, emphasizing that last word just as her eyes snap to me. "I got to a point where I stopped caring about who was dealing with me – I didn't give anyone the satisfaction of learning who they were, their faces... so I don't know who left that paper on the floor."
"Maybe it was your... er, project manager? Seeing everything you went through start to finish?"
Much to my surprise, Midnight bursts out into laughter – but not a happy, joyous sound. It is a cackle soaked in bitterness. "He would have been the last one to help me!" she exclaims. "That miserable asshole was 'stuck' with me the whole time! I started out as his personal project idea to fiddle with possible new avenues of research and development down the line – more importantly, a way to make himself look good and innovative for promotion to something bigger in the company. It was never about me – I was just a possible springboard to be used and tossed when he got what he wanted."
With that, Midnight loses her tall and stoic posture, her shoulders sagging along with her head and ears. "It got to a point where I think he was hoping it would... end. That one of the experiments wouldn't be successful – that I wouldn't survive one of em, develop complications. Because from what I overheard from idle chatter, higher-ups were interested in what he was doing – but wanted to keep him with me to see what else he could accomplish, rather than move him up and require a replacement for head of my project. Granted, I wasn't that nice toward him – I was being put through hell for someone else's gain. But I think he really started to hate me because me being alive was keeping him there."
"His fucking loss, Midnight," I chide, rising to my knees and reaching over to embrace her around the neck. "Fuck those people – even if they did indirectly lead you to me. They'll never know what they truly lost."
Midnight is more than willing to yield, resting her chin on my shoulder as she creeps closer to me. "That was sort of lame, but I think you might have a point," she mumbles. It's a mumble that comes with a sense of lightness out of Middie. I can feel her relax in my arms, letting something go that's been held deep inside for far too long.
"I know I have a point, as corny as it sounds. And I know I'm right, too," I tell her, adding a few pats on her back for extra affection. For a few moments longer, I hold her in my arms – up until Midnight pulls away.
"I think I've held onto the past long enough," she muses before sidestepping me. I turn around as I rise to my feet, finding Midnight strutting toward the uneven earth demarking the burial pit. I follow her lead, joining her side in the center of the area by the time she halts.
Midnight's eyes burrow into the dirt beneath our feet for a time before she finally looks up again, out toward the horizon. "All of that bitterness and anger I had. It drove me forward for a long time. It helped me to endure, figure things out, and stay alive. But it's not really helping me anymore, is it?" she asks.
"No, I don't think it is. It's good to remember where you came from. It's good that you had a drive to keep yourself going, but... I think you're ready to move on."
"I am."
With that abbreviated agreement, I watch as Midnight sinks a hoof into the sand, pulling it back to leave a divot in the ground.
"What's that?"
"Reassuring myself I'm burying a part of my life that's overdue for a final resting place," she exhales, pushing the coppery sands back into the hole and patting them down even with the immediate surroundings. "I have a lot to be thankful for since the last time I was here."
With a nod of finality, she tilts her head to look at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. There's no longer any turmoil swirling behind them, begging to be unloaded. I think tonight is a night Midnight has been working toward for a while, and while there might still be a few bumps in the road...
She's ready to focus on the here and now.
"Come on, let's go home," Midnight says with a serene smile as she brushes my side with a wing. I turn and join her, stride for stride as we pick up the tools and the part we came here for, and pile back into the truck.
Maybe tonight calls for a nice little fire. Maybe it just calls for some quiet time on the couch. Perhaps a bit of work on the Chrysler?
I don't know – but I know Midnight and I will be doing it together.
As movement upon my chest stirs me awake and forces my eyes open, I'm greeted by my room, still bathed in relative darkness. Lying on my side in bed, my eyes have to adjust to make sense of the vague shapes around me, but one already stands out – thanks to the bluish glow of eyes.
Midnight is huddled up next to me in bed – but trying to ease herself out from under the embrace of my left arm. Her eyes migrate up to mine as I am just able to make out her frown. "I was trying not to wake you – I have to use the bathroom," she mumbles. "Sorry."
"Hey, no problem," I reassure her through my sleep-induced fog, lifting up my arm to release her. With that, Midnight slips off the side of the bed with hardly a sound and slinks through the bedroom doorway, only vaguely visible by following her movements until she's out of sight.
I decide to turn and lie on my back while awaiting Midnight's return. I just stare up at the ceiling for now and listen; out of curiosity, I try to make out the sounds of Midnight opening the door or heading down the steps. But as usual, she's uncannily silent – the slightest creak from the kitchen door is all I can make out.
I still don't understand how she can be so quiet with hooves – though it does seem to be something she actively chooses to do. Excitement seems to push her mind away from calculated motions and forces her hooves to emit a familiar clack I would normally expect to hear on concrete, tile, and other hard surfaces.
But in this case, it probably doesn't help that the air conditioner is running with a continuous hum out in the living room. Meanwhile, though there's a slight chance at best of any precipitation, the distant rumble of thunder outside is an audible broadcast to be wary of rainstorms.
While it would be simple enough to turn my head, I'm too damn lazy to check my alarm clock for the time. Since it's still pitch black, it's safe to assume it's the wee hours of the morning – Midnight and I were up a bit later than normal discussing parts and pieces on the Chrysler.
...and it's so weird, now that I think about it. How the hell did we get here? More specifically, how did things lead to my position now, waiting for Midnight to return to bed with me before falling back asleep?
This was a fantasy a month ago, at best. That followed up the amicable coexistence Midnight and I somehow managed to hammer out – because we sure as hell didn't want anything to do with each other at first meeting. She was arrogant and grating at best – but I guess I took pity on her, to an extent.
Midnight saw me as a means to an end, needing a place to stay and lie low out of the public eye. It was an idea she despised, but she needed me.
Now, here we are. In a relationship, enjoying each other's company. I couldn't imagine not being with her at this point. And on the other end – Midnight has become quite the cuddle slut at night. I always wake up to her snuggled up next to me. But I've never noted my observation to her – I'd hate to see the trend come to an end because of self-consciousness on her part.
She would probably deny it anyway, somehow turning it back on me.
"Hey, are you still awake?" I hear Midnight murmur from across the room.
"No."
"Oh, good."
I'm able to hear just enough movement and spy a pair of disembodied blue cat's eyes rushing toward me early enough to brace myself. Midnight lands atop me a split second later – though it's a relatively light impact.
"Oof. You fatass."
I see a flash of her teeth as she gives me a smug grin and a light chuckle, followed by her hoof lightly thumping my chest. "You're fine, pussy," she chides, before rolling off of me and back to my left side.
I take it as a signal to resume my side-laying position I was in when she initially woke me. Once again I lay my arm over her, which coaxes an exhale of content from Midnight. Even so, her eyes begin to study me, while her face grows slightly serious. "What's up with you all of a sudden?" she inquires.
"Hm?"
"I came back and you were just staring up at the ceiling like you might have actually had a thought in your head for once. And you still seem to be... more quiet than I expected."
"No thoughts, just focusing on keeping the air up there contained and secure," I joke back.
"I haven't heard any whistling, so I'd say you're doing a fine job," she comments, continuing with my charade. While I expected something back regarding my quip, I still can't help but exhale through my nose in amusement at what Midnight cooked up. However, silence pervades the room for a spell after that – while Midnight continues to stare at me.
"Just drinking in my features tonight, huh?" I quip.
"Nah. Just wondering what's really on your mind," she answers, cool and calm.
Well, there's really no harm in sharing. "How the hell did we get here," I wonder aloud.
"Well, I'm not really sure about the whole process that it took to create me," she answers, hesitating for just a moment as a smirk starts to form on her muzzle. "I'm sure in your case, your mommy and daddy loved each other very much, and one night—"
"Halt it right there – that's not what I meant, you sicko."
"Exactly. They had really gross old people sex and made you," she makes sure to finish. It makes me pull my arm off of her just to flick her nose in retaliation. Unfortunately, that only garners me another snappy response from her – as she sneezes on me.
"That was pleasant," I lament. Despite not being anything close to a shower, I still take a moment to rub down the lower half of my face of what did manage to land on me.
"I'm not the one who decided irritating my nose would be a brilliant idea," she shoots back. "Deal with it."
Yeah, I know," I concede dismissively. "But what I meant to say is how did we end up like this? You know, sharing a bed now, some... more intimate moments. When you stop and think about it, it just seems sort of surreal with everything we've been through, you know?"
"It's what you wanted though... right?" she asks, the uncertainty in her voice quickly prodding at my heart.
"It is, I didn't mean to make you believe otherwise," I tell her, leaning in and kissing the same snoot I flicked just moments ago. "But you weren't on board with this idea at first. Hell, getting you to like me before that was a struggle in and of itself."
"It wasn't that bad," Midnight scoffs, though her rebuttal dies off for a moment after that feeble excuse. "I didn't have patience. With anyone. I didn't trust anyone. That was hard for me to— let go. Letting go of what I experienced before meeting you."
I certainly understand the patience thing; I've never had much of it with any employees I have hired. Yet despite her volatile temperament, I took it upon myself to work with Midnight and help her improve. There's an argument to be made that I did it for selfish reasons, seeing her unique abilities being a boon for the business – but much of that idea goes out the window with everything that has transpired beyond that initial step.
"You had your issues. It just took a while to get you to tell me what they were," I remind her. "Maybe I sort of sensed that, deep down."
"Quite a statement to make when you had your issues, too," Midnight responds with a hum of amusement, snuggling closer to me. " You didn't want to face the music with what reality had in store for you down the road, preferring to make a joke of everything. I had to dig deeper myself."
"In other words, we're both kinda shitty."
"Mmm – no, just you," she answers, snickering to herself. "I was more... rough around the edges, so to speak."
"Mid, there were no rough edges. It was just a rough sphere with you," I tease.
"Whatever, sit on a dick then," she retorts in mock frustration, sticking her tongue out at me.
"You should know better than to threaten me with a good time."
"Hey, I'm still not wholly convinced there isn't some truth to that, despite what went on between us," Midnight cautions. But neither she nor I can keep going on with a straight face, preferring instead to let out a pair of amused chuckles.
"Anyway, despite all that... here we are," I comment.
"Yeah, somehow we're putting up with each other," Midnight adds.
"Both of us together making this place work, little by little."
"While working on our own project car for fun on the side."
...I feel like that comment is not gonna end at just a passing muse. That being said, I wait until Midnight invariably follows through to break the silence she created. I normally wouldn't mind her questions, but I really am tired and ready to go back to sleep now...
"What's the next focus for the 300C, anyway?" she finally asks. "I know you said you've got to tear the whole engine down to the bare block, but where does that leave me in the meantime?"
Rather than give Midnight an answer, I choose to simply stare at her, offering up just the smallest hint of a grin even as she fidgets and pokes at me for a response.
"What?" she finally spouts, her voice touched by a hint of uneasiness by my relentless silence.
"I was just thinking..."
"Yes?"
"You have the weirdest idea of pillow talk I've ever heard in my life," I finish.
It is a comment that draws a pout from her as anticipation dies away. But it is soon replaced by a mock scowl as she snorts and lightly pushes at my chest with a hoof. "Just shut the hell up, stupid," she mutters.
"Music to my ears, Middie," I cheer, pulling her up tight to me and closing my eyes. "Gnight."
"...well played," Midnight mumbles. I crack open an eye just in time to watch her properly snuggle in with me once again.
I will answer her question tomorrow – I'm just too comfortable to bother right now...
"C'mon you miserable son of a bitch..."
As Midnight's low growl reaches my ears, I can't help but snicker a little. "Now surely I don't hear you over there hurling insults at a stubborn inanimate bolt, right?" I belt out loud. "I feel like I remember someone ridiculing me for that same sort of behavior in the past."
"Pound sand," she grumbles back at me.
Even though the wording is perhaps a bit lighter than normal – or perhaps because of it – I can tell Midnight is getting a bit frustrated by what she's currently working on. I set down the tool in my hand and start to make my way toward her. Midnight's focus remains above where she stands, peering into the recesses of the Chrysler's undercarriage as it sits perched on the car lift. Her eyes stay locked onto her task, but an ear swivels to pick up and hone in on my movements.
"Something I can help with?" I ask once I reach her side. I look up to try and get an idea of what exactly her focus is, finding a wrench perched upon a bolt head near one of the spring mounts.
"I don't really think so. I'm trying to get this bolt out of the end of the leaf spring to change the bushing – but it's being stubborn," she explains, removing the wrench and using it to tap the bolt giving her trouble.
"They usually are miserable to get out – especially when they've been in the same place for almost seventy years," I remind her as I grab onto the leaf spring. It wriggles a little bit around the bolt, and once I find the sweet spot where it doesn't seem to be binding, I nod my head. "Try it now, Midnight."
Midnight levitates the wrench back onto the bolt head. In a matter of moments, she's spinning out the entire length of the bolts with little issue until it comes completely free. I let go of the leaf spring just as Midnight starts to shake her head.
"I should have known better. Of course it was binding on the pressure of the leaf spring," she mutters unhappily to herself.
"Hey, tunnel vision happens to the best of us. I just happen to have a fresh set of eyes that could take in everything going on. You get better at noticing stuff like that the more you do it, too," I encourage her, leaning down slightly in order to smooch her atop her head. Despite the work and toil in the sun earlier today, I can still get a whiff of lilac from her shampoo beyond the working mare scent.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," she dismisses me, trying to play off my affections. "You did buy all the suspension bushing like you had planned, right?"
"Yeah, they're..." I can't help but trail off as I remember where I put them, turning my head upward. "They're in the trunk of the 300C."
"Aw, fuck," Midnight pouts. "I should have asked before I got started."
"It's not that big of a deal. Just a few extra seconds of work. At least I know where they are, rather than allowing em to be scattered around the shop."
I step out from underneath the car and clear of the lift with Midnight stepping out on the other side. I pick up the remote from its hanger and lower the lift, halting just before the Chrysler sets back down on its wheels. Digging out the keys in my pocket, I pop the trunk and flip the lid open just as Midnight rejoins me.
While the trunk on this old car is a cavernous space, the multitude of parts I've collected for the car and the parts that have been removed take up much of the space. Even so, I'm able to quickly identify the unmarked cardboard box containing the bushings – as it lies near the top of the heap, being a fairly recent purchase and arrival.
"If it makes you feel any better among all of this, I'm impressed to see you taking the patient and 'easier' way of replacing all of these bushings," I comment while finagling the box of parts from its home.
"Because I'm doing it one at a time, rather than unbolting everything at once?" Midnight chimes in. "Believe it or not, I listen to you from time to time. Focusing on one aspect makes it easier in the long run than total disassembly and scattering parts and pieces everywhere for no reason."
"Uh, when did I say any of that?" I ask, feeling a bit lost while handing off the box to Midnight with one hand and closing the trunk lid with the other.
"Hello, when we were pulling the engine?" Midnight remarks, raising an eyebrow at my absentmindedness. "Rather than draining the transmission and unhooking everything like I expected, we left it in place, suspended by chains."
"Hey, not all of us are part supercomputer that can dredge up every fleeting memory."
"As if a few surplus electronic gizmos in my head equate to a supercomputer," she scoffs in a light-hearted jest. "I'm just thankful I'm not part dumbass."
"Well, apparently you live with someone part dumbass – and dumbassery is infectious."
"Hm, maybe that's why I couldn't think of another way to tackle that bolt until you showed me. I like the excuse – we'll go with that."
"Always happy to help."
"And how goes your little art project?" Midnight inquires in a cheeky tone, leaning to the side to glance past me and off toward the workstation I've set up around the engine stand.
I fold my arms in response as she shoots me a wry grin. "And what's that supposed to mean, Middie?"
"Oh, nothing," she sasses back. "I just think it's cute how you got those little paint pans all set up on a little wheeled workbench. All ready for arts and crafts."
"I'll have you know it's a professionally unprofessional setup that I've created."
"Aw, of course it is. But thanks for the little visual asspat to make me feel better about myself, fruitcake," she taunts.
Asspat, huh?
While she walks past me to get a closer look at what my current project entails, I uncross my arms and turn as if to follow her. But instead, I let her get a step in front of me and wind up before slapping her on the ass – making sure I grab a nice handful of cushion while I'm at it. Midnight emits a squeal of surprise upon first contact, jolted into turning around to face me.
No problem, Middie," I taunt her. "Always happy to give out asspats to my favorite mare."
Midnight glares at me before rearing up on her hind legs, bringing her forelegs down roughly upon my shoulders for balance. But being this close to her, I can see it's all a facade – she is trying desperately not to smirk or smile as her nostrils flare. "You're a sick bastard," she tries to growl.
"What? You were thanking me for asspats, and I didn't remember ever doing such a thing," I try to explain while keeping a straight, innocent face.
"That wasn't a pat."
"Sorry, retarded."
"Well, consider yourself warned now," Midnight replies, leaning in and planting a quick and fleeting kiss on my lips before slipping back down to all fours.
"Wow, that was a warning?" I mumble. "Now I kinda want to do it again and see the next step of discipline."
"I don't think you need to push your luck," she answers, shaking her head before continuing to trot over to my work area. "Come on, what do you really have going on over here?"
Putting my dirty thoughts away for the time being, I head over to show Midnight the current state of the Chrysler's Hemi engine. With one cylinder head fully disassembled and the other in the midst of being pulled apart, there's an organized sort of mess among the wheeled tables I have set up to help me.
"What you call an art station is really a cheap and simple way to keep particular items organized in proper position and orientation of how I removed them," I explain as Midnight gawks at one particular paint pan filled with murky liquid.
"And uh... what the hell is in here?" Midnight asks, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust at the sight. But keen to answer her own question, one of the engine components emerges from the depths – a pushrod that's finally beginning to take on a metallic sheen after years of sitting in oil.
"I'm letting the pushrods soak in kerosene to knock off all the buildup from sitting in what oil didn't drain out – after years, it just turns into a varnish and stains the metal," I explain. "Just be careful, make sure you set that back where you found it."
"I wasn't aware each pushrod was unique," Midnight answers.
"Uh – well, they're not," I admit, feeling a bit awkward with her comment. "I've heard it's best to keep things organized in order to put them back in the particular place you found them. Different wear patterns sort of give each piece a kind of memory, I guess. Dunno if it's actually true, but I would rather not find out the hard way – hence their placement in the pan one by one and the marking of each tray."
Midnight takes care when replacing the pushrod that's in her telekinetic grasp before her eyes dart to the side of the tray and the scrawled permanent marker labels in black. "Wow, beautiful writing as always," she snidely remarks, squinting to discern what's written.
"Yeah, I know. Looks like I had a seizure while trying to color in the lines."
"What lines?"
"Hey, you got it."
Yet again, Midnight just shakes her head rather than give my stupidity any proper acknowledgment. Instead, she turns her attention to another table containing more parts and pieces from the engine's valvetrain – particularly the rocker arm assemblies. "You know, now just sitting here out of the head, this doesn't look as complicated as before – or as it does in diagrams," she comments.
"Looks can be deceiving; it's the same amount of rocker arms and pushrods as any other American V8 built back in the day before overhead camshafts – just an extra shaft splitting up the exhaust and intake rods," I explain, motioning to the rocker arm shafts in parallel. "Just needs a different geometry between the two valves because of the hemi head shape. They make a dome-shaped combustion chamber at the top by being angled and opposed to each other."
"I guess having it explained why they're set up like that helps too," Midnight replies with a smirk as she turns her focus exclusively toward me. "Have you tracked down a crankshaft for this engine yet?"
"Maybe."
The smile that's been present on Midnight's face more often than not today vanishes in an instant. "I'm pretty sure what I asked was a yes or no question," she comments, a touch of edge in her voice.
"I haven't really done much digging yet," I relent, hoping the reveal won't bite me in the ass. "It's not really a priority, as I'm not going to buy one right now regardless of the availability or price. I'm in a holding pattern until I know for sure the engine block is in good shape."
"Wait – I thought you said it looked fine," Midnight quickly replies, cocking her head. "Did you find something during your teardown?"
"No, but something that looks fine is only that to the naked eye. I want to make sure it's structurally sound with no hairline cracks. A machine shop can tell me for sure when they're cleaning it up – until then, no engine parts unless they're universal bits we could use on another engine."
My reasoning only gets a pouting expression from Midnight – something rather odd considering...
"Didn't you tell me not long ago that this engine turning out to be a lost cause wouldn't be the end of the world?"
Midnight snaps to attention at that, looking away from me as she tries to act confused by my accusation. "No?" she finally responds.
It's a feeble attempt at playing stupid – even if she wasn't going up against a self-proclaimed champ. Two can play at that game, and I think I know where to go.
"Oh. Must have been one of the recent discussions I had with Starla," I ponder out loud, shrugging my shoulders before getting situated at my workstation again.
"Oh, shut up. You don't even talk to her," Midnight scoffs, unable to completely put away her slight irritation toward the idea.
"Not that you know of , anyway," I continue to press, fighting off the urge to smile right now as I gaslight Midnight into taking the bait.
"She would have told me. We talk about the two idiots we have to live with."
"Really?" I respond, suddenly intrigued by where this has led. "What sort of things do you talk about?"
Despite being confident and fired up just a moment ago, Midnight shrinks back now, her ears flattened against her head. "Stuff," she answers curtly.
"I see. Does she know... about us?"
"No – that's kinda a private thing, isn't it?" Midnight replies. Her eyes leer at me as if I've suggested something inappropriate...
Which I haven't.
"You know I'm just talking about the standard 'relationship' label, right?" I suggest to her. "Nothing more in detail than that."
"Well no shit, what else would there be other than— no!" Midnight suddenly exclaims, realization hitting her like a semi-truck. "Why in the fuck would I talk about that?!"
"I don't know – why would you feel like us dating would be a touchy, intimate subject to discuss?" I shoot back, feeling like I'm abruptly on my back foot in a more serious conversation than I anticipated.
"I... are we... 'dating'?" Midnight asks with a heap of caution keeping her voice low as she tiptoes the question to me.
"Uh... kinda?" I'm so confused by the abrupt shifts in Midnight's attitude in just a few fleeting seconds that I don't know what to expect from her now. "I don't really know what would make it officially... official— but we do a lot of stuff together now, yeah? Like the little firepit out back on some nights is a good example."
Midnight nods at my awkward explanation – but her gesture lacks any sort of firm conviction. I'm not sure if she still doesn't quite grasp it or expects... more.
"What makes you think of 'dating'? Like a night out on the town?" I continue, pushing the spotlight back to her.
"I don't— I guess I never gave any of it a thought until now," Midnight replies, sounding befuddled by her own admission as it escapes her lips. "Maybe?"
It doesn't sound like a half-bad idea to me, now that I've brought up a date night out. But I would only really consider it and propose such an idea if Midnight were truly up for it – and assuming we could find a nice little restaurant to dine in.
"Maybe we will have to do that sometime soon in the future, Middie," I float the notion to her.
Much to my surprise, as Midnight pretends to intently mull the idea in her head, she is unable to prevent a smile from forming upon her muzzle. "You know, I might have to eventually hold you to that offer," she finally states.
Well, that settles it – one way or another, we will make an official date night happen. But that's a scenario to plan out another day. And there are more important matters to discuss now that Midnight's spilling some interesting tidbits.
"So what kind of 'stuff' do you and Starla talk about?"
"Stuff. That's all you need to know," she coldly responds, keeping a wary eye on me.
"Is there some... girly stuff?" I cup my hand over my mouth, pretending to giggle like a schoolgirl following my question. But a blanket of dark feathers smacks me in the face for my troubles shortly thereafter.
"My god, you are a fucking moron," Midnight laments, folding away her wing once again. However, I can't help but note the embarrassed tone in her voice, if the way her ears flip back once again wasn't enough of an indicator. "I'm going back to my work now, do something productive," she adds as she turns around to leave.
"Aww, you're no fun."
Midnight halts and turns her head to look at me once more. "And you're too much fun. It all evens out in the end," she sasses.
While I sit on the couch and browse the screen of... I guess our laptop – a dark blue foreleg abruptly blocks my view. I'm unwilling to pay it or its owner any notice, so I ignore it the best I can – which isn't very well. I resort to tilting the screen back just a tad so I can see above the leg. Of course, said leg now decides to wave and wriggle around, making any further hopes of continuing... uh, hopeless.
"What are you doing?" I ask, turning my head to look at my companion. Midnight lays beside me, on her back with her legs in the air. Her head is locked slightly to the left, to avoid sticking me in the hip with the point of her horn – or at least, to prevent me from sitting on it.
"Hoof rub," she quietly demands, raising said hoof until it's inches away from my face.
"You know, you look kinda stupid when you lay like that on the couch," I respond, preferring to ignore Midnight's odd request.
"I guess like attracts like. You look stupid all the time."
"Mid, that doesn't even look comfortable."
"I know – hence the hoof rub."
That— That makes absolutely no sense. I'm forced to just stare at her while I try to understand her endgame here.
"Stop thinking about it. You'll overtax your noggin," Midnight demands, pointing her other hoof at me.
Midnight has gotten more open and playful over time, but this is still a new level of weird for her. But rather than question it too much, I decide it's better to just... have fun. "OK, how about a compromise?"
"Hm... I don't think that was an option I put on the table for you," she responds after pretending to mull that for just a brief moment. But despite the negative answer I receive, I reach over with my right hand and start stroking her chest. The soft fine fur glides across my palm as I trace a circular motion with little effort.
"That... That's not... My hoof," she manages to stammer out in pieces. Despite her protests, she's lost in the attention I'm giving her right now as she lowers the leg thrust at me only moments ago.
"Yeah, I'm shit at anatomy, Midnight. This is the best I can do," I console her. Even as I direct my eyes back to the laptop I'm using, I keep my hand busy lathering Midnight with affection. However, it isn't long before my arm is brushed aside in time with the couch starting to shift underneath me. I don't have to turn my head again to see what's going on; Midnight makes her presence known by twisting and pushing her way into my lap headfirst, forcing the laptop onto my knees.
I look down at her when she finally decides she's found a good spot; Midnight looks up at me without a care in the world and an eager smile plastered onto her muzzle.
"You are not a laptop," I mutter quietly.
"Wow, so you can tell the difference? I'm impressed," she chides back.
"You're being awfully needy tonight. And very strange."
"No, you've just convinced me you have more uses than I anticipated," she comments as her face begins to sport a rather devious grin. "Now continue, my slave."
Dumbfounded by where this is headed, I cock my head and purse my lips as I stare down at Midnight.
"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," she warns, her smile slipping away.
"Oh, ok," I acknowledge her. But rather than continue petting Midnight's chest, I reach over her for the laptop and gently rest it upon her snout – leaving her head completely obscured from my vision. "By the way, that's my line, you aren't allowed to use it," I make sure to add.
"That's my laptop I'm letting you use," Midnight calls back in a nasally voice. Of course, rather than end it there, Midnight proceeds to take several loud and purposely snuffled breaths through her nose the laptop currently rests upon. It's not a particularly welcome or pleasant sound, so I cut her a break and place the laptop back on my knees.
"I knew you would see things my way," she floats, wrinkling and snuffing her nose just a few times after that short diversion.
"Alright, I can't leave this alone – you're being really weird tonight," I admit. "I'm not mad, I'm curious – what's up?"
I feel Midnight shift slightly underneath me in the shoulder and back area – evidently an attempt at a shrug that I can't see from this angle. "You get to act like a dumbass all the time, and I'm a little bored – so I figured why not take a stab at it tonight?" she answers back confidently. "The massage was an added bonus – though I really would have preferred attention to my hooves. I had to work my ass off to make up for you today."
Perhaps it sounds callous coming out of her mouth – but she's not wrong. While it was not my plan, I spent a good portion of today underneath a second-generation Grand Prix prying front suspension parts from its bowels. Despite my assurances to her that she didn't need to pick up my end of the list, she did anyway.
"You make a point, but I told you not to do that," I remind her. "We're a team – there is no 'I' in 'team'."
"Ah, but there is a 'me' if you jumble up the letters," she counters with delight, putting one of her hooves up against my nose.
"Shaddup. You said you were trying to be stupid tonight," I shoot back, booping her nose to return the favor.
"That didn't take much thought to figure out, stupid."
"But you did have to think about it."
"Well, I can't not think," she scoffs with a roll of her eyes.
"Mm... Maybe. But you are getting there," I tease her.
"Come again?" she spouts, abruptly raising her voice as her gaze upon me hardens.
The reaction doesn't faze me that much, as I expected a touch of hostility. "Remember once upon a time when you told me you couldn't make your mind shut up and just... relax?" I remind her calmly. "Right now, you're doing a pretty damn good job of just that. Chilling out without a thought or a care in the world."
"Well, shit can change. But I'm still sharp as a tack," she reaffirms, sticking her nose up... well, basically laying her head flat in my lap, completely inverted.
"You're not wrong. Other than this exact moment."
"Oh, shut up," Midnight responds, relenting with her little upturned nose charade to look at me again. "What about you actually giving a damn about your work tonight, John? Care to explain this oddity?"
"Who said I was working on anything, Middie?"
"Mhm. Probably looking at porn," she suggests with a disapproving tone. "What we looking at, 'Thirteen Man Slamathon?' 'Tranny Grannies in Crotchless Panties?'"
"Ooh, I like the sound of that last one. Bet it has a great storyline," I play along with her. "I mean, that's the whole reason I watch porn. What else is there?"
Midnight lets out a short exhale through her nose directly into my face as she gives up a smirk at my comment. But her eyes dart sharply to the left, trying to make sense of the laptop screen now without turning her head. Amusement shortly turns to befuddlement as her smile vanishes and her eyes fixate upon me again.
"What?"
"You're looking at the junkyard spreadsheet right now," she notes, her void devoid of any particular tone or emotion. "More specifically, you're looking over the Pontiacs we have out there."
...she's actually right about that.
"And you got that from a quick glance at the screen," I state aloud, not quite believing that's all there is to it.
But Midnight nods her head in the affirmative, a flash of slight overconfidence in her eyes and her reappearing grin. "Bitch, please. I know my work – I created the damn thing from scratch," she boasts.
"Well, at least you're humble about it," I wisecrack.
Midnight sticks her tongue out at me, completing the gesture with an accompanying "Nya!"
Without thought or hesitation, I reach out and seize the tip of her purplish-pink tongue between my thumb and index finger with just enough pressure to prevent her from retracting it. Midnight's eyes go wide as she tries to understand the sudden madness that's overcome me to do this.
"Leh go oth ny tongue, athhoe," she manages to work out despite the abrupt speech handicap I've forced upon her.
"Is that supposed to be English?" I tease her, making sure to plaster on a cocky smile. "I don't understand a thing you just said."
"Yow ah thaggot," she slurs back, her brow hardening in disapproval.
"Hm. Still not getting it – can you try the phrase 'I rode on a ship full of apples' so I can get a baseline for translation?"
Perhaps out of discomfort than any other reason, Midnight starts pulling her tongue back toward her mouth after my suggestion. Once my digits are near her teeth, I let go – and she makes sure to snap her jaws closed with enough force to garner an audible *chomp* from her mouth full of pointed teeth. But a brief look of accomplishment vanishes from her face as she sticks her tongue back out, grimacing in disgust.
"Ah, ew, I got fucking hair in my mouth!" she gags, trying to spit out the offender toward me.
"Hey, you're the only one with long hair here, it's probably yours," I protest, pushing the side of her snout to point away from me. "Stop whining and deal with it, ya wuss."
Midnight makes sure to drag on her exaggerated retching and gaging a little bit longer before settling down. At that point, her eyes return to the screen of the laptop as I type a few little things below a couple of cars in the database. "Anyway – really, what are you doing?" she asks.
"Jotting down what I took off a few of the cars. I dunno why neither you nor I thought of it before, but keeping track of what we take off of cars should help us in the long run."
"You know, I actually feel a bit ashamed I never thought of doing that before, now that you mention it."
"Hey, no one is perfect," I assure Midnight, patting her chest once again. She wriggles a bit back and forth under my ministrations.
"Yeah – but I'm pretty close to perfect," she argues, making sure to lean heavily into a haughty tone and a smug expression.
I try to think of something to say as I look down at her. But instead, I feel like I just have to stare at Midnight. With her lying in my lap, her hair is splayed out wildly, allowing the light to pick favorites between the blues and violets in her hair depending on the area. My eyes shift to the smug grin she's sporting – which, like many times when she smiles, allows just the tips of her canine teeth to peek out from her upper lip. And there's still those eyes. She wasn't born with them, but she's begun to take pride in them. The otherworldly blue hues that make up her irises are breathtaking up close as she looks up at me through slitted pupils.
"Hey, that was a joke, John," Midnight speaks up. "I'm not that full of myself, so stop staring at me like that."
"No, you're not perfect. But you're damn close," I tell her. Her brow furrows for a moment as she mulls my comment.
"You're weird," she mumbles, softening up her expression to one of slight confusion.
"I know. And you're so damn cute when you're all confused and flustered," I tease her, reaching to one of her cheeks and lightly pinching it.
"No," she protests, lazily waving her hooves to brush my hand away as she pouts. "I still don't do cute."
"Bullshit. You're doing cute right now," I contend, pointing at her face.
"Nuh-uh. I can't do cute. Cute is just a word that's way too... blech," she explains, sticking her tongue out at the end in a scene much like the hair incident moments ago.
"Alright, fine. You're adorable."
"Yeck."
"Beautiful."
"Well, that's much better," Midnight concedes. "But I was thinking more along the lines of 'ravishing'." Her eyes light up upon utterance of this apparent magic word.
"Nope, don't like it," I argue, shaking my head. "Too long."
Midnight's eyes narrow as she leers at me. "It's the same amount of letters and syllables, shithead," she mutters.
"Yeesh, alright. Fuckin nerd."
"Having some semblance of intelligence does not make me a nerd," Midnight refutes, brooding over my accusation.
"On the other hand, you're a cute nerd."
"I really don't like you anymore."
"Well, fair is fair. No more chest rubs," I comment, starting to pull my hand away from Midnight. But before I can get it too far, she uses her forelegs to snag my hand and pull it back toward her.
"No, mine," she bitterly mumbles. "Continue."
"What, are you part cat now? Supposed to keep petting you until you decide enough and try to bite the shit out of me?"
Midnight cocks her head, staring at me with wide, innocent eyes. "...Mrow?" she purrs.
"I— no, that doesn't work," I respond, once again shaking my head. "You would put a mountain lion to shame, and I don't think they purr."
"Rawr?"
"Shaddup."
"Fine," Midnight relents, pouting again at my minor disapproval. "Maybe I'm just someone who requires being lavished with attention. In that case – continue to heed my command, peasant."
"I shoot down the cat emulation, so you go all in on the villain you look like?"
"Ha! Nightmare Moon doesn't have shit on me!" Midnight belts out, her eyes beginning to glow wildly. "Look at everything I possess, my kingdom and its riches – completely unopposed! Someone to tend to my needs and pamper me! I should beat you for such a mindless comparison." As she finishes, she swats at me with one of her hooves while putting on a stern facade.
"...You're fucking weird," I say after a slight hesitation. "You sure you're alright tonight?"
"I... may have tried one of those ciders that you bought over the weekend," Midnight answers, her ears drooping as she gives me an uneasy smile.
"The whole six-pack?"
"No, just one..."
I don't think she's lying about that. But they're only four or five percent alcohol in a twelve-ounce bottle...
"So you cheated at playing the stupid game tonight."
"It's not cheating if you never anticipated the game in the first place," Midnight retorts. "And I didn't finish the bottle. I had most of it, but... I wasn't really a fan. What little was left I dumped down the sink and threw the bottle away."
"And that's legitimately all you had?"
"Yes...?" Midnight's voice betrays an uneasy innocence that tugs at my heart once again. I can't help but chuckle as I lean down and kiss her on the snout.
"You poor lightweight."
"So, your plan is to make our guests and I stand out here all evening? That doesn't sound very hospitable of us."
"Shut up – and you never use big words like 'hospitable'," Midnight barks at me. " Stop trying to look smart. I'm only asking for a few more seconds."
I just give Midnight a nod as she disappears beyond the man door threshold of the shop, just a few steps away. It has been at least five minutes since Teddy and Starla arrived at our place. While they both stand next to me with amused expressions on their faces, I still feel obligated to turn to them and offer a sheepish shrug.
It's been too long since all four of us have been together. Video chats and text only go so far, and it's usually in pairs of us when they occur. Tonight is going to be a casual night spent together with friends around a firepit.
That is, once we get through Midnight's shenanigans. I knew she was excited about showing the Chrysler off to Teddy and Starla, but she's trying to make a big show out of it. But I suppose I'm enabling her behavior now.
I didn't have the heart to admit I had already told Teddy about the car a day or two after we bought it. Evidently, Midnight's kept that information under wraps from Starla, looking forward to an opportunity like this. So, Teddy and Starla are under strict orders to act surprised for Midnight's sake. They were more than happy to oblige – and that's probably why they find this whole situation quite amusing.
"Hey, you gotta let Midnight have her moment, John," Teddy speaks up. "I don't think I've ever seen her this excited before – it's endearing."
"I second that," Starla chimes in with a giggle at the end. Unlike the last time I saw her in the flesh or the occasional view during a video chat, Starla doesn't have her vibrant yellow and orange mane braided. Instead, she has settled for a simple but neat ponytail for the outdoor occasion.
It would have been cute to see if Middie and Star would have coincidentally had matching hairstyles. I suppose they may have discussed it before the get-together, but Midnight's focus on the car meant her hair tonight was an afterthought in a sense – no particular style, just left free as is with a touchup from a brush.
Of course, that brings everything back to the current mystery – what the hell is Midnight doing in the garage? She said she needed to get the Chrysler ready to 'look its best,' but that didn't involve cleaning it. The 300C apparently needs to retain the 'barn find' look it's had since we bought it...
At this point, it's probably best to stop understanding it all. Midnight is being... Midnight.
"Alright, you can come in now!" Midnight's shouting voice echoes from within the garage. Just from the volume and the echo, I can tell she's still standing by the lift, where the Chrysler has been roosting.
"I thought you were going to make it a grand reveal by opening the bay door for us to see!" I holler back to her before any of us move.
"Aww, fuck!" Midnight bemoans after a slight hesitation. "Any added suspense that would have been created is ruined now!"
"Give me a sec here," I tell Teddy and Starla, who chuckle at the little circus that continues to transpire. They both nod, allowing me to walk up to the man door still left ajar and poke my head inside.
Midnight, who is standing between the car and the engine stand that she's wheeled over to the lift, freezes as she spots me. But when she realizes I'm not walking in, nor am I accompanied by our friends, she relaxes a bit. "What?" she asks with an air of innocence in her voice.
"Did you know that these garage bay doors can go up and down with the press of a button?" I ask, leaning inside to allow my arm and hand to point at said door.
"Yeah – what the hell kind of a question is that?" she retorts.
"One that should make you reconsider how the hell opening up the door adds to the suspense – or how knowing that the door opens subtracts from it. Teddy and Starla aren't stupid, Mid."
Midnight says nothing – but her expression says plenty as her face draws into a scowl. It coincides with muted laughter emanating from the pair behind me. But without another word, Midnight relents and approaches me, pausing to shoot me a leer with a hint of venom before pressing the garage opener button. As the door starts to rise with the clatter of the chain drive, Midnight scrambles back to the display she's set up, fiddling with the engine stand a bit more.
I slip back outside and close the man door, shaking my head a bit as I rejoin Teddy and Starla, who have wandered to stand in front of the opening garage bay. "Just remember to act surprised," I murmur to them in a hushed tone.
"That won't be too hard for me," Starla says with a laugh. "I really don't know what it is. Teddy said you two had bought a project car – but the name flew over my head, to be honest."
"I can say with confidence I've never seen one in person," Teddy chimes in. "Surprise won't be too hard."
"Well, today's the day you get to finally see one of these," I hawk before stepping onto the concrete pad and into the shop. Our friends are only a step behind me, as Midnight poses between the engine and the car, her chest thrust out with pride as she beams a confident, excited aura.
"Wow, I didn't expect to see something of this vintage," Teddy muses as he gets closer to the Chrysler and Midnight.
"How old is it? What is it?" Starla chimes in, cycling her gaze between me, Teddy, and Midnight for an answer.
"It's a 1957 Chrysler 300," I announce.
"C , John. A 300C ," Midnight adds with a pinch of disappointment.
"Yes, a 300C ," I repeat as I step next to Midnight and pat her on the head. "Thank you, A -hole."
"I'd hit you if we didn't have guests," Midnight mutters in a subdued voice.
"If it helps, I can look away for a moment," Teddy jokes, garnering a devious smile from Midnight.
"What the hell, man? I thought you had my back?" I protest in jest.
Meanwhile, Starla is wandering around the dusty Chrysler, ogling it at different angles. "For such a car so old it – it really doesn't look bad at all," she comments before turning her focus to Teddy. "I think this is in better shape than your car was when you bought it."
"Ah well – I suppose that's not a surprise," Teddy answers, rubbing the back of his head with a slight grimace. "I wasn't very smart with my purchase."
"Started out that bad, huh?" I ask, curious to hear how much worse the Cutlass was than this car.
Teddy shrugs his shoulders. "I guess my heart got in the way of my head – I think I was set on buying the car before I really took in everything that was missing or needed to be replaced," he admits. "Sorta makes the end all that much sweeter, though."
"Aw, I didn't mean to sound disapproving, dear," Starla apologizes, trotting back to Teddy's side. He runs his hand through her mane as she leans against him.
"I know you didn't mean anything by it Star, you're fine," he assures her before turning his attention to me. "But yeah, it looks like it's in fantastic shape. Where the hell did you find it?"
"Funny story – John was busy running his cocksucker and managed to get us lost," Midnight interjects before I can speak.
I shoot her a leer of disapproval – which really only serves to make Midnight's mischievous grin grow wide enough to show fangs as Teddy and Starla laugh.
"Let me add that we weren't lost – someone was distracting me while I was driving home and I missed our turn," I speak up, sticking my tongue out at Midnight for good measure.
"I'd say that was a positive, considering we would have never stumbled upon the car otherwise," Midnight gushes toward me, before turning to Teddy and Starla. "It was out front of an old house in the middle of nowhere. An old guy with a ton of stuff lying around."
"The old man had bought the car new," I continue for Midnight. "He parked it once something happened to the bottom end of the engine. He never got around to investigating – family took priority."
"Well, you can't blame him for that," Starla comments.
"No, I'm in full agreement with you there, Star. Years passed, and it just got stuck on the backbones with no time to tinker with it. Now in his old age, I think he realized that as long as the car has sat, it's going to need a complete going through..." I trail off as I glance back at the Chrysler, noticing something peculiar I hadn't seen earlier.
While we haven't given the car a wash since purchase, the car looks like it has had another layer of dust added to it. With as much work as Midnight and I have done pulling the engine, I'd expect to see areas where the dust has been brushed off of the weathered paint just from leaning on it – not to mention an errant handprint or two.
But right now? Dust, dust, and oddly enough... more dust.
"Midnight."
"Hm?" She perks up in curiosity as I call her name.
"Don't tell me you seriously took time to slather more dust and dirt onto the car for show."
"Of course not!" she exclaims, balking at my accusation.
"So how has the dust on the tops of the front fenders somehow become completely devoid of marks or smears?"
Midnight's muzzle scrunches up and she alerts her gaze from me. "It adds to the barn find look, okay?" she mutters through clenched teeth.
"You're weird."
"Hey, shut up!"
"Fine. But you're still weird."
"If it means anything, I – uh— I think you did... a good job?" All eyes dart to Starla after her awkward attempt to praise Midnight. She offers up a wide smile in response, trying to sell it as best she can.
"Thank you," Midnight responds. She raises her head up, relieved to have someone appreciating her 'work'. "I'm glad someone here gets the artistic flair I was aiming for."
"Mid, I don't thing you used the right word there," I comment.
"What do you mean?"
"Autistic. Not artistic."
Midnight stomps a hoof toward me, flaring her wings.
"Not scary enough. I stand by what I said," I comment.
"Alright children, let's play nice now," Teddy chuckles, walking over to take a glance at what remains of the partially disassembled engine. "How is everything looking in here?"
"Well, the crankshaft is toast," I answer, shuffling over to point at the damaged area. "Something managed to get within the connecting rod bearing clearance and chew the hell out of that crank journal."
"Ouch. I kinda feel bad about asking now," he replies, cringing at the sight, followed by a deeper grimace as he runs a fingernail across it.
But I shrug it off and grin back at him. "I'm not gonna complain. Considering that's the worst bit of a car I paid under two grand for."
Teddy does a double take at my utterance, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're screwing with me right now, aren't you?" he asks. "Granted, I don't know the ins and outs – but aren't these rare and valuable?"
"Yeah – but that was all the old man wanted. He said at his age, he didn't have use for big money that the car was worth, and he just wanted to see it go to someone that was gonna fix it up." I pause a moment before thumbing over my shoulder. "Midnight was the one absolutely smitten with the car at first sight. She's the reason we even stopped to look at it."
Before I know it, Midnight is at my side, brushing against me as she forces herself under my arm. Evidently, she approves of the mention I gave her, for a bright smile has returned to her face.
Meanwhile, Teddy looks at her with surprise. "I didn't take you for a fifties hot rod kind of gal," he says with a chuckle. "I figured you would want something more in-your-face and fast."
"Ha – what isn't brash and imposing about the design," Midnight replies, fanning out a wing to gesture at the side silhouette of the car, followed by a redirection to the front end.
"Yeah, I can see that I suppose..."
"And running sixteen seconds through the quarter mile on skinny bias-ply tires while moving two tons of steel is nothing to scoff at," Midnight adds.
Her latter comment forces me to pull away and look at her. "Wow, alright ya nerd," I tease her.
"Knowing facts doesn't make me a nerd, she refutes, sticking her nose up.
"Naw, I know. But I can't let you get off easy when you reel off those kinds of facts on a whim," I remind her.
"Well, all jokes aside, I'm impressed with what you got regardless of the price – what you paid just makes it a jaw-dropper," Teddy comments.
"Uh oh, I think you might have gotten Teddy Bear jealous," Starla coos, bumping his side with a light hip check.
"Nah, I'm good. You know I love that Cutlass," Teddy dismisses her, lightly ruffling her mane with his hand as she giggles in delight. "I just have to admit, these two hit it big with their find."
"Aw, I know you adore the Cutlass," Starla relents, even as her grin grows just a bit mischievous in time with a slight furrow of her brow. "That's why you always had such loving swear words to yell at it when things weren't going well, huh?"
"I would never do such a thing," Teddy gasps, staring at her in mock horror as he recoils a bit.
"Of course not. You're too sweet for that," Starla gushes, standing up on the tips of her front hooves and leaning over to give Teddy a peck on the cheek.
I turn to glance at Midnight, who displays a hint of uneasiness and aversion to the public display of affection. Jokingly, I lean toward her and pucker up, which forces a silent dry heave and a step backward in retreat.
I'm hardly surprised by the reaction, and a few guffaws are emitted at the display Midnight puts forth. I still haven't told Teddy about Midnight and I, and by the looks of it, she's still not open to being... well, open.
But I figured as much – I'm not disappointed, and there really is no strong argument toward sharing our relationship, either. But it begs the question – if Midnight is open to the idea of a bonafide date in the future, how is she going to do that when she can't even be open with our friends?
It also means no cuddles by the firepit tonight. That's a shame.
But speaking of which...
"Hey, anybody else getting hungry? I ought to get the firepit going soon." Two hooves and a hand raise in the air at my inquiry.
"Is it gonna be a cook-out this time, or another char-out?" Midnight questions with a smirk.
"Cook-out for everyone but you Mid. I'm making sure your stuff is absolute carbon tonight."
"By the sounds of it, you two are doing really well for yourselves right now."
"It's the best financial state this junkyard has been in since I bought it, I can confirm that without a doubt," I answer Teddy with a laugh. "But really though, I'm impressed at how far Midnight and I have been able to turn things around and get to better health."
I turn to Midnight, who is sharing a vinyl bench seat with me, expecting to hear her chime in with some sass or additional comment. But she's preoccupied with finishing off the last bratwurst on her plate, shaking her head at me to signal no comment. On the other side of the fire ring, Teddy and Starla sit in a pair of foldable camping chairs he brought along for the occasion. Both of them have also finished up dinner, leaving Midnight the odd one out for now.
I have to say, after living with Midnight for a while now, seeing a pony like Starla with a more balanced and varied diet is quite a surprise. I had to ask before this get-together what to have on hand for Starla – it turns out her diet is basically the same as any human.
Teddy says that was the goal when developing the ponies where he once worked, just for ease of integrating with consumers, rather than having something requiring a specific feed. Still, would it have been that much more difficult to just have em as regular... uh, ponies, or horses? Just send em out into the yard to munch on grass?
...then again, that's not gonna work out here, where sand is everywhere. Admittedly, I don't actually know squat about horses.
"So what are the plans for the old car?" Starla asks, dividing her attention equally between me and Midnight.
"Nothing too crazy from what we already have," I answer, noting Midnight has just taken the final bite of her meal. "Someone here seems to have this idea to turn it into a borderline strip terror, but we aren't going that far."
Starla can only offer me an expression akin to a deer caught in the headlights as I briefly mention Midnight's interest. "I'm... sorry, I'm not very good with some terms," she apologizes, lightly shaking her head free of the stunned confusion. "What is a 'strip terror'?"
"Ah, that's my bad, Starla," I reply, acknowledging my mistake. "Basically, a car meant to go fast down a drag strip. Fast acceleration in a straight line, unsuitable for normal street driving."
"Oh, now I get it. So you're going to try to keep it like how it was when new?"
"Yeah, pretty close. There's a few things we will upgrade—"
"Like headers," Midnight interrupts, having conveniently finished eating in time to butt in with her desires. I look over and shoot her an exaggerated glare, which only serves to perk her up with a wide, fanged grin.
Meanwhile, Starla possesses the same look of befuddlement she offered me just a moment ago. I reach over and poke Midnight, pointing to direct her attention to Starla for an explanation.
"Oh, my bad. Basically an improved exhaust system for the engine using tubing of equal lengths for each combustion chamber to equalize pressure for when they all dump into the main pipe."
"*cough* Nerd *cough* " For my effort, I feel Midnight's hoof suddenly jab me in the ribs, making me jump and recoil at the intrusion.
"Wow, there's a lot to think about when building cars, isn't there?" Starla speaks up, "But when do you think you will have it on the road? Any idea?"
"Hmm... that might be a better question for him to be honest," Midnight answers, poking me in the ribs again in time with her emphasis.
I turn my head and shoot Midnight another leer of mock ire. "You do that again and I'm gonna take that hoof away from you," I threaten her.
But Midnight just beams with sadistic glee. "You amuse me with your silly idle threats," she comments in a drawn-out, silky tone.
I dart a hand over toward her, trying to seize one of her forelegs before she can react – but as expected, I'm too slow. She's able to recoil back out of the way enough for my hand to hit the vinyl seating.
"I don't know why you even bothered trying," Midnight snickers.
"Aww, dinner and a show. What a lovely evening out," Starla giggles from across the fire ring. She leans over the arm of her chair, resting her head on Teddy's shoulder.
"Aaanyway... I don't really have a timetable in mind for the car," I respond after the brief interlude. "The car sat for a long time, which isn't good on any components – so there's a lot to sort through and inspect, particularly when it comes to fluid lines and electrical. Fortunately, I haven't seen a single spot of bodywork or structural pieces in the undercarriage that require work. The only thing that would need work in that category is paint."
"Well, we still have the engine situation to contend with," Midnight reminds me. "We don't know whether the engine block is structurally sound. Then we have the issue regarding if we can even get a replacement crankshaft for the engine."
"Oh, I already know I can get a crankshaft for it – brand new, in fact. We just have to make sure the block is good, like you said."
The bench seat shifts as Midnight sits up straight, her gaze hardening upon hearing my comment. "You never told me you found a crank," she mutters.
I can't help but grin as I take the moment to reach up with my arm and pat her head. "Surprise."
"I hate surprises," she grumbles back, pouting even as I start to pet her mane properly.
"Hence why it's so much fun to keep surprises from you," I gush back at her.
Starla's rather mischievous giggle fit breaks Midnight and me from the inane little moment we're sharing. Turning my head to take a look, Star is honed in on Midnight with amusement and endearment. "I knew that rough and tumble mare had a soft side deep in there," she croons.
"Only because killing him with witnesses would be a stupid idea," Midnight retorts, garnering a fresh set of giggles.
"Of course," Starla responds, laying on a bit of sarcasm.
"Oh trust me, she's still got her edge," I chime in, much to both mares' surprise. "Only been a week or two since Midnight legitimately saved me from a pissed-off coyote out here,"
"Really?" Starla's jaw drops at my claim.
"Wasn't the first coyote I've dealt with and put down," Midnight adds with a shot of pride as she puffs her chest out. "Probably won't be the last, either."
"Damn, so you really got the bite to go with the bark," Teddy comments, folding his arms with a slight chuckle. "I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised if you held your own out here for months."
"Well, when it comes to a matter of life and death, you do what needs to be done," Midnight gloats as she basks in the attention.
It's getting to be a bit much in my eyes. I think we need to back it down just a bit...
"But you are correct, Star. Middie's got a soft side – she just doesn't like letting it show."
I don't have to look at Midnight to know she's giving me the stink eye for crushing her moment. "You're a dick," she grumbles. "You're sleeping alone on the shitty couch tonight."
Oh-ho-ho. If either Teddy or Starla picked up on that nuance, things might get a bit interesting. I finally look at Midnight, who keeps a rather dour expression, oblivious to what she just said out loud.
"So you two normally share the couch?" comes the inquiring voice of Starla.
"No!" Midnight quickly shouts back. "We normally sleep in— no, wait... augh, you got me confused!" She lays down on the couch almost cowering at the realization she let out way more than she meant with that outburst.
"Normally you two sleep in bed?" Starla asks in a sweet voice, batting her eyelashes.
"John, do not say anything," Midnight grumbles.
"Hey, don't blame me. I haven't said anything here," I retort, putting my hands up with palms out toward her. "This is all you." The proclamation brings Midnight's eyes to me as she growls, as if she wants to pounce on me – and not for snuggles.
Out of my peripheral vision, I spy Starla taking the time during this brief interaction to jump from her chair and circle around the fire toward Midnight, a gleeful smile gracing her face as she approaches. "Midnight, you know that no one here thinks any less of you, right?" she proposes.
I don't expect Starla's words nor her presence here to help matters with Midnight's attitude. Yet much to my surprise, Middie relaxes just a tad as she raises her head up to look at Starla.
"...fine," she relents in a subdued voice, averting her eyes as soon as she speaks. "I'm— well he... we both sort of share the bed," she manages to stammer out, her ears tucked back in utter embarrassment.
While Teddy remains quiet, his expression says it all as he eyes me, offering up a heartfelt smile and a sage nod of approval.
"Was that really so hard, Mid?" I ask her.
"Shut up, dumbass."
"I guess it was," Starla interjects with another bit of laughter before cutting it short and stepping closer to Midnight, resting a hoof on her shoulder. "Sorry, Midnight. I'm not trying to tease you. I just— you work so hard to prove to everyone how tough you are. Like you have something to prove – especially when I'm around. It's almost like a sibling rivalry or something."
"You do strike me as an overly cheery, kinda annoying Celestia," Midnight jokes, letting a goofy smile crack through her frustration.
Once again, Starla's grin she seems to always sport starts to grow devious as she cocks her head. "Oh, you actually watched the little girls' show we originated from?"
"He made me," Midnight spits without pause, pointing her hoof toward me.
"Bullshit I did," I scoff. "You were the one to suggest it and I didn't argue."
"You were the one to hook up the laptop to the TV, search for the episodes online, and actually play them," Midnight counters.
"And I suppose I tied you to the couch and forced your eyes open to watch it, too?"
"At least you admit it."
"Alright, c'mere you moody pain in the ass," I grumble in mock frustration, leaning over to snatch up Midnight. Despite her rather feeble efforts to dodge me, I manage to hook an arm around her barrel and pull her up next to me. She struggles the whole way, squirming and fidgeting in a half-hearted token effort to avoid me.
"I really despise you for this," Midnight mutters as Starla lets loose another bout of giggles at the sight before her.
"Midnight, I'm really glad you took my advice," Starla says as she comes off of her last bit of laughter. "I had my suspicions – but it now makes perfect sense why you have been so much more relaxed the last few occasions we've been able to talk."
Advice?
"So you already told Starla we had a little thing going between us, you and I?" I ask Midnight, staring at her in disbelief.
Midnight grimaces at the inquiry, reluctant to look up at me for a moment before giving up and offering an uneasy smile. "We... may have had a short discussion at one point," she admits. "Nothing— I mean, nothing was actually said or admitted. You heard what Starla just said, right?"
"And sharing a bed is the most embarrassing thing in the world to you?"
"We didn't talk about anything like that before, stupid," she growls back. "So yeah, it's a step further than I would have liked."
There's no hint of smugness on her face and in her voice – she's serious about this. I have to just lean back in my seat and stare up at the sky to fully absorb Midnight's prior hangups. "Midnight, you are something else, you know that?" I finally respond as I bring my attention back to her.
She stiffens up as her gaze hardens, as if trying to peer inside my head. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're something that rhymes with 'suit'."
"Do not say it."
"Cute?" Starla interjects. I nod my head feverishly at her answer, while Midnight emits a groan, shooting Starla a glare as she wanders back to her camping chair.
"You're just trying to be a troublemaker tonight, aren't you?" Teddy asks Starla as she plops down into her seat.
"Who, me?" she gasps as if offended by the accusation. "I would never do such a thing."
"It's not you, Star. This is all on John," Midnight says.
"Hey, if you're gonna accuse me of something, at least explain it so I can understand and possibly refute it," I argue.
"All of this tonight," she answers, waving a hoof to include everything in our general vicinity.
...what?
"So it's my fault you've become reasonably well-adjusted and able to make sense of your feelings and emotions to form relationships and spend a nice evening outside with friends?" I counter "That's about all I can make sense of your blame game, Middie."
"Well, you hit it right on the head. I'm impressed," Midnight replies, giving up her facade to nod her head and grin.
"Well, that's kinda my fault, too," Starla adds, trying to make herself sound depressed and forlorn – but it doesn't work well with her giddy expression.
"Can't forget some of this lands on Teddy's shoulders, too," Midnight continues, directing her line of sight over to him.
"Me?" he responds, pointing a finger at himself in mock surprise. "What the heck did I do?"
"Well, you were the first person I interacted with besides John, and despite our rough initial meeting, you gave me another chance," Midnight clarifies. She glances down momentarily and taps a hoof to the crescent moon pendant resting upon her chest. "And you also gave me more freedom than I would have ever had."
The explanation gets a smile from Teddy, even before Starla snuggles against him. "You've come a long way since I first met you, Midnight," he says. "I've seen many ponies be it bots or like you that just stay latched onto the past and cannot work forward beyond that. I'm glad you found a way out – in more ways than one."
"Me too," Midnight sighs, resting her head on my shoulder. "Me too."
"Really? Like that, we're good with sharing all this tonight? After that minor hissy fit?" I ask her.
"It's not about the destination, it's the journey," she sasses back to me. "You wouldn't have it any other way."
"I don't get a choice in the matter. We've been through this."
"We have. Yet you still question it."
"Right, my fault," I grumble. In reality, I'm happy to hear Midnight this open and this thankful, and yeah, tonight's antics have been enjoyable.
"And we come back to my point. It's your fault," she repeats.
"Well, I'll take the blame. I got the shoulders for it."
It's now as Midnight and I close in on the stairs with our haul that I wish I had paid for delivery.
Last night, the tired old couch I've had for years decided to throw in the towel. One of the springs decided to burst through and try to find a new home – but thankfully failed in that quest. But Midnight and I were quick to abandon our seats after that. So, a trip to town with a trailer in tow eventually led us to the replacement we're heaving toward the upstairs right now. We carried out the old couch and I took measurements of the doorway before leaving – it will be close, but should fit.
This new couch is a hell of an upgrade from what I had previously – it's covered in dark grey leather with a reclining feature on either end, as well as an increase in depth front to back. It certainly wasn't a bargain basement purchase, but it was a good deal nonetheless. It also happened to be one of the only options that I found palatable.
Seriously – flower print is still a thing? Gross.
"C'mon, pick up your end, you pussy," Midnight mutters from the opposing side of the couch.
"Hey, I got it," I protest. "Not all of us have magic at our disposal that lets us lift at any position or height, you know. I have two hands to work with, that's it."
"Well, I don't have magic, either," Midnight replies. Her face oozes such smugness now that I want to just drop the couch and poke her in the nose. However, since I'm at the bottom of the stairs looking upward toward Midnight, letting go of the couch and trying to reach her wouldn't be productive and could send a couch hurtling my way down the steps.
That may be a little extreme – but it wouldn't help the cause of getting this hefty piece of furniture up the stairs and into my home.
"You don't have whimsical fairytale magic, but you have electromagnetic shit. That's close enough," I argue.
"Then you have very low standards."
"I live with you, don't I?"
Midnight's brow creases in disapproval. "Okay, you have low standards in every category other than those involving me," she refutes.
"Cool. Electromagnetic abilities involve you since you have em, so I'm good."
"Whatever. Fuck you."
Conversation ceases after that as I finally make my way to the bottom step of the stairs. Midnight returns to focusing on her footing as she backs her way up them, already close to three-quarters of the way up. Just a little bit more at this slow and steady pace we're moving at, and she will be at the landing in front of the door.
"What are we gonna do if this doesn't fit through the door?"
I can't help but feel a little irritated by the rather silly question Midnight asks, particularly as I'm continuing to heft my end up while keeping track of my feet in relation to the steps. "Midnight, you watched me measure the doorway before we left," I grunt. "You also watched me measure the couch in the store before we bought it."
"I know," she responds with an accompanying deadpan stare. "But it still really doesn't answer my question."
"How am I supposed to answer a question that doesn't make sense? It's going to fit, Middie."
"So you haven't planned for the worst-case scenario."
"...are you trying to be a pain in the ass?"
"...maybe," she mumbles, biting her lower lip. "Someone has to pay you back for the nonsense you've said in your lifetime thus far."
"I wish I had taken your end of the couch, that way I could be annoying once I reached the landing," I grumble.
"Ah, but I had that forethought, which is why I volunteered to walk backward up the steps," she comments, breaking into a mischievous grin.
"Asshole."
"Aww, thanks for the compliment."
"Would you like to carry this the rest of the way by yourself?" I threaten in a haughty tone.
"After you pulled my teeth into admitting I have my limits on what I can carry based on size?" she shoots back. "I really don't know if I could, now that I've thought about it. That's a lot of length to try balancing."
"And yet there's no shame in admitting it," I remind her on a serious note. "I'd rather put up with your shit than see you overtaxed yourself trying to do something that isn't necessary."
"That's so touching," she gushes with a smirk. "Weren't you just irritated with me a second ago?"
"Shaddup," I playfully bark at her. "How close are you to the door, by the way?"
"Eh, you still got another three or four steps up you can take."
"And when we get to that point, we're going to take our time and think about how to get this inside, right? Not get frustrated?"
Midnight shoots me a perplexed stare upon initially listening to my comment. "Uh, what the hell would the alternative be here?" she asks.
"You throwing a hissy fit and putting it through the wall."
I mean that as a joke, and it does garner a slight laugh from Midnight – before she starts eyeing me with caution. "I don't even think I can do that, John," she states in a calm tone. "I'll also add that I am nowhere near as impatient and short-tempered as I used to be."
"Oh, I know," I agree, before a stupid comment comes to the forefront of my mind. "You might be overdue for a blowup, in that case."
Midnight rolls her eyes but doesn't try to play it off with a serious face. "You know, I could let go of this end of the couch and watch it rumble down the stairs with you as a passenger."
"Yeah, you could. But that would probably be painful, and it might damage our new couch."
"Ah, but it is a sacrifice I may be willing to make."
"Well that's very noble of you – but I don't think it's necessary," I tell her, taking another step just as Midnight moves to one side of the couch. "I take it we're at the doorframe now?"
"Yep," comes her quick reply. I'm left holding my end up as Midnight's eyes inspect the couch, then dart to the doorframe as she tries to discern how to orient the couch to fit through. It's not particularly difficult, but my palms are beginning to sweat against the plastic protectant covering the couch.
"Um... maybe try turning the couch clockwise about forty degrees?" Midnight suggests after some time to think.
The instructions are at the same time too specific and too vague on my end for me to follow through, leading Midnight to narrow her eyes at me before I can explain – or perhaps because of my befuddled expression. "Had a hell of a time with geometry in school, huh?" she wisecracks.
"No, but your directions are confusing. Are we doing your clockwise, or mine?"
This time, it's Midnight who is left to stare silently in utter confusion.
"Here's the issue," I respond, beginning to twist my end of the couch just enough to make my point visible. "That direction for me is clockwise. But you're looking down at me and from that end, it is counterclockwise, right?"
"Oh – duh," Midnight laments. Surprisingly enough, it's a comment directed toward herself as she lightly taps a hoof to her forehead. "My clockwise – tilt the top of the couch back toward me."
Of course, with something that's such an oblong and awkward shape, I have to guesstimate how to tilt the furniture rather than be precise. But I get it to where I think it should be, and Midnight gives an affirmative nod to proceed forward at a snail's pace.
*Thump* . I've only gotten to move one step up the stairs before the couch in my hands is halted from any further progress. "Try spinning it a little more my way," Midnight instructs, still standing to the side of the doorway. "Ah – right there. Now try it."
As I start moving forward again, I can hear the plastic cover ruffling as it drags against the doorframe. But I sense very little resistance against my efforts guiding it through the doorway – the sound is of little concern to me at this moment.
Once I get onto the landing where Midnight is, I get a better look at her – and she does not look well. Her brow is heavily creased and her jaw is clenched... and it dawns on me she's straining to keep her end levitated up in the air through the wall.
"Hey, you want me to back up?" I ask, disregarding any idea to hide my concern.
"...why?"
"Uh, I didn't realize it at the time either, but you should have gone through the doorway first. I don't want you to hu—"
"I'm... testing myself. Keep going," she demands through gritted teeth.
Stubborn ass. But the more I dawdle, the more she's having to push her limits – meaning standing here trying to convince her to take a breather or back up is a questionable idea now. While I don't rush, I pick up my pace as I heave the couch through the door, confident in the fit now that we've gotten it well within the living quarters.
I'm scarcely an inch or two through the door before I feel Midnight pushing past me through what little gap she can squeeze into. With a deep, loud exhale, Midnight scamper through the kitchen off to my right, then leaps up onto the countertop of the island and into the living room. Even now with her on the opposite end again, I can hear her heavy breathing beyond the other end of the couch as she regroups.
"You're cleaning the kitchen counter before we eat tonight," I tell her.
The joke brings Midnight back into view as she rises up into my line of sight. "Oh, I wasn't aware we served food directly onto the counter," she answers with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Did we do away with dishes between this morning and now?"
"Silverware still sits on the counter, which we use to eat our food," I counter.
"Aww, cry some more. Maybe it will make a difference," she pouts, her muzzle sporting a deep and exaggerated frown.
Well, she's certainly none the worse for wear. Of course, it helps the worst part is over; with Midnight on the other end, we glide through the gap between the wall and the kitchen island, which is comfortably wide enough for the couch to go through. With just a few more steps, we set down the couch in its new home, finally giving me the chance to relax my arms.
That really wasn't too bad – but being that tense for such an extended period of time, I'm feeling the burn in my arms from hands to shoulders. But it feels like a victory more than anything, particularly as Midnight yanks away the plastic and finally uncovers the sumptuous grey leather, sending the scent of new upholstery wafting into the air.
Now that the work is done... I exchange glances with Midnight – whose eyes momentarily dart to the cushions of our new furniture I'm eyeing as well. There's a certain mischievous glint in those glowing orbs that tells me she's waiting for me to kick things off...
"Mine!" I shout, frantically trying to kick off my shoes and nearly losing my balance in the process.
"Fuck no, mine!" Midnight backs back. Yet despite her defiant call, she doesn't budge – preferring to wait until my mockery of a dance to remove shoes comes to a thankful close. More for show than anything at this point, both Midnight and I rush toward the center of the couch and plop down into it – and each other.
"Scoot over, dumbass," Midnight growls, giving me a shove with some weight behind her shoulder.
"Nuh-uh. You scoot over, dumbass," I counter with a mirrored demand, as well as my own attempt to shove her away with my hands.
But Midnight has more tools to work with, and a wave of dark violet plumage swats my back as she spreads open a wing. Midnight eagerly seizes the yielded territory with glee and a light cackle to boot.
But she hasn't won. As far as I'm concerned, using her wing was a dirty move in this wrestling match. While she's preoccupied trying to nail down a villain laugh, I lean toward her and cup my hand under her chin. Using just enough pressure to pull her toward me, I lean in eye to eye with her – and start peppering her snout with quick fleeting kisses.
"Ewww, stop being queer!" she whines, squeezing her eyes shut and swatting at me feebly with a hoof even as she tries to pull away. "This is abusive and it's cheating!"
"Sucks to suck, loser," I pause to taunt her before continuing my assault to push her back.
Somehow through this absurd game, I eventually find myself lying on my side, up against the back of the couch. Midnight ends up lying in front of me and leaning back against me while on her stomach, with both of us sprawled out to maximize the available space.
"There. Now was that really so hard?" I ask aloud to no one in particular.
Nevertheless, Midnight turns her head to meet my eyes. "Yes. Yes, it was," she answers with just a touch of gruff in her voice.
"Hm, that wasn't the answer I had in mind. But hey, with this new couch – do I get my bed back all to myself?"
What follows is a trill of laughter as Midnight fervently shakes her head. "You opened a door that can never be closed again, John," she responds. "You have to deal with sleeping beside me until the end of time."
I sigh, letting my head thump down into the cushions. "Dammit. I knew I should have read the fine print," I mumble, reaching one of my hands up to stroke and fiddle with Midnight's hair and mane. "Why the hell do they make it so small that you need a magnifying glass?"
"Just for lazy suckers like you," she comments, emitting a hum of approval I can feel coursing through her as I find one of her ears to rub. "But it's funny that you mention this being a decent sleeping spot."
"Awww, you wanna have a sleepover with your coyote friends from out back? Like old times?"
Midnight throws some of her weight into me as she abruptly leans back. "Real fuckin comedian, aren't you?" she chides back.
"Well, I try my best," I reply, pretending to be bashful.
"Aaanyway – Starla mentioned to me a couple of days ago that Teddy is heading out of town for a few days to meet up with a couple of contacts from his old occupation," Midnight explains. "It's really hush-hush kind of shit – he rents and changes car en route to and from wherever he's meeting them, pays cash for everything, even takes non-linear routes. Just to keep Starla's whereabouts as secret as he can."
"Damn, that sounds like legitimate spy stuff – but I can't blame him for the precautions," I reply, reeling from the amount of effort he goes through for a meeting with old work friends. "But why does he even meet with em if he's that suspicious? Doesn't make much sense to me."
"That was the same thing I thought when she told me that. But I guess he's been meeting with them around once a year – they're old friends with the same mindset as him when it comes to bio-ponies. He would still rather be safe than sorry, though," Midnight clarifies, clearing her throat. "But Teddy doesn't really like leaving Starla all alone in the house – even though she can and has taken care of herself with no issues for up to a week on her own. It just grates on his nerves – the what-ifs."
If it wasn't clear to me at the start of this conversation, Midnight's motivations are now laid bare for me to see. Yet, she hasn't actually asked me. And for me, there's fun to be had getting the question out of her.
"Huh. Yeah, I guess I can understand that, too," I comment, knocking the conversation back into Midnight's court.
Her eyes go a bit wide at my nonchalant response, but she settles back down soon enough. She tries to relax and play it casually, looking at me for a moment before responding. "So..."
I expect more out of her than that to end this. Rather than offer up anything for her to react to, I decide to just lay there and stare into her eyes, putting on my best poker face despite no experience in the card game.
But the ticking of the clock on the wall goes on for far too long without either of us saying a word, and it begins to drive me nuts. "Look Middie," I start, pausing to sigh. "You have proven time and time again that you will beat me every time in a staring contest. So why even bother?"
Midnight's neutral face cracks as she starts to scowl, her nostrils flaring as she huffs. "Why must you be an asshole?" she bemoans.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just sitting here," I argue.
"You're really going to make me ask?" she pouts.
"Yeah, that's the plan."
Midnight's scowl deepens for a moment – until she finally relents. "Fine – can Starla stay with us for a few days as a favor to Teddy? Like a sleepover?"
A sleepover. That was not the term I expected to hear from Midnight. In a sense, it sounds so much more childish when put that way. But did either of them really... were they ever really kids? It doesn't sound like it from what Midnight can remember. Maybe this is tapping into a whole new realm for her.
I realize Starla isn't nearly as self-sufficient as Midnight, but I hardly see that as a problem, considering the two of them are probably going to be practically attached at the hip. But working out in the yard is another manner – I don't know how tolerable Starla is of the heat or the baking sun for extended periods. Midnight and I have missed a day or two pulling parts out of necessity before, and playing catchup is not an enjoyable ordeal; playing hooky for Starla's sake would be rough, to say the least.
However, I'm taking too long to mull this decision for Midnight. Her face softens up before she puts on a set of sad eyes, curling her lower lip as she pouts.
"Hey, cut that shit out, Middie," I complain, squeezing my eyes shut.
"I can just keep doing this, you know," she mutters. "Sooner or later, you're gonna have to get up, and you'll have to open your eyes again."
"I hope your face gets stuck like that. You're evil."
"In all seriousness, what's holding you back from just saying yes, John?"
I give up and open my eyes, though Midnight has dropped her pleading expression for the moment, preferring to sit at attention for my reasoning. "Having to deal with two of you," I quip.
Midnight whaps me on the arm with a hoof, though she does crack a slight smirk at my response. "I'm serious. I want to know if there's something actually bothering you about the idea," she explains, leaning toward me.
"Well, what will she do while you and I are working on pulling parts out in the junkyard, Mid?" I propose to her in a calm voice. "We still have a business to run, and I guess we could take off a day, but more than that..."
"Starla can walk, in case you weren't aware," Midnight replies, just a bit of an edge in her tone as she exhales.
"Do you think she really wants to follow us around in the hot sun? Don't you think she will get bored?"
"To be honest, I don't think you know Starla all that well. I'm confident neither of those sticking points for you will be an issue," Midnight attempts to reassure me, holding her head high. But without a forthcoming answer from me, she backs off. "I can send her a message on the computer and ask her to be sure. Would you feel better about it?"
"Go ahead and do that. Right now as it stands, the sleepover is a 'maybe' for me."
Even though it's not a definitive answer, Midnight lets out a light squee of excitement as her face breaks out in an ear-to-ear grin. She bounces up and down in place before darting in and peppering my face with kisses, just as I had done to her earlier.
"Eww, you're such a weirdo, quit it!" I whine loudly, putting forth a feeble attempt to push her away.
"No. Deal with it," is all I get through a brief pause.
As I set aside the last crankshaft bearing cap and toss the last bolt into a nearby coffee can with a *plunk* , I feel at least some sense of accomplishment. It may be little more than a heavy paperweight, but the crankshaft of the Chrysler's Hemi is free to be pulled out of the block – and the block is officially disassembled.
As I finagle for a firm grip on the crankshaft to lift the component from its home, Midnight continues to work on her own project nearby, just a couple of steps from my side. By the looks of it, she's taking the time to do a deep clean on the carburetors, but stopping short of a full teardown for the time being.
Though she may be distracted, I have faith in her...
"Hey Midnight, catch!" I call, giving her just a second to react. As her head turns, I heave the crankshaft up in the air and toward her – at least, to the best of my abilities with such an unwieldy lump of iron.
Middie's eyes widen as she realizes what I've done. She drops the parts in her grasp back onto the workbench and in an instant, the crankshaft halts in mid-air about a foot away from her. "John, what the fuck?!" she cries out. "What is wrong with you?"
"Just keeping you on your hooves. No big deal," I reply, trying to pass off some semblance of innocence.
"I always have an eye and ear open – especially around you," Midnight retorts. The crankshaft resumes its journey toward Midnight, now under control and at a leisurely pace. She takes a moment to inspect it before her gaze falls back to me. "What would you have done if I somehow missed this and it hit me?"
"Uh, I would have made sure you were all right. Then probably laughed," I tease, starting to feel like this idea was more stupid now as time goes on and flaws are uncovered.
Despite this, the scowl that has taken hold of Midnight's muzzle shows the slightest signs of cracking into the beginnings of a smile, but nevertheless remains. "How thoughtful of you," she drones.
"Aww, you know I would never hurt a pretty little face like yours, Mid," I gush, taking a step toward her with and reaching to said face with my hands.
"Don't touch me," she warns, taking a step back as the crankshaft she levitates rotates into a position to be used as a club. "Your hands are filthy."
Somehow it takes a moment of me looking down to connect the dots. Indeed, after toiling in the remnants of the Hemi's bottom end for the last hour, my hands are stained dark brown with oil and grease, capped off with a big glob stuck to the back of my left hand.
"What if I hadn't caught this, anyway?" Midnight continues to chastise. "Then what would you have done?"
"Uh – did you forget that crankshaft is junk? It really doesn't matter what happens to it," I reply, grabbing a rag from nearby and wiping off my grungy hands as best as I can.
"No, I didn't forget – did you forget forged metal beats concrete? This could have easily left a mark or divot in the floor."
"Eh, just another mark on the floor that would have told a story. Like the scrape marks you left on the floor over there when pulling engines apart," I respond, pointing her attention to the far corner of the shop. With that quick distraction, I smirk as I get a baby of grease from the rag and smear it on my thumb.
As Midnight turns back around, I take another step toward her. But whether it be my expression or movement without a word, she's become wary and guarded, taking a step back in turn to match me. "What are you up to?" she questions in a low voice.
With no possibility of surprise in my corner now, I resort to just raising my hand up, thumb up, and facing outward toward her with a dollop of grease. "Simbaaa," I croak.
"I don't know what the hell that means – just stay away from me with that," Midnight growls back in warning.
"Funny, that's not what you said last night."
"Wh— oh, shut up!" she cries emphatically, her face contortions with mild disgust when she catches my joke.
"Aww, come here, I'll make it all better, I coo, trying to close in on her with quicker steps now.
"Nope, fuck you. Get hit, dumbshit," she answers, taking steps back as she swings the crankshaft in a slow, controlled arc.
However, both of us freeze as an electronic beep rings out from the counter to... well, my right, Midnight's left.
"I bet that's Starla. I've been waiting to hear back from her," Midnight comments, trying to disguise the anticipation in her voice as her eyes dart back to me, then to the crankshaft. "Where do you want this?"
"Eh, just set it on the floor or somewhere out of the way for now," I answer. The crankshaft finds its way to a shelf on a cart nearby before Midnight trots to the counter.
Maybe this time it really is Starla.
There have already been a few false alarms with spam messages in the day and a half since giving Midnight the go-ahead for a possible sleepover. She has been ensuring the laptop is not far out of reach and enabled the annoying audible notifications that have become increasingly frustrating to Midnight when her hopes are dashed by junk mail.
Still, now that she has a preoccupation... I follow Midnight, attempting to match her steps. However, that doesn't last long as one of her ears swivels back to face my direction. "John, I swear I will beat you senseless," she warns me in a stern voice.
"Well, before we get started there – what's the safe word, mistress?"
My comment forces Midnight to turn her head and actually look at me, almost horrified by my joke. "You are just fucking awful today!" she cries out. Nevertheless, a bit of laughter taints the bite of her response, if the smirk didn't already.
"Must be something in the water."
"We drink the same water."
"Well, I dunno what to tell you. I'm out of ideas."
A sigh and shake of the head from Midnight as she walks around the counter to her laptop informs me I need not come up with any other excuses. Instead, I stay quiet as she opens up the device and starts a cacophony of clicks and keystrokes for a few brief moments. "Finally!" she exclaims, her face lighting up with giddiness.
"Good – what's it say?"
"I dunno yet, I haven't opened it," Midnight admits, slipping off of her high just a bit.
"Oh – I guess I didn't realize you were gonna get that hyped over just seeing she responded," I laugh.
But after that, a couple more rounds of keystrokes and clicks follow. Midnight ensures I have no visual on the screen or the keyboard by strategic placement and her positioning, leaving me perpetually in the dark as to what's transpiring.
"You uh — were you planning to read the message today, or am I just hanging out while you browse the web now?" I question, beginning to grow a bit skeptical as time goes on.
"Just a minute..." Midnight mutters, honed in completely on the computer screen. But soon enough, she perks back up, eyes ablaze with renewed vigor. "Hi, Star!" she cheers to the screen.
"Well, that didn't take long to get a response back from my message, did it?" I hear Starla giggle through the computer speakers. "Hi Middie, how are you doing?"
While the two mares exchange greetings through video chat, I attempt to sneak my way around the counter to get a view of Starla for myself. But I only manage two or three steps before Midnight's icy leer stops me dead in my tracks.
"What? I didn't realize I was a secret you were keeping from Starla," I comment loudly, hoping the microphone picks up my voice.
"John! This is a pleasant surprise – it's not often I get to see or hear you in our video chats," Starla answers. "How are you?"
"I'm being held hostage. Notify the authorities and send help," I reply, purposely blocking any sort of gusto or emotion from coming through.
"Oh shut up, you dumbass," Midnight grumbles, picking up a loose bolt sitting on the countertop. She tosses it half-heartedly, allowing me to easily sidestep the airborne missile.
"Now she's throwing things and being abusive toward me. But to be honest, that's normal."
I hear genuine laughter bellow out from the laptop now as Midnight rolls her eyes. Despite her charade, she's allowed a smile to grace her muzzle as she rotates the laptop for both of us to now see and interact.
Starla waves an off-color hoof in greeting at my sudden presence, her flame-colored hair decked out in braids once again and a big grin – as always – beaming back.
"Hi Star. Good to see you again," I properly greet her. "Though I gotta say, you've had Midnight all twisted into knots while waiting for a reply."
Starla's glee fades just a tad as her focus shifts toward Midnight. But Midnight is already rolling her eyes again in response to my comment. "He's exaggerating Star. It's something he loves to do," Midnight laments. "it's not been that bad – but I am glad to be hearing back from you."
"Still, I didn't mean to keep you waiting – sorry about that," Starla apologizes, her ears flattening.
"Really? Jumping up and running toward the laptop in a mad rush every time it dinged a notification was nothing?" I wonder aloud, shooting Midnight a smarmy grin.
"Hush, you," Midnight responds with a touch of bitterness.
"I got your message the day you sent it to me – Teddy and I have just been really busy, and we've been discussing the idea," Starla explains, flicking her braid back with a hoof. "It's not that either of us are against it – after all, Teddy worries about me being left alone even though I've proven time and time again it's no issue. My biggest hang-up is I don't want to get in the way. After all, you two have work to get done even if I'm around, right?"
"We do have to work, yes – but you aren't gonna get in the way," Midnight speaks up, trying to allay Starla's concerns. "On my end, John is concerned about you getting bored with us and having to be outside all day."
"Is that it?" Starla blurts, blinking a few times. "That's nothing for me. I'd personally be really interested in seeing what you two do every day, particularly since cars mean so much to you, Middie."
"Really? So that's a yes?!" Midnight exclaims. Her eyes literally glow brighter now with the sudden jolt of excitement.
"Mhm. As long as it's fine with John..." Starla adds, her violet-magenta eyes flicking over toward me with anticipation.
"Hmm... I might have to think on it a bit," I tease, glancing at Midnight. Her glee fades as I continue with my obvious shenanigans. "Do you think it's still a good idea?"
"You really want me to hit you today, don't you?" she blurts out with a deadpan stare.
"Oh Middie, you have a touch that sends shivers down my spine when you beat me," I reply with a dreamy, wistful sigh, allowing my head to be propped up by the open palm of my hand.
On the other side of the screen, Starla bursts into a fresh set of giggles brought on by my antics, while Midnight sighs with mild disgust and looks away from me and back to the laptop. "Assuming you're willing to tolerate his bullshit, it sounds like we officially have a sleepover coming up to prepare for. When do you think Teddy is set to hit the road?"
"Oh, it will be another week, I think. But there's not much to prepare for me," Starla dismisses bashfully, waving a hoof. "I don't need anything special or fancy."
"Yeah, but with someone else in the house, I will have to get more food – and probably more variety," I chime in. "Fido doesn't stray too far from meat, I'm sure you aren't quite that narrow in your preferences."
"John, you realize I'm standing here, right?" Midnight huffs.
"Of course I do, Fido."
"I hate you." I feel one of her hooves prod me roughly in the ribs, making me recoil away.
Meanwhile, Starla is overcome with a new wave of giddiness, clapping her front hooves together and letting out a light squeeze. "Midnight, I'm going to put together a little list in the next day or two and send it in another email. Just a few things to get at the grocery store. At least one night, I'd really, really like to cook for you two!"
"Uh... alright," Midnight slowly responds, unsure what to make of Starla's outburst or her plans. "I'll keep an eye out for it."
"Can't wait to see what you got in store for us now," I chime in. "I'll be sure that Midnight checks her messages – or I'll check myself."
"No, you won't," Midnight warns with a harsh tone and a stony expression. But she softens up as her focus returns to Starla. "Thanks again, Starla. I'm really looking forward to this. And I'll try to get John to not be so stupid when you're actually here."
"Why? I think he's entertaining," Starla giggles.
I take a bow at that as Midnight pouts. "Star, don't encourage him."
"Alright – by the looks of what's happening in the background, you two have been busy – I ought to let you two get back to work," Starla concedes.
"Ah, it's just our personal project – nothing business-related," I assure her.
"Take care Star – talk to you again soon," Midnight speaks up, waving goodbye. I do the same, as does Starla on the other end before the feed goes black.
"Aw man, I can't wait till— well, whenever she comes over!" Midnight exclaims, prancing around in a tight circle.
"Yeah, I'll admit I'm looking forward to it. And maybe embarrassing you in front of her a few times, too," I playfully threaten, finding that small dab of grease from earlier is still on my thumb...
Midnight halts her celebration with my comment, suddenly appearing a bit worried. That hesitation gives me the opening I need as I lean toward her and smear a bit of grease on her forehead, just below her hairline.
"Simbaaa..." I call once again in a thick accent. The grease is not particularly noticeable against her dark fur coat, but no matter – I know it's there.
"Are you fucking serious, John?!" Midnight shouts, exasperated after my crowning achievement of antics for the day is realized.
Knowing full well this volcano may blow its top with my grimy work, I turn and start to walk away from her at a rapid pace, around the counter and heading for the opposite side of the shop. I don't get far before I hear her growl, followed by a white and silver object whiz by me and skip across the floor ahead.
"Hey, spark plugs actually hurt!" I shout, unwilling to turn my head to take a look back at her.
"Good! I'll make sure the next one doesn't miss!" Right on cue, I feel something pelt me between the shoulder blades – though if it's actually a spark plug, the force behind that throw was tempered.
"Oww!" I cry in a feigned half-sob, heading out the open garage bay door and into the desert sun. "I'm telling Mom!"
With the Hemi engine for the 300C finally stripped barren, it was time to send it off to a machine shop and allow them to give it a once over. Fortunately, there was not only one nearby, but it was also in the same town where I do my grocery shopping.
That's making errand running easy today with Midnight riding shotgun. I pull away from the machine shop parking lot and point the nose of the Trailduster off toward the highway to head further into town.
"Did you at least ask him how long it would be until he knows if the engine block is solid?" Midnight whines.
"No, I figure by the time the sleepover with Starla has come and gone, it will be ready for pickup," I assure her. "I honestly didn't even think to ask."
"I'd at least like to have some sort of idea," she continues to grovel, hunching down in her seat like a spoiled brat.
"Patience is a virtue, Middie."
"I'm all out of virtue."
"Well, I'm not gonna argue with that. At least you admit it."
"You weren't supposed to actually agree with that," she laments. My eyes on the road, I can only assume that dour voice comes complete with a pout. Sure enough, a quick glance confirms my suspicions.
"Oh stop that. You're gonna make me use the C word," I threaten.
Midnight gives up her mock disapproval, shifting to a smirk and a glint in her eye. "Ooh, does it start with C – U?" she proposes.
"Yep."
"And an N?"
"Nope, a T."
"Well, I've already dropped that face, so you don't need to use the word."
"Alright, I'll let it slide this time," I relent, saving that scary word for now as I shift to a more pressing matter. "Did you bring the list that Starla sent you?"
"Nope, left it at home for the hell of it," she responds without hesitation.
"Man, you are just full of piss and vinegar today, aren't you?" I gasp. While I exaggerate my awe just a bit, I can say I am legitimately a bit surprised at Midnight being this sharp and snarky with her comments as we roll down the road at cruising speed.
"Would you have me any other way?" she coos back, batting her eyes at me with a big innocent smile plastered on her muzzle, wide enough to let the tips of those pointed canines peek out.
"Wow... that was nauseating."
Midnight recoils at my comment, eyes widening for a moment as the facade she's crafted falters. But all too soon, as I shoot another look her way, Midnight has a scowl and narrowed eyes ready for me, capped off as she sticks out her tongue in a childish manner.
Eyes to the road, then back to her – I take one of my hands off the steering wheel and catch the tail end of her mane. In a swift motion, I flip it over her head, causing her face to vanish behind a flowing sea of blue and violet hair.
"Wow. Real fucking mature," she grumbles in a now muffled voice, her shoulders slumping with disappointment
"Hello Pot. I'm Kettle," I crack back at her, adding a chuckle at the end for good measure.
I garner a snicker in response from the passenger seat, followed by the sound of Midnight trying to lazily blow her hair out of her face with a few short puffs of air – to no avail.
"How's the view?" I continue to tease her.
"Fantastic," she crows. "I'm now completely unable to see your ugly mug. Didn't realize it was just that easy."
I don't try to play it cool on that jab, preferring to let my laughter ring out in the truck as I reach back over and flip most of her mane back from her face. She looks on with wide eyes, slowly scanning her surroundings in jaw-dropped wonder.
"Wow, it's suddenly daylight again," she gasps in mock awe.
"I take it you actually remember most – if not all – of what Starla had for us to get from the store," I say, looking for genuine confirmation to my earlier question.
"Yeah, I got it. It really wasn't a big list," Midnight reassures me. Her trusty metal wire unwinds out of her necklace chain and methodically brings her mane back in relative order. "We actually have a fair bit of what she requested – we won't be walking out with a stuffed cart."
"Alright, sounds good. But if we forget anything, just remember that's on you," I warn, pointing at her as we roll to a halt at a stoplight. "I'm not taking a rolling pin to the head for your cock-up."
"Do we even have a rolling pin?"
"Well... no. But the gist of my point still stands."
"Good to know other kitchen utensils are still on the table for you."
"Yeah, I'm sure Starla would find a lot of entertainment in live domestic abuse."
"You don't even know her that well – you might just be surprised," Midnight teases, her eyes flicking from me to the windshield "Light's green, by the way."
Focus switching back to the road for the moment, I get the Trailduster moving again before resuming conversation. I have another serious matter on my mind I'd like to delve into now that things have momentarily settled. "What do you actually have in mind in terms of entertaining Starla while she stays with us?"
Midnight is right with her comment – I really don't know Starla all too well – not like she does. Counting the butt in during the last video chat between Midnight and Starla, I've only interacted with her three or four times. While I don't think anyone will be 'bored' during the stay, I've still been a bit anxious the last day or two mulling what we could all get into as a group.
"She's not a foal, John," Midnight mutters in thinly-veiled disappointment. "She doesn't need to be 'entertained'."
It's a toss-up whether her tone is merely meant to be in jest or serious, but her expression doesn't lie – Midnight is stone-cold serious in her remark, and not particularly pleased.
"I couldn't think of a way to word my thoughts better," I admit. "I didn't mean that to sound insulting or demeaning in any way, Middie. Sorry."
Frankly, I'm flabbergasted to find Midnight so protective of her friend. But my apology hits the right buttons as her facial features soften – though not completely relaxed. "You still aren't fully on board with having Starla stay with us for a few days, are you?"
"It's not that, Mid. I'm more..." I trail off, taking the time to choose my words rather than rattle off my unfiltered train of thought yet again. "I just have a bit of concern from my side of things. I don't know her like you do, you're right on that. And I'm not saying this is a hassle, but it's the truth – it's someone else I have to watch out for. She can't do the same things you can – you can hold your own."
"Yeah, but let's go over one glaring fact again – she's stayed home on her own numerous times before when Teddy takes these trips," Midnight counters. "Also, there's the whole thing where she wants to make us dinner at least once. That doesn't sound helpless to me."
"I never said she was helpless," I correct Midnight, but fall into a relenting sigh afterward. "You do have a point. I'm overthinking this – my head's up my own ass."
"Let the records show on this day, John has confirmed he has his head up his ass," Midnight announces. "Not that the masses didn't know it already – but we now have confirmation."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Seriously, bullshit aside – Starla's looking forward to it, and I think you should, too," Midnight adds, leaning toward me and nuzzling my shoulder. "And for some inexplicable reason, she finds your antics funny."
"I can understand that. She's got good taste," I quip.
Midnight immediately stops her affectionate ministrations and sits back in her seat. "I'm done being nice to you today," she huffs, timed perfectly as we pull into the store parking lot.
"Dammit. We were doing so well, too," I bemoan. Midnight chuckles as I round the parking lot, parking out a decent way rather than trying to search for the perfect place up closer to the building. But as I cut the engine, I turn back to Midnight with a serious expression, freezing her in place before she can open her door.
"What's that look for?"
"Are you gonna behave yourself?"
"Fuck no," she snorts back.
"Good, me either," I agree, popping open my door and climbing out.
"See, with me – you know I'm joking. But it's concerning when you say it," Midnight protests, out of the Trailduster now and trotting over the cracked asphalt to join my side.
"That's why it's perfect – it means I'm keeping you on your toes at all times while we're in here!" I cheer, brushing a wisp of Middie's mane back into position from earlier.
But Midnight purses her lips at my comment, eyeing me warily.
"What?"
"I don't know if you've ever noticed – I don't have toes," she replies, stomping a hoof down to create a loud *clack* against the pavement in demonstration.
"I'm not complimenting you for that comeback – that was lazy," I chastise her.
"But it's true, stupid."
"You're stupid."
"No, you."
A few passersby shoot us looks of concern, surprise, or even incredulity as Midnight and I continue to launch half-assed jabs at each other. If Midnight notices the attention she's getting at all, she's like me now – she doesn't care.
But common courtesy wins out when we're within spitting distance of the concrete sidewalk. Once through the sliding doors, I pause to grab a cart, then rejoin Midnight, who has already stepped onto the shopping floor and awaits me expectantly.
"Well, I have in my head what we need – which isn't too terribly long – and you have Starla's list in your noggin – why don't you lead the way and we'll knock out your stuff first?" I suggest.
Midnight grimaces a bit, hesitant to make a move forward. "I'm not really sure what aisles some things are going to be located – I'm gonna need your guidance for those," she admits.
"Aww, you're actually willing to ask me for assistance," I can't help but gush, threatening to pinch her cheek. "That's so sweet."
"Stuff it."
"Alright, not so sweet."
Midnight shuffles around behind me, giving me a playful shove against my left side and a complementary smirk before setting forward to the nearest aisle.
"So what kind of things do you and Starla have planned for the sleepover, if I may ask?"
"Not really much different from any normal night between us," Midnight answers, picking out a few items from the shelves – from my list and hers. "Some TV, showing her things on the laptop, discussion, maybe playing a bit of cards. She said she has some ideas for stuff too – but Star didn't elaborate any further."
"Alright, I'm officially concerned now."
"You should be."
We weave back and forth through aisles, Midnight having a better idea of the store layout than she initially thought. There isn't too much from our list I have to point out to her either – for much of it is regular items for us she's familiar with. It's what Midnight throws in the cart not on my list that intrigues me, particularly as I start to connect the dots and get an idea of what Starla is after for meals.
It isn't too hard to figure it out when the first few items consist of tortillas, brown rice, and black beans. It's when things suddenly shift to pasta, tomato sauce, and garlic that I have to mentally take a step back and rearrange my mind's eye.
"How much does Starla plan to cook for us?" I question Midnight.
She glances at me, offering a shrug. "Starla really enjoys cooking – it's her passion," she replies. "I also put forth a suggestion that I wouldn't mind learning a little bit on how to cook..."
"Aww, you gonna learn to cook for me, Middie? That's so adora—"
"Shut up, fruitcake."
"Hmph," I pout, crossing my arms. "You're just no fun."
Rather than feed me any more attention, Midnight returns her focus to the products on the shelves. It's a tactic she sticks to for most of the ensuing shopping excursion – but more out of a desire to find things on her own and ensure she gets the remaining items on her memorized list. To that end, she does quite well, as I only have to direct her where to go in a few instances. By the time we're finished up, the cart is over half full with ingredients, quick meals, and snacks – a haul close to double the norm.
"I think that's everything," Midnight nods with confidence, having been standing in front of the cart and running through everything she can see.
"I think we forgot the kitchen sink, to be honest with you," I add rather forlornly.
Midnight's gaze snaps to me, her expression falling somewhere between smug and cross as she tries to keep a straight face. "To reiterate your words from earlier, that was lazy," she scolds me. "You need to apologize for that."
"You never did, why should I?" I counter.
"Eh, I was curious to see if you actually would," she relents, leading me and our cart toward a clear checkout aisle.
"Oh come on. You know me better than that."
As Midnight and I enter the checkout, we're greeted by the stare of a middle-aged, brunette-haired cashier, who looks like she's wearing proper tanned leather for skin. She doesn't speak or appear particularly welcoming as Midnight and I start offloading the cart onto the conveyor belt for her to begin scanning.
"Morning," I say with a wave, trying to break the ice. However, I know that look she's giving me right now. It's a look I probably used to sport.
I can feel the derision coming from her as she starts to tally up our haul, taking a glance at Midnight again, then a leer of suspicion at me. A grown man with what would appear to be a pony companion bot by his side.
"Morning," she finally says, her voice making it apparent that she wakes up every morning hankering for a Pall Mall. "Did you find everything you need?"
"God, I hope so," Midnight laments without missing a beat. It's a response that causes the cashier to jerk her head back to gander at Midnight as she tosses up the last of the items from the cart onto the belt. Midnight doesn't seem to notice any of the attention during this whole interaction, but at this point, I feel like I have to say something – if only to make the situation more perplexing.
"You didn't think she was just eye candy, did you," I say to the cashier, pointing to Midnight.
"I— huh?" she sputters her eyes wide in bewilderment for a moment. The cascading line of items piling up forces her to recollect her wits and shut off the conveyor.
"Don't mind him, miss. He's kind of a moron," Midnight tacks on, giving me a knowing look as she gives a brief wink of her eye at me.
Wow, so she did sense the awkward looks.
The lady seems determined to try burying herself wholly into the checkout task now to finish up and get me and Midnight out of here as quickly as possible, going through our remaining food items faster than before. "One hundred eight even," she says upon final tally, giving me the first glance since I spoke up prior. Her face shows she's just a bit frazzled as if questioning life itself at the moment – or what she's currently dealing with in front of her.
"Damn – you're expensive," I grumble toward Midnight. "Did you bring any money?"
"I already did my part," Midnight replies, sticking her nose up. "Pay the lady, you whiner."
I fumble around with my wallet, grabbing two fifty-dollar bills and a ten before handing them over to the cashier. "Keep the change for putting up with us," I murmur with a grin.
"We can't – we're not supposed to do that, sir," she stammers in a hushed tone.
"I'm not gonna say anything – she won't either," I affirm my stance, pointing to Midnight.
"... thanks. Have a nice day," she mumbles, still taken aback by the situation that's unfolded before her in the last five minutes.
Midnight and I quickly bag our purchases and load up the cart once again. Other than exchanging a few glances with each other, neither of us have anything to say until we're out of the building and headed toward the truck.
"Well, that was quite bold of you," Midnight comments, a hint of a chuckle toward the end.
"Maybe. You clearly enjoyed it, though."
"Never said I didn't. But I recall once upon a time even being around a pony was akin to possessing the plague for all to see – and you went and shouted it out loud like you're proud of it."
"Yeah, weird, isn't it? It's like something changed between then and now," I respond, taking in the features of Midnight's face. "I'll be damned if I can figure out what that change was."
Midnight cocks her head, pretending to mull that 'mystery' for a moment with a fanged smile. "Yeah, I've got to say I'm stumped on this. But it's been clear to me for a while there's something wrong in your head."
"Now, was that something wrong before you, or after you?"
On my back, I suddenly feel the presence of Midnight's down draped over me as her wing gives me a light embrace. "You really didn't have to say anything," she says.
"No, but you were polite – and to be honest, I think she was more disgusted with me," I say with a laugh. "I dunno, I felt like stirring the pot, especially when she didn't acknowledge you. You're more than a pet or tool, so that kinda chafed me a bit."
"I appreciate it – I wasn't gonna put up a fuss," she replies. "Part of keeping a low profile is just going with the flow."
"Is that why I get all the fire and brimstone at home with you?"
"Maybe."
"I feel privileged," I gush, patting her on the withers.
"I really do appreciate you inviting Starla to stay over with you and Midnight while I'm away on this trip, John," Teddy repeats as he and I lug a pair of suitcases into the garage. "It's a major load off my mind that I try not to let Starla know about."
"Aw hell, you really gotta stop thanking me," I laugh. "Midnight would have probably eviscerated me if I said no to the sleepover. Not that I was opposed to it anyway."
In the meantime, Starla and Midnight trot toward each other, rearing up on their hind legs and meeting each others' front hooves with a loud *clack* that echoes through the shop.
Are you as excited as I am for the next few days?!" Starla exclaims, returning to all fours with a gleeful, giddy expression.
"Hell yes I am! This is gonna be awesome!" Midnight affirms, every bit as energetic as Starla.
I have to stop and stare at the scene for a moment before resuming my trek toward the upstairs. "Goddamn, they're just adorable, aren't they?" I quietly murmur to Teddy, who has matched my reactions and movements during this time.
"Yeah, they sure are. I couldn't tell you the last time I saw Starla with this kind of childlike innocence," Teddy says, a tinge of emotion impinging on his voice. "She's been ecstatic about this sleepover since we arranged it."
"I think it goes without saying I know I've never seen Midnight like this."
"She really has dulled her edge a bit, hasn't she?" Teddy questions.
"Yeah, I think she's got a reasonably palatable attitude now," I agree, nodding my head. "When she wants to be approachable and open, anyway."
"What the hell are you two mumbling about over there?" Midnight calls out, bringing the private conversation to a close as she gazes at us with wary eyes.
"We were just talking about how seeing you too all excited like a couple of young fillies is just so darn cute," Teddy answers her, plastering on a big smile to drive the comment home.
Midnight rolls her eyes, detesting the response that she's received. However, Starla gets a good laugh out of it – though it may be a combination of the comment and Midnight's reaction. Rather than stoke the fire, I motion to Teddy with a nod of my head to follow me up the stairs. We'll leave the two mares to continue their excited discussion in peace for now.
"So where exactly are you off to, Teddy?" I ask once we reach the door at the top of the stairs. I drop my suitcase to open the door and allow him to enter before following through.
"Alabama," he answers with a stronger emphasis on his Southern drawl. "Quite the road trip this time around, but fair is fair – I only had to trek to Texas the last time we had this little meetup."
"Is it as high stakes as Midnight makes it out to be, or am I getting the exaggerated version of the trip?"
"She make it sound like I'm on a top-secret spy mission?" Teddy suggests. He looks around the living room in front of me, unsure of where to put the suitcase he's carrying.
"Ah, just set it wherever. The couch is fine," I assure him, heaving the second piece of luggage onto the grey leather sofa. "But yeah, 'spy mission' is a good descriptor for what I was fed."
"It may be a bit of a stretch – but I probably am more cautious than I need to be," Teddy admits, setting his bag next to its mate on the couch. "I get paranoid about being tracked, so I take a lot of extra steps to shake off any trails I might otherwise leave if someone started looking at me just a bit deeper. I'm sure the company knows I have Starla by now – I'm not quite naive enough to think she's lost to time for everyone other than me. But still, the lower profile I keep for me and Star, the better off we are in the end."
"Why risk it though?" I blurt, unable to resist asking the obvious question that comes to mind. "Who are you even meeting with that concerns you that much, and what's the point?"
"I'm meeting up with some old friends from Georgia – got their start under me at the lab where I worked, and most of em still work there, as far as I know," he replies, calm and understanding toward my pressing questions. "They see things the way I do, but being younger than me, and the money still being good... I can't really be mad at them. They aren't creating them like I did."
Teddy still appears to bristle at the idea of money over ethics continuing to win out to this day, but gathers himself back up, albeit with a frown. "As much as it pains me to say it, Starla is, in layman's terms, a prototype. Long-term prospects on general wellness and possible issues down the line were and still are an unknown with ponies like her. So having some folks on my side still in the fold – I can get a better idea of what to look out for, if anything. As well as the state of affairs in the whole game."
"Is... are you worried something may be wrong?" I feel a bit rude for asking such a thing, but Teddy appears to anticipate and expect such a question – he doesn't bat an eye.
"No, I don't have any active concerns with Star. I'd just like to get a heads up on any developments for the future – Starla wasn't the first or the oldest pony we had at our facility," he explains. "Mind you, I have a vet around here on the down low that does a regular checkup on Starla, but mares like her and Midnight – well, those checks only do so much. There's a ton of unknowns."
Midnight's name being brought into the fray sends a jolt through my whole body. Until now, I hadn't given much thought to Middie's long-term health – what if she does have some sort of medical problem down the road? Who do I turn to for something like that?
I've suddenly gotten a better understanding of Teddy's endeavor he will be undertaking – and I have a new anxiety troubling my head and my heart.
But a hand on my shoulder brings me back to reality – with Teddy offering a heartfelt smile as I glance at his face. "Don't sweat it – my underground doc is yours," he says. "It's been slipping my mind with everything going on and with Midnight... well, not exactly welcoming. But I've been meaning to suggest that we go to get her a baseline checkup from my guy."
"I'm sure she'll be thrilled with that idea," I joke with a touch of sarcasm. But you're right, that sounds like a good idea."
"And I think Midnight will understand – after some time to consider it."
"Yeah, I guarantee I'm getting snark when I bring it up with her."
"Ah, but it's like you've told me – that part of her charm," he responds, chuckling and shaking his head lightly.
"I can't argue with that. Any idea how long you plan to be on this trip? I'm not worried, but I haven't heard a proper timetable on it all."
"Well, I'm not too sure about that myself," Teddy admits, rubbing the back of his head. "It depends on how long these guys have away from their work – and if everything still seems okay between us. I'm not here thinking the world is out to get me – but I know people can change. I don't wear blinders for anybody."
The strong conviction in Teddy's voice catches me off-guard, and I still don't have a succinct response to my question. But to hell with it – I'm just looking forward to the hijinks that will inevitably ensue with Starla and Midnight together under one roof for a while.
"I'm gonna drive part of the way there, and take a short flight – just to keep things mixed up for anyone paying attention," he adds. "But I'll keep in touch – I feel relieved Starla is staying with someone, but I'm still gonna miss her something awful."
"Awww..."
Both Teddy and I turn to the door and find Starla standing at the opening, smiling with a wistful, emotional expression and sparkle in her eyes.
"You act like that's such a surprise to hear," Teddy comments as Starla struts through the kitchen and into the living room.
"It's still so sweet to hear you say it," Starla counters. She stands up straight, meeting Teddy with a nuzzle as he leans down a tad before both of them share a quick kiss. "You should probably get going soon if you want to stay on schedule, dear."
"Yeah, you're probably right – I didn't plan on coming up here to chat but..." Teddy trails off, preferring to shrug. "I got three hours of driving ahead of me this evening. Remember what you need to do if you need to get in touch with me?"
Starla laughs even as she rolls her eyes. "Of course I do. Call and let it ring until voice mail, then hang up. When you call back, let it ring twice, followed by a minute or two, then pick it up when it starts ringing again."
"Atta girl," he gushes, running a hand down her mane. "Love you Star."
"Love you too, Teddy Bear," Starla replies, suddenly raising a hoof up. "Now, you better get going or I'm gonna have to swat you."
Teddy shies away from Starla as she snickers, taking a slow, lazy swipe at him. "I better listen to the lady – she means business," he says, feigning a pang of fright in his voice.
But Starla saunters up to him again as he tries to circle around, rearing up and giving him an embrace and one more kiss, to which Teddy matches both. "Be careful, Teddy," she instructs.
He gives Starla a salute as she drops back to the floor. "You take care as well Star – and more importantly, have fun."
Starla nods her head in agreement and a big smile as Teddy returns his focus to me. "John, I can't say it enough, I—"
"I'm gonna hit you myself if you keep thanking me," I joke, raising my hand and clenching it into a fist. "We're gonna be fine – though I'm sure I'll be busy with two giddy gals gallivanting around the shop. Still, wouldn't have it any other way."
Teddy slaps me on the back in appreciation, caresses Starla's mane one last time, and heads for the door. "I'll be back sometime this next week – we'll have to do another get-together sometime afterw— Good God, you'll give a man a heart attack!" His sudden shout and jolt backward come just as he passes the doorframe.
"Am I really that scary, or are you exaggerating?" I hear Midnight ask from the other side of the wall, sounding genuinely surprised. "Starla told me to wait, so..."
"Well, I didn't expect you to actually wait by the door!" Starla exclaims, bursting into a fit of laughter as Midnight pops her head around the corner to look in. "I figured you were going.to head back downstairs to wait."
Midnight's face contorts, finding the suggestion rather bizarre. "I already came halfway up the stairs with you before you asked me to wait, so..."
"So you decided eavesdropping on private conversations was the better alternative?" I ask her, butting into this silly debate.
"Didn't ask you – no one did," Midnight belts back to me.
"You're fine, Midnight," Teddy chuckles. "We weren't actually discussing anything private or sensitive. Have fun this week – and be good," he adds in a teasing, light-hearted tone.
Midnight rolls her eyes at the suggestion – even as her muzzle breaks into a grin. "It's John you should be worrying about with that last bit – not me," she says, motioning toward me with a bob of her head.
"Oh, shut up," I shoot back at her.
"Take care, everyone, I'm off," Teddy announces. He sends a final farewell wave to us before descending the steps and out of sight.
With Teddy's departure, Midnight now properly enters our living space, shuffling over to join Starla and I who remain in the living room. As she passes the kitchen island, her eyes flick to Starla's bags that lie on the couch. "What's with the luggage, anyway? It's not like you wear clothes..." she comments in curiosity.
"Uh— well, I actually did bring a bit of attire – but nothing fancy by any means," Starla replies. "I just brought some odds and ends from home I might need. Figure I'm better with too much than frustrated not having something I needed – particularly when it comes to cooking."
"Well, our home is your home for the next few days, so make yourself comfortable, " I assure her. "You can have our bed if you wa—"
"Oh no – the couch looks perfectly suitable," she gasps as her head flicks to me, eyes momentarily wide with shock. "I'm really not that fussy – I'm just excited to be here. When do we go out and work in the junkyard?"
"That's already done for the day, Starla," Midnight says. "Be glad – it was a hot one out there today."
"Aww, but I was looking forward to seeing how you two work," Starla pouts, plodding over to the couch and giving a cushion a test with her hoof. "Ooh, this feels really nice."
"It's actually only a couple of weeks old – coincidentally, our old couch decided to give up, so we had to replace it," I explain, chuckling a bit as I consider her eagerness to see our daily life. "But trust me, you will get your fair share of seeing what we do firsthand."
"For better or for worse," Midnight tacks on. She puts on an expression that oozes smugness, just for me.
That won't do – she's already getting too comfortable with this arrangement. With that in mind, I dart my hand forward toward her nose, preparing to boop her – only to be parried by a dark feathered wing that snaps open in time.
"Oh no you don't," Midnight sasses, taking pride in her block.
"You fucker."
"Language, John," Midnight scolds me, her face twisting into an exaggerated simile of deep disapproval. "We have a guest, and you're using that kind of profanity?"
"Oh, I forgot you don't swear at all," I scoff, slapping my forehead.
"Midnight actually swears a fair bit during our video chats," Starla pipes up. At first, I consider she may not understand my sarcasm – but there's the slightest inkling of a smirk on Starla's muzzle...
"What the hell? You're supposed to be on my side," Midnight whines, turning her head to focus on Starla.
"Haha, you got called out by your own kind," I taunt her. As a result of this little bout of shenanigans, I'm convinced Midnight may be just distracted enough—
As Midnight turns her head to glare at me, I poke her right in the nose with a readied finger. "Boop!" I exclaim.
"Augh, goddammit!" Midnight growls, stomping a hoof. Off to the side, Starla giggles at the sight.
Oh yes. Let the madness begin.
"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."
I didn't sleep well last night – and it wasn't because of excitement. It's nerves – uncertainties that have been mounting over the last couple of days that were magnified once Starla arrived here yesterday evening. Those worries began the day John confessed his concerns to me; it's been like a poison slowly pumping through my veins ever since.
Starla sounds sure of herself, but I still have concerns about her being out with us in the desert sun all day, hiking through the yard for around eight hours. I don't think I asked enough questions before we all agreed to this. Granted, I don't know what I would have asked about to be certain of her resilience and endurance – the fact of the matter is still that I let my excitement get in the way of logic.
I don't want this sleepover to turn into a disaster – and I certainly don't want anyone getting ill or hurt.
"Midnight." Starla's voice pulls me out of my current internal strife. I find her staring at me expectantly – and a bit concerned.
"What?"
"I asked if you could get into my larger bag out in the living room and fetch my hat," she repeats softly, continuing to eye me warily. "I'd appreciate it since it's easier for you."
"Oh, right – sorry," I stumble out, trying to save face. "Coming right up."
This morning, I have been helping Starla get ready for the day. Much to my surprise, she can accomplish much of her own self-care when it comes to her hair, mane, and tail. It looks a bit awkward to what I'm used to between John having hands and myself having electromagnetic abilities, but Starla wields a hairbrush clutched between her teeth with a fair amount of finesse.
My help came down to the top of her head which she could not reach and would struggle to hold the brush between her hooves, and the process of tying up her mane and tail. Like me, she would rather not drag it all through the sand or on dusty cars – though she has corralled it up shorter than I normally do. But it looks nice nonetheless.
This process – while not particularly difficult or time-consuming – has been easier to tackle in John's room, with the aid of my mirror hanging on the door.
Eager to find distraction in something, I crack open the bedroom door and practically gallop out and into the living room, the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen nearby – which John is currently slaving over – making my stomach growl. Starla's baggage lays at the end of the couch near the wall on the far side, with the larger suitcase sandwiched between said couch and the smaller bag. I drag it out and pull open the zipper.
It's the first time I've peered into what she brought along for her stay, and it's... surprising. Perhaps cooking utensils aren't a shock, but the attire interspersed in here certainly raises my eyes. There are multiple hair accessories such as clips and bows, and what looks to even be some skirts or dresses...?
Oh god. Was one of her ideas for this slumber party a game of dress-up? I know she has mentioned in the past she has some clothing despite not being able to venture out much in public, but I didn't think it was actual – well, clothes...
There's the hat. It's a straw, wide-brimmed hat, complete with a pink ribbon around the cap tied into a bow. I brush aside a few other items to free Starla's hat from getting caught before pulling it out.
"Thief! Thieeef!" The absurd shrieking from the kitchen area draws my gaze upward. John still stands at the stove – but has turned to point a spatula at me in accusation, while his brow and mouth are creased in exaggerated disapproval.
"Shut up, dipshit," I lament, not bothering to conjure up any particularly striking remark. "You've been at the stove for what, twenty minutes now? How long does it take to cook bacon and eggs?"
"And toast. There is toast as well," he corrects me.
"Oh wow, what a challenge."
"Yeah, well – to be level with you, I'm cooking three more eggs and another half dozen strips of bacon. So that's an extra pan each since we have a guest. May I ask how much longer you two are planning to play dress-up this morning?"
"Who the hell said we're playing dress-up?
"Well, you're currently holding a cute hat after rummaging through Starla's stuff, and you've been occupying my room and the mirror for about as long as I've been making food." He pauses a moment to take in my find as I start to head back toward the bedroom – before his eyes light up and he breaks into a smile.
Oh great – here comes something stupid.
"And I do declare, that is a fine bonnet for a Southern Belle such as Starla," he croons in a terrible impersonation of a feminine southern drawl.
It's so painful, that I'm forced to halt in my tracks and stare at him for a second, cringing hard enough to feel like I'm about to strain a muscle. "Please don't ever do that again. That was awful."
"Hey, that was pretty good!" Starla calls out from the bedroom, putting an emphasis on her normally subdued accent.
John now proceeds to offer up his own grimace. "Ouch, she agrees with me. That's rough."
"Means I really question her intelligence."
"Hey!"
"Kidding, Star!" I holler back. Embarrassed that I said such a thing loud enough for her to hear, I hastily make my way back to the bedroom and ease past the door. Despite her objection just a moment ago – which I assumed to not be particularly serious anyway – Starla eagerly greets me back inside, even more so when I display my find to her.
"Yep, that's the one!" she cheers. I set it gently atop her head and Starla takes care of the rest, fiddling with its position via her hooves.
"You know, when you said you were gonna pack a few things to wear, I didn't think it was going to be more than a couple of hair accessories," I comment as she strikes a pose.
"I may have gone a bit overboard on what I brought along," she admits, though her smile grows wider as she continues. "But I wanted to have a selection to see if there was something that might tickle your fancy."
Well, I called that one.
"Eh, I don't think clothes are really my thing, Star. And I think these would get in the way," I add, ruffling my wings in demonstration.
"Oh, nonsense – after all, I hardly ever wear full dresses," Starla laughs. "Think of it more like accent pieces. I get you're kind of a tomboy, but experimenting a bit wouldn't hurt, you know? You might be surprised by what you find."
"Maybe," I answer hesitantly, before making sure to put my hoof down. "But no frilly shit."
My response draws a hum of contentment from Starla, but after a few more moments of posing in the mirror, her bright expression falters. "Are you alright today?" she inquires, turning toward me with thinly veiled concern lining her face.
"Me? I'm fine," I dismiss her, scoffing at her question. "I did a bit of tossing and turning in my sleep last night, that's all."
"Why's that?"
"I dunno. Probably excitement, you know? Me and you the next few days? It's not that big of a deal, I'm just a little... off this morning."
Starla offers a nod for my best attempt at an excuse, though her expression doesn't shift. I'm eager to leave this sudden awkward conversation behind and get to chowing down on breakfast, so I head for the gap in the door yet again—
Only for the door to slam in my face without warning after a deft kick from Starla.
"Jesus, Star – you trying to take my damn nose off?!" I bark at her.
But Starla doesn't flinch at my tone; instead, she sits on her haunches against the door before proceeding to close her eyes and cross her forelegs in front of her expectantly.
...damn, I never realized how dexterous her front legs are until now. Makes more sense how she can manage to hold a brush with them and use it, but that's still more range of motion than I have. It must be the perk of robotic prosthetics.
"I made sure my timing wasn't off," Starla answers, her voice surprisingly stern. "But we aren't having breakfast until you tell me what's really going on. Was it something about last night, this morning? Is something about me bothering you?"
"No – are you high?"
My comment causes Starla's cool violet eyes to make an appearance, springing open as her face contorts into befuddlement. "What?"
"It's— nevermind, it's just a stupid saying."
Rather than spend time on what could be a long explanation, I focus on getting the door open and bolting from the room. I latch on to the doorknob and start to pull – but it seems Starla is stronger and heavier than I expected. With her back against the door, I can only move it slightly with my initial light touch; that little movement is enough for Starla to take note, as she scoots back to lean her whole body against the door, causing it to thump back against the doorjamb.
I know I'm strong enough... but the risk of either hurting Starla or breaking something by yanking open the door is not worth it.
"Hey, no horseplay!" John shouts from beyond in the kitchen.
"It's a good thing we aren't horses then, numbnuts!" I holler back.
"I would have said 'ponyplay,' but uh... that's got another meaning. Forget it."
Starla's expression turns quizzical at that ominous statement from John. I have to just shake my head. "Trust me, if he says forget it, there's likely good reason for that," I comment.
"But it sounds harmless enough..."
"Welcome to the sick, sick world we live in."
That quip is enough to free Starla from this little diversion – though it means a return to the interrogation taking place beforehand. "Seriously, we aren't leaving this room until you tell me what's going on. You've been distant almost all morning, and it's making me a little uneasy now," she says, her tone and her face stern in conviction.
I'm not getting out of this until I spill my internal thoughts. I hate this, but I've no other choice.
"It's... I don't mean this in a bad way, and it's hard to articulate it properly," I begin with care. "I know we already talked about it before and we were all confident and set in you accompanying us while we work – but we really are going to be out in the heat and the sun all day."
"Mhm – that's why I brought my hat," Starla replies without hesitation, flicking the brim of her headwear with a hoof.
"We also do a lot of walking, Star. Yes, we take the truck out there, but—"
"Why don't you think I can handle myself, Midnight?" Starla interrupts. While there is a tinge of hurt in her voice, the question comes out calm and patient – genuinely seeking the honest truth from me.
I can't bring myself to say one of the reasons; instead, I focus my gaze on Starla's pale pink forelegs. She traces my line of sight to her crossed limbs, and as she unfolds them, she emits an unexpected chuckle. "Is that really it? I was expecting something a bit more complex," she jokes, dropping back to all fours and standing. "You could have at least thrown in I'm much more in touch with my feminine side and more of a homemaker type."
"I suppose it might be a little of that, too."
"Well, I think I'm going to surprise you, Middie," she replies, cracking a wry grin as she saunters around me. "No, I don't have your level of smarts or the ability to pick things up with a wave of my... horn— that doesn't make much sense, does it?"
"I get the gist of what you're looking for, I'm not gonna split hairs."
"Right – anyway no, there are things I cannot do. But physically, I'm more than capable of a few days out in the sun and all the walking that entails. Who knows – maybe because I don't have 'magic,' I can do more with my hooves than you."
"I'll give you that one for sure – you've surprised me this morning how you can manipulate your hairbrush."
"Believe me, I appreciate your concern – but today isn't going to be particularly taxing for me. I know what I'm getting myself into," she consoles me, patting my shoulder with a hoof before gesturing to the closed door in front of us. "Come on, let's go get some food."
She doesn't have to tell me twice – I ease the door open for Starla and follow her through, greeted once again by the smell of a freshly cooked breakfast. Seated at the kitchen island now, John has already begun mowing down his plate, a fork with eggs in one hand and a strip of bacon in the other.
"Really, you couldn't wait for us?" I lightly chastise him. "That's just rude."
"Hell, I was gonna start on your plates if the standoff between you two lasted any longer," he shoots back. "Count your blessings, Middie."
"Well, thanks for hanging on as long as you did," Starla teases, hopping up on a barstool. I take the one right beside her, and across from John. Despite his comments, I can see there's not much missing from his plate compared to the ones sitting before Starla and me. As I glance at him again, a thought strikes me.
"Why were you listening to our private conversation?" I ask him, making my suspicion clear in my voice even before I narrow my eyes.
He abruptly halts his chewing at the accusation, shooting me a queer expression even as his eyes go wide. "You do realize the doors and walls here aren't soundproof, right? Hell, that bedroom door has a hollow core – good luck keeping any noise muffled with that standing in the way."
...he has a point. Not that I want him to feel good about that.
"Cut me a break – I didn't sleep that well last night."
John nods his head. "Yeah, you did some minor gymnastics last night – woke me up once or twice with your tossing and turning, but I wasn't gonna say anything about it. Still, that's a lazy excuse – you're not getting a free pass from that dumb question."
"Jackass."
Of course, my insult only brings a smile to his face – but no vocal reply follows. In fact, silence settles over the breakfast table for a short spell as we all dig in to fill our stomachs for the day ahead.
While John did not have a major head start on his breakfast, he nonetheless finishes first – and his focus turns to Starla. "For what it's worth, I had my concerns about you tagging along with us and how you might fare," he admits to her, almost apologetic in his tone. "It's not that I don't think you can do it – I just don't know you like I do Midnight. But Midnight took that bullet for me this morning sharing that worry. Thanks, Mid."
"I suppose I do have an air of delicacy about me compared to Midnight, don't I?" Starla replies in a calm, pleasant voice. "I guess I just have to show I really do have some grit in me."
Despite the playfulness in her tone, there's a fierce determination behind those violet eyes. She has something to prove now – and she means to do so. Even John appears to take note if his subtle raised eyebrow is anything to go by.
"Well... alright then," he manages to sputter out, gaining a hint more gusto and confidence by the end. "I guess once you gals finish up, we'll get this show on the road."
"Yep, it'll be a real fag and pony show today."
John shrinks down in his seat at my comment, his eyes darting frantically between me and Starla a few times, before honing in exclusively upon me. "Don't tell her – I'm not ready to come out yet," he whispers, cupping his mouth as if to prevent Starla from hearing or seeing his lips.
"Oh, I've known for a while now," Starla wisecracks, offering John a smirk as his eyes go wide with surprise.
"Hey, nice one!" I belt out through a laugh, leaning over to bump shoulders with her in camaraderie.
"Dammit, even the sweet one picks on me now," John mutters, pouting in defeat. He tries selling it as much as he can, slumping his shoulders as his eyes drop to the counter.
It garners a trill of laughter from Starla, which sates John instantly.
Well, if this moment is anything to go by, maybe John and I are wrong about Starla after all. She's got some surprises up her sleeve this morning – what awaits the rest of the day?
It feels strange not riding shotgun with John in the Trailduster right now as we bounce our way into the salvage yard. I gave up my seat for Starla, leaving me to sit slightly behind and between them amongst the tools, loose bolts, and parts rattling around in the back. It's not too bad – and I'm not afraid of a little extra dirt and grime to remove via shower this evening.
Starla finished off her look she started with a straw hat by adding a pair of thick-rimmed sunglasses, ready for a day of unimpeded sunlight. By chance, she happens to turn and face me while I'm studying those shades from behind. "So do you two always split up and work on your own specific lists?" she asks, giving John a glance in order to make it clear this is a question for both of us.
"It's the only way we can get orders completed without spending ten to twelve hours a day out here," I chime in first.
"We aren't always split up," John adds. "Even when we do go our own way, Midnight and I are almost always still within earshot of each other."
"Fortunate for you, isn't it?" I suggest, alluding to the coyote incident where I had to save his ass.
He chuckles without missing a beat. "Lucky for you too – sometimes you need input from me and my years of experience," he shoots back with a teasing bite in his voice.
"Maybe I just like throwing you a bone, making you feel important from time to time. Very rarely do I ever actually get stuck on something."
"Of course," he laughs back, reaching blindly to give me a very awkward pat on what ends up being my front left leg.
"How did you get so good at working on cars?" Starla continues, her voice cracking a bit as the truck jolts through a rough patch.
"Is that a question for me, or him?"
"Oh, sorry— I meant John," she corrects herself, turning back to flash me a smile. "I already know how you ended up with your knowledge of cars."
"Actually, my story is kinda in the same vein as Midnight's," he replies.
I'm... not particularly certain how John came up with that response. It doesn't make sense to me on the surface.
"You lived out here in the junkyard too?" Starla spouts, recoiling in shock at the idea.
"Yeah, you got me a bit confused on this too," I butt in with my own skepticism. "I already know your story – and I don't feel like there's many parallels between me and you."
"Alright, so maybe... yeah, I guess it's kind of a crappy comparison," he agrees with reluctance. "Me personally, I grew up around old cars, helped when I could when someone was wrenching on something – that's how I learned. That's where I was drawing my comparison."
"Eh... it makes a bit more sense now. But I still feel like you stretched it a bit."
"I don't know..." Starla trails off, pondering the comparison. "Yeah, John would have been young, and you were an adult by the time you got out here – but it was sort of like a rebirth in a way, wasn't it? Having to adapt to a whole new world?"
"Yeah, I guess. But it shouldn't require a detailed explanation and dissection for it to be a seamless fit."
I have to admit, I'm a bit awestruck by Starla's thought process. I've certainly changed my way of thinking over the past few months, but I find it hard to believe I figured she was stupid since she didn't have the computer bits stuck in her head as I did. Maybe I was a bit too harsh and judgmental on what little I remember of the bio ponies at the lab I came from, too.
"I didn't mean for this to turn into a philosophical debate," John wisecracks.
"On a more relevant matter, who did you want to follow around this morning, Star?" I propose to her.
At once, Starla shifts in her seat, whirling around to face me properly. "I... wasn't aware I had a choice," Starla sputters, allowing her eyes to dart toward John for confirmation.
John looks in the rearview mirror back at me, his eyes widened with the unexpected twist. "I'm about as shocked as you are, Starla," he admits. "Midnight?"
"I figured it's not fair to say she has to stick with me – not fair to either of you," I reason. "I didn't mean to cause confusion."
"Aww, that's nice of you to ask – but I'm gonna stick with you for the time being, Mid," Starla responds, pivoting to face John again. "Sorry."
"Hey, no need to feel bad – again, I was surprised this was even up for debate," he assures her. "But good timing – we're at our first stop."
Well, not quite. John wheels the Trailduster off the main path and onto a more narrow lane, following it for another minute or two. On either side, full-size Ford and Mercury products pass by, starting with some late seventies models.
"Alright, I didn't check the list at all because today was your day of dividing up part requests," I remind John. "What are we looking for – what are Starla and I setting off for this morning?"
"Well, I'm set on trying to find and figuring out how to remove a grille from a Mercury Marauder first thing this morning," he replies, bringing the truck to a halt and switching off the ignition. "For you two – a few script emblems for a '66 LTD, and maybe some taillights. That's only if you can find a set that isn't cracked or hazed to hell and back."
"That's gonna be a tall ask."
"Yeah, I'm well aware – hence why I said maybe some taillights," he reiterates, popping open his door. "The customer only wants them if they are in really good shape – not even a discount if they need some minor TLC."
"Fair enough – I'll do my best."
"We all got our marching orders – let's see what we can get accomplished." It's a typical corny line from John that makes me want to chastise him, but I let it go – this time.
From the backseat, I feel for the door handle on the passenger side and pop it open for Starla – which makes her jump just a bit before realizing it's merely my ability at work to aid her egress. She jumps out – while I head toward the back of the truck.
No sense in finagling around the seat and climbing out that way, as I have to get my toolbag. John happens to reach the back around the same time I do, pulling open the tailgate and lift gate as I seize my personal set of tools and hop out onto the desert sand.
John isn't surprised by my idea, but the *thunk* of the passenger door closing just now is evidence Starla didn't recognize what I was up to. She trots up to the rear as I'm about to turn the corner and apologize for my lack of communication before her eyes light up with glee.
"You have your own set of tools? That's sooo cute!" she exclaims, ogling over my bag and my embroidered name.
I pull the bag away from her just a bit, grimacing at the comment. "Cute wouldn't be the word I'd use," I muse.
"I know, I know," she sighs, smiling as she rolls her eyes. "It's... neat! Will that work?"
I nod, relaxing my stance with the agreed term.
"And it's cute, too." Of course, John has to open his mouth on the situation, causing Starla to giggle madly in amusement as I turn and glare at him. And of course, he just has to flash me the cheekiest grin he can muster on short notice.
"You know if you keep using that term, it's gonna lose the effectiveness to irk me?"
"That's the plan. Then I can use it as much as I want!" he cheers.
Rather than combat him, I sigh and turn away. "Come on Starla, this way," I direct, trotting along the side of the truck and beyond the front, off toward older models.
Starla picks up the pace to be beside me – though her head is spinning in all directions as she takes in the sights. "Holy moly, there's so many cars out here," she gasps after a short spell. "Yeah, the fenced area looks large from the road, but not anything like... well, where we are now."
"Yeah, and we drove past a lot of cars, too – we're halfway to the back of the yard if I had to guess," I elaborate for her. "But we were talking most of the way here – it didn't seem like that long of a journey."
"So what is it we're looking for? I know John said emblems and taillights, but I didn't catch the name of the car..."
"A Ford LTD. It's basically an upscale Ford Galaxie with luxury options," I explain in brief terms, keeping my eyes focused on the cars to discern how far we have to travel. "There's not much difference between them aside from trim, so the details are important."
"I... don't know if I've ever seen either model of car," she replies, a bit forlorn at her inability to help.
I stray from my path to playfully bump Starla out of that hiccup. "Luckily, you're in good company because I know what we're looking for. We're actually surrounded by mostly Galaxies right now – just not the right year."
The revelation causes Starla to stand tall once again and scan the automobiles parked all around us with wide eyes. But it doesn't take long before her ears dip with insecurity, eyeing me warily. "But a lot of these look different just based on the front end. These are all the same model of car?"
"Yeah – they look different because there are different generations of car – usually anywhere from three to five years, then the bodywork would get a major redesign. But even within those generations, there were running changes both mechanical and visual to try to keep the products looking new and fresh for customers. The particular generation of LTD we're looking for is the first generation – but it was... I think the third generation of Galaxie? I can't remember offhand."
"So how do— well, how does John have the yard organized? Or is there no organization?"
"I give John a lot of shit, but he did a decent job of keeping things organized before I came along in terms of sorting out where to put cars," I admit. "Some areas are better off than others – this is a good area. These cars with hidden headlights are newer models than what we're looking for, so we gotta keep going, which will take us to earlier cars."
"I was wondering why some of these cars looked like they were missing spots for headlights – or looked like they were winking at me," she giggles.
"Yeah, common result when the headlight door mechanisms start to fail – either both are always open, or you get one left peeped open. Usually, they were set to be open when it failed, as a lot of times, they were closed by vacuum."
We trek for a bit longer before familiar front ends start to appear with stacked quad headlights. Even though it's a sign we're getting close, it means I need to pay even closer attention to the details. Some cars have the window marked with the year, but between dust and the sun, it's hard to discern more often than not. One big indicator that does catch my eye is a padded vinyl roof – which is present on a drab green four-door just off to our left ahead.
"Right here, Starla," I call out as I venture off and set my toolbag on the front fender. Strutting off toward the rear doors and adjacent C-pillar, I find the passenger side emblem intact and circle around to the other side – and another good emblem.
"Is there anything you need me to do to help?" Starla hollers from the front of the car, excitement and enthusiasm already apparent in her voice. I head back up to the front to find her trotting in place, hardly able to keep still with the possibility of helping me out with this job.
It sucks that I have to shoot her down. "Nah, there's not much to do to get the emblems off," I reply reluctantly, feeling even worse as her burst of energy is sucked away. "I have to pry these off – takes a bit of finesse to not break the pins, but that's all there is to them."
As I start to levitate my toolbag off of the fender and head back to my work area, Starla seizes it out of midair with her teeth. "Let me at least carry it for you!"
"I... okay," I stammer, taken aback by her unrelenting eagerness to chip in. She waltzes past me and to the back doors, dropping my toolbag onto the trunk lid with a clink of tools as they shift inside.
"What do you need out of here?" she continues to press, ogling the bag for a moment before spying the zipper. "Ah, I have a hard time with zippers, Mid."
"You're fine, Star," I laugh, more out of disbelief than amusement. "I know there's gonna be stuff you'll be able to help me with – this is just the first job today."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
I fish through my bag for the orange plastic prying tool made specifically for this kind of job and set to work. Meanwhile, Starla meanders away to the back of the car. "Well, it looks like we have one good taillight available on this car," she comments. "At least, I think it's good."
"I'll take a look once I get this badge off," I drone, keeping my focus on this delicate act of prying. Moving the tool around the edges and applying pressure, the barrel clips holding the pins start to release their hold with an audible groan. Before long, I've already got one LTD script levitating its way into the front pouch of my bag.
I join Starla at the rear of the car to see if the search for taillights is over. First impression makes me realize why there's one good taillight – the passenger side housing is a black void leading into the trunk. However, the driver's side looks like a mint piece, aside from the dust; I'll have to take a closer look to be sure, but one thing at a time.
"Good scouting, Star – hopefully we can find a match for it somewhere along the line."
"How about I do that while you get the other emblem off of this car?"
Starla's suggestion causes me to freeze in place just as I start walking toward the driver's side of the car. While it sounds like a reasonable idea on the surface... well, there's a lot that could go wrong with Starla wandering out on her own. If getting lost isn't at the top of that list, the incident with John and the coyote is there solely due to it still being fairly fresh in my memory.
"Do you really think that little of me?" Starla asks, making me realize I've been silent for some time now.
"No, it isn't that I don't think you can handle yourself – I'm sure you can," I sigh, trying to figure out the best way to walk this tightrope. "I'm concerned about what I don't know of that may be lurking out here. John already found a nasty surprise that fortunately didn't eat him alive. I don't really want to relive that so soon, even if it's an amusing little tale in hindsight."
"But you two haven't changed the way you work despite that, have you?" she counters. She cocks her head and finishes with a thin smile that only serves to confound me further with how bizarre this minor debate has become.
"No – no, we haven't," I admit. "I guess I'm just nervous because of that and because you aren't familiar with our junkyard."
"I won't go far, and I'll stay behind this row looking at the taillights of these cars for a match," she suggests, motioning further down the line with a hoof. "Maybe ten, fifteen cars?"
Well, that should still be well within visual and earshot. Is there really anything to argue with that plan without making myself look like an overprotective ass?
"Alright. Just holler if you need me – I shouldn't be long with as well as the first piece went."
Starla praces in place for a moment, stopping to salute me in understanding before trotting off down the line, a big, excited grin having returned to her muzzle.
I hope I don't regret this. My stomach is already turning a bit as I get to work on the driver's side LTD emblem. I take a few deep breaths to relax before beginning to gingerly pry up on this badge. Am I being too uptight? I don't really think so – but now I understand why John was hung up on having Starla stay with us. She's an adult, but it's still our responsibility to make sure nothing happens while she spends time here. Even aside from that – I don't want anything happening to my friend, full-stop.
"Midnight!"
*POP*
I snap a mounting post on the emblem as Starla's shout jolts me to attention. That's the least of my concerns – in an instant, my wings are open and I hurl myself into the air, punishing organic and mechanical bits alike to get aloft and at altitude as quickly as possible for a bird's eye view. I don't know if that call was made under duress or if—
"Hey!"
I look down upon hearing another shout. Almost directly below, Starla sits on her haunches and waves her hooves to garner my attention. At most, she's five cars down from where I was working just moments ago.
Oh god – why didn't I look around first? This is embarrassing.
Fighting the urge to streak away, I circle around in a tight spiral as I bleed altitude, flaring out and coming to a halt on the ground just a few feet away from Starla, who looks on in wonder. "Wow, you really can fly!" she gasps, rushing over to me and marveling at my wings. "Midnight, that was sooo cool!"
"Yeah... I— uh, what's up? What did you need?" I manage to finally sputter out, tucking my wings away quickly in the hopes of forgetting my freakout.
"I didn't actually need anything, I just— oh dear," she suddenly blurts, averting her gaze in embarrassment. "You told me to holler if I needed help, and I sorta did that, didn't I?"
"Kinda. I might have gotten a little spun up and panicky when I heard you call my name," I confess. "Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry – I at least know you're willing to jump into action at any moment," she says with a chuckle. "Anyway, I found some more taillights – these look pretty good, don't they?"
My attention shifts to the red sedan in front of us for a quick gander. Sure enough, this car has both taillights still available, and at the very least, fully intact with no cracks. A quick cleaning will give me a better idea of any defects they might have under the dust...
But now I have to find another emblem to supplant the one I just broke. A glance at the passenger side C-pillar shows me an emblem hanging off the car on just one post.
"Something the matter?"
"Yeah – sorta broke the part I was working on. Does the driver's side have an emblem?"
Starla steps off to the side, craning her neck the rest of the way needed to get a view. "Mmm, I don't think so," she replies, downcast with her news. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to get you worked up."
"Better safe than sorry. I'm sure we'll find another," I console her, spreading a wing to pat her back.
"Ah... you want me to look for them?" she suggests, much more hesitant than earlier.
"... you know what, sure. Just maybe don't shout unless there's an issue," I laugh.
Beyond what I could ever fathom, the Mercury Marauder grille in my hands has taken the better part of three hours to remove. Hidden, rusted screws, intertwined pieces that required removal as well...
What a nightmare. But I have it, and it's in good shape with no casualties aside from my sanity. Trekking back now to the Trailduster, I see another night mare taking refuge in the back amongst a pile of parts. Starla sits beside Midnight, though closer to the tailgate with her back turned, apparently inspecting some of the odds and ends that have been collected thus far. She's removed her hat for the time being, letting it sit precariously close to the corner of the tailgate.
The reason Midnight is facing outward is obvious as I get close enough to read her face – she's got a look of overwhelming smugness while awaiting my eventual arrival. "I didn't realize Starla was going to be picking up your slack today," she croons once I'm only a few feet away.
Rather than answer verbally, I offer up universal sign language to Midnight – the middle finger. Starla turns around with a smile – only to feign a gasp of horror as she spies my message for Middie.
"Such language," she tsks, shaking her head before shifting her attention to my haul. "Is that really a whole piece?"
"Yes – and it was an incredibly stubborn piece to remove, hence my... 'slacking.'" I make sure to let my eyes linger on Midnight for an extended period of time after that.
For a brief moment, her smirk grows wider before relenting on the attitude. "Come on, you know I'm just screwing with you."
"I'm well aware," I concede, slipping the grille between Midnight and the side of the truck bed as she watches on with passive interest. "Hopefully you two did in fact have a better run at it than I did. And not just to rub it in my face."
"Yeah, we actually got a lot of our half of the list pulled. Having a toolmare assisting me meant I spent less time digging through my tools – which mind you, I try to keep organized," she affirms, before sliding off to the side. "Take a look at what we got so far."
"Toolmare!" Starla cheers in delight, clapping her hooves together. "I like the name!"
Midnight's face lights up with the enthusiasm Starla has for her nickname. "We both decided to take a bit of a break since we're a bit ahead of schedule. And I don't want you feeling left out and bored later on if we start tackling your side of the list."
"Aww, that's so considerate of you," I comment, heaping on the sarcasm.
"Yeah, I know – all for one and all that happy shit. But maybe you and Starla should team up for a couple of hours to get you back on track, hm?"
It's a suggestion that comes straight out of left field – even though it was mentioned earlier in the day as a possibility, the general chumminess and boasting of how well it's been going thus far make it now seem out of place. In addition, her voice drops the sass she's been rolling with since our little interaction began. Even Starla is blindsided, as her face falters with an inkling of concern...
"Are you sure, Midnight?" Starla asks, making her uncertainty clear by tone alone.
"Yeah, I am. I have some stuff to think about," Midnight replies, her voice dropping in volume. "Wouldn't be fair to have to along with me while I'm silently in deep thought."
"Is this about—"
"It is. But I'm fine," Midnight interrupts her. "It's not really a bad thing. I just think I would do well with some time alone. That's all."
Despite Midnight's short explanation, Starla's shoulders slump in defeat as what's left of her smile fades away. But Middie takes note right away, fanning out a wing to embrace her friend. "It's not your fault. I promise we're good," she reassures Starla.
I'm lost during this whole exchange. Clearly, something happened in those first few hours, but I can't make heads or tails of what it may have been. But Midnight was quick to cut off Starla's inquiry, likely to keep me in the dark. Still, one misses one hundred percent of the shots he or she doesn't make. The festive atmosphere surrounding Starla's visit has suddenly soured, and I'm anxious to understand why.
"Can someone fill me in a bit on what's going on?" I ask, trying to slather on the politeness in hopes it will get me further.
"I'll explain it to you this evening, John. Just... not right now," Midnight answers calmly. Still, within that response is a stern undertone that lets me know while she understands my concern, she will not budge from her decision.
"As long as you're alright, I'll roll with it for now. But I will hold you to that, Middie," I warn her.
"That makes two of us," Starla steps in, agreeing with a sharp nod as she raises her head and locks eyes with me.
"You have my word – both of you," Midnight responds, glancing at me, then at Starla before her solemn face regains some semblance of positive emotion – or mischief. "I think John really needs your help anyway, Star. Maybe you can help him get more than one job done in three hours."
"Hey, kiss my ass."
"I'm gonna pass on that," Midnight retorts, purposely lacking interest as she leaps off the tailgate, her toolbag floating to catch up with her. "I'm gonna go ahead and get back to work – I'll see you two later."
"Hold on – you gotta let me know what all has been done," I remind her. "I don't feel like having to run an inventory of the back, since it really does look like you two got quite a bit accomplished."
Midnight halts mid-step and turns around, her ears pinned back as she offers a sheepish grin. "Oh, right. We got all the LTD stuff, Fairlane rear bumper, and everything that was needed off of the full-size Chevrolets," she quickly rails off.
"Sounds like you went after a lot of easy jobs, making me look bad," I comment knowingly, crossing my arms.
She scoffs at the accusation, rolling her eyes. "You know as well as I do no job is guaranteed to be easy. It's the luck of the draw," she protests.
"Yet, strangely enough, you're getting pretty defensive here. Almost like I caught you."
"Well... work smarter, not harder," she mutters, averting her eyes.
"I love how you're such a sore loser."
"You know what? I think I'm going to go after the Nova stuff and the Ventura trim," she threatens, holding her head high now. "You only have yourself to blame."
"You're just proving me right by taking more easy jobs that have a wider selection of cars to choose from."
With things seeming to get back to normal, Starla gas perked up with amusement at the banter between Midnight and me, offering a few guffaws through the back-and-forth.
This little delay has lingered long enough for Midnight, who continues to suppress the formation of a genuine smile as she directs her eyes toward Starla. "Good luck dealing with John. You have my sincerest apologies."
"Oh stop it," Starla scolds her, forming an exaggerated creased brow and frown to match. "I think we're going to make a great team."
"You're gonna see how much of a pain in the ass he really can be," Midnight warns her. "Anyway, I'm off – see you later."
Midnight takes a turn and squeezes between two cars, setting off for a row further into the yard. And leaving me with Starla – a pony I still don't know that well, even after a night's stay.
"So, you seemed kinda concerned like I am – what was that all about?" I ask her, scratching the back of my head with unease. "What's she got on her mind?"
Unfortunately, Starla closes her eyes and shakes her head. "That's for Midnight to share, not me," she states. "It's only fair since she promised she would explain later."
"Alright, I guess I really can't argue against that," I surrender, allowing Starla to relax as she opens her eyes again. "So you're with me now, eh?"
Starla hums in approval as she leaps off the tailgate just as Middie did just moments ago. The good vibes of the day return as she poses with her chest thrust out. "I'll help out however I can – fetch tools, search for parts, whatever you need!"
"Well, I'm ready when you're ready."
Spurred by my announcement, Starla turns back to the truck to fetch her hat. She nips the brim of it with her teeth and tosses it up into the air; with practiced precision, Starla ducks under it and catches it atop her head, looking the same as it did earlier when she first had it on. "I'm set – where are we off to?" she asks, making no note of her neat little move.
"I still have more Mercury parts on the list – dashboard instrument cluster from a Monterey, and front bumper brackets and a steering column from a Montego," I rail off in succession, knowing Starla probably doesn't understand the models or what they look like.
"So the same make you were working on – that means it's not a far walk, huh?" Starla comments with confidence, pointing a hoof off in the direction I walked from earlier.
"It wouldn't be a long hike, but we're gonna take the truck. I don't like the sounds of lugging that steering column around more than I have to, and who knows what tools I'm gonna need to pry it loose," I explain, ushering her toward the passenger side of the Trailduster.
"But won't Midnight have to walk farther if we take the truck with us?"
"Midnight didn't list off what she has to pull from those cars – there's a lot, which is why it was fun giving her shit about the 'easy' jobs," I admit as I pop open the passenger door for Starla. She leaps up into the cab and gets seated, reaching a hoof through the open window to hook the door and close it without my assistance.
Alright, so she can do quite a bit herself. I didn't expect that one – but nonetheless, there's work to be done. I circle around the truck and hop inside before I continue my explanation. "I'm going to bet we will be done with our three items before she's finished – we'll pick her up. And she's still stubborn and doesn't mind the walking anyway."
"Oh, I guess I should have expected you two to have a system all worked out – especially since you've been doing it day in, day out for a while now."
I nod, but now I'm starting to feel a bit awkward; without Midnight here in the cab, I've got to step up and try to start some conversation – and get to know her as something other than 'Midnight's friend.'
There's at least one subject I know I can get the ball rolling fairly easily...
"So I gather cooking is your big passion, huh?"
"Oh, absolutely!" she crows, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of cooking. "I do hope Midnight passed on the grocery list to you."
"Yep, I think we got it all," I confirm, starting the engine of the truck and working on turning around. "By the sounds of it, you're gonna show Midnight a thing or two so she can do something aside from microwaveable bacon."
"Mhm. It's why I brought multiple bags with me – a lot of utensils and tools I use at home."
"Aww, you didn't have to do that. I got quite a bit of stuff that you would need."
"Midnight said you did a little bit of cooking – but she didn't go into detail," Starla replies, looking out the windshield as I finally get us headed in the right direction. "I wanted to be sure I had what I needed."
"I can do a little bit of everything I guess – nothing particularly fancy, but I have most of the basic utensils, I think. You're more than welcome to use them rather than have to pull everything out of your bag," I offer.
"That's very kind of you, and thank you," she says, bowing her head. "But a lot of my stuff is... well, it's tailored to my lack of hands. Some stuff Teddy has been able to put together for me with his background working on mechanical gizmos. But a lot of my other tools have plenty of teeth marks, and I don't want to do that to your cookware. Really makes me jealous of what Midnight can do..."
As Starla trails off and her bubbly voice loses some steam, I look over to see her suddenly wince as she stares straight ahead. "Hey, you okay?" I ask, my stomach knotting at the sight and the sudden change.
"Y-yeah, sorry – thought I saw something," she answers without hesitation as her focus snaps back to me. "But anyway, I'm really looking forward to what I can show you two. You've been showing and explaining so much to me in the short amount of time I've been here."
I nod and play it casual, letting her little slip-up fall by the wayside. But it's going to eat at me today until Midnight tells me what happened.
Did they have a fight or something? They seemed fine when I was walking back to the truck...
I dunno. I guess I have to play the waiting game. I'll make the most of it, and try not to focus too hard on what the evening will bring.
I'm still in the midst of the first job with Starla as my sidekick, but one thing has become abundantly clear – she really enjoys asking questions. But that isn't a bad thing; I'm enjoying having someone with such an inquisitive mind speaking up and wanting to learn more about... well, everything.
"It's crazy how bright and shiny they made everything back in this era of cars," Starla comments in regard to the chrome instrument bezel I'm fighting with.
"Yeah, a lot of glitz and glamor these older cars," I agree with a chuckle. "Especially towards the end of this decade – seems like everything was slathered in chrome and stainless, from household appliances to the cars rolling off the assembling lines in Detroit."
"Do... did these get manufactured in your lifetime?" Starla asks.
The question makes me laugh, just from the sudden and rather absurd nature of it combined with Starla's wavering voice and awkward facial expression. "How old do you think I am?" I tease her, making sure to offer a grin to let her know I'm not at all offended.
"Well... I don't really know, I guess," she admits with more caution than a moment ago. "I really don't know what this car is, or the decade it was made in. And time is... it's a notion I still find a bit hard to grasp."
The last bit of her confession spurs my interest, especially combined with her relative naivety. "Well, how old are you ?"
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Starla displays a subtle cringe toward my inquiry almost immediately, followed by a shrug of the shoulders.
"Just thought I'd ask. It seems you and Midnight have that in common – you're both adults, but age isn't a number."
"Teddy could probably give you a rough estimate of my age since he started working with me pretty early on," Starla adds, bringing a hoof to her chin. "But it's not something that has ever come up in discussion, now that I think of it."
"It's not really important in the grand scheme of things – I dunno, you just got me a bit curious," I explain, hesitating for a moment. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable with personal questions, though."
"Oh, you're quite alright – it was just a question I hadn't expected," she reassures me, relaxing her posture. "But that's the good thing about us teaming up – we can get to know each other better than just friends of Midnight... though I suppose the friendship between the two of you goes a bit deeper. But as long as I get to ask questions in return – ask away."
Of course, my brain decides to pick this moment in time to forget the question I had brewing, leaving me in an awkward position as Starla patiently awaits my opening Salvo.
"Well, I technically did ask a question about you already, so why don't you go ahead?" I suggest, trying to save face rather than admit my brainfart.
Starla tips her head side to side as she begins to mull what she wants to hear from me first. It gives me some time to start looking around at the dashboard for any fasteners I may have missed preventing me from pulling the instrument cluster.
"I know – Midnight told me you weren't a fan of ponies at all the you two first met. What changed that?"
"Wow, we're going right to the deep insightful stuff right away, huh?" I joke. "I suppose the simple answer of 'Midnight changed my mind' isn't what you're looking for, either."
Starla shakes her head. "Mind you, I don't intend for this to sound mean – but it is a little odd that Midnight was the one to change your mind. She had a rather prickly personality when I first met her – and from what she and you have told me, that was an improvement," she explains.
With an improved understanding of why this is a question, I can't help but hum in amusement at the first thing that comes to my mind, as cryptic as it may be. "Misery loves company."
Starla's brow furrows as she attempts to discern what I just said and how it relates to her question. Meanwhile, one pesky clip on the dashboard finally reveals itself to my eyes after about the fifth time overlooking the metal fastener, and I finally have the instrument cluster and bezel of this Mercury free in my hands... aside from wire hookups.
It also brings along a cloud of dust that had accumulated over the years. It forces both Starla and me to squint, holding off on further discussion as we hold our breaths while the fine particles dissipate.
"I guess the best way for me to answer that is to start with my own question," I begin, letting the cluster hang from the wires that still hold it back from full removal. "How much does Midnight really talk about me?"
"More than she used to when we first started chatting – back then, it was never," Starla responds with a hushed laugh. "I think she still feels a bit embarrassed talking about you with me – and I don't help matters when I take the time to tease her about it."
"No, that probably works in the opposite direction, you bully," I remark, wagging my finger as if to scold her.
Starla snickers at the reaction I give her, remaining unapologetic. "It's silly how spun up she gets about any sort of discussion regarding your relationship. Before I always thought it was a matter of Midnight seeing herself... sort of above you. But that isn't the case, certainly not in the last month."
"Well, I don't blame you for teasing her about it – as you can tell, I like to get her all flustered, too. But fun pastimes aside, since she doesn't talk much about me, I suppose the intricacies of my junkyard business aren't up for discussion much, either."
As expected, Starla shakes her head. "Sometimes she talks about a stubborn job she had or something rare you two came across, but that's about it. A lot of the subject matter goes over my head – so I don't ask too many questions when it comes to that topic."
Starla pauses, suddenly distracted by a fleeting thought. "She's mentioned that she's been a big part of turning this place around if that counts – she is proud of that," she adds. "I know she tends to exaggerate, so I don't know how true that is, or what exactly that all entails."
Figuring I ought to get this job wrapped up already, I start reaching behind the instrument panel and fumbling for wire hookups that need to be removed. It's a tall task that comes down to feel, as the cluster only pulls out enough for my hands to squeeze in. "There isn't much exaggeration in that claim," I grunt as freeing one plug results in my hand hitting something back in the depths. "If it weren't for Midnight showing up and berating me in order to get my shit together and go with her plan, I probably wouldn't be here in a year's time. Like her, I wasn't in a good place – so it ended up being like two bitter individuals brightening up each other's lives."
"Really?" Starla spouts as incredulity causes her to recoil away from me. "I've never gotten that sort of impression from you. You're always in an upbeat, joking mood."
"Well, that was also a time before I met you," I remind her. "And yeah, Midnight was even more unpleasant to deal with before you met her, too – though by the sounds of it, you already sort of assumed that was the case."
"She's also been rather open about her past attitude with me. There's a bit of regret in how she's treated... well, all of us, at one point or another," Starla concedes, her voice lowing as she hits a more somber note in this discussion. "Mid just has a hard time letting go of some things, doesn't she?"
"That she does. Always has been one to hold onto specific memories and events, for better or worse. But she has improved on that – which has been a recent development."
Something else continues to hold back the cluster in my hands – and while I can feel another electrical plug, it refuses to budge. I decide I'm done asking nicely as I pull my hands free and reach for tools from my bag on the seat.
Starla swats at my hand with a deft hoof. "Ah ah – I'm the tool mare," she scolds. "What do you need?"
"My bad – force of habit. Need a pair of side-cutters – basically look like pliers that you gave me earlier, but made for snipping wires. I'm done getting my hands chewed up." For added emphasis, I display the fresh scrapes on the back of my hand for Starla to see.
"Ow – that doesn't look good," she laments before diving headfirst into my collection of tools as if it's a party game. A moment later, she rises back up with my request clutched between her teeth.
"I'm not a fan of busting my knuckles, but it does come with the territory – I'm used to it," I concede as she eyes my dinged-up hand before releasing the side-cutters into my palm. "Thank you."
"No problem – but can I ask another question about Midnight?"
"Sure – I'm not really keeping score of how many questions are being asked by us."
"What did you do to help Midnight turn over a new leaf? Like you said, as of recent she's been so much more... relaxed. She's willing to be more open," Starla explains. "She's just less... angry."
"So that's carried over beyond just what I experience, huh?" I comment, reaching into the abyss with a tool to end the fight once and for all. "Midnight herself just got tired of... she realized how much she was clinging to what used to be and how it was making her angry. So she let go and buried in on her own accord."
"I feel like you played a big part in it, even if the final decision was hers."
"You might be right – maybe try suggesting that to her later and see what kind of an answer you get," I joke, despite feeling a little warm in the face all of a sudden. The cutters in my hand find the small bundle of wires I had been fighting with before, and a few snips later, the instrument cluster is finally free – aside from the speedometer cable. That in itself falls off as the ancient clip gives up once the wire is pulled taut.
"Well, I've fought with much worse dashboards, so I can't complain too much – now I just have to make sure everything works," I comment as I set the piece facedown on the seat next to me.
Starla leans in to get a better look at the back of it, ogling the pins and hookups present that are normally hidden away. "How will you test it all out?"
"I'll hook up a battery to each of these connections one at a time and make sure the needles move – other than the speedometer," I say, pointing to the large circular metal slot. "Gonna have to find something to fit in there and spin it with a drill."
"How does the needle normally get driven?"
"Well, that big cable plugged into this slot," I say, motioning to the gaping hole in the dash where the cable lies. "That cable runs through the firewall, down to the transmission where it hooks up to a gear inside the transmission where it meshes..."
I trail off as Starla's eager nodding from the beginning halts. Her eyes glaze over with the information and terms I'm unloading all at once upon her.
"In fundamental terms, the cable is driven by the spinning parts in the transmission when the car is moving," I wrap up quickly. "Midnight would probably do a better job explaining it than me – if you're still curious, you could ask her tonight."
"I might do that," Starla replies after shaking her mind free of the gibberish that I had unleashed. "She does do a good job of explaining how things like that work – and she gets really excited and passionate about it."
"So you get lectures from time to time during your video chats?"
A knowing smirk gives me my answer before Starla emits a light chuckle. "I think I've asked enough questions about you and Midnight – you're overdue to ask me something," she says, bouncing up and down on the bench seat in anticipation.
It's that sudden surge of excitement that brings a question to the forefront of my mind now. "Well, speaking of mood... I find it cute and at the same time so surprising how upbeat you are, at least compared to how Midnight was. Have you always been this positive, or was there a time of adjustment like Mid?"
Like a switch being flipped, Starla instantly stops her fidgeting. Her delighted face washes away to be replaced by a serious, concentrated face as she thinks over her answer.
"I think it goes without saying I am happier now than when I was – well, let's not sugarcoat it – when I was an experiment," she says, adding a light chuckle that is out of place and frankly, a bit forced. "The first few days that I remember were unsettling, being poked and prodded with no idea what was going on or why. Those are my first memories, and they weren't pleasant. It didn't help matters that these people were discussing things and asking me questions that I couldn't understand. What I did understand was how they kept focusing on my forelegs... the ones that I couldn't do anything with..." Through this reflection, Starla's voice gradually drops in volume. By the time she pauses, she's speaking barely above a whisper with her head hanging noticeably lower than before.
"Hey, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to dig into bad memories of the past," I console her, quickly wiping a hand on my shirt to offer her a pat.
"I— no, you're fine," Starla responds, almost apologetic as she snaps free of her temporary trance and flashes a heartfelt little grin as she looks at me again. "It's not a subject I've given thought to for a while. It's sobering to remember where I came from, but it helps to put things in perspective, too. And Teddy came along... well, again, time is something sort of hard for me to grasp. But from everything that I remember, I don't have many memories without him, so he must have come early on. I don't think I spent much time isolated."
"Wait, you were kept isolated like Midnight was?"
Starla's mouth contorts as she processes how to answer. "It... kinda was isolation like Midnight, I guess. From what she's told me, they had open areas for the ponies where she came from. I don't believe my lab was like that," she slowly responds while scouring her memory. "I recall other ponies from time to time... I guess in passing. But regardless, I think my isolation was mainly due to my front legs. I really couldn't walk – someone came up with a two-wheeled dolly or wheelchair of sorts for my front legs so I could move. But I still need help into that contraption, and it still made me a bit of a liability."
While Teddy said he had continued to come up with reasons to keep Starla as a viable test subject until he could smuggle her out, Starla's description really gives that backstory some proper structure. In a way, it makes her survival all the more impressive, a testament to the willpower and determination of both of them. While it may be a bit heartwarming in that sense, this ended up being a darker conversation than I ever intended to have, and I feel a bit sick asking about such things now.
But before I can sink too far into those dour thoughts, a pat on my leg from a pink hoof draws me back to the present. "It's okay," Starla affirms, smiling again as I meet her eyes. "That was a long time ago, and it's just distant memories that can do no harm. Going through that helped shape me into... well, the me of today. I guess that's why I always try to have a bright outlook – every day really is a gift compared to the past and what it could have led to."
"That— that is a really good way to look at it," I stammer, a bit awestruck by the sudden flash of wisdom in her words. "Midnight has a wonderful life coach for a friend in you."
"Oh, no stop that," she giggles, waving me away as her cheeks flush with a hint of red. "I think you've done more than I have to bring her around – not to mention her own driven self-improvement."
Flattery aside, this up-and-down conversation with strong emotions starts to get the wheels in my head turning. Maybe this isn't the first sensitive discussion of the day...
"Were you two sharing some details of your pasts earlier today?" I cautiously suggest. "Was that why Midnight needed some time to think?"
Starla begins to protest but halts as soon as her mouth opens. Instead, she shrinks back just a bit in shame. "It's... something like that, I suppose. But that's as much as I'm willing to say because I don't feel like it's right for me to share," she replies, remaining adamant. "But she really did need – I know she has things on her mind she really wants to think through now. She was telling the truth on that."
I can't help but release a heavy sigh. Midnight dwelling on her past can't be healthy – what reason could there be for her to do that?
"Thanks for giving me at least that little tidbit, even if you didn't mean for it to happen. Of course, now it just makes me more anxious – I want to go hunt her down right now and start asking questions."
"Believe me, I get it, but— well, I think if it was something she was really struggling with or bothering her, she would have spoken up about it. Yes, we had a serious discussion that started her mind going, but we had some good laughs and conversation after it, too. I was as surprised as you that she wanted to solo, but I'm glad we've gotten this time to talk to each other."
"Yeah, that makes two of us. Sorry if I suddenly seem like I'm focused on her, by the way. I never meant for the conversation to go down this route."
Starla scoffs at my apology without missing a beat. "Don't be ridiculous, John – there's no reason to be sorry. I know you love and care about Midnight, and considering the circumstances... I'd be surprised if your mind didn't venture to her. Like I said, I have my own concerns – but more importantly, right now, I want to see if we can match her."
"'Match her?' What do you mean?"
"Meet or even surpass what she and I were able to get pulled earlier!" Starla exclaims, aghast by my lack of understanding – or just so excited that every reaction is magnified. "I want to be the MVP of the day, and helping you catch up at the very least makes me a good candidate for that award. Now, I'll gather up the tools here, while you take that... er..."
"Instrument cluster?" I suggest, picking it up off the seat.
"Yes. Take that back to the truck, and I'll meet you there!"
It's such a silly idea, but nonetheless quite amusing as Starla starts to gather up the tools scattered about the seat and the floor. And maybe there's good reason to run with Starla's scheme – she really laid on the cockiness when I had only managed to get the Marauder grille up to that point.
Yeah, a good time to show her up if there ever was one. I get my own rear into gear and climb out of the Mercury, carefully closing the driver's door behind me as Starla begins tossing hand tools into my bag one at a time.
I still have my concerns about her, but right now, I'd really like to beat Midnight's haul for the day – there's a good chance she's arrogant enough to slack on her pace, giving me and Starla a chance to get ahead.
Speaking of which, hoofbeats are already beginning to get louder behind me – and then Starla blazes past me, toolbag clenched between her teeth with her vibrant yellow and orange mane lashing behind like licking flames. She slows up to turn and look at me. "Come on, you gotta pick up the pace!" she cries.
"You ponies keep forgetting you have two more legs than me," I wisecrack.
"Teddy could move faster than you, and he's turning grey!"
Ouch...
"You getting insult lessons from Midnight in return for your life coaching?"
"Nah, just learning on my own!"
*Beeeeep!*
Midnight trudges up to the driver's door of my truck as I continue to lean on the horn, offering her a welcoming smile even as her deadpan stare narrows into a proper glare. "Can you fucking not?" she finally barks.
"I was curious to see what sort of reaction I would get," I answer her, relaxed and unfazed by her choice of tone. Behind me, I can hear Starla stifling her laughter in the passenger seat, barely audible above the sound of the idling truck engine. "Where's your haul for the day, anyway? All I see is a toolbag."
"I got some small stuff in here," Midnight protests, shaking the bag to broadcast the sound of clinking metal inside. "And did you seriously not notice the pile of parts slowly accumulating in the back that wasn't your stuff?"
"Oh, I noticed it," I admit, waving off her minor disbelief. "I just wanted you to admit to being a try-hard – in a roundabout way."
"I was not being a try-hard!" Midnight shouts, stomping a hoof down in defiance.
Starla might be thinking I'm taking this just a bit far, but she doesn't know what I know. "Come on, Midnight. You and I both know you always leave parts in a pile out in the open to pick up later when I drive by."
Midnight's eyes widen as my revelation brings a stark reality check to her actions today. Despite this, she takes the reins of her emotions again and doubles down, resuming her expression of disapproval. "I don't do that all the time, John."
"You know what, that's a compromise I'll take," I relent, much to Midnight's abrupt surprise. That surprise lingers and spreads to me as Starla suddenly lunges forward and sneaks her way between me and the steering wheel to get a view of Midnight.
"Did you get everything on your half of the list?" she asks with an eager, barely contained enthusiasm.
Perhaps it's the barrage of comments and conversation after hours of solo work, but Midnight takes a half step backward with unease following Starla's seemingly awkward question. "Yeah, of course I did," she replies with caution, wary of possible hidden agenda. "I just finished up."
"Oh good – I was just curious," Starla comments, laying back on her energy for the moment for a relaxed approach. "John and I finished with our half of the list fifteen or so minutes ago – we've been driving around looking for you."
Now Midnight takes a full step back, her eyes flicking to me. "Bullshit. There's no way you got everything on your list done after the first three hours of delay," she vehemently protests.
"You said it yourself. Starla is a good helper," I chime in and offer a final shrug as the best answers I can provide.
"Dammit. I'm never gonna hear the end of this from you," Midnight mutters, hanging her head.
"It was never a competition, Middie – but you wanted to run your mouth," I remind her. "You do that more than I do, so you're in your own head right now."
"Yeah, yeah."
"It was my idea to pick up the pace and try to get our list done first anyway," Starla adds as Midnight shuffles toward the back of the truck.
"So it was a betrayal on your part. Interesting," Midnight hollers, leaping up onto the open tailgate and closing it behind her. "I'll remember that."
"Nope, just a result of wanting to show I can make a difference," Starla answers as Midnight makes her way through the collection in back to rejoin us.
"Someone sounds moody this afternoon – you okay?" I question, turning to look at Midnight.
Midnight once again rolls her eyes. "Maybe you got too used to Starla being around her today, forgot how I am."
While I assume that's meant to be a joke, it doesn't really come out with Midnight's normal sass. As I turn to face forward and get the truck moving homeward bound, I spy Starla in the passenger seat suddenly fidgeting a bit in discomfort. Before long, she herself turns to gander at her friend.
"That was a joke. You know, because our personalities are different," Midnight spouts, her eyes scanning both of us with incredulity at our lack of response and the resulting awkward silence. "You really think I'm the jealous type?"
Starla and I both look at each other, perplexed at that sudden bizarre follow-up inquiry.
"That was supposed to be a resounding 'no'," Midnight grumbles, shaking her head. "Did you two get heat stroke today or something? I'm the one who suggested you two should work together while I solo. I'm fine."
"Are you fine, though?" I suggest as I take a look at her through the rearview mirror. "I enjoyed getting to know Starla better, but the real reason you went out on your own was for time to... 'think'."
Instantly, Midnight prepares to clam up on the turn this conversation is being steered toward. She turns to look out the passenger window in the back, pretending as if she did not hear me. But she can't hide those pursed lips and the air of uncertainty she gives off. Maybe Midnight doesn't want to talk about it – but she knows she needs to. And I'm sure she knows I'm not going to let her keep silent all night on what's been eating at her.
"Midnight," I call to her as I already begin to tire of the silent treatment. She turns her head to look at me, her face stone cold and emotionless now. But rather than respond, she settles for a staring contest, awaiting my next move.
"If you don't tell me what's up, I swear I'll turn this truck around," I threaten, hoping the silly remark is enough to throw her off-balance. Just judging by her face as she scoffs and internally questions my words, I know I did something to get her to eventually speak.
"Turn around where, stupid?" she remarks with a developing smirk. "We gonna go camping out in the yard tonight?"
"You act as if I would have thought that far ahead."
"C'mon Midnight, he's been worrying about you," Starla speaks up, breaking open the seal around the forbidden subject. "He just wants to know you're alright."
"Well, that's very sweet of him," Midnight coos with a hint of sarcasm. She steps forward until she's behind my seat, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Yet I swear I'm absolutely fine," she reiterates quietly next to my ear.
'I'm fine' is still the best she can do, and I'm not thrilled with the continued stonewalling. I reach over with my opposite arm and try to boop her nose – but she pulls away before I come close.
"You're gonna have to change it up – I could see that coming from a mile away," she snickers.
"You're really just gonna make us sit here and suffer while you keep the lid on your little secret?" I whine in frustration. I still don't get a verbal answer, so I turn my attention to Starla. "You have my permission to beat her up – see if you can get something out of her," I say, nodding my head toward the back.
"I'm not a fighter, John, " she replies with a chuckle. "But I'll agree Midnight's making this harder than it should be."
"I'm not doing it out of enjoyment," Midnight sighs, the first proper chink in the armor she's displayed thus far. "It's... I have things I'm trying to understand, so explaining it all makes it even harder."
"What exactly are you trying to understand, Midnight?" I press. "You've had roughly four hours to dwell on whatever it is, and if you still don't know... well, don't you think it would be better to try and share to see if we could offer some helpful input or different insight?"
"Do you want me to tell John what you explained to me earlier?" Starla offers. "Would that at least help things get started?"
"No, I'll just... alright, fine. John, I remember a bit more about some of my... hazier memories," Midnight concedes, doing little to hide her bitterness between the subject and having to divulge the matter.
Of course, now it makes a bit more sense why she's not willing to share. No memories of her time as a test subject are pleasant – at least not that I'm aware of. But that really does nothing to explain why she's having to give those memories even a minute of her time. The past is the past, she's buried it and moved on... right?
"Sorry. I know that's a tough subject for you," I console her, hoping the soft approach will get her to keep going. "You know I'm always willing to lend an ear and ease your burden on that sort of thing."
"It wasn't that bad, I'm just hung up on something about it I can't quite figure out," she responds, dismissing me once again even as she throws on another cryptic statement for good measure.
I've had enough of this. It's been a long day of work out in the hot sun, and trying to be courteous with Midnight only to be repeatedly rebuffed despite her commitment earlier to discuss this topic has me pushed beyond minor frustration now. I take my foot off the throttle, letting the truck coast to a stop before throwing the shifter into park.
"Wha— did we forget something?" Starla is the first to respond to the untimely stop as she looks outside, then to me and Midnight.
"No, we're stuck here," I announce, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead on the horizon.
"What the hell do you mean we're stuck?" Midnight demands. "We were moving along just fine."
"No, we're well and truly stuck. Doing the same damn thing as before, tucking away something that bothers us to appear tough."
"...Come again?" Starla stares from the passenger, utterly lost in my short monologue.
"Midnight back there. The hardass," I tell her.
"Oh... Oh!" The light bulb in her noggin clicks on after a brief moment of thought.
"Holy shit, give me a break," Midnight groans. "Why do you have to be like this?"
The snide response from Middie only serves to stoke the fire that's been lit under my ass. I turn my whole body as much as I can to properly face her. "I'm dead serious, Midnight. You have two friends in the front seat here wanting to help you out and listen to what's troubling you, and here you are being an ignorant ass playing games."
Momentary surprise by the volley I've launched at her quickly dissipates as she leans toward me with a simmering temper. "I'm not playing any fucking games, John!" Midnight snarls back, baring her teeth.
"Then what is this, Mid?"
"Complicated."
Reaching behind from memory, I find the steering column and my keys in the ignition. One twist, and the engine sound and vibration it provides die off. "We can sit here all night if you want to keep being stubborn," I threaten. "We'll wait until the morning when it's time to go back out and pull parts. I really don't care."
"Why are you being a stubborn asshole about this?!" Midnight counters, raising her voice. "I'm not allowed to have my own personal thoughts now?!"
"Both of you take a moment and breathe!" Starla's surprisingly sharp tone causes both of us to halt our escalating quarrel. As eyes fall upon the passenger seat, Starla shrinks back a bit as she realizes she's thrown herself into the middle of this spat – but musters up the confidence to sit up straight and stoic.
"Midnight, I'll say it again – John is concerned for you. He's had that lingering concern from the time you went off on your own until now. I don't know everything that you're going through, and even though John asked me multiple times, I didn't fill him in on what little I do know. Just as you asked."
Starla turns her head toward me, her jaw kept firm as she studies my face. "John, I understand you want to know what's on Midnight's mind, but forcing a standoff until she speaks isn't very nice. Maybe you have a point in her not wanting to look like she can't handle her own emotions, but I know there's more to the story than that."
"I said I was going to tell you tonight, John," Midnight utters in a subdued voice. "That's still my plan – I just need more time to sort out how to explain what I'm thinking."
"And as stated before, we're both going to hold you to that," Starla reaffirms, nodding toward Midnight before she emits a sigh. "But it has been a long day, hasn't it? Why don't we head back home and relax?"
My eyes meet with Midnight's luminous blue peepers in a pervading silence, each of us unsure what to say to each other at this point. But carrying on with the arguing certainly isn't the answer.
"Dinner first, the discussion," Midnight solemnly bargains with me. "I swear on it."
"Alright, I'll live with that," I agree, scratching the back of my head. It's awkward having just had our guest calm the two of us down – if arguing in front of her wasn't bad enough already. "I just worry when you bottle stuff up. That's why I pressure you on it. Sorry for getting snippy."
"I know – and I'm not bottling it up. That's not my goal here. I want to figure something out before I speak on it," she responds. "Sorry."
"Starla, home sounds good – as does dinner," I quip, turning around and starting the truck up. "What are we making tonight?"
Star laughs at my inquiry. "Oh, you won't be making anything. You get to sit back, relax, and watch if you're interested," she says with a renewed vigor. "Midnight, I hope you're ready for your first trials in the kitchen!"
Well, it should make for a fascinating show – far better than anything on TV. I'll take a front-row seat.
"So, what are we making tonight?"
Midnight's question brings a drawn-out hum from Starla as she scans my kitchen layout – and the mass of utensils she's laid out on the island countertop. Almost half the space here where I've taken a seat has been covered by her stash of tools, yet she assures us that's not everything she brought in her bag, or possesses at home. That's hard to believe – how big is the kitchen at her place?
Nevertheless, what she has fished out of her bags runs the full gamut from the ordinary to the... more curious. There are ordinary spoons, spatulas, and knives that show nicks on the handles from pony usage, while some other pieces have handles modified to be a bit longer, or have more surface area to grip.
And then there's the real oddity – the band that Starla has already put on around her right foreleg near the hoof. At first glance, it sort of looks like an oversized cheap wristwatch in black – minus the watch face. Instead, a circular area that's turned to the inside of her leg has some sort of prongs or grips that look like they move as a mechanism.
"What do you think, John?" Starla asks as I pull myself away from that specific distraction. "Since you're the spectator and the taste-tester – lasagna or enchiladas tonight?"
While I had already pegged lasagna being a dish for this stay just based on the noodles, enchiladas are a bit surprising. While I remember buying a can of sauce as requested on her list, the beans, rice, and flour tortillas had me convinced burritos were in the works. Did Midnight make a mistake or two in remembering the list?
Whether my lack of response or a face I've made, Starla chuckles, bowing her head. "I thought I might confuse you a bit on that – no, they aren't your typical enchiladas. I suppose my recipe is sort of a hybrid," she remarks, raising her head back up and flicking her hair back in a swift motion. "I prefer flour tortillas over traditional corn, and I like to really load them up."
"Well you've got me intrigued – but the rice is going to take a while to cook, isn't it? My stomach is already starting to growl."
"Yeah, we might be better off leaving the rice out for tonight," Starla concedes, her grin faltering just a bit. "Well, I suppose as far as this recipe goes, if you want to make it on your own down the road, adding the rice should be straightforward. It's not a big deal to omit that."
"Alright, I guess I'm the only one that's in the dark here – what's an enchilada?" Midnight butts in.
"Oh, you poor thing," Starla gasps, bringing a hoof to her muzzle in mock horror. "Don't worry, you'll find out, and I bet you'll love them. We'll start with two pounds of ground beef if you wanna get that for us."
To the amusement of Starla and me, Midnight offers a silent salute before marching over to the fridge. With the amount of food packed in there, Midnight practically climbs into the appliance to search for the request, shuffling items around the shelves. It makes for an... interesting scene as Midnight's rear pokes out of the fridge, swishing her tail back and forth idly. I'm entertained by the scene until Starla catches me looking – I suddenly feel very warm. But she turns her head and pretends not to have seen me, though the smirk that's formed on her face gives away the facade.
"Man, we bought more shit than I realized when we last went to the grocery store," Midnight pipes up from the fridge, oblivious to other minor events.
"I might have gone a little overboard, but I figured better safe than sorry," I admit.
"Yeah, sure. But you aren't the one trying to find— oh, they were right here. Dammit." Midnight backs out of the fridge and pivots, wielding two packaged tubes of ground beef in triumph.
Starla nods her approval at the sight. "Good, we'll get that browning very shortly once we get the oven preheated and fetch a few more ingredients. We still need an onion, black beans, and a can of sauce."
With a new scavenger hunt assigned, Midnight scrambles around the kitchen to retrieve everything requested. Meanwhile, Starla gazes at the oven, studying it in deep concentration as she slowly tilts her head at an increasing angle.
"Is something the matter?" I ask, concerned by her sudden odd behavior.
"Hm?" Starla turns her head, perplexed. But having to level out in order for a proper view of me, she recognizes the reason for my inquiry and emits a short laugh. "Sorry, I forgot I do that. Just trying to figure out where I need to turn the knob to set the temp of the oven."
That's... I don't understand the explanation. With a lack of response, Starla just chuckles and resumes her mysterious objective for a moment. A few more head cocks, and Starla gently nips the temperature knob and turns her head, letting go at the exact angle she had settled on. "And just like that, the oven is set to three seventy-five," Starla announces confidently. "That should be up to temp once we're ready for that step."
Meanwhile, Midnight has completed her quest, adding the can of enchilada sauce to the little collection on the counter. "That's everything. What's next?"
"Time to actually get to cooking. The ground beef has to be browned before anything else, so we'll get that going and the onion cut up."
Despite the explanation, Midnight hesitates, glancing around the kitchen. I don't think she understands what's needed to really begin, so I take the moment to speak up. "Skillet is in the top right corner of the cupboards, Middie – door right next to the fridge," I direct, pointing in that direction.
"Yeah, I know. I kinda live here," she responds. Surprisingly, her tone isn't particularly barbed. Considering she makes a beeline straight for that door and finds the cooking pan to set on the stovetop, I think she's happy to receive the thinly-veiled guidance. I wasn't sure how much Midnight had paid attention to my cooking in the past – it would appear she's not had an interest in the process until now.
"Now Midnight – go ahead and brown the beef in the skillet while I get this onion minced up," Starla instructs her.
It's the latter note that spurs Midnight to abruptly turn her head. Starla drags over a cutting board with her teeth, then dribbles the onion like a soccer ball onto it with her front hooves. It's a well-rehearsed set of movements that I can't help but feel impressed to see.
"Uh, you sure you don't want me to cut that up?" Midnight suggests, wary of the difficulties not just in using a knife, but cutting something spherical.
But Starla laughs off the idea. "No, I have this under control. You're seeing me in my element now."
Both Midnight and I watch as Starla raises her banded hoof up to hover over the countertop, finding a suitable chopping knife for her task. "This little contraption Teddy cooked up – pun intended by the way," she pauses, giggling as she sets her hoof and the device onto the handle of the knife. "Anyway, this makes it a lot easier for me to do things like chopping or handling other utensils. Believe me, mincing stuff up using a knife clutched between your teeth gets dizzying very quickly."
In those few brief seconds, beyond Starla's voice, I can hear a mechanical clicking noise, followed by a slight hum of an electronic motor. When she lifts up her hoof again, the knife comes with it, the handle enveloped in a few metallic bands. As I watch, those bands flex and slowly rotate the blade into a position that allows Starla to use the tool with a simple up-and-down motion with her foreleg.
"Oh god, now she's armed and dangerous, Midnight," I exclaim, putting my hands up as I try to sell the mock shock and terror.
However, Midnight doesn't find much humor in my stupidity; her focus is on the little gadget that Starla now uses to half the onion in one easy motion. "Damn, that's pretty neat. Teddy created that?"
"Mhm. Years of fiddling with robots and other mechanicals – he has a real knack for useful tools like this," Starla confirms as she starts to dice with practiced precision. "How is the beef coming along?"
Midnight grimaces at the question. "Well, I... how are you supposed to take these damn metal clips off of the end?" she replies with her own question, shame tainting her voice as she rotates one of the packages in the air. "Surely you don't just tear them off – it would just go flying ev—"
"Mid, just cut it open with a knife," I interrupt, awestruck by her absurd little predicament. "I know you've seen me do that before."
"Yes, but I want to do it the right way – not just half-ass it," she belts back with a dollop of snobbishness that even forces Starla to do a double-take.
"That is the right way," Starla confirms after an awkward pause. "Those clips just seal the packaging in a quick convenient way – we're not reusing them or the plastic."
"...right. that makes sense," Midnight mutters, shrinking down a bit. "I might be trying a bit too hard to impress."
"Aww, no need for that. You showed me a lot today," Starla consoles her. "Let me return the favor."
The encouragement brings Midnight back from her self-doubt, but as she turns back to the stove, she halts and locks a cold set of eyes upon me. I shrug my shoulders at her, trying to display my lack of understanding of the look.
"Figured we were gonna get a comment from the peanut gallery," she notes, shrugging it off as well.
"Nah, I'm having fun watching tonight."
"I bet you are," Starla chimes in with a knowing smirk.
Thanks, Starla. Glad to see Midnight is now eyeing us with a queer suspicion. Luckily no questions are asked before she returns to fumbling with her assigned task at the stove, unwrapping the meat. One after the other, she splits open the plastic with the knife and plops it into the skillet with a sizzle.
Concurrently, Starla breezes through the onion at a lightning pace, demonstrating she truly is in her element now. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was more machine than mare at this point with how fluidly she's able to mince it all up.
Before anything else, Starla sets the blade of the knife onto the cutting board for a few seconds, apparently waiting for a mechanical clicking that signals her to raise it back up. The knife slowly rotates into a sideways position, and Starla sets it down on the counter, where it once again releases from the device. "Alright, we're ready to add the onions – would you like to do the honors, Midnight? It will be easier for yo— Midnight, that's not cooked!"
Starla's frantic exclamation as she turns her head freezes Midnight in her tracks. It's a bizarrely amusing scene as she's buried her snout in a piece of the ground beef wrapper, trying to get the last bits of raw meat out with her tongue.
"It's fine, Star," I try to calm her as I chuckle. "This is unfortunately kind of a normal thing for her."
Starla glances at me with concern for a brief moment before her eyes flash back to Midnight. It's that second bout of attention that breaks Middie from her little snack with a frustrated sigh. "It's fine, I'm not gonna get sick from it. Until John forced me to eat what he cooked, I usually just ate this sort of stuff raw. And... well, I'm pretty sure I've told you that I used to hunt out back. That's rarer than this stuff."
"I... yeah, you did tell me that," Starla sighs with relief. "Sorry, just a shock to the system to see that."
"To be fair, she shouldn't be eating it raw, because it ends up making her breath stink," I add.
"Aww, poor baby," Midnight coos mockingly, pouting briefly for added effect as she tossed the wrappers in the trash. "You'll live."
"Maybe try watching the pan more. I'd like my food to not be charred tonight."
"You mean like you often serve?"
"That's a lie and you know it."
Midnight mutters something else under her breath, but caves to my request and tends to the sizzling pan with a wooden spoon, followed by the quick addition of diced onion from Starla's cutting board.
Left with occasionally stirring the cooking meat and onions in the pan, Starla gives Midnight a brief rundown of the various utensils and tools laid out on the counter. One by one, she points a hoof, names it, and describes what it is used for, as well as little tips to save time. Brief as it may be, even I find some useful information – as well as a sense of being overwhelmed by the different kinds of knives.
Midnight is also set wide-eyed by the wealth of info she clearly didn't anticipate to exist in the realm of cooking. There's a sense of relief emanating from her as she takes another glance at the skillet. "I think this is about done. It's... uh, well, it's brown. No pink left."
"Excellent," Starla croons, clapping her front hooves together. "Go ahead and turn off the burner for now. We'll add the beans, sauce, and a bit of the cheese and let it all simmer on a lower heat for a bit."
Starla takes a moment to slide the can of sauce over to me. "Figured you'd like to help out at least a little bit," she teases as I grab a handheld can opener lying on the countertop.
"Yay, I'm helping!" I cheer, bouncing up and down in my chair. Mission accomplished – both mares pause what they're doing to laugh at my stupid display.
As Midnight ventures back into the fridge and I start working open the can of enchilada sauce, Starla bats the can of beans in front of her on the counter. At first, I figure she wants me to open that next, being a pull-tab tin can. Instead, she holds the can between her hooves and works the tab up off the top of the can using her teeth and tongue. Before long, she's pulling open the can with the tab clenched in her teeth.
"Damn, that's a neat party trick," I wisecrack.
"Sorry, I'm already taken."
"Uh..."
Starla bursts out into laughter at my lack of response, coinciding with Midnight finishing her escapades in the fridge. As she closes the door, her eyes scan the giggly Starla and my dumbfounded self with a healthy dose of suspicion.
"What the hell did I miss?" she finally asks once Starla settles down.
"John found out he's not the only one that can be a smartass tonight," she answers.
"Why, what did he try to make perverted?"
"Can opening." Starla pushes said can off to the side, directing Midnight's attention to it.
Midnight glances at it, then at me. It's a look bordering pity before she shakes her head. "I don't want to know. You're sick," she mutters.
"Shut up and make my food, mare," I demand, pointing her off toward the stove.
"Spit in your food? Sure, I can do that," she shoots back, pretending to hawk up a loogie.
"Anyway – Midnight, drain off the grease from that beef in the strainer as I described earlier, then we'll continue on with the cooking," Starla redirects Midnight, who firmly nods and gets to it.
"You don't put the cheese on top of the enchiladas before baking?" I ask, surprised to see the bag out on the counter already as Starla bats over a measuring cup.
"Oh, that's where most of the cheese goes. I just like to mix a bit into the filling," she explains. "I do... maybe half a cup? I don't really measure that out. I go by sight – but for Midnight's first time, we will get a bit more precise."
"You want me to set the pan back on the stove, or bring it to the counter?"
"Go ahead and put it back on the stove – what we're throwing in is pretty simple. Just these two cans, and then I'll have you measure out the shredded cheese."
Both the can of sauce and can of beans ease their way into the air and hover over to the stove, where they empty their contents under Midnight's careful watch. With that done and the cans tossed into the trash, Midnight pads back over to the kitchen island, glancing over the measuring cups laid out in front of her.
"We'll go with a half cup – go ahead and pull that out, and just scoop it from the bag, level it off, and dump it in."
"Alright. Then we're... letting it simmer?"
"Mhm. Just letting it slowly come together until it starts bubbling. Low heat."
"Got it."
As Midnight goes forth with her new tasks, Starla watches and nods with approval when Mid glances back at her for confirmation. It's quite odd to see Midnight this unsure of her abilities after months of seeing her day in and day out brimming with borderline overconfidence. Maybe it is a good little reality check for her, especially having someone who knows about the craft she's only beginning to dabble in.
"How did you get started in cooking, Star?" I speak up, my sudden curiosity taking hold.
Starla turns around with an eager grin as Midnight gets to stirring and combining everything in the pan. "Well, truth be told, Teddy is a bit lost in the kitchen," she initially answers with a chuckle for good measure. "I never really had a plan or desire to get into cooking at first. It was more of me suggesting things to add to liven up whatever Teddy was making at the time. I guess it sort of grew from there, between experimenting and wanting to expand what was on the menu at home. Once I got a good handle on reading, I really took off and started to get my hooves into proper dishes from scratch. And it really helped out Teddy, who was still working at that time."
"Wait – he didn't quit after sneaking you out?"
Starla shakes her head, that smile not diminishing in the slightest. "Nope. We lived in Georgia for – oh, I guess it was a few years after that, with Teddy still working in the lab. It didn't bother me any – but his work started weighing on him more and more. I think having a reminder at home was some of the reason behind that – not that I blame myself, mind you."
"How long did it take you to get a grip on reading?" Midnight interjects. While it was mentioned in Starla's roots of cooking, it still feels a bit out of place at this point in time.
"We doing a comparison sort of thing here?" I cautiously inquire.
Midnight frowns a bit at my question. "No, it's genuine curiosity. I'm well aware my views on ponies other than me has been heavily skewed and biased for some time now – and my eyes continue to be opened by Starla," she explains.
That... was not at all what I expected to hear. Suddenly, I feel like an ass for heaping suspicion on her. Midnight is legitimately trying to be more open-minded here – and I'm on the verge of squashing that out. "My bad, Midnight. That came out – you know what, it was just a really stupid question on my part. Not doing too well this evening, am I?"
"It's been a long day. Don't worry about it," she replies, a small smile forming from that disappointed face.
However, Starla's face has dimmed this time, her muzzle scrunched up as she thinks. "I'm not really sure how to answer your question Midnight – as I mentioned to John earlier, judging time or lengths of time is a bit of a challenge for me – and what are we considering a good understanding of how to read?"
"Well – how about the first recipe you cooked from start to finish, reading the directions? That should work, right?"
"Yeah..." Starla trails off, her brow furrowed as she runs through her memories. "We still lived in Georgia when I started cooking from scratch, I know that. And we lived there for a few years, but I want to say I didn't actually start cooking from recipes until... maybe toward the end of the last year? I'd say it took the better part of three years to start understanding recipes – to be on the conservative side."
"I don't think that's bad at all. Oh, food is starting to bubble, by the way."
"Well, we're almost done, " Starla gushes with a quick burst of renewed excitement as she prances about. "We'll just ladle that into the tortillas, roll them, put them in the pan, and sprinkle cheese on top. Then they'll get baked for twenty minutes."
"That sounds pretty simple. This really hasn't been as complicated as I expected."
"There are many different things out there that are quite simple to make like this. You've been a very good student tonight," Starla encourages Midnight. "Now, we'll do a pan of these, and John will do a pan."
Starla skitters about getting the pans ready, leaving Midnight to eye me with a thin, sheepish smile. "Maybe I start dabbling a little bit in cooking so you aren't doing it all the time. Something different to try, you know?"
"Sounds good to me. I'm fine with whatever you decide, Mid. I think you'd look good in an apron, if that helps."
Midnight scoffs at the idea but doesn't try to play it off as anything other than amusing. "Yeah, I think you need to stop there with that thought."
"Oh, fine. Spoilsport."
I didn't have any doubts otherwise, but Starla and Midnight knocked it out of the park with their combined efforts making enchiladas tonight. I went back for more than I should have, and the feeling of minor discomfort from an overfull stomach is making me aware of that fact.
It's only fair that I do the dishes after being a spectator for much of the cooking process. But that's no big deal – aside from the pans the enchiladas were baked in. We should have lined them with foil or cooking spray; as it stands now, I think I'm better off letting them soak overnight than trying to scrub them clean to get all the baked-on bits out of there.
"That was more fun than I expected, Starla. Thanks," Midnight reiterates for the third or fourth time as she hands me the next dirty plate.
Still sitting on a barstool on the opposite side of the kitchen island, Starla has to chuckle once again at Midnight's comment. "No problem – we'll do it again tomorrow with another recipe if you want," she suggests. "I have to ask... were you expecting it to be difficult? You seemed a bit nervous when we started."
"I dunno if I would say I was nervous..." Midnight trails off, stalling to think up a better term. "I just didn't want to look like an idiot. All of that was new to me."
"Oh heck, Middie, you showed and explained a lot to me today that I still didn't fully understand. I feel like I was more out of my element today than you were this evening – and you were patient with me. Why should I have been any different?"
"I know that, but it's still a feeling that's just there with a new experience, y'know?"
"Your only idiot comment was trying not to *ahem* 'corner cut like I do' getting the packaging open," I chime in with an overdue, lighthearted jab.
"Should have expected your tongue to get the best of you sooner or later," Midnight grumbles, giving me the stinkeye. "In my defense, it really didn't seem like the correct method."
"Eating raw meat out of the wrapper doesn't seem right, but you have no qualms about doing that."
"Shut up," she mutters back.
"I have to give you a hard time – don't want you feeling deprived," I remind her as she hands off the last plate. "Really though – dinner was great ladies. You both did a damn fine job."
"Thank you, John." While Starla is happy to accept the compliment, Midnight's demeanor turns a bit colder. She remains mum while looking elsewhere, suddenly tensed up.
"That was plural, Midnight. 'Ladies' includes you."
"I know – and I also know what the end of dinner means."
Confusion wracks my brain for a brief moment before I remember our deal – dinner first, then the discussion. A talk about what had Midnight deep in thought over the course of the day. The festive atmosphere of the evening that helped to push that thought away now comes crashing down.
Just by her body language, I can tell getting Midnight to spill what's on her mind will be like pulling teeth. Just because she agreed to it, doesn't mean she will be readily forthcoming.
"Midnight had a flashback to her time in the lab when they basically electrocuted her, and I think that stirred something else up, if that wasn't bad enough," Starla blurts out.
"STARLA!" Midnight belts in outrage as she scowls. "What the fuck?!"
"Sorry, but I think you need a boost to get things started off. You promised both of us and like I said – I'm holding you to it," Starla shoots back, turning up her nose in defiance of Midnight's angry outburst. "I didn't share any further specifics – that's for you to fill in."
"Just the general overview is worrying – Midnight?" In a way, I'm not sure how straight Starla's summarization truly is – what Midnight has shared with me was awful, but not outright torture. Did she repress worse trauma?
"Just... why don't we sit down first," Midnight mumbles, pulling back the reins on her temper for the time being as she gestures to the couch.
I nod my approval to the idea as I pull the drain on the sink and dry my hands off. Midnight pads over to the couch and takes a seat in the middle, while Starla slips off her barstool and takes up a seat beside Midnight, on the closest end to the kitchen.
It leaves my normal spot on the far end free – though I do sit closer to Midnight than I do my armrest. But I draw the line there, rather than throw my arm around her. "We'll, here we all are," I announce after a short spell of silence with everyone situated in relative comfort.
Midnight's eyes are locked straight ahead – a rather unsettling appearance when combined with how tense her whole form looks as she sits up straight and stiff. I start to think of something else to say in order to spur Midnight along – but she finally emits a deep exhale and closes her eyes. "Yes, I had a recollection of a memory from the lab that I had forgotten – I probably forgot it on purpose."
Beyond Midnight's form as she begins, I spy Starla slump just a bit as her ears sag. Midnight takes note of the shift as well, reaching over with a hoof and poking at her. "Hey, not blaming you. Wasn't your fault."
"I know – but my question about how you were before having your levitation ability was what spurred you to remember, wasn't it?" Star protests.
"You couldn't have known something like that would drag up old memories I didn't know existed in the first place. So let that go."
Starla gives Midnight a half-hearted grin before nodding her head.
"So how does the electromagnetic ability connect with you being electrocuted? They hook it up wrong the first time?" I ask, trying to make sense of the connection on my own.
"Well, that's really not— yes, that was an unpleasant memory, but it brought some other things with it that were more important. I'm not keen to really run through that memory again, to be honest. I'm fine."
"Still part of what you said you were going to discuss with us tonight – and you don't need to be bottling it up," I remind her. "And even if you're 'fine', I hear so much as a sniffle or a voice crack from you, you're getting hugged."
"Won't happen, but duly noted," she responds, taking a deep breath. "The 'electrocution' that Starla mentioned is the memory of when they first put the electromagnetic device in my head. They had to... charge it up."
"Like... what, with a generator or something?"
"Wow, your critical thinking skills are impeccable. Give yourself a pat on the back," Midnight sasses.
"Shut up. It disgusts me to even think about. I can't even imagine what it—"
"Yes, yes. Hurt like hell, very good," Midnight interrupts, impatient with my focus on the details. "That bit of it doesn't bother me – it's what I realize now looking back on it that is sticking with me right now. Granted, I was caught up in my own bitterness, the pain, and the arrogance I used to help me fight through that hellish shithole – but I ignored any attempts at someone showing concern for me. A genuine bit of sympathy, I think."
"Running bolts of lightning through you is a very strange show of concern, Mid," I counter, finding her claim amongst this summarization both nonsensical and rather disturbing.
A dark feathered wing slaps me in the back of my head for the effort. "As I said, I didn't notice the little nuance until now, looking beyond the misery and anger that used to drive me at that point in time," Midnight reiterates with slight irritation in her voice.
"That just sounds so... unhealthy," Starla comments, grimacing at her own words. "I guess you had to take what you could to keep fighting, but..."
"Yes – but can I at least finish my thoughts on this before anyone butts in again?" Midnight grumbles. "I get you're both trying to be supportive or whatever, but it's hard enough trying to articulate my thoughts into something coherent without being interrupted."
"Sorry," both Starla and I speak in chorus.
"I know what I'm saying sounds bizarre, and it's why I was... reflecting on what I do remember. Other than that new memory," Midnight resumes, looking down at the couch. "The boss – well, the head of my project, he was a constant, both in presence and general shitty attitude. But he had assistants, aides, whatever you want to call them – he treated them about as badly as me, so he went through a lot of em. At least until the last one."
Midnight halts her spiel there, eyes remaining focused on the cushion underneath her. After the reprimand we received, Starla and I are reluctant to speak up again – but the uncomfortable silence that lingers for what feels like minutes starts to gnaw at me.
"What made this last one stand out to you? Just because he stayed the longest?"
"Exactly what I said – he showed an ounce of sympathy. Everyone hated the boss, I heard them bitch about him in passing almost constantly. But they didn't look at me any differently than he did – a thing, an experiment, a way to progress science. But Johnson—"
"Wait, you remember his name, too?"
"No, I pulled a name out of my ass for shits and giggles," Midnight berates me, raising her head in order to serve me a proper glare to go with it. "Sit there in your corner and be quiet, dumbass."
"So this Johnson guy – did he try helping you somehow? I don't really understand," Starla admits, treading lightly to avoid Midnight's ire like I just did.
"The memory that brought him back – he spoke up and voiced some concerns. About pain that I was dealing with from the prior surgery, and concern about the pace of the project – that they were going too fast," Midnight explains, regaining her calm and reserved tone once again as she paints the picture for us. "There was no one else that was ever – I was just a thing, a disposable test project. No one had ever voiced any concern about how I was faring."
"Can I say something again? No funny business, just something that bothers me about it," I speak up despite my track record thus far.
Midnight slowly turns her head back to face me, her expression stone cold as those eyes bore through me. But nevertheless, she nods her approval for me to proceed – probably at my own risk.
"So – if this was the first time it seemed like anyone cared... well, didn't that stick out to you at the time? Or did you pass it off as a feint to get you more agreeable during this whole mess?"
"I don't really know – at least, I don't know my thoughts on it at the time. Probably felt how you just described it – with how I had been treated up to that point, I guess I just assumed the worst in everyone. For the most part, I was right in my convictions, since some of the new hires would be a bit meek those first few weeks. Didn't last long before they were indoctrinated into the company mindset."
"But what does it mean to you?" Starla questions. "That was the past, and I guess it's interesting to note maybe – maybe there was one small light in that dark place... but how does that affect you now? Why did you have to think about it today?"
"Even though I don't know if he really was genuine, There's always been some questions about how I escaped. Certain things that happened in that time period. If he was genuine and I'm leaning in that direction – maybe I had some help in getting out that I never appreciated until now."
Starla and I exchange glances as Midnight wraps up her explanation. Her raised brow and contorted lips share my sentiment on Midnight's take – overwhelming skepticism combined with the feeling that I still don't fully grasp her point in regard to why such history needs to be dragged back up from the depths.
But Starla just asked that question and got nowhere with it. At this point, we're playing by Midnight's rules – meaning for any closure or conclusion to be had, Star and I are better off fueling her drive forward.
She was thinking about this all day – but maybe she still doesn't have a concrete answer. Sure seems that way at this point in time.
"I don't really know the whole deal on your escape. It's something we've never touched on that I can remember, and I saw no reason to push it," I say, leaning toward Midnight. "Care to help me understand?"
"I've told Starla a bit – I guess that's the only time I've ever brought it up with anyone period," Midnight concedes. "My first sign that it was time to get out of there was someone 'carelessly' dropping a document in my room outlining the imminent termination of my project. Didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out where that would leave me. From there, I started figuring out how to fuck with the lock on my cell. Trying to learn how it worked, how to manipulate the internals and unlock it from the inside."
"Really? That's all they entrusted your captivity to? A simple lock?" I ask, unable to mask my skepticism.
"When you don't show your whole hand, people take you for granted," Midnight quips, undeterred by my comment or tone. "Just because they wanted to test what I could do with what they so 'graciously' gave me, doesn't mean I was going to show them everything. Or mention I was challenging my limits on my own time."
"So you had some thought of getting.out before then? Before even the document?"
Midnight fidgets at Starla's inquiry, averting her gaze to the couch just as she did earlier. "I guess there was always that thought, but it's complicated," she mumbles. "First and foremost, I just wanted to keep them all dangling on a string, showing only just enough of what I could do, just to be a bitch. But... well, the lab sucked. But I knew what was in store there, and I was still alive. The outside – I had ideas of it from a couple of chips in my head. To venture out – that was the great unknown. Being left with no choice but to pick the unknown over certain death was the catalyst to move, I suppose."
"It probably didn't help if you were on tranquilizers or painkillers, either, with everything being done to you," Starla adds in a rather forlorn voice. "I know I was... a lot hazier in the earlier memories than towards the end. Teddy started cutting down the doses I think – maybe that happened with you too, if you really think someone helped you get out. But There's no way to tell, and it's kind of a moot point now, isn't it?"
"It is. But I want to know for sure. I want to find him."
"What?!"
"Mid, are you fucking high?!"
While Starla's exclamation is more graceful, both of us gawk at Midnight from either side with dumbfounded expression at Middie's idea. Somehow, she doesn't see the issue here, as her head whips back and forth between us in mild shock. "I want to know the whole story!" she barks. "Now There's this big question mark hanging over – well, a good chunk of my time in the lab. What if he kept speaking up like Teddy did for Starla to keep my project going? What if I really had someone on the inside that I never acknowledged?"
"Midnight, it sounds like it might be a bit positive to look back and consider maybe not everyone was so bad – but trying to find someone involved in your case who may or may not have been an ally sounds downright dangerous."
Midnight looks about ready to protest, but I throw my own hat in the ring before she can utter a syllable. "Even if you somehow find this guy aside from an asinine idea like staking out the building you think you came from, what do you do if you meet him and find out you were wrong? You're throwing yourself back into the fire and throwing away everything you've worked for. And for what?"
"... I guess I just really want some answers on my past," Midnight mumbles.
"You'll never have all the answers in life. And some things are better off left unanswered," I respond, putting my arm around her and tugging her closer to me.
"Yeah, I guess. It sounds a lot less important and a lot crazier once I said it out loud. Maybe I gave it too much thought today."
"I have a better understanding of my past, but it's far from complete," Starla adds. "Even so, it doesn't have any effect on me now, and it shouldn't for you either – whether you have the full story or not."
Midnight nods, though her lack of eye contact is enough of a concern for me to give her another good squeeze. It draws those vibrant eyes up.to meet with mine again. "What?"
"Promise me you aren't thinking up some hare-brained scheme to go scouting for this mystery man in the middle of the night."
"I won't do that. It was never a thought to begin with. Not a fleshed-out one, anyway. Again, now that I'm sharing it rather than just me obsessing over the details – yeah, maybe I should have spoken earlier."
"Good," I reply with relief, patting her side and freeing her from my embrace. "Then with that out of the way... what's up next for tonight?"
The air is surprisingly brisk tonight – undoubtedly a result of a cloudless sky. But that's alright, as it's still quite comfortable and a welcome temperature after enduring the heat of the day. However, the lack of cloud cover doesn't help to lend luminescence to the dark landscape. With the moon in its 'new' phase, the only light to be seen out here in bumfuck nowhere is the presence of stars in the night sky – hardly enough to make up for the absent moon. But again, it's no issue to me; I can see just fine, even if I were out here searching for something in the dark.
It's been some time since I last had to deal with what equates to insomnia. Maybe it's not quite the medical definition, but until a month or two of crashing on John's couch, the only sleep I could get in a day would be considered a power nap, at best. Evidently, my hypothesis of overactive computer bits in my head keeping me awake was not correct...
I never really believed the lie that I told myself. It just sounded better than admitting my perpetual state of anxiety that had existed for the vast majority of my life. The uncertainty of when or what the next 'experiment' would be, or how to avoid 'termination' and where I would end up. Those fears were allayed, and new ones cropped up – how I was going to survive in the wilderness, followed by what to do once the junkyard owner inevitably found me, and once I made John's acquaintance – how long he would tolerate my presence.
Tonight, something else is eating at me and keeping me awake. Yet I can't nail down what it is, or why it is manifesting now. But laying in bed while everyone else sleeps did not seem ideal. So, easing out from under John's arm as he continued to slumber, I snuck my way out of our room and past Starla, fast asleep on the couch.
I've been outside now for five or ten minutes now, taking refuge on a bench seat that lies just outside the shop walls. Said bench seat is a recent arrival, and the lack of rain for a couple of weeks now means it's still in good condition and a worthy spot to lie and look out at the stars.
...I do know what's bothering me, but I don't know how to approach it. I don't want to even acknowledge it, but the problem is right there at the threshold. I guess somehow, I'm hoping that—
I hear something. Instinctively, my head whips around to gain a view of the shop's open man door, which I had left open for a bit of ventilation while I am up and around. Sure enough, another second or two passes before Starla's head eases out from around the corner, scanning her surroundings as she moves to take another step – before spotting me. Those wide eyes that were already trying to gather as much light as possible to see in the dark somehow manage to get bigger as she freezes in place.
"You aren't as quiet as you think," I wryly quip as I allow my body to relax from high alert mode.
Despite my attempt to allay Starla's uneasiness, she still treads lightly as she makes her way out of the building and over toward me. "I didn't want to startle you if you were still out here," she murmurs once within reach of me, motioning with a foreleg up to her eyes, then pointing to me. "And I didn't expect, uh..."
I glance down at my makeshift couch, noting the subtle blue light that is cast down upon it. "I guess you've not been able to catch a proper look at me in the pitch darkness, huh?" I ask with a chuckle. "Guess I sort of make my own light to see."
"It surprised me, yeah," she concedes with an exhale, relief washing over her face. "And I know I'm not the most graceful being on my hooves, but I figured I could do better than..."
"Me hearing you a few seconds before you even peeked outside?" I suggest with a confident grin. Nonetheless, I sit up and scoot over on the bench seat, patting the now empty space for Starla to take a seat beside me, an offer she readily accepts.
"So, what are you doing out here?" Starla asks while getting herself situated on the seat.
"Couldn't sleep. Figured some fresh air would be better than laying in bed wide awake. What about you?"
Starla scoffs at the question being turned back on her. "I'm a light sleeper, I heard you heading out the door and downstairs," she explains. "But I never heard you head back up."
It's an answer I was expecting to hear, but perhaps not quite the detail I was looking for. "Afraid I had taken off by dark of night to scout out the lab for my mystery man?" I propose, smirking at the idea.
"No!" It's a counter that comes out quickly and reeks of desperation. If that wasn't enough of a clue, the fact that Starla can't look at me right now seals the deal.
"Would you like to try that again, albeit a bit more believable?" I tease, trying to keep this meeting and conversation light-hearted in nature.
"...so I thought maybe there was a one percent chance you might have been crazy enough to try something like that," she admits, her voice suddenly kept low. "But I was mostly curious what was keeping you so long, rather than assuming the worst."
"Well, I'll say it again – the idea of searching for this Johnson fellow sounded way less stupid in my head today than it did speaking it out loud to you two tonight on the couch," I remind her. "The absurdity was only cemented by the reaction from the two of you."
"Does the thought of not knowing the truth still bother you?"
Out of pure reflex, I shrug, turning my head to look up at the sky again. "I guess nothing has really changed, so it's not gonna keep me up at night. It's a mystery I'd like to uncover, but I know that will likely never happen, for better or worse."
"In that case – what keeps you up at night? A strong pull from the moon and stars like your closest show counterpart?"
"I'm trying to decide whether that whole comment was meant as a joke, or if you're actually asking me," I reply, turning to her.
Starla's lips are pursed into the slightest inkling of a grin. "Which question are you referring to?" she deflects, continuing to play coy this evening.
It's a thought borne of pure desperation, but I figure it's better to answer the easier question first. Maybe by some stroke of luck, it will be enough to distract her from the other.
"I don't know jack squat about astronomy. It's all just pretty lights in the sky to my eyes," I concede. "Hell, night and day really doesn't make a difference to me. But I have to say, it is nice that at night, we don't have to endure the heat and the blazing sun. And I guess previously, I did prefer the night. That was the only time I could really wander around the junkyard without fear of being discovered."
"I was just curious. You seemed pretty focused on the sky – I thought maybe that was a little passion you kept secret. It is very pretty out tonight."
All I can do is nod, knowing by that short and sweet response from Starla, I've only delayed the inevitable by a few minutes at most. I better come up with something that sounds less awful than... well, what it is.
"Are you sure you're okay, Mid?" Starla's voice is no longer hiding the concern that's brought her outside in the first place. That same tone does nothing but fill me with more guilt. I should have ventured out further into the yard, in case she came out here.
"Something making it seem like I'm not fine? I can't sleep, but other than that..." I trail off, knowing full well I didn't sell that well enough to get off the hook.
"Well, you said you couldn't sleep, and you are sorta locked onto the sky even though you said you didn't have much interest in it..." Starla trails off, leaving me with an overwhelming urge to finally look at her again – and it's one that I can't ignore for long. The upbeat and optimistic visage is gone; the mare sitting next to me now has a somber face, her ears drawn back as she anxiously awaits some other sign from me.
Now I know how John feels when I give him sad eyes in order to get my way. But in this case, I don't think Starla is forcing the look. Unless I want to sit here and ignore my friend, I have to be honest. Even if I don't know how to properly word it without coming off hurtful.
"Alright, there is something bothering me. I just don't know how to say it," I exhale, shaking my head. "I'm not very good with words or explaining my feelings anyway, but – well, this is even more complicated than that."
"I'm here to listen, not to judge. Whatever's on your mind – well, it's not helping you to dwell on it."
"It's... it's you, Starla," I mumble, unable to continue before Starla winces at my short statement. "It's not you as in I have a problem with you, it's just that - I'm kind of realizing how shit I am compared to you. You're perfect, and I'm just a damaged mess."
"Midnight, I-I'm not perfect," she stammers, mouth agape as she reaches toward my foreleg. "And you aren't shit or a damaged mess. I don't - why? Why do you think that?"
"Star, you have a great personality - you and John hit it off right away. You can read people and empathize with them, you know how to reach out to em, like me right now," I blurt out, letting my thoughts flow freely now with the dam cracked open. "You can cook, you can read - you're far smarter than I assumed ponies could be. Outside of eight hours or so in a day where I can tear apart cars, reel off automotive knowledge, or even mow through a book - what am I? Not to be punny, but I'm sort of a one-trick pony. And I'm terrible with other ponies or people, whether it be helping them out with their own problems or even putting what I'm thinking into words that make sense and aren't just featherless darts liable to hurt someone. I guess in the back of my mind, I always knew where I faltered - but today, beside you, witnessing how you are - I realize how far off I really am. How lost and maladjusted I am."
Unloading all of that baggage onto the pony I'm referring to, I swallow hard, trying to rid myself of a sudden wave of nausea. With the end of my tirade, a void of silence fills the air. Starla just sits there, wide-eyed once again as I've unleashed a whole mess of thoughts all at once. Rather than wait, I bow my head in shame.
"I'm not blaming you, I'm sorry if it sounded like that. I didn't know how to explain myself or my feelings in a better way other than a direct comparison. I don't have hard feelings toward you for any of that... it's just the cold hard facts."
I feel the bench seat shifting as the springs within start to creak in protest. I don't have to look up - I can sense Starla shuffling up beside me even before her shoulder touches mine. "Midnight, you aren't shit, and this isn't a competition."
"I know it's not. That wasn't what I meant by it."
"It seems like it by how you're comparing yourself to me," Starla protests as her hoof reaches under my chin and goads me to look up. "We come from completely different backgrounds and circumstances - of course we're going to be different."
"So that changes what I said?"
Much to my surprise and overwhelming confusion, a smile spreads across Starla's face once again. "You know you apologized to me just now, right?"
"Yeah... what about it?"
"When I first met you, a gesture like that would probably have been below you. You were pretty harsh, and from what John has told me, that attitude was in fact an improvement over the first day he met you," she explains, pausing for a slight chuckle. "Oh, and before we go any farther, you have John's heart. I couldn't woo him away even if I wanted to."
"Ugh. Why the hell does everyone think I'm jealous in that sense? I've never said anything like that!"
"I know, I know – but the way that bit about me and John hitting it off... well, it sounded a bit odd, like something was gnawing at you," she replies, clearing her throat. "But seriously – I've gotten a head start on you in basically every facet of life, Midnight. I've been out of what we can call prison for years before you got out, and I can't stress enough that I had people around me who cared at least a little bit about my well-being – physical and emotional. That's not even counting Teddy – but for you, there was this one 'Johnson' fellow that may or may not have had some sympathy for you, and that's it. You can't blame yourself for lack of experience."
"So I should just use that as an excuse?"
"Shut up and listen to me, Middie," Starla instructs in a firm voice, taking a moment to turn and put her forelegs around me as best she can for a simple hug. "It would be an excuse if you didn't try and just went on treating everyone awfully without admitting fault. But you're trying, you're making mistakes and you're apologizing – and through it all, you're learning how to interact and be pleasantly sociable. It all takes time – time that I have had to learn, adapt, and find what I enjoy in life. You – compared to me – are just starting out and forging your path and life."
"...I don't think I ever said you could hug me," I mumble, fighting off embarrassment at the attention and affection suddenly thrust upon me.
"Fortunately, I didn't ask first," she teases, poking me lightly in the side. "But no, I don't think you'll ever be like me – because I don't think it's in your nature. But that's perfectly fine – you're making improvements and adjustments, and you excel in other areas that I have not nor ever will."
"I know, reading and automotive bullshit. I already said that."
"I'm saying beyond what you already mentioned," Starla corrects me. She releases me from her embrace and scoots back just a bit on the seat, to the distance she had been during the beginning of this talk. "Do you know that I was the one who suggested Teddy bring me along for our first meeting?"
"I'm... not understanding the significance of that. I assume you have a point?"
"I do. As I said, I'm not perfect. I'm pleasant and trusting – sometimes, to a fault."
I can't help but cock my head at that comment. Part of me believes Starla is setting up some sort of farcical situation to prove... nope, it just doesn't make sense to me, now that I try to connect the dots.
"Good, I have your full attention now," she says with a slight giggle. "You see, I like meeting new people and new ponies. It is not a scenario I get to experience often and I've thrown caution to the wind on more than one occasion. Not in terms of, you know, getting caught by someone who knows what I am, but trying to help out a stranger, oftentimes a bot Teddy ends up finding. And sometimes, they don't want that - or don't trust me, however you want to put it," she explains, staring not at me, but through me. "I've been in tussles before just as a result of sticking my nose where it's not wanted, and Teddy reminded me when we left your place that first evening that I could have very well gotten myself mauled by talking to you one-on-one and pushing the wrong buttons in an attempt to get a conversation out of you."
I understand her reasoning now – but the thing that sticks with me most about that monologue is something I don't believe Starla would have anticipated. It's a foreign feeling for me – a sharp sting hearing that Teddy was that concerned regarding Starla meeting with me. Up until more recently, that sense of intimidation would have been a source of pride; now, it's just embarrassing and shameful.
Maybe it was foolhardy for Starla to trust me and talk with me one-on-one. But I'm glad she took that risk.
"I don't get to do all the things you and John do. I'll accompany Teddy to the store from time to time, go out somewhere for a walk... but we don't go anywhere unless he's been there before, knows the people," she continues, her voice taking a rather downtrodden tone. "Maybe he's a little overprotective, but at the same time, I know it's because when I'm out and about I tend to leave my inhibitions and skepticism at home - what little I have, anyway."
"Sorry, I had no idea that could really be a problem. Now I kinda feel like a dick for assuming... well, calling you perfect. Especially since it sounds like it understandably bothers you to be – uh, I guess too trusting?"
"While my point wasn't necessarily to look for sympathy, I appreciate the thought, Mid," Starla answers. "My point is flaws are only flaws based on how you look at them. Sometimes, they can be a boon; in your case, while that skepticism might seem harsh, it goes a long way to making you wary and guarded about what you share and who you talk to. On the flipside, you now see how my 'perk' can be detrimental – even a genuine flaw."
"You know, I thought you had lost your mind when you started down this road trying to convince me we're both sorta two sides of the same coin, but it actually makes sense," I admit.
"I was hoping I could put that all together and have it make sense," Starla says, breathing a sigh of relief. "It's sort of funny how we do kind of complement each other, opposites in more than a few of our strengths and weaknesses. Maybe that's why we connect – my positivity balances out your realistic outlook. My light to your dark."
"Well, now it sounds like you're trying to connect us to the show," I laugh. "You saying I'm the Nightmare to your Celestia?"
"No, Nightmare is too extreme for you," Starla scoffs. "Just... maybe a bit of her mixed in with Luna. Kind of a hybrid."
"My noggin has the combination of Twilight and Luna in it, so I'm already kind of a hybrid," I remind her. "Am I a hybrid of a hybrid? How does that work?"
It's a stupid comment, but somehow, it gets Starla started on a bout of giggles she fights to stifle – in fact, far too strong for that to be of my doing. "What's got you all of a sudden?"
"Nothing," she murmurs, trying to straighten up.
"I'm calling bullshit."
"It's... well, with Twilight and Luna, are you... Tuna?"
"Ew, what's wrong with you?! That's terrible!" I gasp, forcing an exaggerated gagging gesture.
Starla shuffles forward in order to give me a light shove. "Was it the pun or the idea of the food?"
"Both. They're both disgusting, Star."
"Aww, guess that means you probably have no interest in my tuna casserole recipe. "
"Yeah, I'm gonna have to pass on that."
Starla hums in amusement as she rises to her hooves and drops back onto the sand. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Today was fun, but exhausting – sleep sounds great. Hopefully, I was able to help you out a little bit?"
"Yeah, I feel like I'm a little lighter in a sense. Feels like you were able to solve some puzzles I was dwelling on," I admit while repeating her motions from a moment ago. "I might be able to get some sleep now."
"Then let's head inside and call it a night... little sis." The last two words of her comment come out quieter than the rest, spoken with a bit of awkward hesitation.
It's an odd addition, but... it's sort of amusing to me, as well.
"'Little sis', huh?"
It's a trigger that Starla is awaiting, for she pirouettes on the spot to face me, sporting an eager smile and a gleam in her eye, not there just a moment ago. "Sure, why not? Neither of us has family other than our boys. And I feel like I've sort of been the older sibling, trying to teach you the ropes from what I've learned through experience."
I can't deny there's a part of me that thinks it sounds really cheesy. But, she brings up a couple of good points – and I have to believe with how quick and concise her response was, this has been an idea she's been waiting to spring for a little while now.
Sisters... is there really any reason to say no to that?
"Alright, sis. Lead the way. I'm ready for some shuteye."
At once, Starla squees while rushing and throwing herself into me for a hug. Any awkwardness from using the term or hearing it evaporates upon seeing Star so thrilled with the gesture – and I can't help but crack a smile myself.
Family. That's never been something I've given thought to. But it has a nice ring to it.
This morning, something in the air of our home felt... different. It's not bad – on the contrary, it felt like an unseen pressure had been lifted away. But the discussion last night was nowhere near that productive. It solved some lingering tensions, but also added some into the void left behind.
Moreover, I was given a jolt to the system upon waking up. Opening my eyes to find Midnight not curled up with me was surprising enough; her complete absence, combined with the outrageous idea last night of seeking out this mystery 'Johnson' fellow...
Could I be blamed for my initial panic?
Fortunately, that state of fear didn't last long – the quiet of our living quarters meant that I could hear the low voices of two mares murmuring about something out in the living room. As soon as I started moving, those hushed voices were replaced by a desperate shush from who certainly had to have been Midnight, as a delighted giggle followed right after.
I wanted to ask what that was all about once the day started with me walking out of the bedroom to greet them – but I didn't try. I already knew I wouldn't get anywhere with that interrogation, as fun and as silly as it might have been.
Yet I didn't need to know the details of that to notice the change between the two. Of course, they already were friends – that's how this whole sleepover became a thing. But the morning has been... more chatty. More open. I can't quite put my finger on it in specific terms. I feel like I missed something else that happened last night.
How I go about discovering that... well, I'm not sure. Much like the discussion the two were having this morning, I don't expect being forward with my questions to do any good with Midnight. Sensitive subjects or private details are embarrassing to her.
So, here the three of us are, working in the shop this morning. There are plenty of orders to be sorted and boxed, which is the most mundane task of this new junkyard business model. Both Midnight and I dislike the process, but more often than not, we still go ahead and pack away the day's haul that same evening.
On occasion, we will procrastinate and do a bigger run the next day. Then there's this morning, where we have a pile of parts that have accrued for a few days now, the sight of which has led to regrets. But happily, with three of us here to work on sorting and boxing, the mountain is feeling more akin to a molehill. While Starla fetches boxes and packing material, I holler out the part orders for Midnight to scavenge from the pile. It leaves me to finish up sealing each box and slapping on the shipping label.
So far, it's a system working rather well, with only... a few hiccups. "Not sure what pile that would be in, but the next parts we need are a turn signal stalk and a steering wheel for a '65 Bonnie, Mid," I call out.
A few feet away, Midnight sighs as she shakes her head. "Yeah, I don't even remember that order – that's gonna be a scavenger hunt locating them," she replies. "Let's not ever wait this long to pack orders again."
"Noted – or at least until the next time one of us insists on pushing the task off to the next day because he or she is tired."
"Yeah – which is usually a 'he.' Meaning you," she retorts, adding a snort of indignation at the end.
"Ah, but it's not always me, so I'm not wrong here."
While Midnight mutters under her breath as she shovels through a parts pile, Starla trots over with the next box ready to be passed down the line. "Here you go – this is a smaller one," she says once the flap clutched between her teeth is released.
"Thanks, Star. I think I already know which order to use this box for," I say while glancing through the packing slips lining the counter. The lapse in activity gives me an opening to start my light questioning. "Really... ah, we cleared the air between the three of us last night, huh? Everything feels so much more relaxed."
Starla is my best bet at getting further information regarding last night's events that may have occurred later on. With Midnight preoccupied with her search, she won't be likely to speak up and shush Starla, either.
"Yeah, I think you're right on that one." The short answer and the brief nod from Starla were unexpected responses. It only heightens my suspicions – particularly as Starla returns to her box fetching job without hesitation.
"Did you sleep okay last night? I know the couch isn't the greatest thing in the world."
Star pulls attention off of the stacks of cardboard she's begun to shuffle through to glance at me once again. Those violet eyes have narrowed – subtle, but noticeable. "Is this a question of general concern, or is there something more behind it?"
"Can we go with 'both' as an answer?"
Starla utters a short muffled chuckle at my suggestion. "I'm going to hazard a guess you overheard us talking early this morning?"
"Yeah – but I didn't hear anything that I could make out," I admit with a shrug. "Midnight certainly sounded eager for you to stop once I got out of bed, though."
"Yeah, that was just some girl talk. Nothing for you to worry about," she replies, calm but firm in that notation.
"Fair enough. I guess I bring it up because the two of you seem more... I don't know, open and chummy with each other? Or at least earlier this morning you were during breakfast and getting ready for the day. Obviously, now that we're working—"
"Strange, you don't seem to be working much right now."
Needless to say, I jump as Midnight's voice interrupts me from behind. Spinning around on my heels, I find her standing there, trying to appear unamused and frustrated – but there's no hiding that pleased smirk that threatens to overwhelm her muzzle.
"Do – should I look for the parts?" I offer, assuming the lack of organization is beginning to truly frustrate her.
"Here's the wheel," she drones back, hovering the dust-tinged red steering wheel out from behind her to plop onto the countertop beside me. "The turn signal stalk is going to be a legitimate needle-in-a-haystack sort of search. So yeah, I'd like some help with that one."
"Of course – Starla, could you help in the search, too?" I ask, turning to her.
Starla prances in place at the opportunity and nods her head. "Absolutely – just explain to me what I should be looking for, and I'll do my best."
Hm... how to explain something that looks – well, it's pretty generic and featureless. It would be nice if I had an example to pick up and show her, but it's still not going to be easy to find.
"So, we're looking for a chrome piece, a small diameter tubular piece of metal probably about six, seven inches long," I explain, gesturing each measurement with my hands. "One end is probably flared off into a knob, the other end is bent and flattened, and has a hole for mounting."
"Alright, I think I have a decent idea," she replies, focusing on the description as her muzzle contorts in concentration. "Are there any markings on it at all?"
"No, I don't think so. It doesn't help I forgot how this one specifically looked – I'm just describing a generic stalk," I concede, leading her along toward the parts piles.
"I'm certain that was the only turn signal lever we pulled this week – or in quite a while," Midnight adds as her electromagnetism begins to shuffle parts and pieces around. "There shouldn't be any issues with mix-up – it's just a matter of finding the damn thing."
I squat down beside Midnight and get to work picking through the finer items Midnight has yet to sift through in this collection. All the while, Starla stands next to me, honing her eyesight onto the details of everything jostled about that Midnight or I don't specifically handle.
"So, back to what you were asking a moment ago... you think Midnight and I are more – er, 'chummy'? I'm not sure what that means," Starla admits.
"Eh – I just don't really know how to convey it. I guess what I mean to say is it seems like you two, when you were talking this morning – there was a wall that had come down. You just seemed closer, in a way. More open."
"What did you hear this morning?" Midnight interjects with a wary, cautious voice. As I turn to look at her, her eyes are as wide as saucers.
"I really didn't hear anything, if you mean the discussion I apparently interrupted just by waking up," I suggest to her. "That must have been quite the juicy bit of conversation if I got you that wound up."
"Put a cork in it."
"Oh, come on Midnight," Starla scoffs, strutting around me and to the other side of Midnight to give her a playful hip check. "I think he might have a good point. It does sort of feel like we're connected on another level since late last night."
"Late last night? Was there another conversation that I missed?"
"Ugh, I'm not getting out of this without some information, am I?" Midnight huffs in exaggerated frustration. "Long story short, I went out for some fresh air last night and Starla was worried and followed me out to check up on me. We talked and sorted some minor things out between us, that's all."
That's... a long story far too short to be satisfying. And the way Starla's grin has started to shift into something more mischievous – I think she feels the same way. Even though she was in on that conversation.
"Also interesting to note – I'm now her big sister," Starla sings with delight.
My eyes instantly flick back to Midnight, expecting a furious attempt to cover or embellish Starla's remark into something more innocuous. But other than her eyes widening just a bit more out of pure surprise, she makes no effort to protest. Instead, a few moments later, she offers a firm nod, focusing her eyes on me. "We just sorta came to the realization neither of us has family. It's a sobering and lonely kind of thought. So from there – yeah, it might sound a bit weird but—"
"Midnight, I'm not going to make fun of you," I assure her, almost a bit hurt that she's feeling a need to explain this in detail. "Really, that sounds great."
"Yeah, it is – but I guess there's your mystery solved. Not much to it," she adds, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the heap of parts. "Now, turn signal stalk for a '65 Bonneville."
"Right, good point. Thanks for sharing though," I reply, saluting her before resuming the dig.
"How long did you two let this collection sit and grow?" Starla inquires, sharing a wary glance with both Midnight and me in equal measure.
"Less than a week," is Midnight's immediate, terse response.
"...but we're getting rather close to that amount of days," I reluctantly add.
Starla tsks her disapproval, though her eyes wander back to the mess on the floor rather than linger on anyone.
" That was directed at you, Mid," I state, pointing a finger at her in accusation.
"Oh, I'm sorry – whose name is on the building again?"
"I could add your name."
"...really?" Midnight's eyes widen and sparkle with the idea.
I find myself blindsided by the wondrous, bated breath tone that Midnight responds with toward my stupid comment. "I... well, I probably could. I don't really see why not," I manage to spit out.
"I don't mean to be negative, but would that really be a good idea?" Starla comments, flattening her ears against her head as regret apparently stings her. "It would be neat, but it would be... putting her out there. Shining the limelight on her, possibly attracting attention from the wrong kind of people."
At once, the magic fades away from Midnight's eyes, replaced with the sobering reality of her specific situation. "Yeah, Starla has a point there. Interesting idea, but not a good one to implement," she rattles off. "John was answering sarcasm with sarcasm anyway."
She's right – up until I saw she was actually interested. Starla hit the nail on the head though – Midnight's name may not be familiar to the people that used to keep her as a science experiment, but people of all sorts will ask questions about the name change, and how everything came to be...
"Sorry, you have no idea how expensive signage is," I quip, trying to ease Midnight down as best I can. "There's a reason the sign out front is so faded – that was painted up years ago. It was just a joke on my part."
"I knew it was," Midnight dismisses me. "But no worries – look what I found in the meantime."
A bright chrome lever levitates up off of the floor from just in front of Midnight. As if I need a closeup to understand the prize on display, the turn signal stalk floats to within mere inches of my face, leaving me with nothing but my distorted reflection in the silvery finish.
"Oh dear, I must have suddenly gone blind," I remark, sticking my arms and hands out and pretending to feel around. "What is it? What did you find?"
"Hey, you found it sis!"
Starla's exclamation causes Midnight to almost turn purple from how hard she blushes. Yet despite the embarrassment, there's no denying that genuine ear-to-ear grin that accompanies it.
"I'm going to say it one more time to make sure it sticks – we are not letting shit pile up like that again. No matter the reason."
"I know, Mid. That's about the fifth time declaring that today for us all to hear," I remind her.
"Well, I think I need to in order to ensure you understand that can never happen again," Midnight laments once again from behind me in the back seat area.
"Oh, well that's a bit different, then!" I exclaim as if I've only now gotten her message. "So, what you're saying is—"
"I'm not going to let you go any further with that comment," Midnight cuts me off with a stern tone. "I can already tell by your sudden interest that you have some combination of stupidity and sarcasm lined up."
"Aww, what if it was a good one?" Starla protests from the passenger seat, turning to view her friend.
No, her little sister. I can't get over Midnight being so open and agreeable to the idea – and sharing it, when it inevitably got brought up. It's undeniably sweet – though I have refrained from bringing it up or using the term out loud myself. I have plenty of other ways to tease Middie.
"I can guarantee whatever would have come from his mouth wouldn't have been worth the time and effort. It rarely is," Midnight remarks.
"So you at least admit once in a while, something brilliant does come out?"
I look in the rearview to find Midnight leering at me for a moment, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Where are we headed?" she asks, trying to get things back on track.
"Out in the junkyard to pull parts for our business."
Midnight can't help but sigh in mild dismay at my answer, while Starla reacts the opposite, snorting with amusement even before she turns her head to view Mid's face.
"Hey, you wouldn't let me have my fun, so I had to resort to that low comment," I reason.
"Naturally."
"That sounded kinda sarcastic, Middie."
"Nothing gets by you, does it?"
"Well – don't ask my elementary school soccer team about that. Let's just keep up the facade." After my witty little comment, I put forth the effort to turn my head and see Midnight's reaction for myself rather than the mirror.
Evidently, Midnight expected that out of me, for she waits until my gaze is upon her before rolling her eyes and letting out another long, rather exaggerated sigh of frustration. "This ride has certainly been long enough even without your mouth spitting out awful comments. We after a foreign car all the way in the back of the yard?"
"Nope." I purposely leave my answer barren of information. After all, now that I think of it – it's been a little while since I pushed her buttons. I need my dose of fangs and claws, though perhaps not in the actual physical manner.
"That's it? Just 'nope'?"
Just to make it worse, I nod my head to affirm my position.
"So you don't do just American cars – you have stuff from other countries, too?" Starla asks.
"We have a small collection of them in the very back," Midnight speaks up, changing direction. "I suppose there's still quite a few, but it's a hodgepodge of many different makes comprising multiple countries."
"There's some organization out there," I protest, feeling a bit vulnerable as Midnight's tone begins to shift into something decidedly more derisive as she eyes me once again through the mirror.
"Sure, It's organized well – assuming one squints and tilts his or her head a certain way."
"Yeah, but that's still organization, even if there are a few more steps needed to understand it. But no, we're headed out here for deceased and orphaned American manufacturers."
"Oh, I remember Teddy telling me while working on the Cutlass that Oldsmobile is no longer around – cars like that?" Starla suggests, hopeful in her contribution of a little fact.
"You are right, but I usually try to keep manufacturers that were part of a bigger entity altogether. So Oldsmobile and Pontiac are still kept with the rest of the GM cars, Mercury still lives with the Ford products, Plymouth with Mopar, et cetera. This area is basically little companies that were separate from the Big Three, doing their own thing for a while before disappearing or being bought out – and sometimes, they get bought out, but still happen to exist in part."
"That's oddly specific. I'm guessing it pertains to what you're after," Midnight remarks.
"Yeah, we need some interior trim out of a '64 Rambler American and some gauges out of a '71 AMC Matador."
"Huh. That's two brands I've never heard of – I can't wait to see what their cars look like compared to the... I guess the normal brands I've seen so far," Starla comments.
"I'm a bit hazy on the details, but I think they're both part of the same brand," Midnight hesitantly corrects her.
She shouldn't feel hesitant about that – because she's right. I point a thumb back at Midnight. "That's my girl."
"Wait, that doesn't make sense to me. You said one was a Rambler, and the other was an AMC," Starla politely protests.
"Yeah, it's... complicated," I admit, scratching the back of my head. "Even when they were being sold as Rambler, those cars were under the corporate name of AMC - the American Motors Corporation. It was a merger between Nash and Hudson in the '50s, only part of a plan that was to see them join with a merger between Studebaker and Packard to make a "megacorp" like the Big Three in Detroit. It didn't happen, for a number of reasons."
"'The Big Three in Detroit'? I take it they weren't headquartered there like the others?"
"Nice observation, Starla," I compliment her, glad to hear someone take note of that little detail. I pause a moment while hustling the steering wheel to the right near the end of the main artery.
"They were set up in Kenosha, Wisconsin if I remember right," Midnight chimes in during my lapse of information.
"Yep. Whether they were sold as Ramblers of the later AMCs, all the parts are stamped the same – American Motors."
"That just seems very confusing to me. I still don't quite understand how they are both the same thing," Starla says, shaking her head.
"I think John just likes to hear himself talk, because he really didn't do anything to explain that situation," Midnight agrees with a distinct lack of energy.
"Well, I never said that I could make sense of it. I don't know the complete ins and outs of them, so facts like that are sort of lost to me," I concede. "AMC did their own unique thing for most of their existence – sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't. Chrysler bought them in the late 1980s solely for the Jeep division, which AMC had acquired in 1969 from what had been a merger between Willys and Kaiser-Frazer in the '50s. There's a lot of misfits no one remembers in the American automotive landscape."
While there is a mix of makes out here in the domestic orphans, they're sorted out into their separate groups; it's not difficult to find the Kenosha cars once we start rolling through and find the largest group out here. By happy coincidence, one of the first vehicles we encounter is on our list – a '71 Matador two-door hardtop in a weary cherry red hue.
"Hey, stop one is already here," I cheer as I tap the brakes and throw the truck into park. Starla leans toward me to get a better view out my window at our target when I point to it. While I don't have a visual on Midnight in the back, I can guarantee she's taking a gander as well.
"I'll be honest with you John – that doesn't look all that unique or out of the ordinary to me," Starla states in an unusually flat tone, retreating back to her own seat.
"Yeah, it's not much of an oddity, but what about behind you?" Midnight suggests.
Both Starla and I turn our heads to look behind us – at Midnight. While I'm confused as to why I should be looking behind at her, Midnight looks disturbed by the sudden attention.
"I was talking about behind as in the opposite way you were gawking previously, you dumbasses," Midnight spouts, pointing her hoof to the passenger side window.
"I only had my head turned to look out the window, not my whole body," I rail back at her. "And Starla was only following my lead, dumbass !"
"Regardless , you're missing my point here," Midnight mutters in disappointment, tapping the passenger side glass in the back with her hoof in hopes of shifting the conversation away from her cock-up.
For now, I cut her a break and look out the window. A tubby compact car greets me, swathed in a fitting shade of disco-era brown paint. Perhaps just as striking as its ungainly shape, the car has enough window glass to make it look more akin to a fishbowl on wheels than human transportation.
"Uh... alright, that's a bizarre-looking vehicle," Starla admits sheepishly, cringing as she speaks.
"When I say AMC made some oddballs, that's what comes to mind. The AMC Pacer was a... polarizing design, to say the least. If the looks weren't weird enough, the initial plans for the power train were pretty out there too – they were going to source rotary engines from GM. That fell through when GM gave up on the rotary engine project, so they got straight sixes and V8s."
I motion for everyone to pile out of the Trailduster as I pop open my door and climb out. I hear the passenger door open and shut as I walk to the back of the truck, but neither mare is anywhere to be seen by the time I pop open the tailgate to hunt for tools. A lean to one side gives me their location – Starla and Midnight have closed in on the abomination we just discussed for a better look.
However, Starla's attention has been grabbed by the compact car sitting next to the Pacer – and she happens to turn her head and spy me as I glance over. "Hey, this green one is pretty weird-looking too – looks like the back end got chopped off. What is it?" she hollers at me, pointing her hoof to the car I can just barely see past the Pacer.
But I know what it is – and Midnight does too, as she casts a look in that direction. I can only imagine the look of disgust on her face.
"It's a Gremlin," Midnight answers her, making her disdain clear just by how she utters the name. "For some godawful reason, John actually likes the look of them."
It's hard to tell whether the look Starla offers me is one of uncertainty of Midnight's statement or concern over my tastes in design. I have to shrug my shoulders and I finish picking out my tools and walk around the side of the truck. "What? I think they're cute. At least both doors are the same size."
That comment gets both mares to glance at each other, then back to me with a hearty helping of skepticism and confusion.
"The passenger door on the Pacer is a couple of inches longer than the driver's side door. Go look if you don't believe me – the gauges are a one-man job anyway."
I can still hear Midnight and Starla murmuring to each other as I make my way to the Matador. I don't even have to open the driver's door to see today is starting out easy – the dashboard has already been disassembled to a fair extent. Not only is the dashpad already removed, but the face has also been stripped down – meaning there isn't much left that holds the gauges in place.
While I hope they work, and it is a bit troubling the backside has seen much more sun than normal, it will be less disappointing since I don't have to do nearly as much work to retrieve them; in fact, only a few minutes and a handful of screws later, my mission is accomplished.
As I climb out of the Matador with my tools and my prize in hand, I'm surprised to find Mid and Star are no longer hanging around the compacts. I glance over to my left to find they have moved further down the line, ogling more of the cars AMC had to offer over the years. They catch sight of me as I start heading toward the truck, and their hoofsteps soon close in on me.
"Damn, did you just rip the gauges right out of the dash? No way it was that simple," Midnight jests at my side.
"Must have needed parts from it before – most of the dash was disassembled," I explain, tipping the gauge cluster in her direction so she can have a look. "What got you two to wander down the line?"
"Curiosity – Starla started looking around and saw one of those Javelins with the massive front fender arches, wanted to get a better look."
"Ah, yeah – the humpster Javelins. I take you remembered enough from the last time you and I encountered one at a car show to relay the info?"
Midnight nods her head, while Starla lets out a giggle. "It really is just a variety show out here, isn't it? Not a lot of duplicates like the other big makes."
"No, there's not much for inventory, and there's a myriad of reasons for that," I remark, setting my haul down in the back of the truck. "American Motors didn't sell near the volume of the Big Three, and even with the sporty cars like the Javelin – they weren't as well-cared for as Camaros and Mustangs tended to be. Back then, they were all just used cars after a few years – if there wasn't an attachment from the owner, the car usually got used and abused, and passed on or sent to the scrap heap. So survival rate isn't good on many of the AMCs."
"I could see why people wouldn't care about the Pacer or Gremlin—"
"Watch it, missy," I interrupt, pointing my finger at Starla even as she smirks at my interruption.
"—but a lot of the others don't really look too outlandish. Were they not very good cars, or was there some other reason they didn't sell much?"
I have to pause a moment and consider Starla's question. There is not a particularly clear-cut explanation on that one, though I realize I'm not being grilled for hard information; still, I'd like to offer a reasonable answer.
"I guess it comes down to brand loyalty and the size of your outfit. GM and Ford, and to a lesser degree, Chrysler – they were all well-known and respected companies by the time American Motors rolled around – even if the entity was merely a merger of existing makes, there's uncertainty on how something like that is going to mesh. And they never had the deep coffers like the Big Three – that's less money for development, dealerships, and advertising. So that combined with misunderstandings on the products they put out, the sharing of parts between models, and even parts from other makes built under license... it starts to seem like a hodge podge, I guess. Does that make sense?"
Starla's nose wrinkles a little even as she tepidly nods her head in agreement. Meanwhile, Midnight emits her own slight chuckle as she turns her head back toward the Pacer and Gremlin.
"Did they get a knack for appearing cheap? It looks like a lot of them share exterior door handles," she comments.
"They did share door handles – same as the Javelins down there and this Matador. Why spend money you don't possess to reinvent something that already works?"
"Point. But I doubt folks see it that way."
"You're right, most of em don't. At the end of the day, AMC hit its stride making smaller cars, and it worked well enough for them in the late fifties to early sixties, and again in the early to late seventies. But they couldn't react to market shifts as quickly with less money, and that bit them in the eighties. By the end, Jeep was the only thing they had any automaker interested in. There were some interesting curiosities like the AMC Eagle, the four-wheel-drive wagon, but that wasn't enough to save them when the Hail Mary move was an alliance with Renault to build... the Alliance."
"I've not done much reading on French cars, but it seems like at least here in the US, they didn't put their best foot forward with products."
"Nope – it was not a good car by any metric. But AMC didn't have much else to work with. Before that, you had the Spirit, which was just a reworked Gremlin, and the Concord, which was a reworked Hornet compact. Nothing really new or groundbreaking. I guess even the seventies compact surge wasn't enough to help them economically, but then again, all the American automakers were struggling against the superior build quality and fuel efficiency from the fresh batch of imports, particularly from Japan. They were the last of the American independents and stayed above water for thirty-some years as an entity, but they died a slow, painful death."
"That's... not an uplifting story. Wow," Starla muses, shaking her head.
"Business is cutthroat, that's the automotive industry for you – innovate, adapt, or get left behind," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "I'm sure it wasn't rosy for the people that still liked AMC, or the workers in the plants suddenly out of a job in 1987."
"Alright, I think that's enough depressing shit out of you for the day," Midnight butts in, saving me lightly with a hip check. "Let's get on to the next car and on with the day."
"Hm. Sounds to me like you got a hot date planned I don't know about."
"Shut up – I want to do at least a little bit of work on the Chrysler tonight," Midnight snaps back. "Starla wants to pitch in a hoof, too."
On cue, Starla nods her head fervently, forcing her braid to flail with the movement as she plasters on a big, pleading smile.
I dart my eyes between them momentarily before settling on Midnight, whose stoic face leaves nothing to offer me. "I don't know – you called both me and Starla a dumbass earlier. I don't think that kind of behavior deserves a reward," I ponder, before glancing at Starla. "I think your little sister owes us both an apology, don't you?"
Starla laughs as Midnight groans in frustration. "I knew you were going to take off and run with that," she whines at me.
"I said it once, Midnight."
"And you like it, don't lie," Starla adds. "The more it gets used, the more natural it will become."
"Okay, Star – he will run with that excuse. Don't give him any fuel."
"You ought to listen to your big sister, she makes a good point."
"Ugh."
Midnight may protest, but that dour face doesn't completely hide the grin she's fighting to keep under wraps...
"Ew, these are really dirty." Starla wrinkles her nose as she takes a look at her work thus far.
"Guess that's a good thing, right? Otherwise, you would be doing all this scrubbing for no reason." It's a very stupid comment, but I get a snort of amusement from Starla anyway – even as she rolls her eyes. Midnight may be rubbing off on her with a reaction like that...
"No, I mean – they didn't appear too bad when I started, but through before and after is – well, look!" She points a wash mitt–equipped hoof at the contrasting spots of leather. The original creamy ivory color of the seats is reappearing from the dingy brown-beige that had taken over with time and grime's tag-team work.
Starla was keen to have her own project while Midnight and I fussed over the engine bay; with a bit of brainstorming and a wash mitt that neatly fit over her hoof, Starla set to work on seeing how much life could be brought back into the upholstery.
As of now, it's looking far better than I ever anticipated. Considering all loose debris had been swept up, it left what had been essentially baked or ground into the material. The leather cream I bought appears to be just the trick – along with Starla's enthusiastic drive and energy.
No, they still won't be perfect or like new – but they will be more than presentable and comfortable. I'll gladly hold off on having them recovered if the rest of the cleaning goes this well. Cleaning and scrubbing interiors isn't high on my enjoyment list, but the effort Starla is putting into it and humming all the while proves that aversion doesn't exist across the board.
However, satisfied that Starla has a good rhythm going and having no issues, I return to the front of the car to check on Midnight's progress in the meantime. She's still set up in the engine bay, occupying the empty void where the Hemi would reside. Her hardened gaze and clenched jaw reflect the determination to get every last bit of dust, grime, and cobwebs out of the nooks and crannies. However, some of that debris has found its way into her coat and hair, making it look like it's more of an exchange between car and mare.
"You know, this would have been a lot easier if we had just power-washed the engine bay," she mutters as her icy blue eyes momentarily flick to me.
"I know, and I considered doing that instead of manual labor like you're doing," I concede, resuming my own work scrubbing the radiator support with a rag. "But the problem is that can lead to electrical problems if you have old wires with brittle insulation. You enter high-pressure water into the equation, and it's going to find any weak spot it can and foul all sorts of things up without any real visual clues. I already don't know what does and doesn't work – I don't want to add to the unknown."
"I know," Midnight sighs. "I just don't enjoy this kind of tedious work. I mean, yes, I agreed to it, and it needs to be done – but I would much rather be assembling or disassembling something."
"Hey, I told you to pace yourself on replacing suspension bushings, didn't I?" I chuckle.
She turns her head to give me the full appearance of a frown upon her muzzle. "That wouldn't change anything. This still had to be done sooner or later."
"Very true. Just giving you a bit of shit – I know you wouldn't have it any other way."
At least that gets a snicker and a bit of lightness back into her expression. "How is the interior looking so far? I've tried taking a couple of looks over the cowl, but I'm guessing she's focused on the seat bottoms rather than the backs."
"You wanna take a look? You can climb out of there and take a break, you know."
To my surprise, Midnight shakes her head and returns to scrubbing at the driver's side inner fender. "I want to at least get this side done before getting out of here. There's no guarantee once I hop out, I'll get back in here tonight."
"There's nothing wrong with that," I assure her, reaching in to give her an affectionate pat. "You and Starla are doing damn good work, and every little bit counts as progress."
"I think you need a skirt and pom-poms in order to be a proper cheerleader, John," she scoffs.
"What if I already have those in my closet for a rainy day?"
"...I'm not convinced that's a joke with how quickly you responded, sicko."
Our short verbal sparring session dies off as Midnight hunkers down and sets her attention fully upon cleaning. I take her hint and continue bringing back the black paint of the radiator support back to life.
Overall, I'm pleasantly surprised at how well this experimental sleepover has gone. We're nearing the third evening now after a second full day of work – and Midnight and I are still on schedule with said work. In fact, with Starla's help, we're completely evened up with orders as of the last time I checked the computer.
But it's more than that. I've enjoyed getting to know Starla as more than Midnight's friend, and those two having one-on-one time has led to a closer bond and a better understanding of each other. I never expected this endeavor to go sour, but I was hedging my bets on a few more bumps in the road here and there. After all, it's one thing to speak with one another through a screen regularly – quite another to be face-to-face and share a living space for days.
I never doubted Midnight though – she's smoothed out her edges. She knows when to let up or take a step back for a breather. She's willing to listen – and like this car, those little lessons over time have shown to be a stunning change over the months since we first met.
"What are we doing for food tonight?" Midnight breaks the long-held silence as she stretches and tosses away her cleaning rag.
"I dunno. What are you and Star planning to cook up tonight?" I propose back to her, flashing a cheeky grin even as her eyes narrow at me.
"Nope – last night was us. Now it's your turn," she replies in a surprisingly cool manner. She shakes her head at the same time, allowing a bit of cobweb that had stuck to her mane to float away freely.
"But we still have stuff from Starla's list in our fridge and cupboards."
"Yeah, and we still have another day or two with her here at the very least, dillhole" Midnight argues back.
I'm not going to win this 'argument,' so I resort to a long drawn-out sigh as my initial white flag of surrender. "I suppose that gives me a little time to buy you a cute chef's hat before the next cooking escapade, huh?"
"Are you looking to get bit tonight?"
"I take it that's a no then? Darn. Not sure where I'd go to buy a chef's hat anyway," I jest, before getting down to serious matters. "Since it's up to me, what do you want for dinner tonight?"
The answer I get is hardly unexpected – a deer in the headlights sort of gaze, and a shrug of the shoulders.
"At least that narrows it down. Thank you for the suggestions, Mid."
My jab back at her doesn't get a reaction – instead, she motions me away from the front of the car where I'm working. Once I've taken a couple of steps off to the side, Midnight tests her footing on the radiator supports with her front hooves. Using that 'step' as leverage combined with her footing on the K-member down below, Midnight leaps up out of the engine bay and over the support in one swift motion. Her hooves hit the concrete with a sharp clack, drawing Starla's attention from the interior of the Chrysler as her head darts up.
While Starla twists and works her way out of the car, Midnight takes a step toward me, her eyes lit up with a sudden burst of inspiration. "Hey, I got an idea – why don't we head to that drive-in diner we visit on occasion? They got good food, and Starla admitted to me she doesn't get out into the public much. I bet she's never had it."
The initial idea she proposes is a sound one; however, the reasoning she unravels for me gives me pause. Starla happens to join our huddle just as Midnight finishes her proposal, and while Midnight hardly speaks in hushed tones, Starla's expression is calm and patient, waiting to hear what's being schemed.
That's Midnight's cue to turn and ramp up the enthusiasm. "Hey, Star – I was just suggesting to John tonight we ought to all go out to the local drive-in joint for food tonight. What do you think?"
Starla takes an uneasy step back from Midnight, her face showing concern. "I don't think that's a good idea, Midnight," she answers reluctantly."
"What? Why not?" Midnight spouts back, taken aback by Starla's reaction. "You said so yourself you don't get out much – it's perfect."
"I told you the reason why I don't venture out much, Midnight," Starla offers as a rebuttal in an uncharacteristic sharp, disapproving tone in addition to her creased brow.
Midnight's eyes focus downward on the concrete, taking stock of what her next move is in this minor debate of ideals. "Is it because you don't want to, or because normally you wouldn't if Teddy were here?" she asks with care, lowering her head and her ears as if encroaching on hostile ground. "Because we won't leave the truck, we'll just—"
"Middie, it was a fair idea, but I don't feel good about going through with it either without Teddy's permission," I interrupt. Judging by Starla's tense posture and pursed lips, I think it was better to end it here now than make Starla ever more uncomfortable.
"Alright. Sorry," Midnight mumbles in disappointment. "I guess I got a little too excited."
While Midnight may be right in her fault, I'm still surprised at Starla's staunch opposition. Other than when she broke up the argument between Midnight and me last night, I don't think I've ever seen her this flustered. But fortunately, my stepping in and shooting down the idea permanently has allowed Starla to ease back just a bit and breathe.
"Before we do anything with food, you need to clean up," I instruct Midnight, waving a hand to direct her attention to her own hair. "You look like you've been rolling around in an ancient crypt."
Any remaining tension in the air dies off with my light-hearted comment with Starla humming in amusement and accompanying smile as she nods her head in agreement.
Midnight makes a half-hearted effort to flow a cobweb away that clings to her bangs, but to no avail. "Yeah, but you can't say I half-assed the cleaning of the engine back," she responds, sticking her tongue out at me. "Just don't eat without me, whatever gets decided."
"I can assure you nothing we'll be making is going to be done before your shower is over – unless you spend two hours in there." Just like that, Starla returns in full with a light teasing jab toward Midnight.
"Fine, fine," Midnight dismisses her, turning and heading to the bathroom at a trot. The door scarcely has time to close before I feel the need to pipe up. "You alright, Starla?"
"Yes, of course!" Starla belts out with enthusiasm... perhaps a little bit overdone, at least according to my gut. "I'm fine – are you okay? You seem concerned."
"I'm fine – I just couldn't help but feel like Midnight's suggestion and her attempts of persuasion didn't sit quite well with you. That's why I ask."
Statla hesitates for a moment, biting her lip as the sunny facade retreats. "Yeah, I guess I'm just a bit tired. We had a discussion earlier that I felt like she completely forgot... maybe I was just a bit short with her."
"Nah, you weren't that bad. And I think we're all a bit tired after another day. Why don't we head upstairs and relax while Midnight's soaking up all the water?"
"Yeah... I – could I talk to you about something?" she asks. If the uncertainty pushing her voice didn't grab me by surprise, the sudden flash of anxiety in her eyes certainly has me tripped up.
"Of course," I assure her. We head up the stairs with me in the lead, allowing me to push open the door and allow Starla through without missing a step. She's halfway to the couch when I walk in, closing the door behind me.
That click of the latch is the catalyst for Starla to stop and turn toward me. "Do you think Teddy is a bit too protective of me?"
Oh boy, I wasn't expecting something like that for a discussion. Perhaps it's a bit precarious to comment on things I know little about, but Starla wouldn't be asking me such a thing if it wasn't bothering her. "Well... is there such a thing as being too protective, Star?"
Strala smirks at my wishy-washy sort of initial answer as she hops up on a bar stool at the kitchen island on the opposite side. "I promise I won't use any answers against you – or use them for evidence in a debate."
That reassurance doesn't do much to alleviate the concern I have with this discussion. The last thing I want to do is be a home wrecker or start an argument between Teddy and Starla because of my opinions. It's easy to say one won't reflect back on something like this – quite another when push comes to shove.
I feel like this would normally be a question for Midnight. Yet by the standoff downstairs, I can only assume it was Midnight who antagonized Starla into this current thought exercise. "To be fair, I'm out of the loop on where exactly this is coming from. And I don't really know how you and Teddy live; I guess I'm a bit lost on how to even answer something like that."
"Yeah, I understand when you put it that way," Starla replies, bowing her head as that smirk dissipates. "That's not fair of me to ask something like that."
"I'm more than happy to lend you an ear, Starla," I assure her, taking a seat on a stool so I'm directly across from her. "But that being said, I do need a little bit of background."
At the very least, I manage to perk up Starla enough to raise her head and look at me again. "Well, Midnight already said it – I don't get out much. Not like you and Midnight do."
"Hey, you know she's prone to embellishment things," I remind her with a chuckle. "Whatever she's told you in the past, let me be the one to tell you we aren't social butterflies by any stretch of the imagination."
"No, she's always played it level with me, and I don't mean social gatherings or anything like that," Starla answers, backtracking a bit to straighten her point. "It's the little things you two do. I rarely go out into the public eye and interact. There are cruises in the convertible out in the middle of nowhere, once in a blue moon a late-night grocery shopping excursion so I can see what's available – that's about all I see of the world. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy Teddy is looking out for me and doesn't want anything to happen... and I guess I never thought about it before, either. At least, not until Midnight came along."
"Do you think it's just a matter of being overcautious on his end, or this there another reason behind that?"
"I'm sure some of it has to do with me being the exact opposite of Midnight."
"...I'm not sure what you mean by that," I admit, scratching my head.
"I'm not suspicious of people or ponies I've never met before – I'm open to meeting anyone and everyone."
"Ah. That makes more sense as to why he's more careful. You don't want to open up to the wrong person."
Starla solemnly nods her head. "I can't help it – I just have a hard time fathoming someone could be... bad. Granted, other than some altercations with volatile ponybots, I've never found trouble. But the risk remains there, even I can't deny that."
"I guess if there ever was a sort of silver lining to the hell Midnight has been through, it's that she's seen the dark side of humanity," I comment. "That knowledge didn't come easy."
"I know, and I wouldn't want to go through what she did to see more of the world," Starla sighs. "But Teddy and I moved away from Georgia to get rid of the nagging fear of getting caught, hoping to get out more. It's the same reason I have this necklace. And yet... not much has changed, to be honest."
"So what Midnight said wasn't... it wasn't as callous as I thought it was."
"No – I'll be honest, I'm just as protective of Teddy as he is with me. We only have each other after all, so when Midnight spoke up..."
"It sorta felt like a personal attack," I finish for Starla as she trails off.
She nods her head at that, humming with the slightest hint of a smile. "I guess we're two of a kind then – Teddy and I being overprotective of each other," she muses. But Starla's face grows cold and serious again. "But it doesn't have to be that way, does it? We could – that's something that could be worked on. I would be willing to try to hunker down and be more reserved. It might take a while, but setting some boundaries from the get-go and a goal... just staying cooped up doesn't fix anything."
"It sounds to me like maybe you should talk with Teddy about it – if only to get your feelings out there that he may not know about," I suggest. Internally, I feel a bit ill proposing such a thing, for fear it could be a topic of argument down the road. But staying silent certainly isn't going to solve anything in this situation.
"Yeah, maybe you're right. I don't want to put him in an uncomfortable situation – but I've never really stated a desire to go out and about, either. Maybe he really doesn't know I'd like to do more things outside of the house – up to a certain point, of course."
"And that sounds like the best way to frame it. After all – if I hadn't dragged Midnight out from beyond the gates of the junkyard for food and grocery runs, I think she would have been content with never leaving the property. That expanded her horizons to getting out once in a while with the occasional car show, too."
"Hm, funny you mention that – I know Teddy would like to take the Cutlass to car shows now that it's on the road. Maybe he's hesitant to do so because he doesn't think I would want to go. But that's also a big step beyond what I'm after, too," she concedes.
"All you can do is be honest and patient when talking with him – though he doesn't seem like the type that would snap at you."
The atmosphere in the room lightens dramatically with Starla's laughter. "You're right about that, he's a big softie. He's not one to get angry or upset about things, either. Even so, you're right – I'm just going to share my thoughts and see what he thinks. Maybe tonight when he calls, I'll float the thought to him to at least get it off my chest. But that's far from a priority – and probably best left to private discussion face-to-face for anything more than a brief mention."
It strikes me now that we haven't heard from Teddy since the evening he departed. Yet Starla senses my sudden clarity – or some visual cue I give off as she waves a hoof. "He almost never calls until the second night," she speaks up. "It's more of a surprise or concern when he does call the first night away."
"Alright then. Though I have to admit, I know you two have a routine for phone calls, but uh... well, I should have written it down."
"No sweat – I know it like the back of my hoof," Starla gushes with confidence as things begin to settle back into a more joyous and positive mood.
"I guess when you're used to it, you don't have to have it written down – but that was a lot for me," I admit with a chuckle. "But yeah, if you want to have a private chat with him tonight, just let Midnight and I know, and we can head downstairs."
"Cool, so you're heading out for food now?" Midnight's voice rings out just as the door behind me swings open. That was a quick shower, and turning to look at her, I can see her hair and mane are still damp just by the lack of normal volume.
"Blow dryer not work?" I suggest, amused as Midnight shuffles in to join Starla on the other side of the table.
"Meh, I wasn't feeling it," she responds in relative disinterest. "Figure the longer I take, the longer it will be before we settle on dinner. Where are you going to get food, anyway?"
"Hey, who said I was doing a food run?"
"Yay, John's doing a food run!" Starla exclaims, clapping her hooves with mischievous delight.
Whether this was a planned tag-team or spur of the moment isn't particularly clear. But Midnight is pleased by the reaction she gets from her friend while she shoots me a snide smile. "See?"
"I feel like I'm being ganged up on here, and I don't like it."
"Maybe, but we still appreciate you," Starla sings. She gives me a wink of her eye, an indication that appreciation is not just for possibly going out for fast food.
"Ugh, fine – Midnight, you're a bad influence," I point while scolding her. "Get your laptop, let's figure out where I'm going and what we all want."
It wasn't until after dinner that the phone rang.
Starla had to remind me not to pick it up – assuming it was Teddy. Then came the myriad of steps she had to walk me through before I was finally able to connect us all together again through speakerphone.
However, the phone call has been predominantly between Starla and Teddy; I expected as much, and other than assuring Teddy that Starla has been a wonderful temporary addition to our household, I don't have much to share. Teddy said he had some interesting information to share but was unwilling to elaborate further over the phone. However, that mystery won't wait long; he's heading back our way bright and early tomorrow morning, and will likely be seeing us toward evening time.
Hard to believe the sleepover will be coming to a close soon, but we still have the rest of tonight and one more day.
In Midnight's corner, I can't help but feel she's been a bit off during this phonecall – and I don't mean the slight disappointment that stained her face with the impending end of the sleepover. No, I'm suspecting her suggestion earlier tonight to go out for food has something to do with her hesitance. I've not felt the need to corner her about it, but if given the chance tonight, I'll try to pick her brain – for her own benefit.
"Teddy, if you aren't too tired, there's something else I'd like to discuss," Starla says, snapping me back to consciousness as her violet-magenta eyes lock onto me and she subtly nods her head. "It's nothing serious, just something I thought of today that I wanted to share."
That's perfect timing if I've ever seen it. I take Starla's cue to rise up off of the couch and stretch for a brief moment. Midnight, who is situated between where I was sitting and where Starla still resides – doesn't pay my motions much attention. As a result, I pat her on the side with my hand to draw her focus to me. "C'mon, let's give em some privacy," I mumble as she flicks her head around to look at me.
"Ugh, I just got comfortable," she groans in a low, lethargic voice while rolling her eyes. Nevertheless, she pries herself up off the couch and starts to follow as I head out toward the kitchen. Leaving the door between the kitchen and shop cracked just a tad for when Starla is finished with her phone call, Midnight and I make our way down the stairs.
As I cast a sideways glance toward her, I spy Midnight's ears perked up and swiveled rearward – no doubt trying to eavesdrop on the private discussion upstairs. A bit irked, I lightly whap her on the back of the head, just to break her focus.
"Hey – what the fuck was that for?!" she cries, scowling at me after a brief moment of shock.
"You know exactly why I did that," I lament, standing my ground.
My comment causes her ears to droop while she recoils a bit at my disapproving tone. "I was just listening to make sure she... well, wasn't under distress, or something like that," she quickly mumbles trying to save face.
"Really? That's the piss-poor excuse you're gonna try to sell me? I expected a better lie than that."
"Yeah well, I didn't anticipate you paying close attention to what I was doing," she admits. "But funny – you seem to be in the know about this. What's really going on?"
"I believe Starla and Teddy are having what's called a 'private conversation'," I remark as the two of us transition from the stairs to the concrete ground floor. Perfect timing for Midnight, who gives me a hip check aggressive enough to force a stumble sideways out of me in order to maintain balance.
"That wasn't very nice."
"Keep it up, and I'll go look for some spark plugs as weaponry," she threatens with a devilish, toothed grin. "I know how much you love those."
"Absolutely not – those fuckers hurt."
"Then at least give me something. How did you know to high tail it out of there at the drop of a hat?"
"Fine – while you were cleaning up, Starla and I had a little conversation upstairs – which concluded about the same time you walked back in," I offer her as a concession.
But Midnight's unenthusiastic expression informs me she had been expecting something a bit more detailed or explanatory. At that, I have to shrug my shoulders in relative indifference. "It was a private conversation, Midnight. Just like she kept your little revelation secret yesterday despite my attempts to pry – I intend to do the same for her right now."
Surprised by my explanation, Midnight suddenly loses the air of disappointment surrounding her as she falls silent for a moment of inflection, dropping her gaze to the floor. "Well, you could have led off with that," she mumbles.
"Would it have really made you stop trying to eavesdrop or ask me about it? Or was this second stonewalling with accompanying explanation the final straw?"
"...it sounds better if I just say you should have led off with the explanation."
Well, she's honest; I still can't help but shake my head at the nonsensical admission. "Shifting gears to something we can openly converse about – you never did look to see how Starla's work cleaning the seats was turning out, did you?" I suggest, turning to look at the Chrysler sitting nearby.
"No, I guess I forgot about it after... I made things a little awkward tonight, didn't I?" she asks, her voice abruptly transitioning to broadcast her regret.
It sounds like my hunch about Midnight being a little off in her mood this evening was right. Since she's cracked open the door to discussion, I'm more than happy to oblige just to help clear her mind. "Come on, why don't we step into my office for our own private chat?" I quip, ushering Midnight toward the project car.
I must be doing something right because my stupid comments tonight keep landing in the right spot; Midnight snorts in amusement as she wanders away from me to circle around the Chrysler to the passenger side. Opening the driver's door, I take a moment to look at the vast improvement made in the color and cleanliness of the seat bottoms before hopping behind the wheel.
The passenger door opens with a squeak in the meantime – like me, Midnight has to marvel at the dramatic shift in conditions. "Damn, the seat really does look a hell of a lot better," she says before taking a sharp sniff at the air. "And the smell of moldy ass is starting to dissipate with it."
"I'd be interested to know how you recognize the smell of ass mold, Middie," I wisecrack as she steps inside and scoots toward me.
"Hur hur, you're a real funny cocksucker, aren't you?" she shoots back with sarcasm.
"Let me start off by saying thank you, I work very hard on my humor. To follow up with your other accusation – that was only once, and he paid well."
Though I garner a short burst of laughter for that joke, Midnight still finds it necessary to jab at my ribs with a hoof. It's not particularly harsh, but the sensation makes me jolt sideways as I try to smack her leg away from me. More significantly, that poke to my side from Midnight has come to symbolize a signal that she wants to have a serious discussion and cut the funny business.
At least I made the last joke count.
"Alright, real talk here," I announce, clearing my throat and lightly thumping the rim of the steering wheel with my palm. "Let me lead off by saying I still don't know the whole backstory of what you and Starla were talking about earlier or when it happened. That part of it really isn't any of my business since, again, that was a conversation between you two, not with me. However, I can connect the dots a bit just based on what I heard."
I pause for a moment, expecting to get some sort of snarky comment from Midnight; hell, I finished my intro in such a way as to give her a nice tee-off. But she doesn't bite – this is a genuinely serious matter to her.
"I know you meant the best with your suggestion, but I think you should have accepted Starla's decline the first time rather than try to talk her into it, Middie," I explain to her, keeping my voice low and calm. "I think she was perhaps just a bit defensive on her position out of instinct, but you also sort of broadcasted part of a private conversation for me to hear, too."
Midnight doesn't say anything, but words aren't needed. Her normal proud form slumps into the seat as her face turns rather grim, staring ahead through the windshield.
"But, that's the worst of it – which really isn't that bad," I continue, trying to pick her spirits up while putting an arm around her. "You did give her some things to consider and think about that hadn't occurred to her previously. And I think she felt like there was some overreaction on her part, as well."
"So, I didn't completely fuck things up tonight," she comments.
The bluntness and surprisingly dour outlook causes me to double-take in speechless befuddlement for a moment. "Midnight, did you really think you upset her that much?"
"Not really, but it did surprise me at how much I flustered her – even if it was for just a moment before you stepped in," Midnight adds.
"I think if you take the time to apologize to big sis tonight, you'll feel better and it will be water under the bridge on that little moment in time."
"Hm, you're taking quite the liking to the whole sibling thing too, aren't you?" Midnight turns to face me again as she comments, her expression lightened up with my simple advice.
"I am – but not in a teasing sense," I assure her, fiddling with a stray lock of Midnight's hair. "It's just nice to hear you comfortable with someone else other than me – to the point you welcome them as family."
"I won't lie, it feels a little weird," she replies, hesitating a moment. "But I think it's a good weird. I don't mind."
"Good – because I really think you should stick with it. I said it earlier and I'll say it again, there's a closeness or a bond between you two I'm noticing since you agreed to that, and Starla is over the moon considering you her little sis."
Midnight nods her head and shoots a smile at me as the rest of her frets melt away. It allows me to take a breath of relief after another instance of lending an ear to someone troubled tonight. I take the time to rest back against the seat, one arm still around Midnight, and the other still up on the steering wheel.
"Oh, are we getting into cruising pose? Trying to find the perfect posture?" Midnight teases in a return to normalcy.
"Maybe a little. This is gonna be a nice cruiser once it's on the road," I gush, starting to stroke Midnight's side as I sink further into comfort.
"Yeah well, it needs power before we get too far ahead of ourselves," Midnight says, patting my thigh. "I'm not going to make the engine bay my home to satisfy your horsepower needs."
"Funny you should mention that – I was planning on embarrassing you at some point tonight before... well, with everything that's taken place tonight."
"That's fine – just having to be around you is embarrassing as it is. You don't need to take it a step further."
"Oh, now who's being the funny cocksucker?" I jab back at her.
"Nope, never done it. Care to be my first?" Midnight smiles wide, showing off every bit of those razor-sharp teeth she's packing.
"A blowie from a guillotine doesn't rank high on my bucket list – I'll pass," I reply, removing my hand from the steering wheel to poke her nose.
"Hm. Somehow, I'm a bit surprised by your reluctance."
"You already scarred me for life," I remind her. I reach up and grab the collar of my t-shirt, gently pulling it until my left shoulder is exposed – where the puncture marks from Midnight's teeth have left permanent reminders on my skin.
"Looks better than any tattoo – and lets everyone know you're mine." While she puts her pearly white away, she makes sure to smile with that comment – just enough so the tips of her canines are visible.
"Aaanyway, back to what I was trying to say before you derailed the conversation – I got a text from the machine shop regarding our engine block."
My brief intro puts Midnight on notice as she sits up straight, her ears perked up and ready to hear the news I have.
"You have to do a drumroll. That's why I paused."
"I'm not doing a damn drumroll. Spit it out, stupid."
"It would have been more fun if you had. But anyway, I was told they're currently cleaning up the block, and should be ready to pick up by early next week."
"I'm gonna say this once – you better not be fucking with me, John," she remarks in a cold voice, despite the sudden luminescence of her eyes and excitedly jittery form. "I will kill you."
"I must be going all in with this joke, considering I have a crankshaft and bearings ordered and on the way."
Already on a hair trigger, Midnight squees as she practically drapes herself over me with excitement. Though the interior of the Chrysler would hardly be considered a cramped environment, I'm surprised that Midnight is able to splay open her wings and wrap them around me, too.
Alright, this is probably a better scenario than attempting to get this reaction out of her in front of Starla. I doubt I would have gotten something this wonderful.
"Man, things are coming together quickly, aren't they?" Midnight comments as she releases me from her embrace.
"Yeah, and just think – you were pouting about cleaning the engine bay tonight."
"I was not pouting," she playfully laments, sticking her nose up in the air. "I was making note that the task wasn't one I particularly enjoyed."
"What are you two doing in there?" Starla's voice rings out behind me. Surprised, I spin around and recoil a bit as I find the mare standing right beside the driver's door.
Evidently, Midnight and I were so lost in our own shenanigans, that neither of us heard her head down the steps and sashay up to my door. Even Midnight's eyes are wider than normal as she takes stock of Starla's appearance.
"You're slacking on your guard dog duties, Mid," I scold, pointing a finger at her.
"Oh, shut the hell up, John," she snaps back, seemingly a bit irked by the reminder of that particular comment from our past. "Hey Starla – uh, how are you?"
Smooth, Middie. Very smooth – not awkward at all.
For her part, Starla looks calm and content as ever, a warm smile that graces her face only growing wider with Midnight's inquiry. "I'm good Teddy and I just had something private to quickly discuss. He sounded tired on the phone, so I didn't want to keep him too long – But I feel good about what we were able to converse about in that short bit of time."
Granted, her explanation is quite vague and leaves much open for interpretation. But I don't know Starla to lie; judging by how relaxed and upbeat she is now, I'd say Teddy was receptive to what Starla had to share over the phone.
It seems Midnight had been expecting a bit more information – her elation has dampened from the high of a moment ago as her ears drop low on her head.
"Hey, Star? I wanted to say sorry about airing out a private conversation we had – and trying to convince you to take up my idea," Midnight apologizes. "I guess I thought I was helping, but I was just being kinda pushy."
Huh – I had already forgotten about that bit. Midnight certainly hadn't and clearly wanted to get that barrier out of the way as soon as possible.
On her end, Starla nods her head at Midnight's words – but waves her off with a hoof at the same time. "I appreciate that Midnight, but I know you didn't mean anything by it. I overreacted a bit ‐ I'm sorry too."
Starla's response is just what the doctor ordered, for Midnight instantly regains her festive mojo, sitting up straight once again. "C'mon Star, over here on the passenger side," Midnight directs her while popping open the passenger door again. "Hop in with us."
While confused by the reasoning, Starla nonetheless trots around the front of the car and wide of the passenger door. A quick glance at the space available to her and Midnight scooting up next to me, and she joins us for a seat.
"You've done a really good job on the seats so far, Starla," Midnight compliments her. "I hadn't seen them yet, and I guess we figured they deserved a comfort test yet tonight."
"Thanks! I couldn't believe how much of a difference I made – hopefully, I can finish them for you guys before I leave."
"We'll probably have some time tomorrow to work – since we're all caught up on orders as of this afternoon, it might be a rather short day out in the yard."
"And packing up shipments," Midnight interjects, reminding me of this morning's scavenger hunt.
"Yeah, that too. And we have an engine bay to finish cleaning as well."
"Even more important now because we have an engine, eh?"
"Oh, you got news on your engine block?" Starla perks up.
"Yep, good to go for cleaning and machining. Still the road ahead of assembling it, but it feels like we just went over a proverbial hump with that news."
Of course, there are still more parts to buy – at the very least, I need to get new piston rings and lifters. But I could go with new pistons and rods, a new camshaft – maybe even a roller cam if they make em for these engines...
But I'll worry about that later. Watching Starla and Midnight, a pair of adopted siblings excitedly discussing plans right next to me...
That's more important.
While Midnight and I walk at a casual pace, Starla bolts for the garage door at full gallop. Her mane and tail lash wildly behind her, looking like flames licking at her form. Her target is an old Chevy pickup that's pulled up to the open bay in the darkness, the metallic sea green paint only visible thanks to the shop lights that extend their reach outside.
"I guess it's a good thing she didn't go hog wild on the lasagna we made. Sure hope she stretched before this run, though," Midnight jokes in a hushed voice.
"At least you only ruined this touching moment for me and not Starla," I say, flicking her ear.
Teddy is hardly able to get out of the driver's seat of his truck before he's mobbed by Starla. She rears up and leaps into his open arms, her forelegs placed on either shoulder before they tightly embrace.
All good things must come to an end at some point, but Starla's stay feels very short in retrospect – the last three days seem like a blur, with today being a complete whirlwind trying to fit every little bit into each available minute. Dinner came early with the knowledge of Teddy's arrival sometime tonight, ensuring Starla and Midnight could tag team the aforementioned lasagna before she had to leave.
They hit a grand slam once again – and I ate too much again. Even though there were bound to be leftovers, I couldn't help myself. I made sure to jot down her recipe because if Midnight doesn't make it again, I will.
But with the nerves of trying to impress Starla the first night eased away, Midnight had more fun with tonight's cooking exercise. While I don't expect to see her follow in Starla's footsteps, I won't be shocked to find her helping out in the kitchen – or even single-handedly tackling a meal once in a while.
Teddy's laughter brings me back to the present as Starla peppers his face with fleeting kisses. Figuring it best to give them as much privacy in this cute moment as we can, I halt in my tracks, placing an arm in front of Midnight in order for her to do the same.
"Alright, if they start undressing, I'm getting the fuck out of here," Midnight murmurs to me.
"Starla isn't wearing any clothes, dumbass."
"You know what I mean. Shut up."
"If I was gone for three days, you'd be just like Starla over there greeting Teddy. Maybe even mushier," I tease.
"Nah – you'd be bawling your eyes out like a little bitch after the first day, though," Midnight shoots back.
"Aw, that sounds like some juicy deflection there. Choosing to avoid what I said by insulting me," I prod at her.
Midnight wastes no time in bringing one of her hooves into direct contact with my shin. I clench my jaw and wince at the sharp jolt of pain, while Midnight does her best to muffle a sadistic cackle. "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," she antagonizes me.
"You're a fucking sadist, Mid."
"You knew this already – and yet you still push buttons. Must I repeat the line again?"
Looking back toward our reunited friends, Teddy and Starla have separated now – and judging by their amusement, have seen at least the tail end of the antics between me and Midnight. "I see not much has changed since I left, eh?" Teddy quips.
Midnight struck me hard enough to require bending over and rubbing my shin as it continues to smart. "Of course not," I scoff in defiance. "Welcome back to the middle of nowhere."
"Thanks – and it is good to be back. Long trip to only stay a couple of days, but that still felt like too long away from home." Even as he speaks, Teddy absentmindedly pets Starla's mane, much to her delight.
"I think in our corner, it was the perfect amount of time for a good sleepover. And I have to say, you've got one hell of a chef standing beside you," I remark, my eyes falling back to Starla.
Teddy laughs at the compliment, hugging Starla close to his side. "That she is – got to sample some of her finest work, huh?"
"Yeah, I packed away too much lasagna tonight," I admit, patting my stomach with a hand. "Starla tag-teamed with Midnight two out of the three nights to put food on the table for us all."
"And with any luck, some of my knowledge has rubbed off on Midnight, and she can hone her own skills in cooking," Starla chimes in.
"I'm certainly not opposed to the idea. I didn't expect it to be near as enjoyable as I found it," Midnight replies. "Luckily I have someone I can ask questions if I feel a little lost in the future."
"Speaking of learning something new – I hate to badger you with questions since this was sorta a personal trip for you—"
"Oh hell, John," Teddy interrupts, waving off the rest of what I had to say. "I was searching for the latest behind-the-scenes news and info on bio-ponies for the both of us – and I did find out a few interesting tidbits."
However, before he can continue the thought, Teddy has to pause for a large yawn. "I'll continue to talk while we gather up Starla's things. That last leg of driving really kicked my ass."
"Hey, can't fault you for that. You covered a lot of miles in only a few days."
"I got all my stuff packed up early today – it's just a matter of carrying the bags out to the truck," Starla says. "I figured you were gonna be tired tonight."
"I should have expected that – but nonetheless, thanks, Star," Teddy says, clearing his throat as his eyes hone in on me again. "Well then, let me start off by saying I didn't bring Midnight up at all, nor any mention of bio-ponies that I know to exist. So you can have that peace of mind that she's still a secret to the world as a whole. Hell, on my end, only one of those guys knows I have Starla – and that's because he helped me get her out."
"I... guess I hadn't thought about you possibly bringing up Midnight in your meetings, Teddy," I admit. "Regardless, I appreciate the continued secrecy – but you still found something out about her?"
"It's not definitive – more of a read-between–the-lines sort of thing – but Starla and Midnight may have more in common than just being bio-ponies." While it comes out as a rather passive, innocuous comment, the cryptic nature and possible significance bring a hushed, tense silence over the garage as everyone's attention is fixated upon him.
"Do you mean... is there actual relation between them? What do you mean by 'they may have more in common'?" While I'm the one asking the question, both Starla and Midnight exchange glances of uncertainty before focusing on Teddy for a response once again.
"I'll boil it down to what I know, and let you draw your own conclusions" Teddy starts, crossing his arms over his chest. "The work, time, and funds companies like mine have to put into making these bio-ponies a reality is staggering. It's all based on the hope of being able to sell them down the roads and the fleeting promise of a windfall when or if that happens. But until that time comes, when funds start drying up – well, other companies have interest in what's been developed thus far, and what they can do to further the development based on their own ideas."
"Your company has been selling off how-tos in genetically engineering more of us," Midnight laments in a low, unhappy voice.
"Former company – and believe me, it doesn't make me feel good to know this is getting spread like a plague," Teddy answers her with a deep frown on his face. "It's all sort of trickled down from the bigwigs who made these deals – all that money with no return, I guess they were feeling the squeeze. In the last two years since I met up with my friends, there have supposedly been two hush-hush deals – one with a company across the pond in Europe, and one here – somewhere in the Southwest. Our neck of the woods."
"You think the place that Midnight is from – they might have bought... er, what would they buy?" Starla asks, cocking her head as confusion sets in.
"Hard to say for sure. Could be as simple as the processes used to make ponies, or genetic material – maybe even a whole living specimen," Teddy says, throwing up his hands. "And there's no way to be certain the deal is tied to where Midnight came from – after all, I didn't get a name with the rumor, and Midnight, you aren't even sure where you came from, are you?"
Midnight shakes her head. "My best guess would be EquisCo which is fairly close, but I never saw or heard a name while I was in there – it's just a guess."
"Right. So what I'm left with is two mares in front of me here with remarkably similar build, bone structure, and facial features – and the fact that the company I worked with where Starla originated sold at least some of their research to a place here in the Southwest – where Midnight was found. From there, it depends on how much or how little you want to lean into coincidence."
"So we actually are kinda sisters!" Starla exclaims, trotting in place with a beaming smile.
Midnight flashes back her own grin, but it appears half-hearted. She's not feeling the same amount of enthusiasm with this information, and while I'd like to know what's on her mind, I hold my tongue.
Teddy doesn't appear to notice Midnight's lukewarm reception, as his eyes are on Starla as he chuckles. "Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way. And it makes a bit more sense to me now how what seems like a late startup company could be coming up with advanced specimens all the way out here in the middle of nowhere."
With that out of the way, Teddy motions to Starla to head up the stairs for her bags. I scoot ahead of the line that forms, reaching the top of the stairs to hold the door open for Star and Teddy. As Midnight reaches the landing, I block her path forward with my leg, startling her.
"What?"
"Are you okay?" I mumble in a hushed voice.
"I'm fine. What's the problem here?" she asks, genuinely confused by my actions.
"I dunno, just compared to Starla with the news, you—"
"John, I'm fine," she reaffirms her stance. "I'll discuss it with you later, okay?"
It's not a real answer, but I trust her enough to be satisfied. Good timing to drop the short interaction anyway, for Teddy and Starla are already walking back toward the door.
Suddenly in the way of their egress, Midnight turns and leaps from the landing, flaring out her wings to glide. Teddy stops in his tracks forcing Starla to poke her head out from between him and the doorframe for the holdup. It's perfect timing as Midnight touches down on solid concrete with hardly a sound.
"Wow, I think that's the first time I've gotten to see Midnight use her wings," Teddy comments.
Starla just giggles in response as she starts to make her way down the steps. "That's nothing – I got to see her use them to legitimately fly two days ago," she brags.
"Yeah well... I got em, may as well use em, right?" Midnight tries her best to breathe an air of confidence, though it's clear she's taken aback by the sudden spotlight.
There isn't a whole lot of chitchat as everyone ambles back to the garage door. In a way, it's bittersweet – one more day would have been nice, and yet that probably wouldn't have felt like enough. In opposition of that, I'll be kinda glad to be back to a party of two in the household. It was never particularly rowdy, but it will certainly be more peaceful with one less with us.
Reaching his truck, Teddy heaves the first bag he is carrying into the back, shortly followed by the second back as Starla hands it off to him, releasing the handle from between her teeth.
Starla takes the free moment to step toward Midnight and hook a foreleg around her neck. "I really enjoyed staying with you – both of you," she cheers, particularly as Midnight returns the hug. "We should really do this again sometime."
"Heck, maybe we could have Midnight over some time," Teddy suggests.
"I would like to do it again too – and I'm not opposed to the idea, Teddy," Middie answers, smiling as she speaks up.
Meanwhile, I take a moment to hunker down a bit in order to give Starla a proper hug. "It was great having you – glad we all got to have fun."
The creak of worn hinges announces that the passenger door is open, and Starla pulls away with a final bright smile before hopping into the truck. Once she's situated, Teddy closes the door and then steps over to me. "Let me know if you ever need anything – I can't tell you how much I appreciate you hosting Starla while I was away," he gushes.
"Ah, it was a pleasure having her with us," I reply bashfully, putting my hand out in the assumption of a handshake.
But Teddy takes one look at my hand and shakes his head. "Nah, that ain't gonna do, friend," he says before wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug. Surprised at first, I nonetheless return the gesture with a pat on the back for good measure.
When he releases me, Teddy turns toward Midnight with a smirk on his face. "I won't hug you unless you want me to."
"I'll pass, but thanks for the offer," Midnight says, finishing off with a surprisingly warm chuckle.
Teddy nods and salutes her before making his way around to the driver's side of his pickup. He emits another loud yawn just as he pries open his door.
"Make sure you get some sleep – sounds like you need it."
"I'll wait till I get home," he shoots back with a laugh, then drops from sight as he gets in his truck. Through the tinted windows, I can make out his silhouette in the dim light – but Starla's creamy white coat makes her easy to spot as she waves goodbye. Once the truck starts up, I can make out Teddy waving – but Starla suddenly turns and motions to him...
The passenger window rolls down enough for Starla to pop her head out. "I haven't forgotten about our discussion, Midnight – once I get home and situated I'll see what I have. One way or another, I'll get you set up!"
"I— sure, thanks," Midnight sputters back as her eyes widen. "Take care, we'll talk later!"
I'm sure it's by design, but I have no idea what that cryptic exchange was all about. The window rolls up once again before I can try asking Star, and Teddy's truck hangs a 180, rumbling out of sight.
Just like that, it's Midnight and me again. Which reminds me...
"Hey, you said you were gonna talk earlier, and now that those two are off – spill it. What's eating you about Teddy's bit of info?"
"I will start off by saying I'm fine yet again," Midnight sighs, turning to face me. "I guess it is sorta neat Starla and I might actually sort of be sisters – but it feels a little shitty, too."
"How so?"
"It's... hard to explain," she replies, hesitating while she attempts to conjure up an explanation. "I thought this whole time that at the very least, I was... created from scratch I guess. Before everything else was done to me. But if Teddy is right, then I'm just a copy of shit developed by someone else and pawned off to the highest bidder. Does that make sense?"
"It does – even if you're wrong," I reply, patting her on the head until she looks at me.
"What did I say that was wrong?"
"You realize humans are just copies of other humans that fucked, right? Same as most any other animal?"
"Such an elegant way with words," Midnight jokes with a laugh.
"But I'm not wrong. Long story short, we can sit here and split hairs about genes and DNA – but look at you. Even if you happen to originate from someone's purchase of research second-hand, you're unique."
Midnight shakes her head as she chuckles lightly – yet she abruptly cuts those actions short as she rears up to place a foreleg on each of my shoulders and hugs me. "That was really stupid sounding, but thanks. I think I needed that."
"Don't mention it. I like giving you a hard time, but it's because I enjoy your company. When it comes down to it – I got your back."
"I know. But it's still good to hear."
When Midnight steps away and back to all fours, her mood is noticeably lighter – until she emits a yawn of her own.
"Hey, don't be doing that. Yawns are contagious."
"It's been a wild few days – maybe we need to catch up on some sleep," she suggests.
"Yeah, probably. Getting back to normalcy is gonna be a little odd. Just me and you again."
"I like the sound of that – even better if we get the engine block and start making headway on rebuilding the Chrysler's engine."
"Ah, and here I thought you might have forgotten all about that," I joke.
"Hah. Never."
Chapter 63.5 – A Very Middie Christmas
Middie is so predictable when it comes to certain topics or situations – and I like using that to my advantage. A subtle note about an obscure car model she hadn't heard of has set Mid into a search and perusal of a YouTube video on the subjects for more information.
Just as planned.
Free to make my way from the couch to my room without question, I still try to make little noise while Midnight is enamored with her current interest. Still, I push the bedroom door closed to just a crack before scampering to my closet.
Tonight's the night I spring my surprise – as long as the item I've had tucked away for a few weeks has not been disturbed. Midnight rarely noses through my closet, as it is just a catch-all for stuff that doesn't get jammed into my dresser, so I'm not concerned. Pushing past the properly hung clothes, I start gingerly plucking away the disheveled mess I left atop the box for extra guarding – from prying eyes and possible damage to the wrapping paper.
I had to buy wrapping paper specifically for this occasion, though I was fortunate enough to find a roll with silly reindeer characters all over it on clearance. But everything about this is specific – from the LED lights I've put up in the living room to cast a cheerful and colorful glow at night to this gift to teaching myself how to wrap something up without looking like a total hack job.
I've not bothered with Christmas or the festivities it brings for many years. But this year is... it's different. Midnight has changed a lot of things for me. And an opportunity presented itself to make this worth the time and effort, just to see the look on her face.
Picking away at the pile for a minute or two finally reveals the wrapped package with no tears or other visual disturbances... though the shiny blue bow on top is a bit smushed after a few weeks of clothes sitting atop it. Not a big deal – much like the paper, it is just gonna get trashed anyway.
I drag it out with as much care as I can, hoping not to tear it open against the floor. Weight isn't so much an issue as it is the sheer awkward size – almost waist high and even a bit longer than that, though the depth is reasonable slim, similar to what I'd expect from a TV.
But this is a different form of entertainment. And... well, it does benefit me too, but—
"What the hell are you doing in there, fighting with yourself?" Midnight's voice hollers from the living room.
"Yeah, I was in need of an ass-kicking," I manage to holler back while moving the box into a position for me to pick up.
"I would have been more than happy to help with that."
"Shut up and watch your damn video."
"Erm, no. I skipped through that," Midnight answers with a hollow chuckle. "The narrator's voice was making me want to stab my eardrums with a screwdriver."
"I can't ever trust you to follow the rules, can I?" Despite my attempts to speak that in a sour tone, it falls flat in practice, amused by Midnight's description.
I hear her snort before offering her a verbal retort. "Really, there were rules for me to follow while watching this video?" She challenges. "Starting to sound to me like you're up to something in there."
I'm dawdling too much, talking too much... and she's getting suspicious. Time to move it along. Before taking my haul into the living room, I settle upon tucking the errant attire and blankets back into a neatly disheveled pile in the back of the closet once again...
That's a mess for another day.
With a grunt, I heave the gift off the floor and head back out into the living room, sidestepping through the doorway thanks to the dimensions of this box. While I'd like to believe it's that awkward shuffle drawing Midnight to peer over the back of the couch toward me, I know full well she's likely been staring and waiting this whole time.
It's a stone-cold staredown as I get closer and walk around the couch toward her, the glow of her eyes dimming only as her gaze narrows. "What the hell is that?"
"Merry Christmas, Mid!" I call out, ignoring her skepticism and holding the wrapped gift out toward her.
While hardly at a volume above normal speaking, Midnight recoils at my declaration, silently mouthing the phrase to herself.
"I... thought you knew what Christmas was. You know, from... I guess I thought that might have been something put in your memory from the start," I mumble, feeling a bit stupid now that I realize I'm just going on assumptions.
"I'm aware. That's why you have the lights up," she mutters, glancing at the strand currently up near the ceiling above the TV. "I just didn't think much of it. You haven't said anything about it... and the lights are all you've done."
"Yeah, I decided against a tree. More money than I wanted to spend, and I was afraid you might try climbing up it or attacking it like a cat."
Midnight scowls at my joke, thrusting a hoof forward in an attempt to smack me in the jewels – but I thankfully dodge it, since I expected something for that joke.
"I couldn't resist... but what's the problem here? I got you a gift, no strings attached here," I crow, thumping the side of the box with my hand. "It's the season of giving, or some lame shit like that."
"Yeah... and I didn't get you shit, because I didn't know we were doing this," she mumbles, her muzzle creasing with a frown.
Biting my tongue to prevent a wild 'awww' from escaping, I once again hold the box out toward her. "Don't worry about that. I didn't get this with the anticipation of receiving something in return," I assure her. "Besides the fact, the purchases you make are on my credit card, so I would have known something was affordable when I looked at my bill, you know?"
Midnight's somber mood isn't swayed by my arguments, preferring to hold onto that dour look. I set the box on the coffee table in front of her, circle around, and take a seat beside her.
"C'mon, really. Open it up," I continue to goad her. I lean over her and give her a light shove on the shoulder toward the gift for added effect.
That finally spurs Midnight to perk up a bit, looking back at me and forming a thin smile before a couple of her metal tools rise up off the coffee table and hone in on her gift. They cut through the wrapping paper with ease, tearing and uncovering a plain cardboard box underneath in a matter of seconds.
"It doesn't even look like the paper was necessary – it's not like you covered up any writing or labels," Midnight comments as she turns the box for inspection of the other side.
"Yeah well... that's just part of the fun, right?" I suggest. "Open up the box now – I promise that's the last hoop to jump through."
Without another word, Midnight turns her attention to the flaps on the top, held in place by backing tape now rather than the large copper staples that held it closed upon arrival a month ago. I had to make sure everything was correct, as this is a rather expensive gift...
Middie tips the box toward her as the flaps come loose, allowing her to peer inside – and her eyes widen at the sight. She doesn't need any light to discover what I've gotten her, though I do spot a glint of the mirror-like finish thanks to some errant lighting.
"Headers... headers for the Chrysler?" she gasps, turning to face me now with no restraint on her awe.
"Ceramic coated, no less. I figured you might like em," I crow with an air of playful arrogance.
I blink and miss it – one moment, Midnight's face breaks into a wide-fanged smile... and then she's smothering me. Both legs and wings are determined to wrap around my form and snuggle me close, and I'm not one to argue with that. Still, her grip makes it difficult for me to hug her back; I end up waiting until she releases me
"I know we talked about it but... well damn, I guess I wasn't sure if you would really pull the trigger!" she exclaims. One of the headers sneaks out of the box a bit for a proper view of the finish. "God damn, and I didn't get you anything – and you bought this ."
"To be fair, it's kind of a gift for me too, you know?" I remind her.
"Yeah, but..."
Her hangup on the lack of gift exchange is something I would have never anticipated. That's not to say I'm necessarily surprised by her feelings – at least upon initial reveal. But I expected those would be going out the window upon realizing what I bought. But she refuses to let go of the little fact while she sets the box on the floor, her face lined with a hint of regret now underneath that placid and now rather shallow smile.
It takes some of the wind out of my sails now, and I try to brainstorm something, anything that can placate her. But what the hell would I have wanted for a gift anyway? I can't think of a damn thing I would ask for.
...which brings to mind why I'm even in a giving mood to begin with, what's spurred me to celebrate the holidays for the first time in years. What's brought my mood around – in fact, turned my whole life away from chronic bitterness.
Midnight.
The wrapping paper torn from her gift lays on the coffee table, with the shiny blue bow sitting atop the heap. Without a word, I reach forward for it, working to peel it off the paper as best I can.
I feel Midnight's eyes upon me, trying to discern my sudden interest now in what is essentially a pile of trash. "Suddenly mesmerized by a shiny thing, huh?" she remarks.
"Kinda." That's all I give her for a response; when I turn to look at her, confusion wins out over any other expression on her face. That only grows when I reach over and tuck the bow in her hair.
"Uhh..."
"Oh my gosh, it's what I always wanted!" I gasp, bringing a hand over my mouth in mock shock and awe. "I thought you said you didn't get me anything for Christmas?"
Midnight lowers he head, trying to mask the bashful look forming on her face in unison with a noticeable blush. "God damn, you're painful to be around," she mumbles.
"What if I wasn't fooling around? What if you're all that I want for Christmas?"
"I'd tell you that is really lame and cheesy... and I guess kinda sweet, too," she finally admits.
"That sounds like maybe my stunt isn't so bad after all," I comment, leaning toward her.
"No, it's still awful," she shoots back, trying to fight back a smirk. One of her metal tools rises up and fiddles with the bow, adjusting it in her hair for what I assume is a more comfortable position. Satisfied, she takes a step forward, into my lap. "I'll let it slide for the occasion."
"Merry Christmas, Mid." I put my arm around her just as she leans in to nuzzle me.
"Merry Christmas, you weirdo."
Rain in the desert. It's an occurrence rare enough to rouse me from light slumber, and the drops pelting the windowpane above the bed have that effect this morning. That shift in consciousness also alerts me to a weight on my chest, though that's hardly a surprise. Even before I crack open an eye, I expect to see a mass of blue and violet hair – and indeed, that's what I find.
Midnight lays atop me, but her head is turned so that while she uses me as a mattress and a pillow, I am only greeted by her hair, not her face. Despite that, and even amongst the raindrops, I can hear her lightly snoring.
She doesn't toss and turn nearly as much in her sleep these days; it's been a while since she's woken up with a severe case of bedhead, and I sort of miss that wild look. But it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make if her sleep has been more restful and sound.
Slowly, I bring my hand up to brush away her bangs, trying to sneak the smallest peek at her face while she's still slumbering. But be it sheer coincidence or proof I'm not as sly as I had hoped, I spy a twitch from one of Midnight's ears, as well as a disturbance in the rhythm of her breathing.
"You awake?" I whisper.
What was remaining of her snorish inhales stops with my hushed question. "...no. Are you?" she murmurs in a lethargic voice.
"I'm not sure yet."
Trying her damnedest not to laugh, Midnight inevitably snorts in response. "That doesn't make any sense, stupid," she mumbles.
"Neither does you telling me you're not awake, but at least I was nice about it, grumpy."
"For all you know I could be talking in my sleep," she protests, tilting her head up to give me a view of her face with her eyes still closed. With great care, I take the opportunity and use my thumb to gently raise one of her eyelids. A faint bluish glow begins to appear, intensifying as her pupil shifts and focuses in adjustment to the sudden intrusion of more light from the world.
"Do you feel accomplished?" Midnight grumbles.
"I don't know, but I'm still not convinced you're asleep. By the way, did you know your eyes don't glow nearly as much when they're closed?"
"Hm. Can't say I've ever looked in the mirror with my eyes closed ," she shoots back as I let go of her eyelid and let it fall.
"Well, when you say it like that, my question sounds a little stupid."
The response goads her into raising her head up off my chest and shifting the rest of her body around so she's facing me properly as her eyes finally open on their own. While still hazy with sleep just based on her sluggish movements, the ends of her mouth have upturned. "Maybe it's something more than just sounding stupid, John."
But the rainy ambiance above us soon drags her gaze to the window and the overcast skies outside continuing to throttle the glass. "Doesn't sound or look like we need to be in a rush this morning," she muses.
"Nope. Gonna be a slow day today. Probably just box some orders," I say while turning to my side. I reach my arm up to begin petting her mane.
Midnight nods at the suggestion – or is just trying to lean into the petting. It's hard to tell right now. "I'm okay with that plan," she finally confirms.
"I am too. It was fun having Starla with us for a few days, but having to keep up with the two of you was tiring."
"Aww, you poor thing," Midnight coos, poking me lightly in the ribs. "But it is nice to be back to us. A slower pace – Starla has boundless energy, I felt like it was a challenge to keep up with her at times for me, too."
Midnight decides she's had enough of me as her bed and rolls off to the right. As she situates herself beside me in bed, her left wing fans out to drape over my form.
"You've really been flaunting your wings lately – what's up with that?" I comment, reaching down to feel the soft plumage brush against the palm of my hand. When I draw my focus back to her face, uncertainty overwhelms the grin she has been sporting.
"That's not a problem... right?" she proposes with caution.
"Of course not. Sorry, I didn't really say that the right way," I apologize. "I'm just curious what changed – it's a welcome surprise."
"I guess since I have em – well, why not use em?" she responds, reiterating a comment said just a few nights ago. "There was a time I was ashamed of them, but that's passed now – and they are actually pretty useful. Like for scouting a hard-to-find car."
"I don't think you should have ever been ashamed of them Mid – but I'm glad you've finally come around."
"Yeah, yeah," she mutters, beginning to blush a bit following my comment. "Maybe I'm starting to finally like who I am now. I'm not... sickened by it."
"What changed?"
Midnight scoffs almost immediately as the question leaves my mouth. "Where do I even start? A lot of shit has changed."
While my initial impression is Midnight finds my vagueness worthy of an obtuse answer, the glazed-over look in her eyes as she internally questions herself on the topic informs me otherwise.
"I guess I don't know if there was a tipping point. I didn't really recognize I was... sort of accepting myself. I just feel comfortable now, you know?"
This discussion coming so soon after waking up is making it hard for me to conjure up anything to say in response. Not wanting to spout something awkward in this precious time when Midnight feels willing to open up, I just nod my head and widen my smile.
"It's— it's very hard to accept who you are when you wake up with something new swapped out or attached. The wings were the most difficult thing for me – I wasn't born with them, so they aren't really mine ," she explains, taking a moment to unfurl her other wing and raise them high enough to scrape the ceiling. "I guess if there was a way to make that feel worse is to know where they came from – a Princess Twilight Sparkle bot that was apparently chalked up as surplus. They just dyed em as best they could to match and – voila. My whole self-image just couldn't keep up with the after-school science project I felt like I was starting to become."
"I don't want you to get back into those awful memories, Mid," I interrupt in protest.
"I'm fine, John – I swear on it," she replies in a firm voice. Her wings lower again, with the right folding up and the left once again being used to blanket me. "It's easier to make sense of things when I have someone to bounce my thoughts off of. But to my point – these wings took a long time to learn how to manipulate and control. So no, I wasn't born with them, but in growing accustomed to having them and figuring out how to use them, I have made them mine. Besides that – not taking advantage of them is sort of squandering an opportunity. I didn't ask for them, but I can use them to my advantage."
"That's... a hell of a way to look at it," I stammer, shocked by the amount of thought she's put into this. "And to be honest, they look good on you, too."
"God, you're just trying to make me feel embarrassed this morning, aren't you?" she tries to grumble, though stifled laughter ruins the facade even before she tries to hide behind her front hooves.
Undaunted, I ease her legs away to catch sight of her face again. Even in the fairly dim light, and aided by her luminescent eyes, I can see the tinge of red blush that threatens to turn her dark blue hue into purple. She tries to shy away from me – but it's a token attempt.
"You keep blushing like that, I'm gonna start calling you Grimace – your face is damn near violet," I incessantly tease her.
"Stop acting like a queer," she mutters, trying to prevent her smirk from showing and failing miserably.
"No. I got you right where I want you now." I close in on her until I'm nose to nose with her and doing my best impression of a nuzzle. I can feel the heat radiating from her face until her nostrils flare and exhale a few giggles.
"You're such a jackass."
"I know. I aim to please."
Despite her protests, Midnight finally relents and relaxes again beside me. She takes a moment to offer a fleeting kiss, the reward I was hoping to get through all of this. With my victory, I allow her some space again, though she's keen to scoot back up toward me.
"Seems like everyone's in awe of your flying though ‐ and I've noticed you doing it more frequently out in the yard, too. How is that going, more comfortable?"
"Yeah, I'm getting there. I'm probably more comfortable flying than I've ever been before – but that sort of comes with the territory. Being in a lab, and more often than not a fish tank of a room, there wasn't a lot of space to practice," she explains. "It's certainly becoming less tiring the more I do it. Working out parts that never saw much use and building some endurance. But I dunno if you'll ever see me doing long-haul flights – I feel I've probably got a limit rooted in a lack of aerodynamics. I doubt I cut the air very well."
"I dunno, I think you cut a pretty pleasing figure, Mid," I gush, tracing lines on her stomach with my fingers.
"You don't let up, do you?" Midnight's face scrunches up as she tries to act angry with my comment, lightly shoving me away with both front hooves.
"I don't see the problem – It's just us here."
"It's just us here," she mocks me in a nasally voice.
"Aww, someone sounds a little grumpy this morning," I coo while returning to my prior ministrations of stroking her mane. "Maybe you should have gotten more sleep."
"I probably would be asleep if someone hadn't felt the need to ask me if I was awake," she retorts, poking my chest.
"Hey, you're the one that answered."
"Yeah, that was stupid of me in hindsight, now that I see you just wanted to torture me."
I can't help but scoff at her exaggeration. "Turning you into a cute little blushing mess is torture?"
"Always was."
"Considering you keep coming back for more, I have to question where exactly I'm in the wrong here."
"Stockholm Syndrome. Look it up," she retorts without hesitation.
"You have an answer planned for everything, don't you?"
"Thanks, I try, " she sasses back with a cocky grin to cap off the facade. "Maybe since work is out of the question, we can go get the engine block today. How does that sound?"
"Eh – let's give it another day or two. Besides the fact we aren't completely to the weekend, which was the estimate of when it would be ready for pickup, I don't have the crank or the bearings set yet. So we could get it home – but there isn't much else to do with it other than sit around."
"Hmph. Thanks for killing my hopes," Midnight pouts. With a sigh, she stands up on the bed, doing a few leisurely stretches to shake off her remaining sleepiness.
"Hey, could you turn around before you do the head-down, ass‐up stretch?" A pillow quickly rises up from the bed and smacks me in the face.
"You're a sick bastard."
"Maybe we should get some new pillows today," I propose, not bothering to remove the one still covering my head. "These are starting to get rather violent."
As the pillow peels away from my face, I wonder if I'm about to get hit a second time for my efforts. Thankfully, the metal wire that's cinched around a corner of the pillow tosses it aside to the bedspread. But with that task completed, the thin metal serpent slithers its way around my wrist and tugs at me.
"Come on, it's time to get up," Midnight instructs as she continues to pressure me into an upright position. "Your comments are already getting stale."
"Oh, thank god that's all you want," I sigh as I finally yield and sit up in bed. "I thought you were planning on some really kinky shit this morning."
"Ugh, this is gonna be one of those days where your mouth refuses to shut, isn't it?" Midnight growls – or at least tries to make it sound angry. It doesn't really work that well when combined with the grin that's wide enough to show her fangs. She finally frees my wrist from her wire, which neatly eases its way into the chain links of her necklace for safekeeping as she thumps down to the floor.
With a reluctant grunt, I shift my body around and throw my legs over the side of the bed. "You aren't in an actual rush to get at a project today, are you?"
"No, but I don't wanna just lay in bed all day, either," she replies, making her way to the door for a check of her visage in the mirror. "Breakfast?"
"Eh, I'm not really feeling it," I say, waving her off. "I'll probably just do a granola bar or something else that requires no effort. Unless you have something in mind."
"Nah, I'll just follow your lead. Probably just have some beef jerky."
Just the thought of beef jerky this early in the morning makes me groan in disgust. "If you absolutely must, at least avoid the teriyaki. Smelling that first thing is not something I find enjoyable."
"Aww, poor little baby," Midnight coos as she opens the bedroom door and turns to me. Her smile has turned into something more devious now as her fangs make a full appearance. "Maybe that's the small price to pay for your fun this morning."
"If you say it like that, I'm just going to do it again, you know," I threaten her.
"I guess we both have to make a little sacrifice then, huh?" With that, Midnight turns and sashays through the doorway.
I've gotten a lot better at using rain days for my own benefit rather than lazing about. It helps when I have someone here putting the spurs to me when an opportunity arises. Today is no exception – a project waiting in the wings for a month is finally getting tackled, and the stack of boxes set off in the corner for equally as long will be cleared out.
Flipping the lights on in the storage room today demonstrated why I broke down and bought new LED light fixtures; less than half of the old fluorescents buzzed to life on the first try. A few flips of the switch got most of them going – albeit with a fair amount of flickering from the bulbs themselves, even when lit up.
This lighting project was Midnight's suggestion, even though she doesn't need light in here to see with her eyes. Sometimes, she doesn't even bother flicking on the switch. But I think I know the real underlying agenda – replacing light fixtures will require moving shelves, which makes a perfect catalyst for better organization.
Now, I'm all for self-improvement, and I don't mind this particular light project that Midnight has spear-headed – but I'm not going to bring up the need to move shelves. She's going to have to speak up and force it on me. In the meantime, I'll play oblivious and tackle the lights I can easily reach.
While I unhook the last chain holding this particular fixture to the ceiling, Midnight already has the replacement hovering in the air nearby. So far, this has been seamless and quick work with the routine we've hammered out early on.
"I'm surprised, I expected to hear some bitching out of you with all of this busy work being heaped on," Midnight teases while exchanging the fixtures with me.
"It's not been bad at all. My biggest concern was how these old lights were getting electricity – I knew some of them were wired in, but I wasn't sure how many," I explain, finagling the old chains to the new light. "I'll probably have to wire a couple of outlets in for some lights, but most of these appear to be plug and play – and they made these new ones capable of being daisy daisy-chained, which is nice."
"And there was a mix and match in here because...?" Midnight trails off, and when I look down at her, I find a look of mild disapproval on her face.
"Hey, this wasn't my doing. Remember I bought this joint – all I've ever done is change lightbulbs in here. A prior owner did the lighting," I protest. Despite that, Midnight narrows her eyes, trying to force a confession out of me beyond the one I had on offer.
"Hey, don't look at me in that tone of voice," I demand, freeing one hand in order to point at her. Midnight's response is to focus and redouble her efforts, making her eyes glow brighter. "Hey, indoor voice, missy."
Unsatisfied thus far, Midnight relaxes her gaze – only to make this area almost light up with a blue glow as her eyes open wide. Since two can play this silly game, I don't offer up a warning before I plug in the new light.
Bright white light pieces through the dim glow Midnight provides – and forces her eyes to snap shut while she recoils and grunts in discomfort. "You're a dickhead," she mutters, blinking repeatedly to get her eyesight to refocus and adjust from such a shock.
"Sorry. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes." Getting to feed Middie one of her favorite lines now feels oh-so-satisfying while I clamber down the short ladder.
"Really? That's never stopped you," she fires back.
"That's because I like stupid prizes."
Despite the mild inconvenience I just caused her, my comment garners a snort of amusement while I shift my ladder over to the next accessible light.
Midnight makes her way toward the doorway to toss out the old fixture and fetch a new one. She pauses for a moment, looking over the tired metal shelf I had to move around for the next light, and my heart starts to sink. "Maybe we ought to do some organization today while we're at it. Might be easier to reach some of the lights if we can move the shelves."
I don't say anything while I climb up the ladder and focus on my work, while Midnight disappears beyond the threshold for a brief moment. A clatter of metal into a pile echoes outside before she returns with the replacement, looking up at me expectantly. "I know you heard me," she states.
"I never said I didn't," I counter, putting on my best poker face.
Midnight stares, awaiting some further words from me, but I have nothing to offer; I refuse to say yes or no on the matter. She soon picks up on my plan and sighs. "Why must you be so obtuse?"
"Because you're acute." Confusion wreaks havoc on Midnight's face as she tries to understand the comment. Eager to help, I point at her. "A. Cute," I repeat, emphasizing the syllables.
"You know, I could just... accidentally ram this up your ass when I try to pass it off to you," Midnight calmly quips, twisting the light fixtures in her possession as she ogles it over with curiosity.
"Damn. You know the perfect way to start me up, don't you?"
"Alright, let's go for the more direct approach then," she mutters, sidestepping my idiotic comment. "I seem to recall many incidents of you whining and crying about having to stumble around in here in search of a part. We can easily solve that today – and as you said, this has been going well thus far replacing lights, and we have nothing to do outside today thanks to the rain."
"But moooom, this is supposed to be an easy day!" I whine in exaggeration. Midnight rolls her eyes but otherwise is unimpressed with the feeble retort I have, leading to my own sigh of defeat. "If that's really what you wanna do today, we can at least get started."
Opening the metaphorical door just a crack is enough for Midnight to instantly perk up with a satisfied grin as we swap light fixtures yet again. It means she's going to knock that door down and barge in – I just know it.
With my fate sealed, I realize tearing apart this room is only part of the equation, and I assume Midnight understands that. The parts in here are organized by make – but the general layout is the biggest issue for starters. The shelves themselves – the ones not mounted to the walls – have been dragged in here over time and placed haphazardly. The end result is a layout just short of a literal maze.
"If we go forward with this, what's your plan?" I holler as Midnight heads out with the old light. "Are we just moving shelves around, or something bigger in mind?"
I watch as Midnight slowly eases her way back into the room. "I... didn't really have a particular idea," she reluctantly admits. "I just know what we have is a mess. I thought maybe you already had some idea going forward for the future."
I shake my head. "No, I hadn't thought that far ahead. Seems we got a bit of a problem before we even start."
Disappointment forces Midnight's muzzle into a frown, but she accepts my deduction with a slight nod. "Guess maybe we will wait for another day. I'll give it some thought."
I step off the ladder and look around the room. With brighter light to keep the shadows at bay, it becomes clear this room is no longer filled to capacity as it once was. That watershed moment was from Midnight's efforts in pulling apart engines, something she hasn't done for a couple of months now; in that time, parts have only gone out the door, with no cycle of replenishment.
We don't have the spare time to pick engines apart like that these days. While the storage room was once a haven for parts in stock, it's increasingly become an afterthought – a quick look to see if a required component is in here, before heading out back to freshly pluck it from a donor.
"Maybe we need to change our thinking on the storeroom, Mid," I decide to speak up. "You think maybe we could start using this room to offload parts at the end of the day? Gotta be better than errant piles on the floor."
"You wanna do away with tearing down engines, huh?" Midnight asks. She quickly shakes her head. "Nevermind, we haven't been doing that lately."
"Exactly. And a fair bit of what's left in here hasn't moved since the day it was dropped off. What do we sell as far as storage inventory is concerned, any idea?"
Midnight purses her lips at my question. "Not anything in detail. I can tell you for certain we go through a lot of timing chain covers across all makes. I'd throw in oil pans and stock intake manifolds as popular items, too. But as far as internals like camshafts, they tend to languish."
Funny enough, my eyes happen to fall upon a bumpstick lying on the shelf next to me. The dust buildup and the spiderweb hanging off the snout are good references for Midnight's assessment.
But Midnight isn't finished – instead, she takes a step toward another shelf, lined with cylinder heads and valve train assemblies. "Heads seem to depend on the make. We don't sell much of Ford or Chevy heads unless it's a specific niche engine – which makes sense when you consider the aftermarket supply for them," she continues, rambling as if caught in her own little world now. "Lincoln, Cadillac, some Olds and Pontiac and oddball makes still sell pretty well, and anything 'factory stock' high performance like Chrysler 340 heads with their high flow design is worth keeping around."
"Damn, I thought you couldn't give me any details, nerd."
"Shut up, asshat," Midnight shoots back, finishing off her 'witty' retort with a childish blep of her tongue. "But yeah, there's plenty of stuff in here that may just end up collecting dust for eternity. We might be better off repurposing this room – and clearing house to start."
"I can jive with that – but it's probably not a bad thing to keep some stuff on hand, since we've already got it here, right?"
That gets a slight hesitance from Midnight. "I certainly wouldn't throw anything away. But we're acknowledging that these aren't hot items, John," she replies, poking at a connecting rod collection. "I think both you and I can agree with that in mind, parts that we pull that are already sold deserve more organization and better placement than piled in an errant corner of the shop."
"Yeah, I really don't like doing that. Usually, someone starts yelling at me when there's difficulty finding something later on," I pout, lowering my head.
"You aren't that soft. That wouldn't fool anyone," she spouts at my gesture. Rather than wait for me to come up with something else silly, Midnight sets to work grabbing a handful of internal engine parts off of the shelf closest to her. With a new strategy in mind, Midnight trots off with a renewed vigor toward the exit into the shop.
"Make sure you put those on some junk carpeting and not bare concrete," I call after her.
Please – don't insult me," Midnight shouts back, feigning hurt in her voice. "I'm no rookie."
Following her precedent, I grab a couple of camshafts off of another shelf and head out the door, sidestepping as Midnight makes her way back. After the first two trips, we manage to find a rhythm where we aren't having to resort to stopping or fleet footwork to avoid each other.
I'm helping, but Midnight is accomplishing most of this part shuttle. That's not my goal – it just happens that Midnight's levitation means she can carry more items than my two hands can, and keep the parts separated from one another. Maybe not particularly important for some parts, but nicking the lobes of a camshaft has the potential to make them useless paperweights.
Part of this project is done within a half hour – all the parts being evicted from the store room have found a temporary home in a corner of the shop. That being said, it's now a matter of moving everything left to one particular area and shuffling the now empty shelves around.
While work focus and movement have led to a lack of conversation, my brain has continued to run this whole time. I still haven't forgotten the rather odd exchange between Star and Midnight just before Teddy pulled out of the drive to head home. I haven't pried about it at all, and Midnight hasn't mentioned it since that night.
Today is going well enough and providing a distraction... might be worth trying my luck. At the very least, I should find some entertainment in how she goes about trying to dismiss my questions.
"So, what's the word between you and Starla?"
"Hm?"
"Something she said she hadn't forgotten and was gonna work on when she got home? I didn't understand the context of that."
I look back at Midnight just in time to see her freeze in place for a moment, clenching her jaw while trying to think of a cover. "It's hard to say. We had a lot of discussions about different ideas and projects," she answers back.
"Yeah, but she took the time to roll the passenger window down to relay her message. That had to have been something involving you, right?"
"Mmm, I don't really know," she rapidly offers back to me. "I guess it surprised me so much, I didn't think to ask – but it will come up again, I'm sure."
"Maybe I'll help you out and message her."
"Really? You would be that bold?" she shoots back, turning her entire body to face me. Surprisingly, she's remaining calm with little emotion.
There was once a time I could get under her skin with outlandish suggestions like I just proposed. It seems that's not going to happen today. "I've run out of tricks, haven't I?" I ask, letting my shoulders slump in defeat.
"It's easier to smell your bullshit when I know you aren't that nosy and disrespectful," she explains. "If you were that much of an asshole, you'd have already done it when you know I'm not likely to tell you."
"So you do admit there's something of significance there?" I prod, seeing an avenue open up before me with her explanation.
"You already know the answer."
"You're just taking the fun out of this on purpose, aren't you?"
"Now you're the one squirming for my amusement," she says with a cackle as her face finally breaks into a wide smirk. "Now I see why you do this."
"I don't like this game," I pout.
"Not my problem. But I'll give you one little tidbit to tide you over."
"I'm all ears." The fact she's willing to divulge anything is a bit surprising.
"If a package shows up addressed to me, don't open it."
There goes my surprise, and in its place comes more disappointment. "You've been giving this some thought on when I would ask you about it, haven't you?"
Midnight turns away to resume shuffling parts around amongst shelves. "Maybe."
That settles it – with her attention grasped by something else and the noisy clatter of metal on thin metal shelves, I lean toward her, reach out with my hand, and flick her ear.
Midnight jumps in surprise, followed quickly by the spastic twitching of her ear in response to my irritation. "Prick," she grumbles unhappily, raising a hoof to her ear.
"Oh come on. That didn't hurt."
Turning – and minding her horn – Midnight gives me a firm headbutt right in my side as retaliation.
"Alright, that was more aggressive than what I did," I whine, holding my side and cowering in an exaggerated display.
"Yeah, yeah, " she dismisses me, flaring open a wing to pat me on the back as she turns back for the exit. "Come on, we've cleared enough space to start bringing in order pulls on this side of the room. It makes more sense to have order parts closer to the door since they're guaranteed temporary."
"Wait a minute now. Who made you boss hoss?" I protest, just to see what response I get.
"I did. Someone has to take the reins here," she quips, making sure to flash a grin at the end as she emphasizes her pun.
"That was fucking terrible."
"So was yours."
"I made mine sound casual, so it worked well."
Rather than argue with words, Midnight's eyebrow raises upon my defense, before shaking her head with a sharp disapproval.
Undaunted and following her lead, I widen my eyes, smile wide, and nod my head with energy to match her gesture.
"Compelling argument. But you're still wrong, dumbass," she shoots back.
"You're being a real meanie today."
Without another word, Midnight walks out of the room, pausing for a moment to gesture for me to follow with her wing before disappearing around the corner.
I have a feeling this project isn't going to just get started today – Midnight fully intends to complete it. While I would have liked today to be an 'easy' day like an average rainy day, seeing Midnight this motivated and confident in getting something like this accomplished is worth the effort. I just have a feeling I'll be more tired by this evening than if we had worked on pulling parts out in the yard.
But I think the results going forward will be worth it, too. I head out and around the corner just as Midnight did a moment ago. Much to my confusion, she's not sifting through the pile of parts destined for order fulfillment. In fact, as I scan the shop floor...
Where the hell did she go? I saw her turn right...
"Midnight?"
"Yes?"I about jump out of my skin as Middie's voice casually answers back right behind me.
"God damn, you son of a—" I whirl around just as she gleefully trots in place in celebration, hoofsteps ringing out on the concrete less than a foot away from me.
"Haha, that was too easy," she gloats. "My god, I swear you jumped almost a foot in the air."
"How the fuck did you even manage to get—" As I start to ask my question, Midnight flares her wings out, continuing to beam with pride as I try to get my heart rate down.
"Other than that simple maneuver..." she trails off, slowly taking a step forward with precision – light enough that not a sound comes from her hoof. "I still got it."
"You won't be that giddy when I have a heart attack from you sneaking around like that, jerk," I mumble, finding myself a bit embarrassed now.
"There's plenty of cars and car batteries around – I'm sure I can Jumpstart your ticker if it comes to that," she jokes, refusing to come off of her high.
"Guess I need to do some online shopping. See if I can find a cute collar with a bell that I've threatened to buy you before."
...when did I fall asleep?
It seems like a bizarre thing to consider as I start to become aware of my consciousness. But then again, sleep has become difficult for me to achieve – to have fallen asleep out of the blue is unheard of. My mind refuses to quiet down and sit idle ever since...
I'm still not sure what was done to me. I've gotten no explanation on the procedures undertaken, or what was meant to be accomplished. All I know is some sort of an implant was put into place in my head, and my brain has been on overdrive since that time.
It feels like I have to remain occupied all the time – I have to be reading or observing something. Very rarely do I sleep more than two or three hours at a time these days; more often than not, that's after an hour or two just laying there, demanding my mind just shut up and leave me be.
But whatever, I'm up now. It's just an oddity that I don't remember laying down...
My head hurts. It's a throbbing sort of headache, and probably the real reason why I woke up in the first place. Not exactly the way I want to start my day, but it is what it is.
I brace myself before cracking my eyelids open. I'm sure the fluorescent lighting doesn't help with my sleep issues, but waking up with their blinding light cast down from overhead is painful. I'd rather not aggravate the discomfort I'm enduring, so I take it slow...
I can feel myself easing my eyelids open, but nothing is changing. Darkness continues to fill my vision.
I snap my eyes closed again, then back open. The black abyss refuses to budge.
Fleeting, anxious thoughts begin to rattle off in my head as I try to make sense of the situation. Did they shut the lights off... no, there's no way it would be this pitch black. There would at least be emergency lighting available. It's not a blindfold, for I can't feel anything covering my face...
I raise up my head, trying a different angle at the world, but there is still nothing to greet me but an endless void. I turn my head to the left, then to the right, open and close my eyes repeatedly...
My head throbs a bit more in response to my efforts, but otherwise, my movements are in vain. My heart starts to race as realization starts to creep in.
Am... am I blind?
How am I suddenly unable to see?
"Sir, she's aw—"
"I'm standing right here. You don't think I can see her head spinning around?"
That second voice – I don't need my eyesight to discern it's that asshole. That utterly forgettable, even-toned voice is somehow recognizable in an instant, even if it weren't for the demeaning response directed toward one of his many lackeys.
I've heard the bald-headed beady-eyed dick's name before, but I've vowed to keep it from my vocabulary. More often than not, he doesn't bother with the names of his underlings, and he hasn't given me a proper name despite being in his 'care.' I'm just returning the favor here.
Judging by his volume and hollow, slight echoes accompanying his speech, the head honcho is in a familiar spot – right in front of the door to my room, speaking through the screen fitted on the upper end of it.
He's not hands on – that's work for his underlings to accomplish on his behalf. But the fact that he's here right now...
I know he's behind whatever has happened to my eyesight.
"What is going on?" I ask, trying to retain control of my emotions even as my heart thumps at a rapid pace. Despite my efforts, my voice comes out uneasy and wavering.
"According to our newest and most brilliant scientist, you're awake," Baldy crows with a bite of sarcasm – for both me and the 'new' guy.
I don't know if he's actually new, for people come and go all the time – particularly when they work directly with the head honcho here. He isn't a particularly warm person to deal with when in a 'good' mood, and a good mood for him is uncommon.
Nonetheless, there are more pressing matters than faculty.
"Why can I not see?" I demand in a slow, calculated tone, manhandling my emotions into some semblance of composure.
"Just some aftereffects of the procedure – I expected some temporary complications considering the invasiveness of the surgery," he answers in an almost carefree manner. "I'm sure the brain needs to adjust and sort of... connect with the new—"
"What the fuck did you do?!" I shout, unwilling to listen to his meandering explanation. There was nothing wrong with me that I'm aware of – why did I have surgery? Why wasn't I warned ahead of time?
"I was well on my way to explaining that until you interrupted me, Princess," he comments back in a sickening polite tone, one that oozes utter disdain under the surface.
I can't see, but I can make a rough estimate of the location of my room's door based on the positioning of his voice. I snap my attention toward that area and scowl to show my displeasure. But for the time being, I hold my tongue from unleashing my simmering temper.
"Much better," he coos, paying no mind to my expression. "As I was saying, your brain needs time to reconnect and mesh with the implants, and I'm certain there is some inflammation and swelling in the meantime as everything starts to heal. I'm sure your vision will return with time – I'm not surprised to hear of the temporary loss."
"That didn't explain a damn thing about what you fucked with," I growl.
"Language, Prin-cesss ," he tsks, drawing.out that stupid little name he's grown accustomed to using for me. I hate it, and he loves to use it as a result. It's a running joke for him, pretending I'm special in his eyes. As if being selected for whatever experiments he has in mind to further...
...I don't even know what his goals are. For all I know, gawking at me in a glass tank and poking at me for his pleasure is all Baldy is after. I haven't been here long enough to overhear conversation on what the real reasoning behind this undertaking with me.
That's the joke behind it though. No princess would ever be subjected to a life like this. Locked in a fifty by fifty glass room as a lab rat to be studied. I was the first attempt to make a pony in the visage of a show character – but I'm not Princess Luna. They got everything wrong in my coloring, making the moniker an even sicker, double-layered joke that I've only recently been made aware.
"In the same vein as our prior work with you, I'm trying things that have the potential to better life as we know it. Human experiments are out of the question, even if they already lack eyesight, so... we replaced your eyes with prosthetics."
The casual commentary does little to prevent a chill from running up my spine. I scramble to my hooves – only to stumble on my bed and fall back to my stomach. "There was nothing fucking wrong with my eyes!" I scream in his direction. "What gives you the right to do something like this, you sick fuck?!"
I hear him slap the glass in retaliation for my outburst. "I gave myself the right, Princess – and I won't stand to have you shouting at me like you're the one in charge!" he barks in anger. "You're already a reject of the program because you didn't come out right – the least I can do is make you useful!"
"And what if you fucked me up for good?! What if I don't get my vision back, asshole?!"
"I told you to cut the fucking language."
"Oh, I'm sorry, only the big boy in charge gets to use naughty language?! My mistake. You use it so freely toward the other labcoats when they piss you off, I assumed it was free for all," I sass back, my 'eyes' beginning to water.
"I have the ability to cancel this project at any time, so watch your tone, Princess," he growls back. "You will get your eyesight back, I spearheaded this procedure myself. And if it doesn't – we'll dig and find out what went wrong."
"Digging through my brains like a little fucking scavenger hunt, that's really reassuring."
"I don't have to help you if the experiment doesn't work if you're going to act like a petulant child," he lectures. "We brought you into this world, you belong to this company, and you've been assigned to me whether you like it or not. You want to sit there and feel sorry for yourself, fine – but don't blame my work for your failures."
My failures... as if I'm to blame for having my perfectly functional emerald eyes ripped out of my head and replaced with some googly replicas. As if I'm in control of whether these fucking things inevitable start to take in the world around me, or if they're left as paperweights occupying empty space in the orbital sockets of my skull...
Some of those words feel foreign to think, but they make sense. At this point, I don't fucking care anyway.
Is this really what life amounts to? A series of experiments for the gain of someone else? I don't give a damn about 'the greater good' or whatever he's trying to spout. I don't believe a word coming from his mouth.
Part of me wants to just... give up. Die. Make the time and money spent so far an absolute waste of resources, just to spite him. Really, if this is all I have to expect moving forward... why would I want to keep going?
...I don't have a clear answer to that. Rolling over and giving up doesn't feel right, for one. And being labeled a failure again...
None of this is in my control. I'm not a failure for things out of my control. I won't stand for taking that blame.
My head is starting to hurt worse now with the increase in blood pressure as I try to tamp down my emotions again. At this point... I just want everyone to fuck off.
"Sir, maybe we should leave her be for a while?" comes the coincidental suggestion from the other guy. "The stress probably won't be very good for her recovery from, uh... well, the procedure you did, I guess."
"I wasn't aware you were a doctor, newbie. How many years of medical school?" Baldy questions. Again, it's a tone of voice that makes it clear he's talking down to the young man.
"I... well, I'm a biologist," he resigns with a sigh.
"Then leave that kind of thinking to me, Johnson – you'll look less stupid that way going forward," the boss mutters.
"Right. Sorry, Sir."
"And make sure you're keeping notes on this shit. I want details on her conditions when she awoke, and anything you can get out of her in terms of how she feels right now, and everything that we do with her going forward. As you can see, she can be moody."
"Can't imagine why that would be," I bitterly comment.
"I've got more important things to do that stand here and wait for her to improve. Take some notes, then head to my office and drop them off, and we'll go from there. I'm sure the suits have more paperwork for me to bore myself with." On that bitter lamentation, I hear footsteps begin to quiet and they get more distant from my room.
But only one pair of footstep; I may be blind, but I can sense the new guy is still standing there, gawking at me like a kid at the zoo. I just lay there on my bed, awaiting his inane questioning directed by his superior. For a few moments, I can just make out what I assume is the sound of the man scrawling down notes in a journal.
Then, awkward silence.
"You got a fucking job to do, get it over with and leave me be," I belt out in frustration.
"Right, I... Sorry," he stammers nervously. "Are you feeling any pain or discomfort waking up? Any other effects?"
"My head hurts and I can't fucking see."
"How would you rate the pain?"
"Seven I guess. Make sure you write down I can't see anything but endless black, too."
"I... right. So no vision... at all."
I'm certain he is new just based on his awkwardness. There's no way he came from another part of this facility – he's a fresh hire, and probably wondering what he got himself into.
That's not my problem. If he's like any of the others, he'll harden up in time. No one here actually cares about the ponies under their care.
...I vaguely remember others, and once in a while, I see one. But I don't know... was I ever with them?
"Are you okay?"
"You just asked me about pain and side effects, what the fuck else do you want?" I bark, growing impatient my the second. "I'm fucking peachy, having a lovely day after a restful nap. Is that good?"
"I'm...I'm sorry," he mumbles forlornly. "Sorry that you're... dealing with this."
"I'm sure you're just as sorry as everyone else is. Now leave me the fuck alone. You got what you wanted, go get the boss a coffee like a good little helper."
He says nothing else upon my barbed response. After another few seconds, I hear him trudge off down the hall.
With no one around— I can't anymore. This is just too much as I lay my head down, close my eyes, and just let go. I let go of my pain and my anger, my misery and my fear as it washes out from my useless eyes and down my cheeks. I snuggle up to try to hide from the world...
Snuggled with... wait...
I open my eyes again – no, for the first time. The first time tonight, since falling asleep.
I'm in bed. Snuggled underneath John's arm and laying beside him. While it may have once been reality, I've been having a nightmare this entire time.
That knowledge doesn't do much good in drying off my dampened pillow now – but at least it was just a dream this time. Careful not to wake John, I raise a hoof to wipe one eye and cheek, while my pillow is resigned to its fate as a drying towel for the rest of my face.
It's been a long time since I've had a proper nightmare. I'd rather this stay a rare occurrence. But especially when they're nothing short of reliving a memory...
"Come on, move your damn feet." Midnight's whining command comes out muffled, thanks to her own actions. She currently has her snout pressed into my back, though that physical direction isn't enough for her.
I'm not dawdling today, though that is a fun pastime in making Midnight's patience run thin. I'm moving at what I feel is a safe pace, considering I have a few hundred pounds of cast iron strapped onto the two-wheeled cart I'm pushing.
Today's the day we get the engine block back from the shop, and Midnight is understandably eager to get it home and continue with the project car. I am too, but I'm having to be the voice of reason here as we haul it to the Trailduster. As much as Midnight wanted to carry it out and heave it in the truck – and though that would have been easier – it's the middle of the day. Explaining away a levitating eating utensil to a passerby taking notice is as easy as saying it's a 'prototype feature'. Hauling a whole engine block... might be more suspicious.
"Middie, you can stop pushing me."
"I will when you move faster," she continues to pout behind me.
"There's no reason for me to move faster – we're at the tailgate."
The pressure between my shoulder blades eases up following my comment. I turn my head in time to catch a glimpse of Midnight peeking her head out from behind to gauge how far we really are from the truck. Good timing, as now that she can believe me, I can stop before running into my vehicle, and without her stumbling into me.
"I really expected you to drag ass just to be a dick," she admits, strutting off to my side.
"I... probably deserve that assumption. I do it a lot – but not today. I don't want to ruin the moment," I assure her. That may sound a little lame, but it's kind of true. There's just a bit more to it than that... mainly that I have something to discuss with her that I know she won't be happy about.
One thing at a time – but the past few days have been agonizing for Midnight, waiting to go get this engine block. While I may be the one assembling it, I'm certain her curiosity will draw her to watch me do most of it, asking questions along the way, as well as help in any way she can.
To be certain, this is a big step forward, even if the task of retrieving the engine is a tad mundane.
I glance around the area as I circle around our cargo and open the tailgate. It's mid-day, but this shop is on the outer fringe of town – meaning there really aren't any pedestrians to speak of amongst the graciously-spaced buildings in this area. As of right now, there are no passing cars to be seen, either.
"Alright, I don't feel like fucking around with this part of the job," I murmur to Midnight, who now stands across the engine block from me. "Coast is clear – beam 'er up, Mid."
The instructions hardly have time to leave my mouth as the cart and engine block rise into the air. In one swift motion, the tandem jet forward into the back of the truck, coming to an equally swift halt into the shadows of the back.
"Nice. So glad I decided to install a tailgate lift in this thing," I joke, patting the tailgate with a hollow thump before lifting it and slamming it closed.
"You're an idiot," Midnight comments, biting her lip as she tries to fight off laughter that could motivate me. But after a few seconds, she gives up and hustles around the corner, heading up to the passenger door.
I'm not convinced that was just holding back laughter. If I'm not mistaken, as I make my way to the cabin on the driver's side, I can hear a little celebratory giggle at our little accomplishment today.
By the time I slide into my seat, Midnight is already seated and turned to face me. "So how long do you think it will take to get it all back together?"
I can't help but laugh at the sudden jump in expectations and goals. "Already turning the screws to me, huh?"
"Well – alright, so maybe I could have waited a bit longer asking something like that, but I'm genuinely curious," she answers, cocking her head as she awaits my timetable guesstimate.
"Well, I don't really know, Midnight. Above all, I want to take my time and make sure I do it right – there's no worse feeling than getting an engine together, starting it up – only to promptly spin a bearing or eat a cam lobe."
"I... did read up a bit on engine building and initial startup, so I'm aware of problems that can happen. Have you ever had issues?"
"I've not rebuilt too many engines, Midnight," I admit, watching as her ears dip in response, going along with her smile that's been fading ever since this inquisition began. "With that disclaimer out of the way – no, I've never had problems with break-ins. But that's why I have to stress even though I myself am motivated to get the car on the road, patience and due diligence take precedence on this build."
The explanation seems to hit all the right notes, for Midnight perks up in her seat again. But it's not likely to last long – as I start up the truck and get out on the road, now is as good a time as any to bring up my next topic.
"There's something else I wanted to discuss with you – sorry to change the subject," I start off, trying to play this cordial and calm. "Teddy and I had a discussion before he left on his trip, and we talked about it again yesterday..."
Pausing for a moment, I take my eyes off the road to glance at Midnight. Though I've only begun my proposal, her posture is unnaturally rigid. Her festive energy has fallen by the wayside as her expression defaults back to a serious, straight face. I anticipated this sort of reaction, though maybe I should have tried to be more light-hearted and joking to start.
"I'm listening," she says expectantly, motioning with her hoof for me to proceed.
"I certainly don't mean it to seem offensive, and I know that you're fine right now, but – well, Teddy mentioned he has a doc that checks out Starla. Like a wellness check-up – and I think it would be in our best interest to pay him a visit."
"And by doctor, I'm sure you mean vet," Midnight quickly spits.
"Yes, I do." I don't need to take my eyes off the road, I can feel Midnight's piercing gaze on me, trying to bore holes through my body. "I know that it sounds..."
"John, just say what you need to, and then I'll bite your head off afterward if I feel the need," Midnight huffs in irritation.
Surprised by some semblance of patience considering the topic at hand, I have to steal another glance at Midnight. Her expression has changed little, though her brow has hardened somewhat, allowing her to display the frustration she's keeping in check at this point in time.
"I know a vet sounds demeaning, and you aren't just a run-of-the-mill animal – you've got the intelligence of humans. But physiologically... well, you have more in common with em. Teddy says this guy is his go-to for Starla, and since you two might actually have a relation in genetics – maybe you're helping her out too. So the doc has another baseline to work from." While I start out slow, by the end of my spiel, my words have come out quick and frenzied – particularly as I come to realize how much of a tightrope I have to walk here to not insult her.
This is touching on a subject that I haven't really spoken with her about since very early on – acknowledging that she isn't human. It's obvious, but I know Midnight sees herself above animals – to the point of drawing ire when someone sees her on that level.
Seconds tick by with only the engine of the Trailduster and road noise from the tires offering any sort of sound now. Midnight has turned in her seat to face forward now, looking out the windshield at the road ahead. I try to think of something else to say, but... I'm not sure how to jumpstart conversation now, especially when I'm looking for a verbal reaction to my proposal.
"You already scheduled an appointment, didn't you?" Midnight abruptly speaks up.
"I didn't, no. Teddy said he was going to get in touch with his doc and let me know," I tell her. "This is an off-the-books kind of thing, so it would be in the evening after the office has closed."
"And you're sold on it." Midnight's voice starts to sour at that comment.
"I'm trying to think and plan ahead. God forbid if anything were to happen Midnight – but I guess my thoughts on it... you're doing just fine now, so it would make sense to get the ball rolling so if there is an issue down the road, we already have someone lined up who can help, and has at least a starting point to work from."
"That makes more sense than the bullshit you were trying to feed me the first time around."
"Nothing I've said has been bullshit – I just figured I would need to sell you this from multiple angles," I concede. "Yes, it is a bit selfish in the fact I'm looking for my own peace of mind in planning ahead, but I'm not going to drag you by your tail into the office if you're that opposed to the idea."
"Oh god, did you really have to throw that in there?" Midnight whines.
"I— throw what in there?" I stammer, confused by her outburst.
"'I'm not going to drag you there if you don't want to go'," she summarizes in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes. "Now you're gonna try the guilt angle?"
"That... I was being honest with you. There was nothing else that I meant by that."
"Ugh, whatever – I guess I really don't have a leg to stand on here other than 'I don't want to go'," she grumbles. "As much as I want to hate you for this... I'll deal with it."
"Teddy says the doc is really nice – Starla enjoys visits with him," I add, trying to console Midnight. I pat her on the back, but Midnight's solemn expression doesn't sway.
"I don't like the sound of being poked and prodded at. The whole 'veterinarian' thing is a bit demeaning, but that's splitting hairs. Experiencing deja vu of being back in the facility undergoing checks after a procedure... that's what bothers me."
It's a candid and honest response from Midnight, highlighting something that I had not given thought up until this point. With as many procedures and tests as she's been through, how did I not consider the possibility of her being afraid of doctors or medical help?
"I'm sorry, Mid. That never crossed my mind," I apologize, the pang of guilt I feel slipping in to taint my voice.
"John, I'm an adult – I'll deal with it," she replies, trying to brush aside my response. "You'll just owe me extra work on the engine to make up for this little checkup. As long as that's all it is – no funny business with invasive shit."
"Middie, I swear on it, and you should know anything other than vitals and a cursory examination is all that I want," I quickly respond. "No trickery – I'll even ask Teddy what all to expect, and relay what you told m—"
"I can manage. I don't need special treatment," Middie interrupts in a curt tone. "You're getting what you want, I'm agreeing to do this. For you, or Starla, or however you want to spin it."
Even after a few minutes of relatively civil discussion, I'm having difficulty reading Midnight on her stance. For every concession or agreement she passes to me, there's a biting response that follows shortly thereafter, displaying a lingering reluctance.
I'm starting to get the sense that this is an idea that reopens old wounds and fears – ones that run deeper and bother her more than she's willing to share. Trying to dig further down that path isn't going to do me any good – even if I would rather make sure she's fully on board and understanding of why I want to do this.
But, wish in one hand, shit in the other – one of those is gonna fill up much faster than the other. As of now, I have her approval; my best bet is to get back with Teddy, okay the appointment scheduling, and get on with it. Ripping it off like a bandaid.
But it might also be a good idea to have some backup support...
"Can we talk about something else now?" Midnight asks, betraying a wave of impatience that's beginning to grow around this topic. "How's the search and investigation into painting the Hemi going? You've been mum on the subject since the day you initially brought it up."
Keen to bring the mood into lighter territory again myself, I can't help but crack a grin at her one-track mind.
The last couple of days have been up and down until this evening. We've had plenty to do and accomplish between the business and the Chrysler... but there has been a marked change in Midnight. She's been quieter since this planned medical checkup came together, and some moments of her old irritability have come back – particularly when I've tried to pick her brain or lend an ear.
As the slight bump of tires meeting a concrete parking block announces our arrival, I kill the engine and switch the ignition onto accessory for the radio to provide a bit of white noise. In the fading evening light, I steal a glance at my passenger for the first time since she barked at me... for looking at her.
Midnight is still hunched down in her seat, though her gaze is directed out the passenger window rather than me – and looking forward to the building in front of us is likely out of the question.
'SouthWest Veterinary Clinic.'
I've passed this quaint sandstone brick building countless times, and never paid any mind to the name or even the function – both before Midnight came to stay with me and after, with her along for the ride numerous times. But now, this dimly lit building sticks out like a sore thumb. Nothing but what appears to be emergency lighting illuminates the glass foyer in front of the business, with a faded street lamp offering light to the sign above the door. In a sense, being here after close is unsettling; it feels like a building lost in time and abandoned.
"We're closer to getting this over now. That's a plus, right?" I comment, hoping to bring some glass-half-full energy to the cab of the truck.
Midnight turns her head at an agonizingly slow pace, her eyes hardened with mild irritation as she acknowledges my presence. "Yeah, I guess if that's what we want to go with," she mutters. "Doesn't make me anymore thrilled to be here."
"I know. I know it doesn't help at all, but I appreciate you agreeing to this, too," I console her, brushing a stray lock of hair back into her mane. She doesn't say anything back, preferring to turn and look straight ahead – or would be, if her eyes weren't lowered to bore holes through the dashboard. She sighs heavily, continuing to rue the moment.
At this point, we're waiting for Teddy to roll into the parking lot. Since he's our connection to this private exam, it only makes sense for him to be here. While I didn't divulge everything in regards to Midnight's apprehension regarding this visit, I did mention it might be a bit rough for her. Now, as I watch her brood over the wait, I wish I had been more transparent.
"Do you need a hug?" I ask her, trying to come off as sincere as I mean it.
"Shut up."
"I was just trying to offer some comfort, Mid."
"You can still shut up. I'm fine."
Thankfully, headlights briefly illuminate the cabin of our SUV as a vehicle pulls into the lot behind us. There's just enough light left in the evening to catch a glimpse of the 90s sea green paint on the truck before it cranks around and rolls to a stop a few spots to the left of us.
Backup has arrived – with backup. Starla's cheerful visage greets me from the passenger seat of Teddy's truck as I peek a glance to my left. She waves a friendly hello with a hoof, which I return – before checking in on Midnight's reaction.
She hasn't moved an inch, continuing to lock her eyes on the dashboard rather than acknowledge the world as a whole.
"Hey, Starla came along – I bet she insisted just to help since she's been here before."
My announcement breaks Midnight from her trance – if only briefly. She takes her own peek around my form to the truck next to us; however, the best she can muster up for big sis is a faint smile and a half-hearted wave. The bare minimum accomplished, Mid resumes her hunched, almost sulking demeanor. "I'm sure I'll get to hear about how nice the doc is and that there's absolutely nothing to worry about!" she suddenly spouts in a mocking tone, going so far as to slip some southern drawl into her voice.
"That was pretty good, Middie," I say, chuckling as I grasp at anything to lighten the mood. It's been a long time since I've seen her this sour, and it's beginning to unnerve me. How much is this really bothering her?
Asking isn't going to get me anywhere; at best, I'll get the tired phrase 'I'm fine' from her. Instead, I resort to the tried and true method – stroking one of her ears. "It will be over before you know it, now that Teddy's here getting the ball rolling," I speak up as I watch him hop out of his truck and head toward the front entrance.
At least I get a slight hum of approval for my actions as she leans into it. But I keep my eyes glued to the building as Teddy stands in front of the glass foyer. He pulls out his phone and fiddles with it before bringing it up to his ear, proceeding to pace about for a few moments. It doesn't take long before the lights in the building begin to illuminate; eventually, a chunky figure inside appears at the door.
He's certainly not a tall fellow – Midnight and Starla might be at eye level with him. He fiddles with the door inside and pushes it open for Teddy. A handshake and a few short words later, Teddy beckons us inside with a wave.
A few feet away in the other vehicle, Starla hurries out of the truck via the driver's door, left ajar by Teddy. A brief drop from sight and a *thunk* of the door being closed, and Starla joins up with Teddy, as the doctor has already retreated back into his practice and out of sight. Now, only two familiar faces await to greet us at the door.
"Well, you ready?"
"No – but I guess it's as good as I'm gonna get," Midnight mutters, her ears flattening against her skull. With a sigh of resignation, she sits up and cranks open her door, sliding out of the seat and onto the pavement.
That leaves me to take up the rear, hopping out myself and joining Midnight's side at the front of the Trailduster. "I'll be fine," she reiterates again in a cold voice. Whether that was for me or for her... I'm not sure.
"Try not to embarrass us, either," she adds, a comment definitely for me.
"You know I can't make guarantees like that," I reply.
"Doesn't hurt to remind you."
As we make our way up the short sidewalk to the building, Teddy grins and nods his head at us, propping the door open. Starla is the first to walk in, followed shortly thereafter by Midnight, whose stance and steps are unnaturally rigid.
"Good evening, Middie! How have you been?" Starla asks, eager to strike up some conversation – and seemingly oblivious to Midnight's reluctance to even be here.
I don't get to hear Midnight's response – Teddy grabs my attention via my shirt sleeve as I start to head in behind the mares. "How is she doing tonight so far?" he murmurs, hoping to keep this between us. "I told Keith a little bit about Midnight, but kept it brief and on point – let him know she might be a bit nervous."
"Yeah, she's under a little stress right now – but she's refused to talk about it," I answer him. Teddy's face grows a bit solemn at that piece of news but he releases my shirt and ushers me forward.
Entering the clinic feels like an awkward step back into the eighties. The faint hum of the fluorescent lighting is magnified by the waiting room's lack of carpeting. The speckled tile floors have seen years of wear to fade the finish, while the off-white plastered walls feel like they are begging to be updated, even if the finish seems to be relatively spotless.
"Well, this is... feels sorta retro in here," I quip, laughing at my own comment to assure Teddy I'm not complaining.
"Yeah, the doc puts his finances towards his equipment and patient care rather than decorum," Teddy answers with his own chuckle.
"Doctor Patterson is a really good doc – he's super sweet and gentle," Starla chimes in, offering Midnight a shoulder bump as they walk along, keen to make sure she's listening.
"I wasn't aware you knew a lot of doctors," Midnight replies, unswayed by big sister's short blurb.
"Well, I don't other than him and Teddy – and he's a different kind of doctor, I think," Starla admits, faltering in her delivery. However, she's quick to add pep into her step again "You'll see – there's nothing to worry about. I'm sure you'll like him."
"I'm not worried," comes Midnight's curt response. "Just wary."
As if on cue, footsteps audibly start to make their way toward our group from the other side of the single door that separates the waiting room from the rest of the office. When it opens, the same squat figure from before is there to greet everyone with a big, welcoming grin.
He's certainly got the doctor look down pat, with a white coat that looks a bit too long and wire-rimmed spectacles. His dark hair shows signs of age starting to just creep up with a hint of grey here and there, though to go with his somewhat portly figure, he has a soft face to match.
"Good evening, everyone," he announces in a surprisingly deep voice. His attention is quickly drawn to Starla as she waves at him excitedly. "Starla, this is a welcome surprise! How are you?"
"Hi, Dr. Patterson – I'm good!" she exclaims, trotting forward. Wrapping a foreleg around his waist, she gives him a hug, which he happily returns with a chuckle.
"Wonderful, wonderful. What brings you here in the dark of night?"
"Oh, I just wanted to tag along to see you," Starla replies, releasing him and taking a step back. "I'm also here to support my little sis tonight for her first visit."
As Starla takes another couple of steps back, Midnight now becomes the center of attention. She freezes like a statue, unwelcoming of the spotlight being thrust upon her so suddenly – even if she's the true reason we're visiting in the first place.
"And you must be Starla's little sister, Midnight," Dr Patterson says softly, picking up on Midnight's insecurity.
"You have a fifty-fifty shot – it's either me or him," Midnight replies in a rather gruff rebuke, unfurling a wing just to point at me.
I feel an overwhelming need to facepalm as the doctor gasps at what I assume is her response. But his widened eyes quickly flick to Teddy instead. "You didn't say anything about her having actual functioning wings," he murmurs in almost a trance-like monotone voice.
"There's... a lot to her. I didn't want to say too much over the phone," Teddy concedes, flashing back an awkward grin.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that. You've always been a cautious fellow – borderline paranoid, to be honest," Patterson quips back, lightening the mood with a laugh. But he finally finds his way to you, putting a hand out as he steps forward. "And you must be John, yes?"
"Yeah, that's right. Midnight lives with me," I explain. "Sorry about the bit of sass from her, Dr. Patterson, she can be a bit rough."
"Oh please – just call me Keith. I'm off the clock now, and we don't need it getting too uptight and stuffy in here," he says, shaking my hand. "I'm only Dr. Patterson to my patients – who I can understand might be a little nervous seeing me. No harm done."
"Since I'm not your patient today, can I call you Keith?" Starla giggles, sticking her tongue out.
"I've always said you can call me Keith – you just want to be a silly filly tonight, don't you?" Keith retorts with his own bit of laughter, booping Starla on the nose. "But why don't we get started tonight? Follow me back and we'll begin with the basics."
As instructed, everyone files into a line behind the doctor as he leads us through the door and down a hall, lined with doors to exam and other rooms on either side.
"So what is this... 'checkup' all about then? What kind of basics are we talking about?" Midnight questions. Though not directed toward anyone in particular, she says it loud enough that it's clearly meant to be answered by anyone.
"We just want to get a baseline of your health. Think along the lines of temperature, heart rate, blood pressure – nothing invasive," Keith replies. "From what little Teddy explained to me over the phone, you and Starla likely share some similarities."
"I think they come from the same genetic background. It's only been recently I've gathered clues pointing toward an actual connection, but their physical structure is remarkably similar besides that," Teddy clarifies.
"Mhmm – the little sister I never knew I had," Starla adds, still finding joy in the thought. Whether it be from hearing that again in such a short time frame or a growing impatience and frustration with this endeavor, I happen to catch Midnight rolling her eyes.
"Just what Teddy has gathered over the last few years and comparing Starla and Midnight's stats, I think we'll have a better idea of the similarities between the two by the end of the night."
"What Teddy's gathered over the last few years? He's wrangled you into this mess, too?" I wisecrack.
"For better or worse, I'm indirectly a part of it now," Keith replies with a laugh. Turning to the right and opening up one of the remaining doors in the hall, he pauses to flip on the lights in the room before ushering us in. "Hop up onto the table, Midnight," he instructs, patting the examination table that's roughly waist high – for me and Teddy, anyway. For Keith, it reaches well up his torso.
Midnight hunkers down in preparation to leap – but halts as her eyes lock onto... something. I trace her gaze to where it lays, behind the table and the doctor.
In a room that's rather spartan, it really isn't that hard to figure out her sudden focus. In the back of the room lays a glass cabinet, chock full of standard medical supplies. Yet 'standard' doesn't mean much if the only thing one is used to when seeing such items is a feeling of dread and pain. Particularly when it comes to the forceps, vials, and needles.
"None of that stuff is why we're here, Midnight," I assure her.
"I know that!" she snaps at me, finally tearing her eyes away from the sight that's held her transfixed for far too long to be a passing glance. Of course, that attention now gets directed at me in the form of an unhappy glare.
"I didn't get the full story, but I'm guessing my appearance and this room doesn't bring up good memories," Keith comments, calm and light-spoken.
"I can tell you I wasn't born with these or these," Midnight hisses, ruffling her wings and forcing her eyes to glow a little brighter. "What do you think the answer is? And stop treating me like I'm a dumb animal, too."
Dammit, come on, Midnight.
I was really hoping she would be calm and collected tonight, but it seems her attitude is out in full force. Kudos to the doc, he doesn't appear put off or concerned by the sharp little outburst as he leans on the exam table, just listening.
"Midnight, what did he say that you felt was demeaning?" I question her.
"...well, nothing yet. But we're at a vet clinic, so—"
"But we are closer to animals, Midnight," Starla interrupts. Her eyes practically beg Midnight to calm down as she steps forward. "No one means anything negative toward you or me by being here. It's just the best option we have in a world where we shouldn't be, you know?"
"Trust me, you make my job a lot easier in many ways – you can tell me what's bothering you. And you can tell me when you're nervous – which is normal. Nothing to be ashamed of," Keith adds.
Midnight remains mum for a moment as she clenches her jaw – I'm not sure whether she's fighting to prevent a proper tongue-lashing from bursting out like old times or deciding how to properly respond to either pony or person offering advice. But before I can come up with a comment to break the stalemate, Midnight jumps up onto the exam table next to Keith.
"No offense to you – this place just makes me uncomfortable. Particularly the idea of being poked and prodded for notes," Midnight murmurs in a calm voice that surprises even me.
Atta girl Mid. Why the hell did I doubt her?
...well, I've seen her at her worst when she's really worked up, that's why. I'm glad she's willing to stop and listen these days.
"I assure you I'm only looking to do a simple examination – I'll let you know everything I'm going to do before I do it. Scout's honor," Keith says, raising a hand and saluting her with a heartfelt grin. "Any tool I use, I'll show it to you and explain how it works – no surprises in store. Does that sound good?"
Midnight offers a shallow nod but turns her head to look at me. At that moment, I have a better understanding of why she's been difficult. Within those beautiful blue eyes lurks pure, unfiltered fear. This experience isn't just unnerving for her – it's terrifying. Being mouthy has always been a way for her to cope, but it's been the only thing keeping her from bolting out of the office thus far.
Yet... aside from some terse moments, she's still hanging in there. This may be harder for her than she or I anticipated but she's managing. But she knows I'm not going to let anything happen.
Regardless, I step next to her and idly stroke the feathers on one of her wings. "You had a couple messed up feathers there – I straightened em out," I tell her.
"Oh, thanks," she drones, acting as if she's uninterested. But her wing speaks volumes as it flits open just enough to snatch my hand and hold it next to her side.
I see no reason to say anything about it nor the slight quivering from her body. "No problemo."
For over an hour, Midnight endured the visit to the doctor. Through a myriad of questions and measurements, she quietly trudged through the process, giving Dr Patterson a good idea of what he was dealing with compared to Starla. Overall, the two of them are close on virtually every mark – when considering Midnight's stress levels during the visit for her stats on blood pressure and heart rate. Just as important was denoting Midnight's more unique attributes that were 'added' on. Some of that information came from X-rays, which were enlightening, to say the least.
The rest of the visit came down to questions. Some of those questions and recollections of her attributes were hard for her – leading to moments of silence or staring off into space. But a brief touch from me with some bullshit excuse for doing so brought her back in those moments.
Really, there wasn't much to this checkup at all, once we got over the first minor hurdles and some understanding of how everyone felt.
I'm relieved Midnight agreed to this so we have a starting point for any future bumps in the road that may occur – and I'm relieved it's all over. Unless something comes up, there's no reason to return for another year, which should go even easier than this first time.
I'm sure Midnight doesn't care about any of that – though as we walk out of the office, she remains mum. I'm expecting to hear how I owe her big for doing this once we're in private; I can live with that.
Night has completely overtaken the land as the doors shut behind us and the lights in the building go out. Teddy and Starla are already steps ahead of us after a brief exchange of thanks between Keith and me and a private phone number in case of concerns.
"G'night you two!" Teddy hollers as he opens the passenger door of his truck for Starla.
Standing beside Teddy, Starla hesitates and turns back toward me and Midnight, waving a hoof again. "Talk to you again soon, Middie!" she calls out before hopping into the truck.
Midnight remains mum – preferring to just wave back and offer the faintest grin.
"Drive safe – thanks again, Teddy," I tell him, reaching for the door handle of the Trailduster just as Teddy climbs into his truck. He offers his own friendly wave goodbye before disappearing behind the tinted windows.
Meanwhile, Midnight has already taken her seat in our truck and closed the door behind her before I even pop open my own door. As I climb in, I see Midnight has her head turned to look out the passenger window, rather than pay me any attention.
Alright, so she is gonna be a bit miffed after all. While I understand it was difficult for her tonight, I did my best to explain the situation beforehand – and the doctor did as well, for that matter. As I fish my keys from my pocket, I start to think of how to walk on eggshells in conversation now that we both have one-on-one time once again.
"I'm sorry that tonight sucked – but you did really well tonight." It's a rather weak comment, but I feel that is the best I can do for an icebreaker.
Unfortunately, it doesn't appear to have struck a chord with her. Other than the hum of the starter and ensuing rumble of the Trailduster's engine, I'm left with continued silence; Midnight hasn't budged an inch.
"I did my best to try keeping things... I could tell you were a bit stressed, so I just tried doing what I could to help you relax," I tack on, beginning to consider the notion maybe she feels embarrassed. "I don't think anyone else noticed – I live with you, so I see your different sides and have a good read on you, y'know?"
Admittedly, that's a very stupid comment, considering I'm trying to figure out what ails her at the moment. But stupid is my middle name – I just want her to talk to me. Having her this quiet right now for this long is starting to become unsettling.
Yet I'm still left in the dark. I turn to take stock of the world outside since I'm not getting anywhere with Midnight at the moment. A few spots down, Teddy's truck is still parked in its spot, though the lights are on; through the tinted windows, I can see the pair inside are having a discussion about something at this point before heading out.
"Midnight, if you're mad at me, just say it. I've got tough skin," I sigh, turning my attention back to her. "I'd rather you say something rather than bottle i—" Just as I turn my head back to look at her, Midnight lunges at me. Just by sheer instinct, I flinch and recoil away from her, thumping my head against the driver's side window.
But in the blink of an eye – Midnight's form is draped atop me. "That was fucking horrible! " she cries, clutching at me with her hooves and burying her face in my chest. "It felt like reliving some of my nightmares!"
While my heart is thumping at a faster rate with the sudden shock, I can feel Midnight's heartbeat racing at Mach speed – which is quickly in danger of being overtaken by her breathing. "Hey, hey – I got you," I tell her, the second time that my instincts take over while I put my arms around her. I clutch her to my body and just... I hug her. I hug her to let her know that I'm the only thing she needs to trouble her mind with right now. "It's you and me, Mid – just breathe."
But even as I try to calm her, I'm mentally rattled and trying to corral myself at the same time. I've never seen her in this sort of distress – nor have I seen her come uncorked like the flip of a switch. What the hell did I miss that made her go from calm and quiet to... this? And reliving nightmares?
Before anything... I don't really know what hyperventilating is, but I know it isn't good. The shallow, rapid breathing Midnight is continuing to display is the main concern I need to be dealing with.
"Midnight, deep breaths. In... Out..." I instruct her, hoping she'll listen to and focus on my calm voice. I have to repeat it a few more times before she finally seizes on my coaching and begins to follow along. While I keep one arm locked around her body, I get my other hand petting her in the same rhythm of my instructions, which seems to help her grasp the tempo a bit better.
But she's wrapped herself so tightly around me, that I can't move much else at this point in time. She continues to leave her head buried in my shirt and under her hair – a darkened cocoon to shut away the rest of the world. Apparently, a faraway world that she left long ago has found a sinister way to return.
I happen to notice the engine of the truck is not the only rumble I hear – I'm able to turn my head enough to look out the driver's window and spy Teddy still parked nearby. More significantly, a pair of sad violet eyes look back at me as Starla watches with concern in full view, having rolled her window down. I can make out Teddy peering around Starla's form – but regardless of their worries, my priority is Midnight and her privacy. I pause my petting just long enough to raise my arm and gesture an 'OK' before waving the pair away.
I don't keep looking at them, preferring to just... look forward. Really, I'm not using my eyes at this point, just focusing on Midnight and helping her to calm down. It's a gradual process that I don't time or concern myself with – I'm not letting her go until she wants me to do so.
"I'm alright," Midnight's muffled voice mumbles after a long period of relative silence. I feel her beginning to ever so slightly ease her way off of me; while I keep my arm around her, I relinquish the tight embrace I have held on her since this incident began. When she finally inches away enough, she raises her head from my chest to finally give me a glimpse of her face.
Weary is the first descriptor that comes to mind when I take in the sight. A torrent of energy evidently came out with... whatever that was. A panic attack, maybe?
I'll leave terminology to be nitpicked later – right now I focus on brushing away a couple of tears that have managed to eke their way out from the corners of Midnight's glowing blue eyes. "You're alright," I repeat back to her, affirming her statement even if it doesn't quite fit the situation.
While for different reasons, both of us happen to take a deep breath and exhale in unison. Finally hearing her speak calmly and able to look at me again is a relief; I feel as if I've been holding my breath this entire time. "You had me scared for a bit there, Middie," I admit.
"Yeah, I... that was hard to deal with," she mumbles, lowering her gaze again to look at my chest. But after minutes of having to be deprived of her face in a similar way, I tuck my hand under her chin and coax Midnight to look at me again.
"I thought you did really well tonight. I mean that," I reiterate.
"You helped. At least at the start... and a little bit here and there..." Her pupils dart back and forth as she trails off.
"You had it under control. All I did was assure you from time to time, y'know?"
"Yeah..." It's quite an underwhelming, insincere response. While I'm trying to talk her up and give her some pep again, she is reluctant to take any of it to heart.
Maybe it's because my nerves are already frayed, but her reactions do not sit right with me. "Everything seemed to go pretty smooth, you didn't seem all that worked up once we got past the introductions," I comment, hoping to get some sort of answer from her.
"It... it was manageable I guess," she mumbles back, almost sounding shameful as she closes her eyes. "Sometimes you just gotta grit your teeth and bear through it – and sometimes you have to do it longer than you thought it would last."
Well, there's a confession if I've ever heard one. The thought of sitting in a room for over an hour bottling up fear and anxiety in silence is enough to make my stomach churn. While the shame in her voice makes sense, it doesn't make what she did to get through it sound any better.
I have to bite my tongue for a moment as disappointment lurks in the back of my head. After all the times I've asked her to be open with me, this matter was left to fester for the whole evening – and probably longer than that.
"Bottling it up doesn't seem to have worked in this situation, Middie," I state, keeping my voice level. "I wouldn't consider what I just witnessed and talked you out of a success, would you?"
"...not a complete success, no. But I made it through the visit," she counters in an argument as weak as her voice spits out. "What would you propose I have done?"
"Asked for a moment away, asked for a quick breather outside – whatever you needed. You could have asked to have everyone step outside and just talk to me behind closed doors – I doubt any of that would have been a problem."
"I don't want to look like a bitch," she mutters, almost on reflex.
I can't help it – frustration finally gets the best of me with that answer. "Are you shitting me, Mid?" I spout in exasperation.
Midnight's brow hardens in an instant as she takes offense to my outburst. "Well fuck, everyone else makes it seem like it's no big fucking deal to be here!" she bellows back. "For fuck's sake, while I'm in there being put under a microscope, Starla's sitting there chumming it up with the doctor like they're longtime friends! What the fuck does that say if I need to tuck tail and scamper away for a few minutes bec—"
Everything she's using as an argument sickens me, but one detail in particular lights a fire under my ass in an instant. I grab Midnight with both hands and firmly shake her to cut off the excuses. "You aren't Starla, you stubborn ass!"
With my unexpected reaction, Midnight's eyes widen and she falls silent. "I know I'm not," she retorts in an uncharacteristic meek voice. The split second following that recharges her enough to tack on an equally quiet "dickhead."
Midnight's response – more significantly, the lack of bite – forces me to take stock of what I'm doing. While hardly aggressive enough to even cause discomfort, I'm ashamed as I let Midnight go and reel myself back in. As Midnight eases back into her separate corner, I cut the ignition to the truck, and everything falls silent once again.
I'm frazzled by... everything. It's terrifying to watch someone I care about get engulfed in a panic attack like that while I try to figure out what to do to calm her and bring her back from the edge. It's beyond frustrating that someone I care so much about still feels the need to put on a mask to face challenges – even after time and time again, I've begged her to rest her head on my shoulder when she needs a moment. And she's been good about that more often than not, to the point I figured we had an understanding.
But tonight wipes that away. Midnight still feels the need to be a hardass – nothing should bother her. Except it does behind closed doors.
But it's more than that – I'm scared, plain and simple. I do what I can to help Midnight out, but I'm no psychologist. I haven't a clue how to deal with things like tonight, and I'm scared of what happens if Midnight keeps trying to suppress shit like tonight, or even a week ago during the sleepover with her memory flashback.
I don't know how to tackle stuff like this that's coming back to haunt her. She apparently remembers more than she's willing to let on, and those memories are strong enough and traumatic enough to torment her from time to time.
"I thought... I didn't think it was going to be a major issue," Midnight says quietly. "I've been able to grin and bear it before, numerous times... I've never done – what happened when we got back in here was new to me. It just all caught up at once, I guess."
"I thought you were just pissed at me, Middie. Honestly, I sort of wish that had been the case," I sigh, leaning forward and resting my head on the rip of the steering wheel.
"You wanted me to be mad at you? Really?" she asks, skeptical of my claim.
I turn my head to look at her. "Midnight, you scared the absolute shit out of me. You understand that, don't you?" I counter. Maybe the outburst did me some good, as I'm finding it much easier to remain calm now.
But Midnight looks lost by my claim. Even though she herself admits that sort of full-on break I a new experience, she doesn't connect the significance of what it's like to be witness to such a thing.
I sit back up in my seat, keeping my eyes on her the whole time. "Midnight, how else am I supposed to feel when someone I love is hyperventilating in my arms? How am I supposed to feel if I'm trying to help out someone I love who may be having a mental breakdown – and I have no idea how to stop it? Does that make sense?"
"I... I guess I didn't think it was that bad." Despite her claim, there is no conviction in her voice; she's trying to convince herself as much as me at the moment. But her ears don't lie, for they droop as low as her spirits right now.
"I'm sorry to tell you – it was that bad, Mid. That's why I said I'd rather have had you pissed at me. That I know and can work through. This... this was something else. And what was that about nightmares? Reliving nightmares?"
Midnight averts her eyes, preferring to find interest in the floorboards of the Trailduster rather than you. "I've had some nightmares here and there in the past week. I don't know if they're actual memories I forced down or just pieces of what I went through, but..."
"And those seemed to be perfectly fine to ignore and shove aside, too?"
"It's hard, John. I know what you're saying, but... the thought of talking about it is hard."
"But what good is biting your tongue doing, Midnight? What good did it do tonight?" I protest, almost pleading with her at this point to listen. "For god's sake, I've told you before and I'll say it again and again – lean on me. I don't want you to get stuck in this shit. Help me help you."
But Midnight has nothing to say as she raises her head – and glances out her window. Despite my pleading, despite what has transpired in the last ten or so minutes, Midnight remains steadfast in her desire to 'deal with it' on her own.
What I thought had been a relatively positive night has turned itself upside down in a matter of moments. I feel helpless and angry – angry at Midnight for being this stubborn, and angry with myself for feeling anger towards her. Can I really blame her for being so stuck in her ways? I don't know – but I thought we had left this kind of shit behind. Both the secrets and the past.
But there's no point in sitting here being miserable. With a sigh of resignation, I reach back to the truck's ignition switch and twist the—
The keys aren't in the ignition. I turned off the engine just moments ago and left them to hang there. But a search around the floor at my feet in the dark turns up empty. So too does the quick patdown of my pockets.
Yet in a brief moment where I pause to consider my next search, a weight manifests on my right shoulder. It's a weight that is accompanied by the tickle of hair against my face, and hair falling limply down my chest and back.
I don't need a hint to tell me what it is – and I know turning my head is just going to greet me with a mass of blue and violet mane. But the other piece of the puzzle falls into place as a set of keys is tossed into my lap – the keys that had gone missing.
"What do you want to know?" Midnight's hushed voice questions.
Well, that's being put on the spot – after everything just discussed, where do I begin?
Well, the beginning might be good. "What was... what bothered you about the clinic?"
"There were a lot of things that bothered me," she responds, keeping her voice low. But the statement isn't a dismissal – it's an admittance that she doesn't know where to begin, either.
"What was the first thing you noticed in there that felt... wrong?"
"The smell." It's a response that comes with no hesitation. "That smell of... cleanliness. Chemical cleaners to sterilize, clean up... the aftermath. Get everything spic and span for the next time they decide to 'try something new'."
Keen to keep Midnight continuing on with this exercise now, I nod my head, keeping my tongue silent.
"That was the first thing when we went through the doors was that chemical smell – that started bringing back... things," she mumbles, as if now in a trance. "But I... I was able to put that aside. Then we went down the hall and it was— that sound."
"The sound?"
I feel Mid nod her head on my shoulder. "That echo of footsteps. I've never forgotten the way they sound. There is nothing that replicates the sound of steps on tile echoing in a narrow, plaster-walled hallway," she whispers. "If I heard footsteps heading in my direction, it always made me tense; I didn't get visitors unless they had a purpose. That purpose either involved a new idea, checking in on the progress of the current idea, or fetching me to test for results."
I feel her quiver slightly following that statement, forcing me to put my arm around her whether she likes it or not. Considering she scoots up closer to me... it's a good call.
"It— the longer we were in there, the more I felt like I was reliving those horrible days. Like I was stuck there, just waiting to see head dick and his cronies come in, ready to take me back."
"That's not going to happen – I won't let it."
"I know – but it's... I'm scared of how much I remember. How something like tonight can bring back so many feelings," she says. It's the first time I can recall ever hearing her sound so... helpless.
Yet it must be infectious, for that same feeling starts to well up inside me. I can beat back anyone who wants to harm Middie or take her away, but I can do nothing to beat back past trauma from coming back to torment her. I can give her a hug and dry her tears, but when it comes to memories coming back, I can only offer to listen.
But I'll make sure I do the best I can do if that's the only avenue I have. That being said, I still need Midnight's help. Her silence now gives me an opportunity to speak up. "Middie, I need you to promise me we are not repeating tonight. Ever again."
"You won't hear an argument from me. I'll happily stay far away from vet clinics," she replies with a slight forced chuckle.
I know she's just trying to make the situation light-hearted, but this is a matter too serious to let such a thing slide. I turn my head to stare at her – just as she shifts her head enough to display a glimmer of blue light from one eye. But I say nothing; I prefer to wait for her to admit defeat.
"Sorry," she mumbles, deflated.
"You need to promise me you're gonna take a step back when things start feeling uncomfortable like tonight. You're a strong mare – but no one can just carry that kind of burden on her own. You proved that tonight, for better or worse."
Midnight sighs deeply as she pulls away and sits back on her side. I keep my eyes on her the whole time, waiting for a gesture or verbal confirmation. After a few seconds, Midnight slowly nods her head. "I don't want to repeat tonight, either. I promise, John," she solemnly swears.
Good. While she had already promised me before to open up when things were bothering her, tonight feels like a wake-up call that this is a promise to take seriously. I believe her, and I'll hold her to it – even if it means asking embarrassing questions to her when I feel something isn't... right.
With that settled, I snatch up my keys and get the truck running again. Just as I'm about to start backing up, my phone dings a notification. Pausing, I pull it out, curious as to who would be trying to contact me this late at night.
Of course, I should have expected that – Teddy's name pops up with a new message notification. But as I select it and open it up on the touchscreen... I realize I'm just a bit off on identification.
'Ids mifdnioght ok? :('
Either Teddy has hit the sauce bottle hard in a matter of a few minutes, or someone lacking digits necessary for texting on a small device has taken command out of concern.
I pass Midnight my phone just before we start rolling back out of the parking spot. "Here. Answer your big sis – I think you scared the crap out of her, too."
"I guess it really was that bad," Midnight laments. Nevertheless, reading the message earns a snort of amusement from her. "Either Teddy turned off autocorrect, or autocorrect wanted nothing to do with deciphering and fixing Star's attempt to type."
Maybe it's relief after the stress of tonight – but I laugh way harder than what's probably appropriate at Midnight's comment. Before long, Middie herself joins in on the guffaws. It injects a bit of much-needed positivity into the night as we set off for home.
Work has kept Midnight and me busy; a large influx of orders the last couple of days has had the two of us scurrying around the junkyard quicker than a cat burying shit on a hot tin roof. It's been great for the business and finances, but left the pair of us tired in the evenings. As a result, I haven't accomplished much with the Hemi rebuild for the Chrysler. I took the time to install it on the engine stand the same day we brought it home and started fitting crank bearings...
That's about it. Midnight has been tired enough to pass on any work to the 300 in the evenings, too – an oddity for her, but from my vantage point, completely understandable.
And yet... It worries me a little bit, since it isn't like her to wave the white flag and let fatigue win over project progress. While I know I'm likely overthinking things, the immediate aftermath of the doctor's visit refuses to leave my mind. The concern lingers, and I can't deny I have reservations about what that visit and outburst could leave behind.
So, with another evening set for relaxing on the couch, I do just as I have the prior few nights – fiddle around on the laptop. Midnight had been perfectly content to watch auctions on TV, leaving me with free rein over what was once my laptop... that I hardly get to use anymore.
...I tell myself I'm just playing around looking through the internet, but that doesn't last long. Every night, my mind turns back to Midnight, picturing her wrapped around me in the throes of a panic attack – and realizing how much it terrified me to sit there almost helpless while trying to talk her down.
It's inevitably led me down the path of some serious reading; rudimentary how-tos and insights on trauma, panic attacks, and how to combat them as the afflicted individual, and as the outsider. How helpful they've been... well, I can't really say. I can make sense of some of it, and maybe I at least make myself feel better by exploring avenues to help her, but I've not found anything particularly eye-opening in the past handful of nights.
Tonight has been no different with an hour already under my belt.
"How the hell you've managed to avoid carpal tunnel syndrome this long is beyond me." Midnight's comment from out of the blue draws my focus away from the computer on my lap and over to the mare seated on the couch beside me.
"Huh?"
Midnight leans back, resting her head on the top cushion of the couch as she smirks at me. "I didn't think the joke was that difficult to understand," she says, moving her hoof in a demonstrative up-and-down stroking motion.
I have to roll my eyes, finding the joke barely passable considering the circumstances. "It would have made more sense if this wasn't, y'know, sitting on my lap?" I point to the computer with my left hand, while the right quickly closes out of the current browser window.
"You could be sneaking a game of pocket pool – you aren't that big," she jabs with a snicker.
"If I had a pillow, I'd hit you with it," I grumble in mock anger, glancing over to my left for a pillow I know does not exist.
However, as I turn my head back toward Midnight, a pillow levitates within reach for me. Midnight tosses her head back, clearing her hair away from the side of her face and offering up a clear target. "Here you go. Don't say I never help you out," she gushes in amusement.
I raise my hand as if to reach for the pillow, but stop short and drop my arm. "Nah, I wouldn't want to risk damaging that pretty face," I muse.
"As if I'm that delicate," she replies with a chuckle. "That sounds like the excuse of a bonafide bitch."
"Well now, with as much as you're trying to goad me into hitting you, I'm starting to think you got a kink for it," I shoot back with a sly grin.
Midnight's cockiness falters upon hearing my retort, allowing the pillow to fall back to the couch. "You always find ways to make innocuous things so fucking weird," she laments.
"Me? You're the one insinuating I'm over here flogging my dolphin while you watch TV," I protest.
It garners some stifled laughter from Midnight for a moment. But it fades away as she takes on a bit more serious expression, only tainted by the slightest smirk that refuses to extinguish. "I never knew you were such a sucker for psychology. You've been really invested in the subject the last couple of nights," she comments, batting her eyes at me.
...so she hasn't been watching TV as closely as I thought. My face grows warm as I try to think of how to answer her; after all, I figure looking into this would be a bit touchy for her, as if suggesting she's too delicate to deal with her issues as they come.
"You— ah, got a glimpse of what I was doing once or twice?"
"Nah, you've been pretty good at keeping the screen away from me," she answers, shaking her head. "What you haven't done is delete your browsing history, and since you seem so interested in reading all of a sudden, well... I decided I ought to peruse your sudden fascination for myself." It's an explanation that comes without missing a beat nor emitting an ounce of shame – preferring to take pride in her sleuthing.
"Huh. Guess I should have learned my lessons regarding computers after you went through my finances on the PC downstairs during your first week living with me."
"Oooh, I didn't take you for one to hold a grudge," she sasses, putting a hoof up to her mouth in a mocking gasp.
"It's fine. I'll heal in hell," I jab back, turning my nose up and crossing my arms.
"Oh, I'm sure," Middie chuckles, sliding up next to me. I give up my little charade and let my arms fall back to my sides.
"You don't seem upset about my current research project. I have to say I'm a little bit surprised by that," I admit, deciding to put an arm around her back.
I feel her shrug in response. "It wouldn't have stopped you anyway, and I recognize being pissy about such a little thing isn't worth it. It's not like what you're looking up is an attack on me – though I might have seen it that way, once upon a time."
"It's not that I don't trust you keeping your promise," I quickly add. But Midnight raises a hoof to stop me from going further.
"Let's be honest – I've not been doing very well with being open. It's something I've struggled with chronically since the day we met," she admits, hanging her head. "I guess... a couple of nights ago was unpleasant. For both of us. But I think it was more than that for me."
"More than... what exactly?" I ask, confused about where she's headed on this train of thought.
"More than – let's call a spade a spade. I cracked. I had a meltdown, panic attack – however you want to summarize, but it was a low point. But I guess in that instant, when it did happen... I didn't really even think. I just threw myself onto you. You were the rock I needed to hold me steady at that point in time."
Awestruck by Midnight's forwardness with her feelings, I can't do much other than nod in hopes she will continue her thoughts. She's gotten much better at letting her guard down over time, but it seems like once in a while, that easing out of her cocoon gets taken up a notch; this is feeling like one of those moments.
"I'm stubborn, I'm set in my ways – there's no way around that. But a lot of that is because I've always had to go it alone. The ups, the downs – I didn't have anyone to lean on or celebrate with. But I have folks that give a shit now, folks that want me to open up and... I don't want to say 'take advantage' because it's a two-way street, but I need to let go a little more. Help others help myself."
Midnight sucks in a breath of fresh air after that long-winded explanation. Maybe it's just the day catching up with her, or maybe that was a lot for her to come out and admit – but she suddenly looks very tired. I suspect she's been dwelling on this for about as much as I've spent trying to read up on helping her.
But she's been carrying baggage for a long, long time – tonight is another load allowed to drop free from her shoulders. I've told her numerous times to lean on me, with middling results; with the wake-up call a handful of days ago, it sounds like she understands why I push the idea. I pull her up closer to me, to which she freely yields with a slide across the cushion.
"If you were wondering, this is all me," she comments. Again, a statement that perplexes me, and my expression causes Midnight to realize clarification is in order. "I haven't talked to Starla since we got back from the doc visit. A back and forth once in messages but... I've kinda avoided touching on that with her. I've needed time to think on my own."
"Oh – I guess I hadn't even thought about some sisterly counseling," I admit, scratching my head. "I guess that goes to show I have more faith in your logic and reasoning than you thought."
"In my defense— actually I guess it would be in your defense if you had thought this was from sibling talk— I didn't have sound reasoning trying to grit my teeth and push through my anxiety. Kind of a big jump in thought processes between then and now."
"Fair point – but you're still the toughest, scariest, and most badass mare I know," I remark, trying to spark up that fiery confidence she usually displays.
At the very least, Midnight's face displays some amusement. "You know me and Starla. That's not a very big pool of candidates," she reminds me.
"There was that Twilight bot the first time we went to the store," I counter. "Also, some other bots I've seen in passing."
"Oh – my goodness, that changes everything!" she cries out in exaggerated tones.
"So I take it you really aren't bothered by me trying to look up some psychology shit behind your back in an effort to help you, huh?"
"Nah – though I'm guessing you haven't come up with much, huh?"
"Not really. I guess I'm not sure what I was looking for, either – not like there's gonna be a quick cure for what ails you. Pony psychologists aren't a thing, either."
Midnight shoots me a queer expression with that last quip, trying to read my face whether that was a sincere consideration.
"It was a bad joke," I affirm.
"I'll take your word for it," she replies, remaining wary. "But I will say it was sort of funny watching you act all sly with this reading in secret."
"How long before you caught on? This morning while going through the laptop?"
"Oh – no, it was the first night you started this endeavor. Quickly looked while you went downstairs for the bathroom," she replies without hesitation or regret. "You're never that honed in on your reading, so I knew something had to be up."
"You fucker." Quickly setting the laptop on the coffee table in front of us, I lean back into the couch, only to lower my shoulder and shove Midnight with a force only slightly above a token gesture.
Still, I know how these things usually go – the laptop does not need to become collateral.
"Don't push me, you stupid bastard," Midnight hisses, playing up her imaginary ire as she shoves me back, adding just a bit more power behind it.
"You hurt my feelings, made me think I was actually keeping it from you," I whine back at her. Turning my body, this time I shove Midnight over in a more proper manner with my hands on her side.
"You don't have feelings, you lying sack of shit," Midnight scoffs, straightening up her body as she recovers from my shove. One of her wings splays open, whacking me on the back and the back of the head with a decent *whump* .
It's enough force to push me forward a bit, but I exaggerate her strength, leaning all the way forward and grunting. "I'm pretty sure those are illegal weapons. You got a concealed carry license to have those at least?"
"You can see em even when they're folded up, dumb-dumb," Midnight retorts with a chuckle. For demonstration, she folds the appendage away, then motions to it with a hoof.
"Hmph. That was still assault – probably still deadly weapons. That's big jail time."
"Oh? And just what are you gonna do about it? Who are you gonna tell," she croons, plastering on a devious grin that just urges me to try my best.
Quick as a flash, I raise up my arm, index finger on my hand already stuck out in preparation to boop her on the nose. But Midnight is faster, and her foreleg halts my arm from movement before I'm halfway there.
"Really, that tired old play?" she sasses. "Come on, are you really just a one trick po—"
As she began to throw shade my way, I've snuck my other arm downward, and manage to goose her right on her lavender flank without any warning. Stopped dead in her tracks as she jolts up, Midnight's eyes widen at me.
"Boop?" I suggest.
Without a word, Midnight rises up to her hooves and steps forward to the edge of the couch. Taking a slow step toward me— I'm thrown to the couch. One of her legs darts out in a blink to hook me and toss me into a lying position. With that accomplished, she seamlessly spins around and straddles me. I shift around till I'm on my back, trying to figure out what is going on. That seems to be just what was expected of me, for Midnight grins and lays down atop me.
"For that move, you're gonna be the couch for the rest of the night," she states, stretching out her form. I feel her back hooves contact my feet, while her forelegs stretch out to dangle over either of my shoulders.
I feign a brief attempt to struggle against her but decide to 'accept' my fate. "Oh man, this is horrible," I groan, purposely devoiding my voice of emotion. I put my arms around her in an embrace, soaking in the soft warmth of her underbelly and the rhythmic beating of her heart.
"Don't blame me – this was the path you chose," she tacks on, keeping her voice low and ominous. Her wings ruffle against my arms, urging me to release her for a moment. I let her go, but my arms don't get far – briefly snapping open her feathery wings, the plumage snatches up my arms and eases them onto her sides as the appendages fold up once again. "There's no escaping this," she says, emitting a quiet, sinister laugh.
"You're awful. An absolute monster."
"Not a monster – a nightmare," she corrects. A devilish grin speaks across her muzzle, giving me a glimpse of her fangs in all their glory.
"Are we going with 'nightmare' here or 'night mare'?"
"Aww, listen to you trying to be all cute and funny," she croons, lowering her head to plant a smooch on my forehead. "Too late, it's not gonna save you."
I lay there and take my punishment now as Midnight rests her head down, right next to mine. I legitimately can't think of a worse torture now in all the world...
With a short day of parts picking behind us, today is lending itself nicely to some forward progress on the Chrysler 300. While Midnight overhauls the brakes on all four corners of the beast on the lift, I'm tackling the engine rebuild – what has basically become my sole job on this project aside from supervisory and instructional moments from time to time.
I have the bottom end just about finished up. With the crank bearings already started a day or two ago, I've been able to get the crankshaft set in and bolted up, all the piston rings gapped and installed to allow for piston installation, and finally finishing up the rod caps and bearings for the connecting rods. All told, it's been surprisingly smooth sailing with little to no hiccups; bearing clearances, critical to oiling and oil pressure, have been spot on.
At this point in time, I'm going through and double-checking the torque on each and every bolt of the rotating assembly, starting with the rod end caps. So far, everything has been snugged up...
*Ping!*
Oh shit.
"Shit!" Midnight's exclamation comes just seconds after my same thought... and my heart skipping a beat. I turn around from my little workstation to find Midnight scanning the floor near the Chrysler.
"Was that you?" I ask, hoping to narrow down the source of the noise.
Midnight raises her head and stares at me, briefly dumbfounded before rolling her eyes. "No, that was the Chrysler talking. KITT's older sister has a potty mouth," she sasses.
"I meant the noise, smartass. What are you looking for?"
"Oh – I thought you were being a smartass," Midnight confesses, cringing a bit. "One of the brake shoe return springs went flying off somewhere when I was trying to hook it in. I dunno if I broke it or what happened."
"Not to celebrate your misfortune, but I'm glad that's all it was," I sigh in relief. "Thought I had snapped something in the engine or dropped something."
"How is that going? You've been surprisingly quiet for some time now." She pads over to me and the engine stand. Scanning the outside of the block briefly, she focuses on the assembly I've been piecing together this afternoon, offering a nod of approval I can't help but find rather amusing.
"Good – glad my supervisor approves of my work, too," I joke. Midnight gives me a playful hipcheck before doing a pirouette, heading back toward the Chrysler to resume her work.
Actually... did she get the new parts out, or is she reusing the ancient hardware on the car?
"Before you get back to putting that together, did I mention I have new parts for the brakes?" I ask, halting Midnight in her tracks.
"Assuming you're being serious and aren't referring to the brake shoes and drums – no, that's news to me," she laments. "That would have been nice to know before I started reassembly – I'm just about done with the first corner."
"Ah crap – I'm sorry Mid. I wasn't thinking when you mentioned doing brakes. Aside from the major bits." I set down the torque wrench in my hand and make my way towards the counter, and the shelves that have been collecting car parts amongst the shop manuals.
"It's fine. I actually enjoy wasting my time," Midnight remarks in a rather biting tone. Nevertheless, she follows behind me as I make my way around.
"Sorry, I'm retarded."
"You can't apologize for something you force me to suffer and endure every day."
As I start to scan through the packed shelves, I begin to realize how many parts and pieces have come in for the Chrysler project lately – and how little time I've spent marking each package denoting the contents and organization in general on this section of the shop.
"This is gonna be the start of a scavenger hunt, isn't it?" Midnight sighs in resignation.
"Sorry—"
"Retarded, I know. You can't use that more than once in an hour," she interjects.
"Oh, I didn't know that," I comment. "Sorry, re—"
"You're cruisin for a bruisin, dipshit."
About the time I start scheming up a response, my eyes settle upon one of the smaller white cardboard boxes on the shelf roughly at waist level. Even with everything here, I somehow instantly recognize it as the package containing brake hardware. Plucking the box from its hiding spot, I whirl around and present it to Midnight. "Here – that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Silence and a deadpan stare are my answers as the box slips out of my hands and floats toward Midnight.
"With that kind of attitude, I think I should have pretended to need to search longer."
"If you didn't get attitude from me, you'd have no drive – and you'd feel deprived," Mid counters.
"Ha, that rhymed. And I'm not going to agree with you, because you'll just take it to the next level."
Midnight just shakes her head, smirking as she spins around and heads back toward the project on the lift. She's doing her work the smart way – while both rear wheels are off of the car, only one side is torn apart. With focus purely on one side and the other still being complete, it makes for a perfect reference in case one forgets how everything went together and should look.
Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. It's miserable trying to remember how everything fits just going off memory – and twice the number of parts lying scattered everywhere. At least Midnight didn't have to learn the hard way like I have in the past. On repeated occasions.
"I thought I was doing a decent job of whipping you into shape, keeping things organized," Midnight calls back. "What the fuck happened?"
"You did. We've had a lot of parts come in just in the last week, and I've been sidetracked in my thinking to really pay attention to where I'm putting items."
"In other words, you're worrying too much about me, when you need to be worrying about everything else." While it comes out in a cocky tone I'm used to, Midnight's musing on such a serious topic as her well-being hits a nerve. Just before I start heading back around the counter to resume my work, I spy an errant bolt lying on the counter...
Quickly snapping it up, I sidehand it toward Midnight – who, quick as a whip and always on her toes, manages to sense it and dodge the projectile. The bolt clatters across the floor, disappearing to who knows where.
"Hey, fucker – I was only joking!" she cries, twirling around to leer at me.
"It's hard to tell with you sometimes. Also, you always throw things at me," I make sure to point out.
Midnight's ears briefly flatten against her head, but she takes a step forward. "That's because more often than not, you deserve it."
"Once in a while, yes. You go above and beyond," I pout, crossing my arms.
"I'm an overachiever, I guess," she hmphs, allowing her face to soften up and relax again. "Anyway – from the looks of it, the engine assembly looks like it's going smoothly."
It seems like an innocuous comment... but I know better. That is a soft intro to floating a question I've been expecting all day – 'how long do you think it's gonna take to get it all put together?'
I can't fault her for getting excited – but I can have fun with it. Confident in my convictions on what Midnight is thinking, I proceed with what I have been planning all morning. "Yeah, been going quicker than I anticipated. Once I make sure everything is to spec as far as torque, I just have the oil pump and pickup tube to install, then the oil pan and accompanying gasket – that will finish up the bottom end, believe it or not."
"Hell, you keep up that torrid pace, we'll have the car running by the end of the week," she replies, perking up at the idea.
Called it – got her hook, line, and sinker.
"No, we got at least another month of work putting this together before I can even think about starting this up," I say, shaking my head forlornly in an attempt to sell it.
Midnight lets out an audible gasp as she takes me seriously. "What?! How?!" she exclaims. But my failure to keep a straight face quickly makes her realize I'm feeding her a load of shit. "See, this is why you get things thrown at you," she mutters unhappily with a scowl lining her face.
"It's kinda worth it for that sort of face and response," I say with a shrug.
"Alright then – I guess I need to come up with a better punishment for you since that no longer seems to be a viable deterrent."
"Oh dear – hopefully it's not more cuddles with you pinning me on the couch for a nap."
Midnight shakes her head at my suggestion, but refuses to proceed beyond that gesture. Instead, she finally returns to her prior work with the brakes.
"Having to scheme the next idea, or are you saving it as a surprise to spring on me later?" I ask.
Midnight turns her head to look at me. Though she doesn't have a verbal response, her stare is... there's a distinct mischievous gleam in her eyes that I can't put my finger on.
"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," I wisecrack.
Midnight smirks and shrugs her shoulders at my oft-used quip. But she holds her tongue, preferring to begin reassembling the brake drum above her with the new parts.
...is that the plan? Giving me the silent treatment?
"Wow, I didn't think you'd stoop to some grade-level bullshit for punishment. That's actually kind of pathetic, Mid," I lightly chastise her.
Wanting to revel in everything I have in store to counter her, Midnight positions herself off to the side of her area of work. It allows me to see her face without requiring her to turn away much – and she demonstrates this by shooting me a look of disappointment that matches my tone, before sticking her tongue out in defiance.
"You need to go back to the drawing board. That's really lame."
She just shakes her head, that smirk growing wider by the second. Seeing as how I'm just egging her on rather than cracking her... I leave well enough alone. I have my own project to continue.
Of course, the forced silence now feels awkward; it makes the torque wrench in my hand seem to click unnaturally loud as I finish the final round of tightening bolts. The radio remains on behind the counter, but it just seems... quiet. It doesn't alleviate the lack of commentary at all, only serving to emphasize it.
But now that I've inadvertently agreed to this game by not talking for a few minutes, I'm in a box; trying to break the stalemate would basically be giving in and letting her know I can't stand this stupid game. And it already is starting to drive me nuts.
Fate decides to intervene with a loud buzz near the counter. While unexpected, I know what it is – the sound of the electronic bell being pressed at the front gate, letting me know someone is here. Been a while since I've heard that – and I'm not expecting anyone...
"I'll be back, I'm gonna see who's a-knockin'."
Midnight just nods her head before I make my way out of the garage and into the afternoon sun. It isn't too hot today, making the short jaunt from the shop to the front gate a mundane but not unpleasant excursion on foot. But I hasten my steps when I hear the sound of a diesel crank up and clatter at idle just beyond the fence; but a full-blown sprint would have been necessary to catch the vehicle, for I hear it set off down the road just as I reach the man gate.
The lack of patience on my visitor's end makes more sense once I unlock the gate and step out into what was once my parking lot – a brown cardboard box lies just outside in the sand. A bit on the large side, it is plain aside from a white label on top, which piques my interest immediately; I hadn't been expecting any deliveries...
Picking it up reveals it's not a particularly heavy package; lightly shaking the box doesn't offer any clues, other than there are items inside that move around some. But the big blocky letters scrawled on the label bring a grin to my face – it's a package for Midnight.
The sender? None other than Starla.
Oh, this is too good. With renewed energy, I hustle back toward the shop, wielding the inadvertent gift just delivered to our address. Turning the corner into the garage, Midnight remains preoccupied with brake assembly, paying no mind to me as my feet find the concrete floor.
"Huh, looks like we got a package today," I comment aloud. "The weird thing is, it's addressed to Midnight."
That gets her attention immediately. Midnight freezes, turning her head to look at me with wide eyes.
"It's still technically my address, and I'm curious what could be in here, so I think I'll go ahead and—"
"Give me that!" Midnight cries out. She gallops toward me at full speed, though before she even reaches me, I can feel the box getting yanked out of my hands.
"Hey, I got you to talk again."
"Shut up, dick," Midnight mutters in defeat. Having slid to a halt, she now reverses course, turning away from me and walking toward the stairs.
"Hey, I want to see what's in there!" I call after her.
"No. This is the package I've been waiting for – it's not for your eyes," she replies, not bothering to look at me or arrest her walking pace.
I have no plans to invade her privacy, and I'm sure she knows that. Even so...
"You know, you have to sleep at some point..."
"And you'll be sleeping permanently if curiosity gets the best of you," Midnight counters with little hesitation. "I'm putting it in the back of the closet for now. If I see it moved – you die." With that, Midnight streaks up the stairs and out of sight beyond the door at the top.
I have just enough time to head back to the engine stand before Midnight trots back down the steps, ready to resume her work. "I'm not gonna touch it, scout's honor – but will I ever find out what was in that?" I ask.
"Eventually..." Midnight trails off, but a thin smile graces her face. Whether it's excitement about the contents of that package, or forcing me to endure the mystery...
Well, only she knows that for certain.
"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" Midnight's demeanor instantly downturn as I swing the Trailduster around in the parking lot.
"No – why would I?"
"Really? You're really gonna ask me why?" she laments. Not waiting for an answer, Midnight proceeds to tap the glass on her side of the truck, directing my attention to the sign hanging out front of the single-story establishment.
'Buckboard Bar and Grille.'
More of a bar than grille, but they have good food; furthermore, there aren't a lot of food options out in the middle of virtually nowhere. But it's not lost on me that we've been here before, and I thought there might be a bit of hesitation when Midnight saw where we were dining tonight...
After all, the last time we were here, Midnight inadvertently got very, very drunk. The result of that was... interesting. I still have the video of her singing karaoke that night – tucked away so Middie can't delete it if she wanted to.
But I hadn't anticipated Midnight to come off legitimately irritated returning to this spot; after all, it's been months since our one and only visit here. "Middie, do you really think anyone that's in there tonight is going to remember a night from months ago, if they were even present?" I propose for consideration.
Despite my efforts to use logic here, Midnight narrows her eyes at me. "It may have been months – but that's not long enough," she grumbles.
"Okay... how long should we stay away from this place? Just a ballpark answer is all I want."
"At the very least, a decade. Maybe two, just to be safe. I guarantee if anyone here tonight was there that awful night... well, how could they have forgotten?"
"You do have a point there," I say, crossing my arms. "It was a damn fine performance, if I do say so myself."
Those narrowed eyes and hardened face turn into a proper incensed glare upon hearing my attempted joke. That may have not been the correct tactic to use at this point...
"I guess that wasn't what you meant. My bad," I apologize.
"You know, I could really go for some liver tonight," Midnight comments in an ominous voice. She moves toward me, lowering her head toward my torso. "How's yours?"
"Sorry, I like that organ," I reply, unfolding my arms to block my abdomen now. "You can't have that. I think I need it, anyway."
At least I get a snort out of Midnight, who retreats back to her side of the truck now. But it doesn't resolve the current predicament we find ourselves in as we sit in the parking lot.
"Well, if not here, where do you want to eat? The drive in?" I offer as a settlement.
Midnight's face twists into a thinly-veiled cringe. "We just were there last week," she protests. "I kinda feel like that's become the same old, same old."
"Alright... there's the choke and puke staples. McDonald's? Burger King?"
This time, Midnight responds with a fervent shake of the head, not needing to add anything verbal.
"Well, neither you nor I wanted to make anything tonight, which is why we're here. We can reconsider what home has to offer or eat here," I explain, setting out my final ultimatum. "I'm not driving an hour out of my way for food tonight, Mid."
Looking like a toddler with choices not to her liking, Midnight hangs her head and pouts. Whether that pout is accompanied by internal thoughts on an impending decision is hard to say. If it comes down to it, I guess I'll make the decision to go home and cook something quick; it doesn't thrill me to have driven this way just to make a loop back for no reason, but I'm certainly not going to force her to go in.
"Look, I know it's a bit late for that, but I'm sorry I didn't ask if you were okay with coming here. I figured it had been long enough, and considering the indirect results of that night..." I trail off, pointing repeatedly to myself and her. "I guess I didn't think this would be an issue. Shouldn't have assumed."
"It was still an embarrassing evening, John," she whines, her gaze dropping to the floor.
"I know... but time heals all wounds, right?"
A distinct lack of amusement accompanies Midnight's face as she looks at me again following my feeble argument.
I don't think I'm winning this battle. Having left the truck running in a parking spot this whole time makes heading home a simple affair, and I decide to throw in the towel. Reaching up to grab the shifter and throw the Trailduster in reverse, I'm startled by the engine suddenly dying, watching as all the gauges in the dash fall to zero even as I blip the gas pedal in hopes of saving it.
"Relax, I did that," Midnight speaks up, sliding the keys from the ignition and levitating them in front of my face. Only briefly – for they suddenly get snatched away and dart toward the passenger seat. "I yield, but if anyone says anything about that night or remembers me, we are out of there. Got that?"
"Uh... what if we're legitimately in the middle of our meal and—"
"We pack it in and jet. It's the risk you take on this," Midnight interrupts.
Well... I really don't think anyone's gonna speak up even if they do recognize her. The choice here is a no brainer; I nod my head, and Midnight hands me my keys before popping open her door and hopping out with little fanfare. When I join her in front of the truck, she retains a steely, serious face that puts me back on edge. "No stupid comments in there, either," she warns me.
"Outside of the normal realm of stupidity, you mean?"
"There's strike one." Despite the response, there's enough sass evident in Midnight's voice to let me know she's not quite that bitter and vindictive.
There may be hope yet to make this a good night and a place we can frequent. As we enter the building, I have my fingers crossed for both.
"Been a while since we were here, but damn – the food is still awesome."
"Mhmm. But you're still kind of an asshole for bringing me back here without warning."
Well, I suppose that's a couple of steps above complete asshole, right? It's a musing I know is better off left unsaid – there's no way it will lead to a positive interaction between me and Midnight.
I get her reasoning for being perhaps a little disappointed in me, but this mood has dragged on through the evening and the meal. Midnight has been the only one to make mention of 'the last time' while we've been in here. But that hasn't stopped her from being unnaturally quiet tonight; her eyes have been busy darting around the interior, trying to catch someone, anyone , staring at her.
Other than the looks we got walking through the restaurant to our table, that is. That's a normal occurrence, and Midnight no longer sweats that sort of attention anywhere we go. No, she is still convinced that there are people here that remember her and secretly... remembering, I guess. I'm not sure.
I may have not helped matters when the waitress brought drinks out. Offering to sample Midnight's water for her might not have been the best idea. But it was a serious and honest gesture... for the most part. Regardless, I'm a bit disappointed with the night – I had really hoped and even expected Midnight would relax and let go of past events. Events that eventually led to where we are now.
Maybe that's what bothers me the most – this place is sort of special for actually bringing me and her together, even if it was by accident. Sure, we probably would have figured each other out at a later time – I doubt our relationship hinged on this evening of chance. But that being said, I wish Midnight could see it in the same light that I do.
Somehow, I need to figure out a way to get the non-existent spotlight off of her ‐ even if it is to my detriment. I don't care about how I look; I'm already a guy in a relationship with a pony. I don't think there's much left of a public reputation to tank for folks that can't look beyond that – but I'm good with it.
So, as I continue to pick at what's left of my food, my eyes begin to wander. Scanning across the thin dining area on this weekday night, then off toward the more popular bar...
From there, memory drives my vision toward a small television screen set up in the corner on a small stage – complete with microphone.
Of course – what better way to wipe away a memory of 'bad' karaoke? Witness a legitimately bad karaoke performance. I can easily do that. Without uttering a word to Midnight, I slip out of our booth and head toward the bar.
The bartender tonight is a younger guy, probably about my age. While in the process of shaking up a customer's drink in a stainless tumbler, he spies me making my way in his direction; he's all ears once I get there, sensing I have something to ask.
"Hey, you got any plans to run karaoke tonight?" I ask, thumbing in the direction of the setup.
The bartender eyes grow a bit wide at the question, but that fades as he shrugs off the initial moment of surprise and sets down the mixer in his hands. "I suppose it's always open, if you wanna try it. Not often I get asked that from someone sober."
"I might be better drunk, but I'll just have to settle for relying on my stupidity," I wisecrack.
The man slips out from behind the bar and leads me over to the karaoke setup. Along the way, I shoot a glance back over to my table, where Midnight remains seated. Her eyes are glued to me as I make my way around the dining room; the faint blue glow from them is able to be seen even from this distance as she tries to discern exactly what I'm up to now.
"Uh... you know what song you want?" the bartender asks, drawing my focus back to the task at hand.
I have to shake my head. "I need to get a look at what's on offer," I reply as he starts flipping through songs on the television screen via remote.
With my answer, he hands off the remote to me. "Alright then – go ahead and scroll through with these, and whenever you find what you want, just hit enter, then play," the bartender explains, pointing out the buttons on the remote for me. "I gotta get back to the bar. By the way, this thing shuts off by itself after a few minutes of inactivity, so you don't have to worry about fussing with anything else when you're done."
"Alright, thanks," I answer, just before the bartender heads back to his work. For the next few moments, I'm busy picking through the wealth of options on order for songs. I really have no idea what I want; actually, I really don't want to do this at all, but it's for a good cause. I'd just like it to be something that... fits.
Unfortunately, there's a lot of stuff that I don't even know or recognize...
"What the fuck are you doing?" Midnight's hushed voice rings out behind me. As I turn to look at her, the terse face she greets me with matches the tone of her voice.
"Nothing. Just sit back down, I won't be too long," I assure her, refusing to explain myself.
"I am not singing again."
"Never said you were," I idly reply while I return to the TV screen.
Oh. I kinda remember this... and the lyrics sorta fit the moment – kind of. At least, from what I can recall...
Screw it. We're going with this one – I'm not going to sit here and scroll for the 'perfect' song that may or may not exist. I turn back to Midnight and put on a big smile for her. "Go back to your seat and just enjoy the show, Middie," I croon.
"John, I swear—" Before she can finish, I hit play on the remote, starting up the music and sending Middie scurrying back to our booth.
I snap up the microphone from its stand as I spin around to face the room. A few folks have directed their attention toward me with the start of the music, and I offer up a wave. "Good evening everyone, my name is John," I announce. "Pleased to be your entertainment for the night as I make an ass of myself."
I get a few chuckles and murmurs from people, but I swear above all that, I can hear Midnight groan. Back at our booth, she's slumped down in the seat, using her hooves and wings to shield herself from second-hand embarrassment.
Can't worry about that now – it's showtime.
"We had a life, we had a love..." As I start off, I'm already feeling unsure of this choice. I apparently don't remember near as much of this song as I thought I did, and it's not fitting the vibe I wanted...
"How many times can I say I'm sooorry?" Well, that line at least carries some meaning. And thankfully, they have the backup singers to aid in carrying out the song properly. I shuffle up to the edge of the stage and hone my focus solely on Midnight. "Yes, I'm sooorry!"
As the song continues on, I note Midnight is ever so slowly creeping out of her cocoon. Little by little, I can first spot her eyes, then a bit of her face. Hard to tell from this distance, but I can imagine she's still probably cringing a bit at this whole charade.
That's alright, I'm cringing at my own efforts to sing right now. If there were music producers scouting for talent in attendance tonight, I guarantee they won't ever be coming back here with the show I'm putting on. As the music swells towards the chorus, this is the part of the song I do remember, and I guess the reason I actually went with it.
"Well you know, you can run, and you can hide. But I'm not leaving 'less you come with me!"
As I launch into it, a little bit more of Midnight's shield falls away - but she still keeps her head low to the table.
"We've had our problems, but I'm on your side! You're all I need, please believe in meee!"
I really don't know what to do while I'm up here, aside from singing. I start slowly pacing the stage as I continue the song, having to focus on the screen for lyrics. I start to wonder if I should have given Midnight my phone to record me – just to make this an even score between us, too. But I'm not drunk dancing...
As the chorus comes up again, my eyes dart back toward out table – and surprisingly, Midnight is nowhere to be found. Frantically scanning the room for her while I sing, I feel stupid when I draw my gaze closer... and find her standing about a foot from the stage.
"You're a dumbass," she says, just loud enough for me to hear. Despite her insult, Middie is fighting hard to keep a grin from taking over her face.
"You're all I need, let me show you..." It's part of the lyrics, but I make sure to lock eyes with Mid as I sing the line. She quickly drops her gaze to the floor, awkwardly kicking at the carpeting.
But I keep my attention on her, only straying away for the next set of lyrics as they come.
"They say you can't take it with you when you go – and III believe it!"
Midnight shakes her head in defeat. When she looks up, she's smiling back at me, unfiltered.
"But taking what I got, or being here with you – you know I—I'd rather leave it!"
Feel like I've scored a little victory now, I myself give up and try doing a little shuffle with the beat, waiting for the next bit to kick in. It gets Midnight to laugh, and thankfully, no one in the crowd is hucking AAA batteries at me for this yet.
Perhaps most surprising, as I finish off the song, Midnight mouths the lyrics along with me. However, she's sure to position herself to where I'm the only one that can view this sight – but that's fine. She wasn't supposed to be singing this.
"You're all I need – please believe in meee..."
As the music dies off and I set the microphone back in its place, a few claps come in from the folks still in attendance. Granted, that may be in thankfulness that it's over rather than appreciation of my attempt to emulate Phil Collins, but I don't care. The one I do care about walks beside me as we make our way back to the table.
"I can't believe you actually did that," Midnight murmurs as she hops into the booth. She's trying to regain some semblance of a straight face, but it's not coming together well.
"Yeah well... to use someone else's famous words, 'it felt right'," I comment, trying to keep a straight face myself – and also failing at it. Midnight reaches and lightly raps the back of my hand with her hoof as I fiddle with my plate.
"So... any chance we'll be able to come back here again after that?" I suggest.
"That depends," Midnight quickly replies, pretending to mull her decision for a moment. "You think you can stomach showing your face in here after that embarrassing show?"
"I think I can manage. Maybe we could do a proper duet next time."
Midnight recoils, scoffing at the idea. "Dream on, fucker."
"Mid, I don't think I can get anywhere close to Steven Tyler's vocal range. I'd butcher that song."
"Hoo boy. I think you just need to stop while you have my approval for a return visit. You're gonna make me reconsider with comments like that."
I don't think I will ever get used to these... things. It's been miserable getting used to them – their weight, the sensations I can feel through them, and their movements. These wings are a burden I find utterly humiliating to endure. As usual, I wasn't forewarned, I wasn't asked my opinion. One day, I just fell asleep... and the next memory is waking up with a new set of limbs to figure out.
I suppose this is still a mild inconvenience compared to the experiment with my eyes... but that's little consolation.
No, the most humiliating thing about these stupid masses of feathers attached to me now is their origin. Granted, it's quite vain and absurd to think I would have rather had a custom set of wings created and slapped on me, but knowing that these damn things were pulled out of the scrap heap, dyed a color that was 'good enough'...
Somehow, that just makes it all worse.
Figuring out how they work has been hell for... however long it's been since the procedure. They twitched, spasmed, and flared out at random – almost from the day I awoke with them, making recovery a painful and agonizing process. I don't know how they work or how they were... integrated into me. But I know what little sleep I had been getting before was being interrupted by these damn things having a mind of their own at the most inopportune time.
They don't feel particularly heavy, but having to adjust to a new, foreign weight forever tied to my back has been a trial in itself. Even beyond the surgery, my back and joints have been cracked by aches and pains, fighting to make sense of this sudden addition. It's only been recently that such fatigue has finally begun to fade away.
But even as I've figured out some semblance of control over them, how muscle and nerves have somehow melded with wires and actuators and become functional...
I'm a legitimate freak now. I feel like my mere existence now is an affront to the natural world. It wasn't my choice – as it never is – but just a look at my reflection with these cursed things is almost enough to make me dry heave. I want nothing more than to rip them off and be free of them – but that's not going to happen.
After all, 'new plans' are afoot down here in regards to me; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to determine the end goal is flight. But that hardly seems like a major breakthrough considering the ponybots – including the one whose wings I now possess – are already capable of flight.
Part of me wants to say it's just for the fun of torturing me; that may not be too far-fetched. I'm well aware that at this point, the project manager wants to be rid of me. But from bits and pieces of what I have heard, the higher-ups are impressed by what he's put me through and accomplished.
His 'brilliance' makes him a hot commodity – but moving him off of my project, now? Not an option – who would carry on with the ingenious ideas and experiments he's cooked up? No, moving up isn't an option for the boss down here, not while I'm still a viable test subject...
With that in mind, I don't understand why he doesn't just 'accidentally' kill me. It would be simple enough for a procedure to go wrong, wouldn't it? It frees both of us from misery.
This isn't a life worth living. I wake up every day as a specimen in a fish tank. I don't have any free will here. My existence is pain, recovery, tests, and repeat.
How is that something worth fighting for? How is that worth prolonging? I'm just... tired.
I don't want this. I never wanted any of this. But it was never an offer put forth with a yes or no answer. Just by existing, I guess I agree to it.
But... well, I don't want death, either. I want something... something more. I don't know what that 'something' is, but I guarantee there's more outside these walls that have held me captive for so long. I have a vague idea of what lies beyond in large part due to the computer chips they stuffed inside my head. But nothing... nothing I can really process into something that makes sense.
From the bed where I lay, footsteps begin to echo from down the hall, beyond the door that sits opposite where I am in my room. With not much else to do down here, I've gotten good at hearing and determining who – or at the very least, how many – guests I can expect to receive when they finally manifest in front of my door.
It's two sets of footsteps, with one set quick and heavy – undoubtedly the head jackass, whose name I've forcibly forgotten.
The other set is familiar as well, though not ingrained into my head like Baldy's impatient tempo. No, the other set is more like a shuffling light footstep, almost reluctant to even be heading this way. Baldy's trusted lackey that somehow hasn't quit, despite seeming to just be a pushover of a verbal punching bag when the boss is in a bad mood.
I happen to look up at the door just in time to see my assumptions are correct – there's bald boy and his mop-head assistant.
"How are we getting around today?" Dickhead asks in his usual uncaring tone.
"Fucking lovely as always. What do you want?" I drone back, equally as uninterested.
"How are the wing movements coming alone?" Baldy doesn't bat an eye at my response today; sometimes, just to look for a reason to argue, he'll take exception to the language that I've gleaned from him.
But I'm feeling combative – if only out of pure boredom. "I've got them folded away neatly at my sides," I answer with sarcasm, motioning to the appendages at my sides. "What else do you expect?"
Baldy puts his hands on his hips as if demonstrating his disappointment at my choice of tone is going to make a difference. "I'm not here for attitude, I'm here for answers and results," he shoots back.
While the asshole and I exchange 'pleasantries', his assistant...uh, Johnson – he scribbles down a few items on his clipboard, occasionally glancing up at me. While I'd expect he would be used to this kind of shit, he still appears uneasy and nervous.
Again, I really don't understand why he hasn't fucked off from this place.
"Open your wings," Baldy commands.
Ugh. I hate hearing him try to direct me like a stupid animal, but I also know the sooner I oblige, the sooner I'll be rid of him again – if only for a while. I get up out of bed and walk to the center of the room, keenly aware of how large these damn things are. However, I still have to think...
Movement still doesn't come naturally as raising a leg or turning my head. It takes a bit of focus to sort of... pinpoint the area – and remember how I folded them up in the first place. But after a second or two, I snap them open, the span wide enough for the feathers on the tips to nearly brush the walls on either side of me.
"Is there any pain accompanying the movement like that?" Johnson asks, looking up from his notations.
"Don't worry about that now," Baldy grumbles. "Wait for questions until after we see what she can do. Now, close your wings."
"They were closed when you came in here," I protest, befuddled by the request.
"Are we really going to have to argue about everything today?"
"Yes, it's my personal entertainment – if only because it makes you seethe. Best way to give you a small taste of what I go through."
"Oh right – poor you. Living in your own little room, given the best medicine and treatments—"
"Which I wouldn't need if you just left me the fuck alone," I coldly interrupt him.
"Just fold your goddamn wings so we can move on!" he barks.
I'm not going to win this little pissing contest, but at least I got him to have a little hissy fit. Nonetheless, as I follow his directions and tuck away my wings, I make sure to sneer at him.
"Good. Have you tried flapping them at all?"
"Oh, all the time. Just overjoyed to have these things and looking forward to my first attempt at flight!" I sass, pouring on the sarcasm as I plaster on a wide smile to boot.
"Is that a no, you haven't tried? Or you can't?" Baldy challenges.
Bull-fucking-shit I can't – I've passed every one of these stupid little tests and exams this asshole has put me through. Every stupid little experiment has an end goal, and not a single one of them has ended in failure.
Yet I know he wants me to fail. It would be a strike against me, getting closer to closing down this disgusting little program he's been forced to continue.
But I'm not a failure. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Once again, I unfurl my wings wide. Giving them a few pulses in a flapping rhythm sends out a few twinges of pain on either of my sides, but I grit my teeth and continue to display I'm fully capable of what he asks.
"Well, it actually looks surprisingly similar to how we engineered the bots," Baldy idly comments to his assistant. "That's a promising sign."
"Yeah – guess she's a quick learner, huh?" Johnson suggests.
"I wouldn't go that far. There's probably some leftover idea of how wings work from those personality chips in her head. Just sort of naturally comes back to the surface once presented with the appendages."
"Fuck you. Maybe I'm just determined to piss you off any chance I get," I growl, irritated by his dismissive comment.
"Pissing me off?" Baldy questions, scoffing at the idea. "By making me look good? Sounds like you have some wires crossed in there, princess."
Even as he laughs at his own joke, I can see it. The way his hand suddenly clenches into the fist at his side. That slight narrowing of his eyes at me. He knows what I meant by that.
I'm going to continue being a 'success story' – just to extend his misery of being tied to me.
For now, having completed the directive and having no follow-ups while Johnson takes more notes, I fold away my wings again. They're beginning to ache even more now after the quick burst of exercise; that is the first time I've ever flapped them with any sort of vigor, and my body is making sure I know about it.
I need to start working on them more – but preferably in private, not while I have an audience at the foot of my room. Every little bit of agonizing progress I make with these stupid wings means I'm dragging on the project for that much longer.
Will I be able to fly? I don't know – and I really don't care too much for the idea. But I'm gonna be damn sure to do everything in my power to make it happen, just to be a thorn in everyone's side.
"Are you feeling any sort of pain or discomfort while doing that?" Johnson's meek inquiry snaps me out of my thoughts with a renewed bit of irritation brewing in me.
"Nothing that I can't deal with – doesn't matter," I dismiss him.
"Can you tell me where you're feeling—"
"I said it's nothing – I'm not a bitch," I cut him off. I turn away and head back to my bed for comfort now that the pain I'm enduring is starting to eat away at my strength a bit more. "It's fine. I can tolerate a little bit of pain."
"That's why I don't bother with niceties toward her anymore, Johnson," Baldy mutters under his breath. "Not gonna get you anywhere with her."
I doubt he was trying very hard to keep that from me; I heard that as clear as day, and it ignites a flame within me. "You never tried being nice, you lying fuck!" I belt out.
"Language..." he trails off in an ominous tone, eyeing me warily.
"You mean the language I got from you, you double-standard piece of shit?"
Baldy slams a fist on the door as his anger finally reaches a flashpoint – if only momentarily. He clenches his jaw and glares at me, allowing himself a bit of time to compose himself rather than lash out into a verbal tirade of obscenities. "I think you need some time alone until you can drop that fucking attitude," he growls, unable to prevent a single f-bomb from popping through.
But that's as much as he's willing to dole out now, preferring to spin on his heels and turn his back to me. "Come on, Johnson. We'll get back to her later."
As Baldy stomps his way down the hall, Johnson takes a look at me one more time. It's a brief look of pity, but he has nothing to say before forcing himself to follow in the footsteps of his boss.
Fuck him.
I don't need his pity – I can handle myself. But now he gets to see more of the despicable sack of shit that hides within the boss. Just in case he doesn't see it enough. Maybe he can get a taste of it too, now that I've put king dick in a bad mood.
I'm so sick of this shit. All of it. But what do I do? It's not like I'm going to be set free for good behavior...
Not willingly, anyway. I don't know what lies outside these walls, but anything has to be better, right?
...maybe I should start to consider what all I'm capable of now. See what else I can learn; after all, I can manipulate metal objects to some degree, maybe I can develop that? Turn that into something more than a parlor trick, and figure out a sort of fine motor control with it...
After all, the door to my room has some metal components... I wonder how the internals work...?
"Could you kick the AC back on, please?"
Midnight raises a hoof and strains toward the window shaker set up off to my left. Needless to say, even with an accompanying grunt and groan while reaching, her hoof doesn't quite bridge the five-foot or so gap. "No, I can't get it," she mumbles, dropping her leg back into my lap.
"Well, that sucks. Wish there was a way you could manipulate the control panel from here on the couch," I muse, making sure to gently poke at the horn on her head with my index finger.
"Yeah, it would be nice – but you also have legs that could aid you in that endeavor," Midnight counters.
"Very true. You have legs as well," I remind her. "And currently, you're laying on mine."
"Not completely ," she protests, raising a leg again just to motion toward my lower legs which hang off the couch. Of course, there isn't much that I can do with them, since Midnight's upper half of her body occupies my lap, with her head leaning against my chest while I retain a seated position.
But if she really wants to play this game... "Alright, guess I gotta get up to get some cooler air in here," I sigh, taking my hands away from her form in preparation to push myself up off the couch.
I don't have to make any further moves, for a scrap piece of metal soars through the air from who knows where to frantically peck and twist at the air conditioner control panel. Within seconds, the familiar hum emanates from the appliance, trailed by a refreshing cool breeze shortly thereafter.
"Well damn, that thing must be scared of seeing my ugly mug or the sensation of my touch. When did that feature get activated?" I wonder aloud.
"You getting up meant I was getting up – that's not gonna happen," Midnight mutters.
"Hey, you finally connected the dots – that's why I threatened to get up," I cheer, patting her on the head. "Good job."
"Fuck you."
"Uh – maybe in a bit. I ate a little too much at dinner," I comment.
I can feel Midnight's eyes burrow into me with that offhand remark, but I willfully avoid acknowledging the look as the TV finally ends its commercial break.
It's funny how disapproving Midnight is about suggestive sort of things like that. Considering how much of a vulgar vocabulary she possesses and that her modesty comes down to just the strategic placement of her tail, she is pretty uptight.
That doesn't stop her from being quite the vocal one in the bedroom, but that's going down a trail of thought best left alone for now...
"I'm going $149k on the split window '63," Midnight remarks as her attention snaps back to the TV as well.
"Are you high? We haven't heard shit about the options on the car and only seen it at a passing glance a few times."
"Doesn't matter – I just feel it."
Starla's stay and resultant viewing of auto auctions on TV each night has led to a change of heart on my end. While knowing the end result for the cars sold is likely garage queen status... it is kinda neat to see what's out there. On top of that, Midnight and I have made it into a sort of game to make it even more entertaining – each of us sets a 'bid' before the auction, and whoever has the closest figure 'wins' that car.
There really aren't any rules beyond that and there's no end goal or prize... and oftentimes, we sit there and try to 'trade' what we have for something more desirable that the other possesses.
It's nonsensical and neither of us keeps track beyond the night – and I don't always remember what all I have by the end. Midnight always does with her damn supercomputer brain – but nevertheless, we tend to get pretty invested in the moment.
"Have you been looking up values on your laptop to cheat?" I suggestively accuse her.
"How is that cheating?"
"It's a rule that I made."
"Yeah, just now."
"So?"
"It's your own damn fault for being lazy and not informing yourself on the market," she chastises.
"Oh, whatever. I guess I'll go $179k," I grumble.
"But you haven't even heard the options or conditions yet!" Midnight mocks me with a nasally voice. I poke her in the nose for that, making her sniff and snort in response.
"You're just full of fire tonight, aren't you?"
Midnight doesn't say anything, preferring to turn and hold her head high while meeting my gaze, offering a mischievous fanged grin. In the meantime, the silver Corvette coupe is rolled onto the stage at the auction house. With the starting bid at only $30k, bidding takes off at a blistering pace while camera flashes shine off the deep metallic paint. I'm a bit skeptical about that low of a starting bid. Do they make replica bodies for these things? Maybe it's not a genuine car.
But that thought dies within a minute or two once the price rockets into the six figures. Nevertheless, once past that magical threshold, the bidding war begins to slow...
Dammit, maybe I should have listened to the options and conditions before throwing a bid out. But I was too caught up in bickering, and the fact that Midnight had already tossed out a bid. I could have undercut her...
"I got this," Midnight crows, patting my leg.
"If you do win it, it's only by technicality of me being too high."
"Aww, someone sounds like a sore loser~" Midnight sings, not bothering to hold back on her gloating now as she leans in toward my face.
"I'll bite you."
"And I'll bite back. Guess who wins that fight, too?"
"... then I'll flick your ear or nose again," I mumble, conceding her point. That satisfies Midnight enough to settle back down in my lap
But by that time, bidding has slowed to a snail's pace, making it obvious I'm not winning a split window. In fact, once the gavel bangs the auction closed, Mid's bid is over the final price tag by only a thousand bucks and change. I can practically feel the smarmy sort of expression Midnight is displaying without even looking down at her – and I refuse to view it. "Not giving you the satisfaction."
But Midnight refuses to let it go, once again raising her head until her face blocks my view. "I still got the split window, so nyah," she brags, sticking her tongue out.
Alright, that's enough. With that final act, I reach behind her head and fiddle with the ponytail she's sported all day today. "What the hell are you doing?" she warily asks as my hand finds the scrunchie that holds her hair in place.
"Don't worry about it." Despite my weak assurance, Midnight still tries putting up a little bit of a struggle. Unfortunately for her, my fingers are deft enough to hang on and peel off her dark blue scrunchies, setting her hair free.
"You fucking—"
That's as far as she gets; as I bring my hand back out from behind her, I've already armed myself with the elastic hair tie, making it easy to use my other hand to draw it tight, and let go.
"Pew!" I make sure to exclaim, just as the makeshift missile beans her in the forehead.
"Bastard!" she cries out, wincing just out of instinct.
"Well, that's what you get for being nasty."
While at a disadvantage due to her position, Midnight resorts to putting a hoof against my side, trying to push me over as retribution. But all I do is lean forward, trying to encapsulate her in my lap to use her as an anchor. What inevitably follows is a skirmish on the couch as we try wrestling each other into submission.
For a few minutes, the TV and our little game are all but forgotten; at some point, Midnight happens to cast an errant eye toward the program. Now separated from me and holding a spot solely on the couch, her spark of interest brings our shoving match to a halt. "What the hell is that thing?" she asks, pointing a hoof at the car being rolled up for auction.
It's an intermediate two-door car in a cool grey hue, with a black roof for a nice contrast. While I'm well aware of what she means by her question considering the... alterations, I decide to play stupid. "Dodge Coronet. '65, I'm pretty sure."
"I know that – but that's not a normal Coronet. I mean, besides the injection stacks coming through the hood. Obviously some sort of race car, but..."
She's not wrong in her convictions or sudden curiosity, as it is quite the bizarre creation upon closer look for someone not in the know. Aside from the injection stacks she mentioned and the fat rear tires combined with the skinny fronts, perhaps the most significant alteration of all is the wheelbase. The front wheels are moved forward several inches, to a point where they nearly reach the front bumper and completely remove all front overhang on this car. Not to be outdone, the rear wheels have also been shoved forward, nearly eliminating the sheet metal that should normally exist between the rear edge of the door and the leading edge of the wheel well... which makes for quite the drastic rear overhang.
Everything feels neatly tied together with the bold graphics on the door, emblazoned with 'Landy's Dodge' in big letters interrupted by a bright red fratzog in use as the company logo back in the day.
I pick up the remote, waiting for the perfect moment; once the camera pans out for a nice side view of the entire car, I pause the program and turn to Midnight. "It is an odd-looking car... would you call it a funny car?"
Middie proceeds to stare, slowly narrowing her eyes at me as she attempts to discern what I mean with what seems to be a play on words. "What exactly are you trying to get at here?" she finally concedes.
"Well... a couple of weeks ago, you were flipping through channels and ended up watching drag racing for a bit. You remember what those flop top dragsters were called?"
"They called em... oh. They called em funny cars I think. Are you telling me that's what that Coronet is?"
"That's the genesis of the name and the category, yes. Back then, the class was officially the Factory Experimental, or A/FX."
"You're telling me nothing on that car is custom work? That's factory?" she scoffs in disbelief, remaining skeptical of my claims.
"It's... kind of a misnomer." My lack of conviction in the answer I give her earns me another brief deadpan stare before Midnight shakes her head.
"That doesn't make sense. First you said it was factory, now you're saying it's custom work. It can't be both," she argues.
"Hey, don't shoot the messenger here," I plead, putting my hands up in a defensive posture.
Of course, that only serves to egg Midnight on. She stares for a bit longer before jolting forward in a feint lunge at me.
Having seen enough nonsense, I reach toward her and seize her recently freed hair, only to flip it over her face. "Really?" she whines. "You really have to fuck it all up?"
"I figured the only solution here was to give you the pissy kitty treatment – throw a blanket over your head to calm you. But I don't have a blanket or towel on hand, soo..."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
I relent and help Midnight take care of her hair, brushing it away from her face. It isn't nearly as bad as she claims the mass of hair to be, but that doesn't stop her from pouting and huffing at the process like a spoiled princess.
"Better. Anyway, back to the car – please explain it so it makes sense to me. You're kinda all over the board here," she states.
"Wow, I got a 'please' out of you," I can't help but toss in before clearing my throat. "Anyway, they were factory in the sense that they started as any other unibody car rolling down the assembly line. But early on, they got pulled and sent to a separate area, where the modifications to the wheelbase and some weight-saving tricks were administered. The wheelbase aided in weight transfer for better launch, and of course, weight is an enemy of speed on the track. But once that was done, both these Coronets from Dodge and modified Belvederes from Plymouth were sold in small numbers to drag racing teams with connections to corporate."
"Huh. So I guess you really weren't just being a dolt about it." Her eyes turn back to the TV, giving the freeze-framed car another look – though I happen to spy her nose wrinkling a bit.
"You think it's kinda ugly despite the sound reasoning behind it, huh?"
"Yeah, kinda," she admits. "It's a more interesting story than my initial impression, which was a hillbilly's backyard project. But the wheelbase change is just... very unbalanced. I'm guessing there were other cars similar to this then, from other makes."
"Yeah, but it wasn't exactly a packed field," I reply, unpausing the program and letting it play out. "GM still had a ban on any factory racing, so anything from them in the class is more experimental than factory. Mercury had a Comet similar in idea, and Ford put together some Mustangs with the Cammer engine, which did okay – their weak point was timing chains that stretched and screwed up ignition timing."
Midnight's eyes dart from the TV back to me, befuddled by the last bit. "Cammer?"
"Huh, I really thought you might have stumbled upon that in your reading. Must have missed that section, eh?"
"I haven't done much reading about race cars and projects like that. If I had to guess, you're talking about an overhead cam engine that Ford put together in small numbers, but that's news to me."
"You're correct – it was an overhead camshaft version of their 427. Valiant effort, but long timing chains stretched under stress and changed timing by up to a few degrees during a pull. They were short-lived."
As the auction rolls on, the bidding is a bit lackluster – I don't know if this was really Dick Landy's car, considering the price only crawls past six figures. But as they hone in the cameras to focus on the interior, I see an interesting little quirk on the dashboard I had forgotten about.
"You remember when I said the pushbutton shift for the Torqueflite trans was popular with some drag racers?" I comment, pausing the TV again momentarily to point out the pod. "Landy was one of them – he retrofitted the system into this car, which was a year past its phaseout."
"Huh, I honestly wouldn't have noticed – that's kinda a neat connection to our 300C," Midnight muses. "I don't think this car is gonna sell – but you can have it as a freebie anyway if you want."
"Aww, thanks. I knew you had a heart somewhere in there," I jest.
"If I didn't give you shit, you'd be worried that I was sick or something."
"Well... yeah, probably."
Sure enough, the car doesn't reach the reserve bid; it's unceremoniously rolled off the stage, to be shipped back to the home it came from. Up behind it rolls another eye-catcher, a Lemon Twist '70 Barracuda.
"Yeah, you ain't winning this either, by the way," Midnight boasts. "Calling it $89k, on the nose."
Alright, now I'm even more skeptical of Midnight's cockiness – and since I've stopped multiple times in the last several minutes, I can sate my suspicions pretty quickly. Without saying anything, I fast-forward through the display and the beginning of the auction. When I press play again, the bidding has ended – and Midnight has hit the end result on the nose – $89k.
"You fucker – you've seen this one before, haven't you?" I grumble, turning to face her.
Midnight has turned her head away from me now, facing the kitchen. "I might have..." she idly responds. Her voice betrays a semblance of distraction rather than trying to play coy, only serving to confuse me. "Oh, by the way..."
When she turns her head to look at me, she's sporting a devilish grin – which I come to understand when I see what's floating beyond her in the air. "Pew!" she exclaims, just as the scrunchie from earlier is shot into my face.
"Alright, now you've done it, you shit!" I cry out. I tackle her to the couch before she can try to move away.
"Hey, get off me you fat fuck!" she exclaims, struggling underneath me. "I'll turn off the air conditioner!"
"No, that's just as bad for you as it is for me," I remind her. But this squabble has gone far enough, and it's time to end it with a secret I only found out recently...
Fumbling around her wings, my hands eventually find her sensitive sides that lay underneath.
"John, don't you fucking da—hahaHAHA!"
Those wings do a good job of hiding a ticklish spot, but they don't prevent me from exploiting it as I tickle her into a gigglefit.
Too bad, Mid. I figured there was a chink in your armor somewhere – and I finally found it.
Author's Note
This was an inspiration driven update when I first wrote it in the greentext original. Through the rabbit hole of getting back into scale model car building after a few years and seeing what's new, finding out a company is finally making AWB (altered wheelbase) Chrysler, and jogging my memory via search engine on some of the different cars. This particular pic from a January Mecum auction was the catalyst.
For the better part of the past week, Midnight has spent about an hour each evening downstairs in the bathroom – after rummaging through our bedroom closet to fetch the mysterious package Starla had sent her. It's amusing to see her this secretive about something, but I'm no closer to finding out exactly what it is she's toying with.
The before and after each evening is exactly the same, as far as I can see. Considering the mirror in our room is much better than the one in the bathroom, I'm inclined to believe that it really isn't clothing she's fiddling with. Makeup has crossed my mind, but... well, how would that work with fur?
I've been kind and allowed her privacy; the thought has crossed my mind to sneak down the stairs and try to eavesdrop for any sort of clue, but I've beaten back that urge for Midnight's sake. But how long should I let this charade play out? How long does she plan on this routine?
Well, the routine shifted this morning – Midnight insisted I take a shower this morning, even though I normally do. In addition, I really don't need to, since I actually showered last night after work. But I figured screw it, I'll play along with her suspicious shenanigans.
Unfortunately, one shower and breakfast sandwich later, Midnight still has herself shut up in my room. While it may not be a big deal on any normal day to be a bit late getting out into the yard for work, we have a lot of parts pulling ahead of us. As a result, I find myself at my bedroom door, giving it a light knock.
I'm expecting to get barked at for interrupting her, but so be it. We need to get moving.
"What?" Judging by the sound of her voice, Midnight's stress levels are heightened by either my presence or whatever she's doing... which as I sort of expected, is just on the other side of the door, where the mirror is located.
"How much longer do you plan on playing with your hair this morning?" I wisecrack.
"...are you shitting me?" The comment is terse and incredulous, a sort of response I hadn't quite anticipated. After all, while it's never a particularly drastic change, Midnight's hairstyling from time to time is a common occurrence; taking exception to it now is...
Oh. Is that what this is? Is she stepping up her game in hairstyling? I find it hard to believe, but then again, Midnight is full of surprises.
The box wasn't that heavy, but I'm... not well-versed in anything with hair beyond a comb. What all Starla may have provided her is a mystery – that is, if I'm even barking up the right tree.
"Uh, you fiddling with your hair is no secret, Mid. You've been doing that for a few months now – what's wrong with that joke?" I ask, trying to play off my comment and my possible inadvertent discovery.
"Oh – nothing. I thought you said something else. That's on me, my bad," Midnight scrambles to recover from her outburst.
...alright, maybe it's time to nudge this along further.
"What did you think I said?"
"Uh... I don't really know. Something not good. Hard to tell with you sometimes."
"You sound kinda paranoid – wanna talk about it?" I tease her, leaning against the door.
"I'm fine – can you just go downstairs and fiddle with the Chrysler for now? I'm almost done," she replies, almost pleading for me to leave.
"Almost done with what?" I press onward.
"Stuff?"
"And things?" I add.
"...you're not gonna let this go now, are you?" she laments in defeat.
"No, not after a week and delaying a busy day ahead of us," I remind her. "You've had your fun and I've left it alone till now – I think it's time to pay up."
"Eugh. I hate you."
"I know you do. That's what makes our relationship work so well."
I'm gifted with a short hum of amusement from the other side of the door for that comment, but then everything goes quiet. It feels like this may be the start of a standoff, depending on how stubborn Midnight wants to be – but I silently hold my ground.
I hear a few clicks and taps near the door as Midnight apparently fiddles with... whatever she has going right now. After a minute or two of this, everything falls still once again. "You... can you promise me something?" Midnight asks.
"Sort of depends on what I'm promising. I'm not perfect nor all-powerful, but I can do my best."
"No laughing or comments?" It seems like an innocent enough proposal, but clearly whatever Midnight is trying to do has her feeling far more vulnerable than normal. Assuming I am right about the hair thing... which now that I think of it, I haven't seen a change in her hair.
Maybe I'm wrong? Or maybe this is the first real attempt at styling with proper tools, and it hasn't gone well...
At the end of it all, the what or why doesn't matter. What does matter is this is serious for her – and by extension, it is for me, too. "You have my word Mid... but what if I have a positive comment?"
"Just... no. No comments at all, please," she mumbles. "I will maul the shot out of you if you break your promise."
"I won't say anything or do anything until given the say so. I promise," I reaffirm.
With a low groan, the bedroom door eases open with Midnight quickly taking up the gap. From what I see of her hair, nothing is different or amiss, nor does her tail show signs of work as the bedroom door continues to swing open. My eyes happen to dart away from her and instead what lies off to her right side, beyond the doorframe.
That's where my dresser is now located, and while the angle I'm standing at doesn't lend itself to a clear view, I can see some power cords lying on top, a couple of hairbrushes of different styles, and a handle to... something.
"Starla and I did some talking while she stayed with us – some girl talk before you would get up in the morning, as she's an early riser," Midnight explains. "We sort of started discussing what ifs... like if we ever went on a proper double date, and what we would do to prepare for it to... I guess look our best."
"And attire of any sort is out of the question for you.." I say, leaning to my right to get a better view of the other items she has set up...
Yep. That's a curling iron.
"Yeah. I've been experimenting a bit – but with my tail, so it's easier to hide," Midnight mumbles, tracing my line of sight to the curling iron as well. That ends up being her cue to turn sideways while one of her metal tools seizes her tail near its end. It flips over, giving you a view of the canvas that has seen work.
She's done a good job of hiding her work in progress, for one section of the majority blue canvas has been styled into gentle waves that make the light seem to showcase the violet hues in her hair with every crest. Meanwhile, the very tip of her tail with these hairs ends in a bit tighter curl than normal.
Frankly, I'm awestruck by... all of it. The results of her work are beautiful, and the fact that this is something Midnight was driven to experiment with on her own is quite the surprise.
"What?" Midnight asks, anxiety taking hold of her.
"What what?"
"You haven't said anything." That calm face she's been displaying quickly shifts into one of concern and suspicion.
"Right – because aim not supposed to say anything. That was your stipulation," I remind her.
That anxious expression softens – up to a point. "I figured you wouldn't be able to help yourself at some point," she admits, letting her standoffish posture relax the rest of the way. "What do you really think of it?"
"Total honesty? I'm impressed – and I'd really like to see how you would look taking what you're learning and applying it head to tail once you feel comfortable. Also, I'm surprised that you're really taking the date idea this seriously."
While the first half of my response is well-received and earns a relieved, heartfelt grin, my second point manages to turn dark blue fur to indigo as Midnight blushes profusely. It seems some things never change, and that wasn't something she expected me to seize upon.
"Teddy and Starla are working toward being a bit more outgoing – kinda like us. That seems to be Starla's end goal – a sort of proper double date out at a restaurant," Midnight mumbles, averting her eyes from me. "I guess I'd like to be a part of her goals, help to achieve them since she's helped me a lot."
"Ah, so it's for her then? Surprised you'd go this far with the idea if that's the case," I comment, unable to help myself.
"You said sometime we might do a proper date – you were sort of joking, but I could tell it was an idea that you liked. Don't lie," she counters.
"Alright, fair enough. So this was going to be a complete surprise for when that day came, huh?"
"Uh... not really? I guess maybe a little bit. I was more concerned with fucking up and being stuck with horrendous hair. But a surprise for you would have been nice, I guess," she replies, pawing at the floor.
"And I just ruined it, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you kinda did."
"Well, damn. Unfortunately, I couldn't wait any longer, and you've been up here for an hour."
Midnight turns her head to look back at our bed – or more specifically, the end table by the bed, where the alarm clock sits. When she turns back to face me, she's gritting her teeth in a slight cringe. "I guess I lost track of time."
"Happens to the best of us. It wouldn't be as big of a deal if we didn't have a pair of parts cars coming in sometime during the afternoon – I still haven't gotten a concrete answer on the times."
"In other words, we might be holding down the counter in the shop for a couple of hours waiting for a flake or two to call or message and say he can't make it with the car," Middie grumbles, reminding me of the incident just two weeks ago from another individual.
"Hopefully not – but I'm not planning on holding the counter down, either. We can box up what we pulled and I can work toward finishing up the Hemi, too. But it would mean a later evening pulling parts out back."
"I know, I just hate that waiting around shit. You know that."
"I do – you've always been short on patience," I tease her, leaning in for a kiss that is quickly accepted. "But that's why you get things done. Come on, let's start the day – you can hide away downstairs this evening and continue your work if you want."
"I'm not sure. I think I've gotten the hang of it, so the next time... might be the whole thing. But the cat's out of the bag now – I guess there's no sense in hiding anymore."
"That's up to you – I'm not looking for a reason to pick at you, especially when it's something you're taking a genuine interest in. I'm just curious about what sort of look you're going for."
"I... haven't really decided. I've just been trying to learn how to work with what I got, looked at pics online of different styles – but I'm not set on anything."
I hold the kitchen door open for Midnight to stroll through, following behind her as she trots down the steps. It's so odd thinking of Midnight getting more in touch with her feminine side – but there's nothing wrong with that. More than anything, it's even more evidence she's finding pride in who she is – and that's more important to me than her eventual styling goals.
"Speaking of mystery boxes – what the hell you got there?" Midnight inquires, honing in on the box I've purposely left lying on the counter.
"That? Oh, I've had it for a few days now. Don't worry about it," I reply, attempting to dismiss her with a wave of my hand. But once Midnight reaches the bottom of the steps, she turns her head to leer at me.
"Wow, safety first huh? Didn't fancy a tumble down the steps?"
"The comments from the peanut gallery aren't going to distract me – you're wasting your breath," she retorts. "What's in the box?"
"Hey, fair is fair – I gave you a week of privacy with your little care package from Starla. The least you can do is give me the same leeway, right?"
A groan escapes Midnight's lips as she walks past the package with me in tow. "You did this all on purpose, didn't you?"
"Finding out what you had going on was not the plan, no – but fighting fire with fire regarding that box... yeah, I pulled it out of the shelves this morning, hoping to have a bargaining chip to hang over your head. Like I said, I know you're impatient."
"And even though I told you this morning—"
"Only after you tripped yourself up, a week later," I interrupt with a smirk.
"Ugh. Point taken," she grumbles.
"But anyway – it's paint for the engine. Both silver and the gold for the valve cover accents and the air cleaners. Spray gun is gonna be a few more days."
"Ooh, feeling dangerous enough to buy toys you've never played with before?" Midnight wisecracks. Even though she's trying to play it cool, it's not hard to hear the relief in her voice at my little revelation.
It would have been more fun to carry it on, but eh... I'm gonna have to fiddle with the gun itself as soon as I get it. Considering I need the air compressor for that, it would be hard to hide during my testing phase.
"Paint mixed up and sprayed through a gun is usually more durable than the spray bomb counterpart – so yeah. I guess like you, it's time to experiment. Hopefully, I can get results as good as you."
"I am trying really hard not to cringe right now. That was awful."
"Maybe that's what I was going for."
"Suuure," she sasses, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, what the worry about durability with the paint? You planning on leaving the car outside with the hood open? Driving it through mud bogs?"
"No – heat. Heat and fluids can break down paint and cause it to flake off over time. As I recall, someone really wanted exhaust headers, and even with ceramic coatings on the pipes, there's gonna be a heat increase."
"Yeah – but you bought the headers, not me," she counters, trying to turn the blame on me for... well, there's not really any reason there.
"Hm. Good point," I comment, breaking away from tailing Midnight and heading off toward the counter. "I still have the receipt, maybe I can still take them ba—"
I'm halted in my tracks both figuratively and literally as I feel my shorts get yanked up in the back, the maneuver almost instantly giving me a wedgie that endangers the line between discomfort and pain.
"I don't think you want to finish that thought, do you?" Midnight sings, padding over to my side to bat her eyes at me.
"No, probably not. Bully," I mutter.
"I thought so," she says. The tension from my shorts is released, giving me a chance to readjust myself while Midnight tosses away a scrap of metal, the likely culprit twisted into committing the dirty deed before she starts to walk ahead.
"That wasn't nice," I mumble.
"You don't like nice."
"How would I know? I've never had it."
"Well, I can tell you it's overrated. You wouldn't like it."
"Can I at least try it once?"
"Hm – no," Midnight quickly responds, shaking her head. "I don't have nice on offer, and you can't miss what you've never had anyway. It's better this way."
"Oh – I guess I can go with that. But how about less bullying?"
"Nah."
"Sadist."
With my comment, Midnight twirls around, rears up, and places her forelegs upon my shoulders in what's become a more common maneuver in the past month or so. "That's why you love me," she croons, nuzzling me.
"Can I be honest with you?"
"Even when I say no, it never stops you, Mid."
"You've never said no..." Midnight trails off, trying to think back to any particular instance that indeed does not exist.
"Correct, but you've never been one to shy away from giving it to me straight, so your question is sort of stupid."
"Alright, fine – that looks like absolute dogshit," she blurts out, pointing to the engine stand behind me.
I was wondering how long it would be until she spoke up about my little craft project. Midnight's eyes have been dancing between her own work polishing some of the chromework on the Chrysler and back over to the engine stand. With the Hemi completely assembled as far as internals, it's time to prep for paint.
There's more to it than mixing up paint – aside from a quick scrub-down of the external to get rid of any oils from assembly, there are still holes to be sealed up. The orifice for the distributor, the openings on the intake manifold for the carbs, the exhaust ports...
All of that is being accomplished with newspaper, masking tape, and plastic shopping bags; Midnight's exclamation isn't necessarily without merit, but I think she's missing the point.
"Well thank you," I gush, turning to her briefly and smiling. "I worked really hard to make it look like the perfect pile of dogshit."
"They probably make proper material for this sort of thing, don't they?"
"For paint masking? I suppose so," I agree, holding off on popping her bubble for the time being as I finish blocking off the passenger-side exhaust ports.
It really is astounding that Midnight is sharp as a whip – yet can so easily miss a simple point or idea. I suppose some of that falls into the street smarts to book smarts comparison, but nonetheless, I find it funny to hang her up on instances like this.
"It just looks like you raided the trash can to do this. You know that, right?" Middie continues, reveling in her opportunity to pour it on.
"Technically I did for the newspaper. But guess what happens to all of this once I'm done painting?"
"Uh, I would assume you gonna put it... back in the trash," Midnight replies, mumbling the last half of her answer as realization finally clicks in her head.
"Exactly. Other than the masking tape, I didn't pay for any of this. I'm reusing stuff for free – the 'professional' stuff looks nicer, probably seals better, but it all ends up being the same and ending up in the same place."
"You were hoping I would keep carrying on just to turn it around on me like that, weren't you?" she suggests, her ears sagging as she tries playing the victim now.
"Hey, I let you have your fun – and I got mine. That's not gonna work on me, Mid," I counter, pointing at her. She quickly regains her composure, proving it was a facade like I expected.
Now I get to the tricky part that I'm not looking forward to – mixing up the paint. I've read the directions multiple times now and perused some videos and tutorials online, but this remains uncharted territory.
The gravity feed spray gun I'm going to use is still new to me. While I've mixed up a bit of paint and sprayed a couple of junk parts as a test, I'm far from feeling comfortable with my technique. Hell, all of this stuff I now dig out from shelves were purchases made specifically for this project. It isn't lost on me that there will be a learning curve in all of this, but... no guts, no glory, right?
I'll run a few test parts yet again to try to grasp what settings to use, but aside from that, patience and trial and error will have to be my co-pilots in this endeavor. The results may not come out perfect, but then again, I watched some videos online... I have confidence I'll get good results that will last far longer than rattlecans.
I note Midnight has completely abandoned her work in order to watch me as I shuffle back to my workstation with a whole collection of boxes. It was her idea to clean the chrome as busy work more than anything, so it doesn't bother me... except her eyes tracking me like a hawk while I figure out and fumble my way into starting this endeavor is unnerving.
"What happens if you don't mix all of that paint and stuff at the correct ratio?" Midnight inquires as soon as I pull the first container from its box.
Well, that's not a very inspiring or reassuring question...
"Heat death of the universe."
Midnight's nose wrinkles at the nonsensical response she receives. "What the hell does that mean?"
"I dunno, it was the first thing that came to mind – that's what I went with."
Knowing full well that's probably the best answer I'm going to give her, Midnight just shakes her head; coincidentally, I set about shaking up the first quart of paint, which is in fact a primer. Everything I read about it says I should be able to spray this on, give it an hour or two to cure, then go back on the attack with the color. At least primer is simpler to spray – there's no metallic in it I need to be mindful about in regards to heavy or light covering.
"So... Starla and I have been talking," Midnight abruptly shifts gears with an intro that leaves much to be desired.
"Really? That's quite bold of you two," I gasp, covering my open mouth with my hand.
Midnight sighs, reverting to a disappointed pout. "Real talk, not bullshit now," she states. "I'm not wandering over to poke you in the ribs or tap you with my hoof."
"Fair enough – yeah, I've gotten used to those cues. Anyway, real talk now, jokes are sidelined," I assure her.
Midnight eases up on her disapproval but reverts back to polishing up the Chrysler. "Starla says she and Teddy are gonna be taking the Cutlass out to a car show. It will be the first one for her, and for Teddy, it will be the first one he's taken the Cutlass to since getting it on the road again."
"Really? That's pretty neat – guess the two of them have built up some confidence, huh?" I try to play innocent and awed by the idea – but this is not news to me. Teddy happened to text me just a few days ago with the revelation; in his words, it's less about the Cutlass and more about Starla.
Teddy has come around to the conclusion that while it's reasonable to be cautious when living with someone whose existence is illegal, he's been taking it too far. For the past couple of weeks, he's been asking me questions about how Midnight and I go about in public and how to arrest his paranoia. It's been quite a shock for me to see him coming to me for advice, but I do what I can. It must be working, for just last week the two of them went out for dinner – fast food in his truck, of course, but everyone has to start somewhere.
That's how Midnight and I started out, after all.
Though to that end, he has also echoed his concerns of Starla's weakness, even by her own admittance – losing perspective while talking to others and sharing too much info.
That's going to be harder to deal with, and something I haven't had to work around. But evidently, they must be making strides to be willing to take the next step such as this upcoming excursion.
On that note, Teddy's already put forth the invitation for us to join them. But I expected Midnight to hear from Starla about it, so I've been waiting...
Waiting just to see Midnight's face when she asks if we can go. The answer will obviously be yes, but it's not often I get to see her genuine pleading face.
"They've been trying to decide whether the time is right after a couple of times going out on little trips – sort of like we did at first," Midnight continues, snapping me back to the conversation. "She's feeling excited, but a bit nervous, too – this will be a bigger social gathering than she's probably ever seen, but it should work since the cars are... well, it's a car show, so they're the stars. Sort of takes the eyes off her, especially with families there that may bring along ponybots."
"How do you think Star is gonna do? I'm guessing her goal is to get to talk to some ponybots?"
"Yeah, she's been able to talk with bots here and there in the past – usually when Teddy has stopped to help one or brought one home temporarily. It's been a while, but she says she always enjoyed those little moments. It's just different when... I guess when they're more adjusted. Have a family to go back to. So you need tighter lips there."
"Ah, that's a fair point. I remembered she said the pair of em had helped out some less fortunate ponies before – I thought that was a bit odd to turn around and be avoidant of social situations," I admit.
"Well, she said that just kinda crept up over time – she didn't really notice until meeting us and talking with me," Midnight explains. "But she would like to talk to other passersby who happen to greet her if that happens. But she feels like she sort of needs a sidekick to help keep her on track, but doesn't necessarily want to burden Teddy with that, either..."
Midnight trails off, and I know it's because of the face of disappointment I'm displaying. But it has nothing to do with her or the conversation – I've just noticed while I have all the correct chemicals for the primer, the basecoat requires a different reducer to reach the required ratio for spraying. Apparently, I didn't do enough reading to catch that during the ordering process.
"What's wrong?" Midnight asks, her voice uneasy with my sudden shift.
"Well, it's not you, I'll start with that – but I think all I can do is apply primer tonight," I announce, downtrodden by the printed confirmation as I double-check the instructions on the paint can. "I don't have the right stuff to mix up the silver paint – or the gold, for that matter."
Midnight is afflicted by the same sort of defeat I feel right now. "So now what? You have to put in another order and wait another week?" she pouts.
That's a depressing thought – but when she says it out loud, I realize there must be another option. This paint surely isn't a unique concoction, meaning somewhere around this area, someone must sell the reducer I need in a physical store. Idea in mind, I pull out my smartphone and start tearing up the search engine, leaving Midnight to dwell on the lack of answers I currently have.
It takes but a few seconds to find there's an automotive paint supply store the next town over – only about an hour's drive. Unfortunately, that's where the good news ends when I look at the time; with only a few minutes until the clock hits six in the evening, there's no way I'm getting there before close... which is six o'clock.
"I'll have to wait till tomorrow, but I can get the chemicals I need not too far from here," I sigh. "But there's a significant chance of rain tomorrow too... so looks like the earliest I'll be shooting actual color is Friday night."
"How did you not notice before? You've had all that stuff out of the boxes..." Midnight whines, plodding toward me to take a look. I spin the can around and point to the area of trouble, then offer up the reducer I have on hand. Her ears sag, indicating I'm not crazy.
"You gotta remember this is the first time I've done something like this, Mid – it's a whole new database of information that I don't know off the top of my head."
"In other words, the night of the car show is when you're gonna be painting," Midnight comments sulking as she sits on the concrete floor in front of me.
"I guess the good thing is I noticed before trying to mix this up and paint. Who knows what kind of a disaster would have resulted, yeah?"
Midnight nods her head, but there isn't much solace to be had in my words – for either of us. I really wanted to knock this out tonight, and just like Midnight, head out to the car show on Friday. Midnight didn't even get to ask me if we could go...
But, perhaps there is a silver lining of sorts to be found. After all, Midnight can't be of much help with the painting process, and I didn't care for the idea of her watching over my shoulder while I fumbled my way through a fast-track learning process. Teddy already suggested that he owes me for watching over Starla during his trip, and there was the idle chat about having her over sometime...
It might be the perfect setup – Midnight gets to tag along with big sis and Teddy while I stay home and get this project done. While I would have liked to go, there's plenty more car shows to be seen in the future, especially once we get the Chrysler on the road.
"Hey – chin up, Middie. To tell you the truth, I already knew about the car show plans. That wasn't a surprise to me."
"And you made me jump through hoops floating this whole idea to you because..."
"It was one hoop at most," I correct her. "And I wanted to see your little sad face you put on when you want something."
"I don't do that – I have no idea what you're talking about," Midnight argues. She sticks her nose up in the air, seemingly offended at the mere notion she has ever done such a thing.
"Alright... do you call it your pleading face? Begging face?"
"Okay, you can shut up – what's your point?"
"My point is I know you want to go to that show and help Starla out any way you can. I would have come along, but just because I can't go doesn't mean you're unavailable."
Middie's eyes light up as she instantly picks up on the point I'm trying to convey. "Starla did mention that she and Teddy could stop over and pick me up before heading to the show, depending on what was going on here."
"And I think that's gonna work out great if you're okay wi—"
"I'll go message Starla right now!" Midnight exclaims, unable to wait for me to finish. In a flash, she's gone – streaking up the stairs and blowing past the door up top, en route to her laptop.
Alright then – that didn't take much convincing. While I hadn't expected the idea to be turned down, I guess I'm a bit surprised she wasn't so adamant about me tagging along. While she no doubt is furiously tapping out a message, I turn around and throw my attention back into the primer project I have to settle for tonight.
Much like me with this engine project, Midnight will be preoccupied with Starla the night of the car show even if I was there, and I'm not going to be able to help much. But I suppose my surprise at Midnight's reaction is also a bit of my own feelings tainting my expectations as I dwell on it.
After all, this is going to be the first time Midnight's going beyond these gates without me by her side. The thought forms a pit in my stomach, even though I know better. She's an adult, an equal partner – I trust her judgment, and she can handle herself. Plus, she won't be completely alone.
I'll manage without her for a night – and Midnight should have a good time with virtual one-on-one with Star, both in helping her out and explaining all the cars they come across.
I consider shooting Teddy a text, but leave it for now – I'd rather not steal Midnight and Starla's thunder at this junction. Perhaps that's a good call – out of my periphery, I spy movement, and directing my attention toward the stairs again, Midnight is already gliding down from the top, silent and unannounced.
"Nah, you're not spooking me this time," I warn her.
"Aww, dammit. Do I have you that paranoid now to always be on the lookout?" she complains upon landing.
"No, just chance this time. Get any message back?" I ask, noting Midnight already sports an eager grin despite her failed sneak attack.
Middie's mane bounces with energy as she nods her head. "Yep, all systems are go – Teddy will probably text you to let us know when he's on his way Friday evening."
"I can't believe you're gonna leave little old me all alone here at home," I whine, pretending to cry.
"You'll be fine, ya wuss," Midnight groans. Despite her mild insult, Midnight steps beside me, using one of her wings she has yet to fold away to drape over my back and around my side.
I know I'll be fine – and she will too. But maybe she senses my little bit of reluctance... or maybe she's experiencing that same feeling. Regardless of the reasoning, this is the right thing to do for both of us.
"Are you really going to lie and waste our time here? We're very busy men."
As much as it frustrates me, I've been forced to lay under a strategic pile of junk and just... watch. Watch as two men in immaculate black suits and sporting identical buzzcuts and black sunglasses stand at the counter opposite John. I've not been afforded a clear view of them, but just by their voices, I don't recognize them.
"What do you mean? How am I lying?" John asks, raising his hand with palms up as he pleads innocence.
The man on the right reaches into his suit for... something. He pulls it out too quickly for me to see what it is aside from what looks to be a paper of some sort.
"That photo was taken from a bar down the street," the other man speaks up, pointing to a specific area once his partner sets it on the counter. "That is you in the photo next to the specimen, isn't it?"
John leans forward, looming over the photograph as he studies its contents. I know he's playing dumb because I remember seeing the camera flash that night, just a few weeks ago. The first double date with Star and Teddy.
This is my fault – why did I think any of this was a good idea? What if this isn't just about me? What if these guys are looking into Starla as well? What the hell was I thinking? I'm still a fugitive, and I'm probably not that far from where I originated. Thinking it was time to get out more and be free... and even worse, I've put my friends in danger.
"That might be me – it's hard to say. The lighting sucks," John answers them.
"Of course it's you. Just by your reaction when I set it down, I can tell you recognize everything in that picture," the first guy grumbles, motioning to another section of the picture. "How about this – who or what is this?"
"Why didn't you ask the bar? I'm assuming they took the photo – they were the ones providing the weird photo op," John explains, shrugging away the situation. "I was drunk, I just went with it."
Dammit John, you can do better than that...
Almost in unison, both g-men wannabes sigh and exchange glances. It gives me another chance to view their faces – albeit a side profile at a distance, but I can't make out... really anything as far as features. They're very generic, seemingly cut from the same cloth to be as unnoticeable as possible.
"You do realize not cooperating with us just makes things harder for you, right?" the guy on the left says to John. "We have this photo, and we have eyewitness testimony that puts you there with... this thing."
"Do I get to speak to these eyewitnesses? Face my accusers sort of thing?" John suggests.
"Right, because we're going to give you an opportunity to intimidate them," the other guy laughs.
"You think I'm intimidating?" John asks, chuckling as he shakes his head. "Without ever seeing these witnesses, how do I know you aren't lying?"
"The burden of proof is on you, not us. You do realize harboring a biological experiment like this is a federal crime, right?"
"Oh thank God – here I thought you were with the EPA," John sighs with relief after his witty retort. "Not that I'm worried about them either, especially not the fifth row, all the way to the right out back. Totally not a buried chemical pit."
"We aren't interested in anything else but our current investigation but we'll be sure to pass on that information through the correct channels," the guy on the left tersely replies, his right hand falling to his side.
John deflates at his little misdirection that goes completely awry, while I'm left wondering what the hell he's doing. He's backed himself into a corner here – why doesn't he just give up? I told him not to worry about me... I don't want anyone paying for my fuckups; maybe I need to give in and jump out of my hiding spot before this gets bad.
"Should we just bring him in? I don't think we're going to get anything else from him at this juncture," the suit on the right comments.
"No, we will definitely get what we need quicker here than we will back at the office. We just need the right... technique."
John narrows his eyes as he tries to discern that cryptic little addendum. But without warning, the suit on the left jerks his right hand up from his side, clutching an object he uses to strike John across the face. As hard as it is, I fight back the urge to leap from my hiding spot. Meanwhile, reeling from the hit, John staggers back a step, holding his cheek as he winces and groans in pain.
Lefty raises his right hand and aims— he aims the gun he's holding in his right hand directly at John. "I'm done fucking around!" he now shouts. "We tried my partner's way, but I'm tired of your fucking jokes and your lies!"
"Hey, you said—"
"Shut up!" Lefty barks, interrupting his partner's attempt to intervene. "I told you we were wasting our time – you have to get forceful with idiots like this if you want to get anywhere!"
"You don't think it's a little weird being obsessed with a pony bot?" John wisecracks. "You know those are for little girls, right?"
Oh god – John, what the fuck are you doing? This is not the time for—
*BANG!*
John staggers back against the wall, clutching his arm in shock. Even through the pressure applied to his arm, crimson begins to seep through his fingers and down his wounded limb.
"How about another joke? I can probably plug another few rounds in you before you keel over," Lefty says, waving away the remaining wisps of smoke from the first shot.
This is going too far, I can't— I can't move. Why won't my legs work?!
My heart thumps even faster as I hear John start to chuckle again, no doubt lining up for another smartass comment despite the circumstances. "It would be a hell of a lot quicker if you just put one between my eyes, you know. Bullets for that are probably a bit expensive to be wasting on potshots, yeah?"
"It would make it easy for us – we can just bulldoze the whole place with you out of the way," Lefty chimes. "One way or another we'll either crush what we're looking for or flush it out in that case."
"And if you're wrong, what then? We just chalk it up to another Ruby Ridge? Or do we trying spinning it up a bit like Waco?"
"You're treading on thin fucking ice, smartass!"
John, for fucks sake!
"Aww, got you bent out of shape by prior fuckups? Did you get to be a part of those?"
"John, just stop!" I shout, finally regaining my strength to move. I shut my eyes as I leap free of my junkpile, ready to face...
Nothing happens. Not a sound from the scrap that should be clattering to the floor, or surprise from the g-men at my sudden appearance. I brace myself as I crack open one eye, fearful of what I might see. Maybe I'm forcefully shutting everything out or something...
Everyone is frozen. John is still leaning against the back wall, clutching his injured arm, while the suits stand on the other side of the counter, with the guy on the left still pointing his gun, ready to fire.
Confused, I take a step forward... and I'm able to do so with little effort and a slight click from my hoof. But everyone else remains absolutely still.
What the hell just happened?
"My sincerest apologies for allowing this to go on as long as it has," a voice echoes from... beyond. It sounds oddly familiar, a feminine voice I can't place.
"What?" I spout. It's all my mind can come up with as my head fills with questions and overwhelming what-the-fuckery at the current events. I feel a light breeze pick up from in front of me, which makes no sense; beyond the two men, the counter, and John lays a solid cinderblock wall. Yet one by one, the figures of the three men begin to dissolve, blown away like dust in the wind right past me until I'm left alone.
But my eyes do not stray from looking straight ahead; from beyond the counter and seeming to seep through the wall itself is a shadow. It twists and contorts as it draws nearer, before rearing to place hooves upon the stained countertop...
That darkened and worn linoleum stands as a stark contrast to the shimmering silvery-blue slippers this visitor wears – which themselves highlight her immaculate navy blue coat. From there, my eyes dart to the ethereal mane, billowing in a swirl of blues and violets and speckled with the light of stars. Yet as I meet her gaze, those turquoise eyes widen just a bit as we silently take stock of each other.
Now it all makes sense – everything makes sense. "Alright, so watching a couple of your episodes before bed was not a good idea. Still, I guess a fruity dream with Princess Luna beats... whatever godawful dream that was before this," I sigh.
"Y–yes. I have to say I am a bit overwhelmed myself by what I have witnessed," Luna murmurs in a low voice. While I've come to terms with this bizarre chain of events, Luna's disbelief holds out just a bit longer before she relaxes. But with that relaxed stance, Luna's eyes unfocus; rather than looking at me, she looks... beyond. Like I'm not even here now.
"So... am I lucid dreaming? Am I controlling this?" I wonder aloud. As I speak up, I feel the sudden urge to slap myself on the forehead. "Goddamn, I'm sitting here talking to myself in my own fucking lucid dream. This is stupid."
"My apologies while I try to understand this," Luna drones, as if in a trance. "Pray tell, what is your name?"
...my name. This is the first time I've ever been awake in my own dream and I'm asking myself my own name. How the hell does this shit work?
"John is gonna have a fucking field day with this if he catches me talking in my sleep about this," I mumble under my breath.
"Pardon?"
I may as well just go with the flow to speed this along. Apparently, I can't just change it. "Midnight," I finally answer, waving the proverbial white flag. "My name is Midnight."
Luna gestures with her hoof, beckoning me to come closer. Once I take my first step, the bar stool that usually sits on the other side of the counters suddenly manifests out of thin air, causing me to hesitate out of instinct for a brief moment. In addition, Luna's eyes have changed – gone are the familiar turquoise irises and black pupils, washed away by a gradual bright white that seems to glow more with each passing second. But I realize this is a dream – there's not much sense to make of things like this. Throwing away what remains of my wary nature for now, I hop up into the seat laid out for me.
Luna remains silent and virtually motionless at this time, just within hoof's reach now that I'm sitting at the counter. But seconds begin to feel like they are turning into minutes, with Luna still staring straight ahead, unblinking.
"So... what are we doing then?" I ask, unsettled by this long period of inactivity. "This gonna be a cute advice thing on dealing with nightmares or something."
"I must gather what I need..." she states in a monotone. As her eyes continue to gradually brighten and glow, the wall behind starts to shift.
Barely noticeable at first, the wall itself creeps closer toward us. At the same time, the shabby do-it-yourself shelf just above head height begins to warp – both multiplying in number to cover the wall and undergoing a makeover. Gone is the cheap plywood, left behind in a lustrous stained darker wood that shines under the light, highlighting the space now available, but barren.
Well, barren for a split second. One by one, bottles begin to appear, scattered in their manifestation, as well as their appearance. Tall, short, narrow, squat – it all starts coming into focus as a sort of bar, but none of the bottles have labels. But they all contain... something. Something liquid that moves and swirls in odd, almost organic motions within each bottle.
"By the stars," Luna gasps, barely above a whisper. The light from her eyes begins to dissipate now, revealing her normal irises and pupils.
With my eyes drawn away from the back wall by her remark, I notice even the counter I've been seated at has changed into a well–kept oak bar top, varnished multiple times to leave a slick, vibrant surface.
"Well... this is something. I don't recall you doing anything quite like this in the show – or taking that long," I idly comment.
"I am afraid things work a little differently in reality," she answers in an almost passive manner. Her attention has turned to the back wall now as she scans the landscape of bottles now inhibiting the numerous shelves.
"Uh... reality?"
"Reality is not the right word – my apologies," Luna quickly counters, turning to face me again right away. "This is how... you are imagining me in this way, and how I work. Your mind seems to prefer a more logical sort of path."
That... kinda makes sense, I guess. But Luna doesn't require nor wait for an answer before she's mulling about the shelves. One by one, a blue glow seizes bottles she decides to pick out. She selects several bottles of spirits and liquors with practiced memory, only putting back two 'incorrect' choices.
"Oh, that's what this is – John and I had a bit too much fun with the Captain last night and got a bit drunk," I say, more as a way of reassuring myself in this bizarre interaction rather than questioning Luna.
"Alcohol can have strong effects on dreams both positive and negative," she muses. "More often than not, the results are quite vivid and jumbled in nature." Luna spins around now with a final selection made; though that movement barely lasts a blink of an eye, she's now properly attired. A white button-up dress shirt graces her torso now, ending roughly between the end of her rib cage and her flanks. That base layer is accented by a charcoal grey vest, left open save for a button or two near the bottom to reveal a red tie.
I can't help but stare at the sight, as I can't say I've ever seen any pony be it bot or biological wearing clothes like... that.
"I may as well complete the look, no?" Luna asks, flashing a smile and emitting a slight giggle while she freezes to a pose.
"Sure, I guess. Kinda surprised you didn't go with something.... something more girly, I don't know."
"Well, it's your dream – everything remains fluid here," Luna remarks with a smirk.
I... don't want to be sending the wrong signals here. This dream is fucked up enough – I need to just keep my mouth shut.
"It's fine. Just surprised me is all," I assure her.
"Very well – then allow me to properly begin," Luna announces with a nod. Three bottles gently set down on the counter between me and her. "You have been through a lot, dear Midnight. Far more than I could have ever anticipated to see."
"What do you mean? See what?"
Rather than give me a verbal answer, Luna's hoof taps of the bottle furthest to my left. The murky liquid inside that has been swirling and roiling like the other spirit bottles begins to calm and slow, and now—
Colors begin to divide to their respective homes, forming images in the liquid. Images I recognize as they play out like numerous moving slideshows – for they are in fact my memories. Somehow, even as multiple scenes play out at once and continue to flitter about in this liquid form, I'm able to keep track of them.
This bottle is unpleasant to view – it contains memories of the lab I came from, starting at the first images I can recall and into the... the tests and experiments I had to endure. A chill runs down my spine, and I force my eyes away from the scenes, unable to bear reliving those awful moments.
"You have overcome frightful obstacles and beaten the odds despite what you have been dealt in life," Luna continues. "Perhaps it would have been easier to give in, but you did not – yet even moving beyond that terrible beginning, you have had to face further challenges..."
The *tink* of glass draws my attention forward, where Luna's hoof has tapped into the next bottle in line. Within the fluid mixture inside, more palatable images begin to come through. I can see the first visions of the junkyard through my eyes, and feel the same confusion and wonder I felt at that sight. I spy the early days of hunting and finding proper shelter and hiding spots when warranted. Finding manuals and books amidst the scrap heaps and setting to read all about the automobiles around me.
"It is safe to say you were born a fighter, Midnight. You have not once let the odds dissuade you from persevering and eventually overcoming anything left in your path."
And now— I see John. That first day we came face-to-face. Perhaps the most anxious moment of all the memories while living out back. My hoof was forced, and I had planned for that moment – but I knew it could go wrong. What follows is the myriad of battles and arguments between us as we try to endure sharing a living space with each other.
"Yet look at what has become of your fighting and the risks taken in that time," Luna cheers, tapping on the last bottle.
In the same process as the prior bottles, Luna's touch steadies and focuses the liquid, allowing the images of bringing the junkyard back to solvency to come through. But it's more than that; I can see the interactions between John and me becoming softer and more amicable... and even beyond as we start to connect. Through those moments, I see Starla and Teddy make appearances, all of it flashing by quickly, but I'm able to absorb it all.
Regardless of the inspiring little slideshow, I do not quite understand the point Luna is trying to demonstrate. "That's pretty neat, I guess," I speak up, unsure of what else to say or how to proceed any further.
"Indeed – I am quite taken aback by your tale if that had not been clear before. But through those trials and triumphs and now being on the other side, I sense a great fear that lingers in your heart," Luna explains, her voice growing cold.
It's a startling change, only magnified as the bottles on either end of the line suddenly jerk upward into the air. The caps fly off with force just as the bottles begin to tip over, dumping their contents— down into a stainless steel drink mixer, which just happens to manifest before the liquid hits the bartop.
"Your concerns are understandable – the past and present converging upon one another," Luna continues. The two bottles emptying their contents into the mixer disappear, followed quickly by the third that has remained on the bar during this time. But now, the stainless shaker sprouts a cap into existence, and the vessel begins to shake at a feverish pitch. "You have moved on from the past by laying your ire to rest, but you cannot let go of the fear – the fear of what unholy concoction could be brewed by the past rearing its head if you let go of it all to look purely forward."
On cue, the shaker stops its motions in the air, firing off the top like a champagne bottle under pressure. The vessel falls to the counter with little restraint, teetering for a moment until it inevitably topples and spills its contents onto the polished wood. Pitch-black ichor seeps out like a viscous oil – and within it plays dreams and images I have seen in my head, and in my dreams.
Like the one from tonight – terrifying thoughts of my past roaring back to afflicted those that I love and care about, my friends – my family– being caught up in my mess.
My mess, because I'm still a fugitive. That is one thing I cannot escape no matter what I do. Every time I go out beyond these gates, every interaction I have in the public – those are chances of being discovered, one way through another in a seemingly endless web of possible connections. I squeeze my eyes shut to shut out those thoughts that are playing out in the growing puddle on the bar, but it doesn't shut them out...
"And what if it does happen? What if these things come true?!" I demand as my heart begins to race – and my breath momentarily catches in my throat. "How would I live with myself if I bring that on them? If I'm even still ali—"
It's a headrest I suddenly feel dizzy and disoriented. Balance is only a suggestion as my moments start to feel uncoordinated and sluggish. I feel... I feel drunk, and I can't hold onto my own seat! I open my eyes as the vertigo becomes unbearable, and I find myself falling backward. I reach for the counter with a feeble motion, but I can't catch myself, as suddenly, all the lights start to look dim...
But Luna appears in the vignette that's begun to form, offering me her hoof as she rests her barrel over the bar to reach me. I'm able to grab hold and halt my fall.
"Indeed – 'what if?'" Luna whispers. Her eyes suddenly flash with that blinding white light from before – and everything snaps back to the way it was just a moment ago. I'm sitting comfortably on the bar stool again, while Luna leans on the counter. However, the drink mixer and dark puddle continue to tarnish the wood on the counter but thankfully, it seems to be just plain, normal liquid now.
"'What if?' is exactly what it sounds like, Midnight. What if you had failed in your escape? What if your first meeting with John had gone awry? What if Teddy had turned out not to be friendly?"
"Well... those are a bit different," I mumble, checking my seating just to be on the safe side after that brief experience. "I didn't have anything to lose in those situations – I had nothing. But things are different with where I am now, you know? It's not just about me anymore."
Luna gives a slight nod, but her expression remains serious and stoic. Certainly, my argument has done nothing to sway her mind to my side of things. Without a word, she turns her back to me, once again perusing the shelves for something... specific.
This time, she's zoned in and picks out three more bottles without mistake. She turns back around to face me, allowing that cold expression she had been sporting to melt away into a more welcoming, thin smile.
As she sets the bottles down one by one, I notice these not only appear empty, but they actually have labels on them; the first one, a green bottle, is emblazoned with John's face on the front. The next one to set down beside it is a clear bottle displaying Teddy's visage, shortly followed by the last one – an amber glass bottle, graced with Starla's smiling face.
But no sooner does that last one touch the bar, it rises back up to face level with Luna. She studies it for a moment in silence, her eyes taking in the details. "I must say, there are certainly some strange parallels at play here," she murmurs, just barely audible to my ears before the glass sets back down beside its mates.
"All three of these individuals know of your background, Midnight. They know what being with you and interacting with you entails. You've not hidden anything from them, and shared what you know of your past," Luna announces. As she speaks, the three empty bottles begin to siphon up the dark puddle that remains on the counter. Little by little, the liquid is drawn through the glass and filtered into clear spirits once again until the counter is spotlessly clean.
"While I am limited in my scope to just what you have experienced – I cannot sense a single ounce or instance of regret or uncertainty in befriending you. "'What if' does not cross their mind – or if it does, it does not do a thing to sway them or their opinion away from you."
"But that doesn't mean I should throw my cares and concerns away, right? Doesn't that mean I should be more careful?"
"My point is the 'what-ifs' will always be there. It's natural to have concerns – and even healthy, in order to balance out decisions," Luna explains, levitating the bottles back onto the shelf behind her without needing to look. "Risk is a part of life – I life without it is just as detrimental as one based solely upon risk. Trust your heart, but do not fear taking the steps before you. You have come so far, and I suspect even greater heights can be achieved. Through your negative experiences, you have been able to spin them into positive changes for those you surround yourself with, enriching their lives. And your ideas, though they may carry some measure of risk – I suspect Starla and Teddy are grateful for what you are offering them."
I— In a way, I want to argue, feeling like she's somehow missing the significance of laws and regulations surrounding my kind. About how things can go awry at the drop of a hat.
But...
Any risk I've taken is calculated – that's never changed. I don't throw caution to the wind, nor do I think I am even capable of that. But moving on to Teddy and Starla – in a sense, I never pushed them to be more outgoing. My appearance has caused them to rethink their position, and indeed, even recall the original goals they had lost along their journey.
No, I suppose I can never be truly safe – but that goes beyond just capture by the lab. So many other things could happen, just as events can happen to others. Lest I lock myself away in a room, there will always be risks...
"It's all about keeping balance. Being mindful and weighing things out, but not letting what-ifs hold me back."
Luna nods her head, breaking into the biggest smile I've seen from her in this whole interaction. "From what I have seen, you have a level-headed view on how to balance your life which has formed and matured with every step you take – and now tied in with your heart. What-ifs will always be there, but you cannot let them consume you. The best you can do is be mindful of them and use them in your steps forward. Let mind and soul guide you – they are the best tools we have at our disposal."
It's a bit silly that this is all in my own head, but I feel... lighter. Everything Luna has discussed with me in this time feels like it clicks into a proper place now, with thoughts properly filed and stowed away.
Luna thumps her hoof upon the counter – and in the blink of an eye, the garage surroundings come back into existence. The bar is gone, the wall has moved back, and only that single plywood shelf inhabits the space.
"As much as I would like to stay and partake in a more vested discussion, I am afraid my time here is rapidly coming to a close," Luna laments, her face momentarily displaying the same forlorn sort of tone her voice has. Her attire suddenly disappears now as well, shifting back into the regalia familiar from earlier – and the show. In addition, her smile has returned; Luna drops to all fours and circles around the counter, offering up one of her hooves for a shake.
"Uh... thanks," I say, awkwardly, now realizing I actually have the slightest height advantage on her now that we're face to face. Nonetheless, I accept her gesture marveling at... well, how real it feels.
"Take care of yourself, dear Midnight," Luna croons, snapping open her wings as she lets go of my hoof and takes a step back. "I'm overjoyed to see what has become of you."
...
"You mean how far I've come?"
*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
A blaring alarm clock answers my question, jolting me out of sleep in an unsatisfying moment of clarity. Cracking open my eyes, John's face fills my vision as we both lay in bed on a bright, early morning. But his eyes are still closed as he somehow slumbers through the electronic noise emanating from the end table on his side.
I gently prod at his chest with my hoof. "It's for you," I mumble.
"...mmm, tell em to call back?" John murmurs, stirring just enough to emit that wisecrack.
"I'll throw the alarm if you don't get it. I know they're cheap but—"
John relents during my rebuttal, turning over and slapping the alarm clock into snooze for now. "I'd call your bluff, but I hate doing drywall. Not worth the risk," he says, allowing a chuckle to escape.
"I never said I was gonna throw it at the wall. Give me more credit than that."
John rolls back over to face me. "Sounds like you're already firing on all cylinders. Good sleep, or alarm scare you awake?"
"Eh, weird dreams. Guess that's what I get for tapping the bottle before bed, huh?" I quip with a smirk.
Instead of the laugh I expect to get, John's smile vanishes. In it's place, a queer, concerned expression takes over, scanning my face.
"What's that look for?" I ask, taken aback by the sudden change.
"You must have a secret booze stash kept from me if you're serious, because this house is dry. I killed the last bit of rum we had early last week."
"...Oh."
Well, shit – there goes that theory. I've had vivid dreams, but nothing... nothing quite as bizarre and vivid as that. Not sober, anyway. But despite that, the same feelings I had at the end of the dream linger. I feel lighter and renewed. There's a discomfort I hadn't noticed in the back of my head for some time – and it's gone now. I guess the hows and whys don't matter – I've gotten a clearer mind and brighter outlook moving forward.
John sits up in bed, still beside me. "You said it's a weird dream – need to talk about it?" he asks.
"Nah, not that kind of dream," I say to calm him. "Just bizarre – a good bizarre. But I don't think I can share it without sounding nuts anyway."
"But you don't have a secret stash of booze?" he asks, putting on a sad face.
"Oh, shut up, stupid."
Author's Note
This was originally a one shot that in retrospect and rewwriting, I decided to include as part of the story as far as chapters, rather than a sort of 'standalone' like the flashbacks have been – hence the named chapter.
But what does this dream mean? Is it just a dream? Is the chip in Middie's head projecting Luna into her dreams to solve her own issues in a sense? Or is it something much more than that? Even I don't have an answer – this was written on a whim with little planning or thought – it was only afterward I sort of realized the significance. Inevitably, you have to draw your own conclusions – none of which are right or wrong.
"Wow, look at all the people and ponies here tonight! I've never seen so many at once!" Starla gasps for what may be the third time tonight.
That's alright – I know she's excited about this. From the time she and Teddy picked me up in the Cutlass, I could sense her anticipation building up to our arrival in the town square. Granted, I can't quite understand her fascination with social gathering and interactions, but I'm wired different.
It was an experience in itself riding in the back seat of the Cutlass alongside Starla. With the top down, the wind was a bit noisy, but the feeling of the airwhipping past made it worthwhile. And it really wasn't that loud – Star and I had some discussions on how we would go about tonight, wandering around the car show.
But I was taken aback by how busy it was as a Teddy crept through the crowd to the car show area. Even I have to say I've never seen this many people and... well, it was a bit overwhelming. I had to take a few deep breaths and ground myself; Star helped me with that, so by the time we were parked and Teddy was setting up, I was ready to go.
Teddy has been content to lay back a few steps from Star and I; it was his idea to have me... erm, 'leading the way' in this little exercise. So while he's chimed in here and there on conversation, it's mainly been a one-on-one session between us mares.
But I quickly came to the conclusion that I... didn't really have a plan here to support Starla. I myself have rarely interacted with passersby, and the few friends I have all introduced themselves to me . So tonight has been nice to look at cars, but for Starla...
I can tell that even though she's still thrilled to be here, the lack of interaction with others has been a bit of a disappointment. There's been a few waves here and there along with some brief friendly greetings, but it seems no one has the time to stop and partake in anything beyond that. Adults don't have much interest in us, while the kids and the ponies, excited as they may be to see Starla and me, are glued to their parents or... well, owner's side.
After a half hour of walking around now, I feel like I'm kind of failing Starla. Yeah, much of tonight thus far has been out of my control, and I don't... I don't really have any idea what I'm doing. I've given Starla multiple pep talks on pausing to think before responding to try to be a bit more reserved in her seemingly ingrained spontaneity, and what should always be kept under wraps – which seems obvious, but— well, it's sort of hard to tell someone to dial back friendliness, too.
"What's this thing? It looks like a car and truck mashed into one," Starla comments as we sidle up to a clean white vehicle.
"Ford Ranchero, but I'm not sure of the year..." I trail off, taking a few steps forward to glance at the placard in the front windshield corner. "1973 with a 351."
"Huh, I don't think I've ever seen anything like this. Were there more vehicles made like this, or was this it?"
"They made these for a number of years, and Chevy had the El Camino for even longer," I explain, surprised as I realize despite being more common, we haven't seen one of those yet. "Other than that... I don't know. That might have been it. I don't think either were big sellers."
Unfortunately, that's legitimately all the knowledge I have – my walking encyclopedia sidekick isn't here tonight to chime in...
But that's fine. We really need the Hemi painted to move forward with the project. I wish John were here, but I'm eager to see what he's able to accomplish by the time I get back home tonight.
"Ford only made the Ranchero until the late seventies – the El Camino lasted about a decade longer, and I think for a short time, GMC made a copy of it, too," Teddy speaks up. "Chrysler made a smaller version of the same idea called the Rampage, but... well, I've never seen one. They were even less successful."
"Thanks, Teddy," I say, turning my head and flashing him a grin. "My focus on specifics is tethered to the '60s and early '70s – glad you're here to fill in the blanks."
"Happy to help when I can," he says, taking a slight bow while he chuckles to himself.
There are easily over a hundred vehicles here this evening, so our little group moves on after a short glance at the interior, upholstered in a deep red, and then to the rear of the Ranchero. It is a neat little idea for a car – I'll have to do some deep-dive reading on it and the other hybrids in that odd class.
But with each passing minute, I'm starting to feel anxious. The whole idea of this night was to get Starla some face time with others, be it people or ponies. Once again – how do I do that? Since the opportunity hasn't arisen naturally, should I just go up to random folks and try to stop them?
What the hell do I even talk about? How do I include Starla into the conversation if I'm the one instigating it? This is taking way more effort and thought than I expected.
"Wow, it's not often I get to see others at eye level with me," a mature, feminine voice chuckles. It pulls me out of my current internal battle to figure out who said that.
That's not a hard mystery to solve – just off to my right, a fellow pony with a familiar off-white coat and pastel mane stands just a couple of feet away. Her magenta eyes scan between me and Starla equally, amused and intrigued by what she just mentioned – ponies matching her height.
I'm sort of surprised I hadn't noticed a Celestia bot present earlier – they usually stick out on account of size and color. Then again, tonight is a busy night, with plenty of folks milling about. Also, cars are present – my big interest.
"Hi there!" Starla blurts out with barely contained excitement, circling in front of me to approach Celestia.
Uh – hi. Sorry, I was lost in thought," I admit, decidedly more reserved in my approach to greeting as I offer a wave.
"Aw, that's quite alright? How are my fellow ponies doing this evening?" Celestia calls back, tilting her head as she inspects both Starla and I.
But my focus turns to Starla – more importantly, keeping watch over her. She's excited, and that's when the filter can come off in her head.
"We're doing great! There's a lot of cars out here tonight, huh?" Starla answers her, garnering a cheerful head-bob from the bot. "You're Celestia, right?"
I start to answer but catch myself before uttering a word. I don't think 'Who else would she be?' is an appropriate comment at this moment.
"I suppose I am in a sense, but my family actually gave me a custom name. I'm Aurora," she replies, putting a hoof to her chest.
Wait, that's a thing? Granted, I'm not well-versed in ponybot info, but I figured they all just went by their show counterpart names. Now I'm doubly glad I bit my tongue – I wouldn't have just made myself an ass, I'd have been a dumb ass.
But Celes— Aurora now looks at us with a smile that's faltered just a bit now. "I actually don't recognize either of you," she says, a hint of concern in her voice. "Usually I can hazard a guess..." she trails off, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she inspects us closer...
"Well that's okay! It's because we're—"
I step forward and flare my left wing out in front of Starla to cut her off, causing her eyes to go wide with shock. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but between Aurora's bit of suspicion toward us and Starla's excitement...
"We're actually customs models – not really a basis on the show," I speak up glancing over at Starla and flashing her an uneasy, apologetic smile. "We get that a lot – my name's Midnight."
Starla's expression softens up, now realizing why I jumped in. She nods her head while I lower my wing back down to bring her back into the conversation. "Yeah, I can't say we've come across many custom models like us. I'm Starla," she answers, continuing to roll with my setup.
Thankfully, that explanation also alleviates the slightly troubled reaction from Aurora. Her expression lightens up as her original welcoming demeanor and smile return.
"I must admit, this is a first for me!" Aurora proclaims, giggling at her own reaction. "It's very nice to meet you both. Every year during this show I get to meet some folks and ponies from distant areas that come together here – did you two travel far?"
"It... was a bit of a drive," Starla chimes in cautious in her answer as she flicks her eyes to me for approval, which I offer with a slight nod. "We're from around this general area, but this is the first time we've been to your town's annual show."
Starla motions back to Teddy, who stands just a few feet behind us, pretending to ogle at a nearby car while the three of us are tied up. "I live with Teddy – Midnight's a friend of mine we invited to come with us tonight."
Starla is doing great now that her initial unbridled enthusiasm has been tempered. But now it's my turn to get a little suspicious; while we're near our... eugh, 'owner', Aurora hasn't glanced around or introduced us to her 'family.'
"Who did you come with tonight?" I chime in, restraining my voice to something much more casual than I feel right now.
Without hesitation, Aurora turns to her left and flares out her wing on that side, pointing the feathertips toward a Ford Country Squire wagon just a couple of rows down and across the street. An older gentleman sits in a lawn chair, happily watching the folks passing by; meanwhile, inside the wagon, I can see a young boy and girl playing some sort of silly game between the back cargo area and the back row of seats.
"It's probably different where you're from – surprises a lot of ponies to see one of us venturing out a little bit," Aurora says. "This is a big event, but we're a small town. Rules are pretty relaxed, so we can walk around a bit without needing someone by our side. But I don't stray too much further than this – no sense in abusing it, you know? And I do enjoy the kids."
Aurora pauses to stretch – particularly focusing on one of her hind legs. "I like to stay a bit more active. The actuator in this back leg likes to start sticking if I'm lazy for an extended period of time," she chuckles. "I'm sure you know how that is."
"Yeah... I get that in my wings from time to time," I comment, fanning them out in demonstration. I force one of them to twitch a bit in an attempt to sell it. "Yep, right on cue, too. Damn thing."
Starla looks at my wings for a moment, then raises up one of her front legs and smiles. "Sometimes, it just gets to a point where you're better off replacing things," she says, flexing her limb. "I suppose the downside of being a custom model – parts aren't an exact match."
Perfect! I didn't even have the time to think of that on Starla's behalf – she included herself with her own little twist and without giving anything away.
Hell, that might have been a better way for her to focus on selling herself as a bot. Now I'm almost a bit ashamed... but then again, I'm so used to her quirks, be they physical or mental, that I never really notice her discolored front legs these days.
"Ah, that explains the coloring!" Aurora blurts out. She covers her mouth with a hoof, aghast at her utterance. "I'm sorry, I wasn't focused on that, I just noticed and—"
"Oh no no – you're fine, Aurora," Starla interrupts, motioning for her to settle down. "It doesn't bother me one bit. They're better than what I was—"
Starla pauses, taking note as my eyes dart toward her and glow a bit brighter. It's more subtle than a wing block, but still gets the job done.
"—made with. The custom parts, they had their glitches."
The finish comes out a bit broken and awkward, but Aurora doesn't appear to take note – at least, not of Starla. Aurora's magenta eyes have seized upon me as they widen a bit – though her beaming expression remains almost fully intact. "Wow, they put some pretty neat details in you two, huh? I hadn't even noticed your glowing eyes until now," she comments
Er... I guess that makes sense she would now notice, but it leaves me feeling vulnerable being put on the spot. At least she didn't mention anything about my slitted pupils... and now that I think of it, I'm glad she hasn't drawn comparisons between me and my closest show counterpart. That would have been awkward.
"Yeah, my own little quirk, I guess," I reply, trying to brush it aside.
"Aurora!" A little voice calls out our acquaintance's name; the little girl in the Country Squire has climbed out of the back and stands beside her parental guardian, waving frantically toward our group.
"Oops, looks like I'm wanted by my little friend. It was good to meet you two," Aurora sings, turning to head back.
"Maybe we'll meet each other again sometime! Thanks, Aurora!" Starla cheers, waving her goodbye as she trots off toward her family.
"Yeah, have a good night," I call after her. That actually went fairly well. Maybe a bit awkward at times but—
Starla's legs wrap around my neck, hugging me close in a surprise attack I hadn't noticed or anticipated... or cared to do so, anyway. "Midnight, that was wonderful!" she shouts. "Thank you so much for that!"
"Hey, that was pretty much all you, Star," I concede, returning her hug. "All I did was awkwardly butt in once or twice."
"That second time was perfect – maybe we should have gone over ways for you to stop me from getting carried away beforehand, but your eyes glowing – that was good thinking."
"Yeah... I didn't do much planning. To be honest, I'm realizing I'm not exactly sharp when it comes to interacting with new people... or ponies. I'm glad someone stepped up and happened to strike up a conversation," I admit while pulling away from her, that pang of doubt coming back despite the celebratory atmosphere.
"I thought you both did really well – maybe tonight is a learning experience for both of you," Teddy remarks, stepping into the conversation. He strokes Starla's mane while offering a pat upon my withers. "You both complement each other well, covering each other's... well, I don't want to say weaknesses, but—"
"Nah, no offense taken. We don't need to dress it up," I quip, adding a chuckle to assure him I'm good.
"Hopefully we get to see Aurora again someday – and hopefully we get to meet a lot more ponies like her tonight!" Starla exclaims, rising back to her hooves and trotting forward with her new mission in mind.
"Well, let's not go overboard tonight," I comment, trailing after her with Teddy in tow. "Don't want to meet em all in one night."
Despite the uncertain start, tonight has gone quite well. There's been a nice mix of automotive curiosities to view and interactions with others on occasion. Despite Starla's exclamation earlier, she's been level-headed and discretionary in how often and who she approaches; that may be purely for my benefit, or she's adjusting to tempering that boundless excitement, but I'm not sure.
Nonetheless, we've met a handful of ponies – and had another short run-in with Aurora – as well as some kids; personally, I didn't have much interest in them, but one little girl was particularly enamored by Starla's appearance to approach her. Her reward? A short ride on Starla's back.
I really hate that word but I have to admit... the scene was kinda cute watching Star carry her overjoyed little companion around. It was certainly a highlight of the night for both of them.
I haven't had to step in too much since the first few interactions; Starla appears to have a better grip on her emotions now with a little bit of experience under her belt. Fortunately, my signal to her with my eyes has worked flawlessly – no more awkward moments when I do feel the need to step in.
Personally, I've been fine remaining more on the sidelines now; after all, my main objective is to assist Star, with the bonus of cars to look at. But I suppose getting into conversation with strangers has become... less uncomfortable. I will never be anything close to a socialite, but being more well-rounded makes times like tonight easier.
If I had to pick a particular highlight of mine as this show begins to wind down, I'd have to say it was the awestruck boy pointing out 'that bad-ass Nightmare Moon over there.' I can't deny that put some extra pep in my step and a laugh from Starla; unfortunately for the kid, he got a scolding for the language.
But for the past hour since spotting something, I've admittedly been playing a passive hide-and-seek game. We've met our fair share of ponybots, but there's one I want to avoid. I haven't mentioned it to Starla or Teddy – I've just been able to find the excuse to dash over to another row of cars when my eyes catch sight of that mane nearby.
At least for the past twenty minutes, I've only had to redirect Starla; with the revelation of more relaxed rules here regarding ponies, we've set out on our own just a short distance from the Cutlass. Teddy got caught up discussing his car with a fellow enthusiast, and seeing how well Star and I were getting along during the night, didn't want to hold us up. We're staying within eyesight of him, which is a decent margin considering the thinning crowd.
I don't really know why I'm so aversive to meeting a Luna bot; the Celestia bot, Aurora – that meeting went well. Hell, the Twilight bot from months ago in the store didn't place me as anything familiar. But seeing that starry blue mane...
I feel uncomfortable with the idea. Not just because of possible stronger ties there to my appearance but the... well, the utterly bizarre dream I had just a day ago with her. It all just feels so weird to even consider now. Even besides the uncertainties regarding one particular bot's knowledge of Nightmare Moon, how the hell am I gonna talk with her and not think back to that vivid dream?
"Midnight."
"Hm?" I turn my head upon Starla's call to find her violet eyes studying me.
"You've been awfully quiet for a few minutes. You doing alright?" she asks, keeping her voice low and cautious.
I guess I have been sorting through my internal thoughts for some time now. Even so, it's nothing that I would consider troubling or bothersome enough to share with her. "Yeah, I'm fine," I respond, shrugging my shoulders. "Just trying to figure out some things in my head."
"Oh? Maybe I can help. To be honest, you got me a little concerned."
"Oh, it's nothing like that, Starla," I assure her. But those inquisitive eyes refuse to stray away until I come up with something of substance to offer.
I'd feel a little silly if I admitted I'm concerned about running into a Luna bot for reasons I don't fully understand. But saying nothing isn't an option. So..."I'm just thinking about everything we've seen today. Some of those Fords are kinda confusing. Like that Fairlane fastback we saw – I thought all the fastbacks were called Torinos, but apparently, I'm wrong."
That's actually not a lie – but it's not what my state of internal affairs is dealing with at the moment. Yet I don't sell the half-truth well enough to persuade Starla, for her eyes narrow and remain pointed in my direction.
That is, until they abruptly widen in surprise. "Midnight, look ou—"
She almost gets the call out before I walk right into an obstacle in front of me. I flinch back, startled by the sudden stop.
"By the stars, my sincere apologies," waxes a proper and silky feminine voice. I don't even have to turn my head and look to see who I've managed to run into – that short remark jogs my memory in a flash...
The one who I've been avoiding all night, Princess Luna, looks on with mild embarrassment as I turn to look at her. Much like I would expect from the show and my dream, she's a bit shorter than Starla and I – and Aurora from earlier for that matter – but not by much.
"I— sorry. That was my fault," I admit, stumbling over myself in the moment. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"Hi there!" Starla jets in, taking a step toward Luna. "I'm Starla and – I kinda distracted my friend Midnight here into not watching where she was walking. Sorry about that." Her grin turns uneasy as she apologizes, but that only serves to garner a chuckle from Luna.
"I suppose we all deserve part of the blame – I should not have been cutting in between automobiles. My apologies for that," she responds, putting out a hoof. "It is a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Moona."
Alright, so apparently custom names are the norm, not the exception – and I'm going to guess, at least in this case, the child was the one to name her. Regardless of name origin, I guess a custom name makes sense – it would be a pain in the ass to differentiate separate ponies from one another if they all had the same name. But I'm sure there are still plenty of folks out there that keep their bots in character, too...
Starla eagerly accepts Moona's hoofshake, much to the amusement of our new acquaintance. In contrast, still a bit blindsided by this sudden run-in, I'm a bit slower on the uptake once Moona turns to shake my hoof. She has a keen eye, for her smile falters upon my slight hesitation to accept her gesture. "You are not harmed, are you?" she asks, tilting her head.
"No. No, I'm fine," I dismiss her concerns, eager to be rid of any suspicions that may be brewing in Moona's mind. I stick my leg out and shake her hoof "I'm – yeah, what Starla said. I'm Midnight."
I did a great job of stumbling through that – and as a result, Moona doesn't appear to be swayed that I am 'fine.' Her smile fades a bit more as those turquoise eyes inspect me, darting from my face to the rest of my form. All at once, her eyes go wide. "Pardon me for saying this, but your appearance surprises me," she gasps. "Is it mere coincidence you share striking similarities with... er..."
Shit. I guess I had reason to be concerned after all...
"Nightmare Moon?" Starla suggests.
Outstanding work, Star.
Moona points a hoof toward Starla with a gasp. "Yes, but I was fearful of being offensive," she replies. "I understand that name has negative connotations in regards to myself – but that does not personally trouble me. My concern was it being taken as a derogatory comment."
...really? Her hangup was the possibility of offending me?
Starla glances at me while I try to comprehend this baffling situation in order to for a response. Sensing my hangup, she steps in again. "We're actually both custom models," she explains, garnering a nod from Moona. "I don't really have a basis, but Midnight— well, that was your basis, wasn't it?"
"Yeah – they just changed it up a bit. Small details... you know, avoid trademarks and that stuff," I manage to piece together. "No, I'm not offended by it. I guess I'm sort of surprised you aren't more shocked by my appearance."
Again, Moona tilts her head, gazing at me almost dumbfounded. "Certainly, your appearance is striking, but why should I feel alarmed? Do you wish to bring eternal night to this world?"
"Uh... no? That's sort of an odd thing to suggest."
"Just as it would be odd for me to be unsettled by you," she replies, chuckling. "Of course, we are derived from a children's cartoon show – but that does not mean we directly fulfill the roles of our specific characters. I am not an actual princess – and you are not a villain."
When she says it like that, I feel like an idiot for even being concerned in the first place – it makes sense she would be aware of her place in this world and grounded in reality. It makes sense to have knowledge of the show for children's sake – but not to act upon it. Which sort of makes it bizarre the two other bots didn't recognize my looks – but be it different programming or politeness – there's a number of variables in that equation.
"I— yeah, I don't know what I was thinking," I comment, trying to sell it with a short laugh. "I guess the occasional kid scared by my appearance had me expecting something different."
Fortunately, Moona breaks into a giggle with my explanation. "Ah yes – children can be quite impressionable at younger ages," she muses. "One of the little girls in my family is convinced I am the reason a particular recurring nightmare has finally been chased away. I can only assume my attempts to alleviate her fears by vowing no harm could ever come to her from such dreams may have played a role in some sense."
"Aww, that's sweet," Starla gushes, holding a hoof to her chest.
"It is, but I am also keenly aware those nightmares could return – and while I only assured her those dreams could not bring her harm, I am unsure of what I will do should my concerns become reality," Monna admits. But the troubled expression on her face remains brief; she shakes her head free of those thoughts and relaxes again. " But I assume by your comments regarding children fearing you – you do not live with any?" she asks me.
"No, that's sort of the nature of custom bots, I think," I respond, noting Starla shaking her head negative on the question as well. "When it comes to custom models, they usually belong to grown men with too much time on their hands."
My comment elicits a giggle from Starla beside me; Moona nods her head, but there's no hiding that perplexed look beyond the smile she flashes.
"Star! Mid!" Teddy's voice calls out from a distance; both us us turn our heads and see him standing by the Cutlass alone and waving for our attention.
"Aww, I think it's about time for us to go," Starla pouts, shifting her attention back to Moona. "Hopefully we can run into each other again sometime and have a longer chit-chat."
"Maybe not actually run into each other next time," I joke.
"Indeed – it is nearing the top of the hour, the show is all but over for tonight," Moona comments. "But I also hope we may meet again soon. Perhaps another car show in the future in the nearby area?"
"Yeah, next time I might have a car to show. Well – my companion and I."
"I look forward to that," she replies, beaming with anticipation while offering Starla and I another hoofshake before parting ways. "Farewell for the time being, my friends."
"Bye Moona, take care," Starla calls after her. Even though the headcount is rapidly dwindling, Moona's form soon melts into what remains of the forms and lengthening shadows mulling about.
"Well that was quite the interesting meeting," Starla quips while we turn and head back toward Teddy. It's a comment with seemingly little direction, but that gives me little pause.
"Yeah, that went smoother than I could have ever imagined," I chuckle. Starla's eyebrows raise upon hearing my response, causing me to hesitate.
"Is that why we're been cutting between rows and taking roundabout ways the latter half of tonight?" she proposes, slightly amused by the thought...
Or she already put two and two together – that's the more likely answer. I can't fool myself into believing otherwise.
"...that might have had something to do with it."
"Do you really think that low of yourself, Midnight?" she follows up, not bothering to mask the inkling of pain that trickles into her voice.
"No, it's not like that Star – I have a good view of myself nowadays," I protest. "I just... with that being Luna, I didn't know how she would react to my appearance. I thought it would just be better to avoid the situation, just in case. If any bot is going to have strong feelings toward me or recognize me, it would have been her, right?"
"That's— that's really it?" The dumbfounded expression on her face is something to behold for just a moment, even though that wasn't my goal.
"Yeah, that's pretty much it. It was never about me or how I felt about myself. What did you expect?" I respond, turning the tables now to sate my own curiosity.
"I was thinking you were getting hard on yourself because... I've been doing most of the talking tonight. It's come pretty easy for me, and I was a bit worried you felt left out or you were comparing yourself to me. I guess I never thought you were focused on one specific individual, or for a particular reason."
"That doesn't make it much better in regards to that last bit," I comment with a dry laugh. "But no, as for the rest of it – you're much more sociable than I am. You probably always will be, and I'm perfectly fine with that, Starla. Tonight hasn't been overwhelming but to be honest, I feel a bit mentally drained from the discussions I have taken part in. It's just not my thing."
"I hope it's consolation that it means a lot for you to be here tonight and helping me out," Star crows, leaning up against me. "Thanks again."
"No problem – I'm glad I was able to help after what you've done for me," I remind her, putting my weight against her now. "And even though it was uncomfortable at times, I think it did me some good to get out and about l, too."
"But you're ready to head home, aren't you?" An innocuous suggestion, if I didn't note the certain mischievous look in Starla's violet eyes. Or that thin smile she's trying to hide away.
"I'm not that desperate to see John, no."
"I never said his name – you brought it up," she gasps, trying to hold in a giggle.
"Oh come on, that's clearly what you're trying to hint at," I argue, rolling my eyes.
"I was only hinting at wanting to see the freshly-painted engine, not John," she teases, speeding into a trot now.
"You know what? I think I've had my fill of big sis for tonight," I muse, turning up my nose to finish the statement for added effect.
Starla laughs – and all too soon, I have to join in.
What an evening.
As it turns out, I'm glad Midnight has not been present tonight while I've come to grips with painting. Primer is a completely different beast from metallic paint; it takes a lot more finesse and a light touch to not completely fuck the finish. I spent two hours and a fair amount of paint spraying junk parts before I felt confident enough to tackle the engine. I'm glad I had the forethought of ordering more paint than I would ever need to tackle the job – but I expected there to be a learning curve.
While I wouldn't have the confidence to tackle painting an actual car, I'm happy with how the engine turned out. Considering my inexperience, there are relatively few runs or dark spots where the metal flake has pooled; it still needs to fully cure, but what appears to be the finished product will look great once set back in its home in the Chrysler.
Teddy texted me within the first hour, letting me know they had arrived at the car show and sending a few pictures – one of the Cutlass set up for display, and two of the mares waltzing around a few of the other cars there for the show. Up until about a half hour ago while I was cleaning up, I hadn't gotten any other messages from him. I figured no news is good news – not that I expected any trouble. I had all the confidence in the world that this whole outing would go off without a hitch.
That last message was just to let me know everyone was headed home – with the sunlight just about extinguished for the day, I expect their arrival any time now.
But I have to admit despite the positives, it's been surreal not having Midnight here tonight. Sure, it's not like she's glued to my side every minute of every day; we have to go our separate ways on a daily basis while pulling car parts out in the yard. But in those cases, she's still on the property, and usually still in the general vicinity. Just like the situation with the coyote, one shout is all it takes to have her jet back to meet me.
It seems silly to miss her tonight, but it puts everything in perspective with that feeling of longing that's crept up over time. She means a lot to me – not having her here leaves a void that no matter how I slice it, I cannot ignore. That's not to say I hadn't anticipated this feeling, but actually experiencing it now...
That thought gets cut short now as my ears catch the distinctive sound of a well-tuned exhaust rumbling down the road, slowing its tempo as it gets louder before dropping to what sounds like idle. I pat my shorts pockets, making sure I have my keys for the front gate before exiting the shop.
My timing is impeccable – as I round the corner and catch a view of the front gate, Midnight's silhouette soars over it, landing upon the sand at a decent canter and virtually no sound. Either she's that eager to see me, or Teddy and Star are just dropping her off, ready to head home and call it a night rather than stop in for a short visit.
The engine note beyond the fence changes, giving me my answer – with little hesitation, I hear the low growl of the V8 as it zooms off down the road and into the distance. Seeing no reason now to walk further toward the gate, I halt in my tracks. With Midnight trotting toward me at a decent clip, I probably wouldn't have made it but a few more feet before meeting anyway.
"Wow, I even get a greeting party tonight," she teases, flashing a fanged smile. "You must have really been missing me."
"I thought Teddy and Starla might stop in for a visit, meaning I'd have to unlock the gate, you smartass," I counter, exaggerating my tone at the end to ensure she doesn't take my comment the wrong way.
Midnight shakes her head, but that smile she sports doesn't fade. "Nah, too much fun and excitement for one night. Starla was yawning a lot on the way back – I have a feeling the anticipation of tonight kept her from a good night's sleep last night." With that explanation complete, Middie wastes little more time in rearing up, planting her forelegs on my shoulders, and pulling me in for a hug.
"Oh? What's this?"
"Nothing. Just figured you probably missed me real bad tonight – affection would probably do you some good."
"And you didn't miss me at all?"
"...I never said that," she says in a hushed voice. "I may have thought of you here and there." The coy response is hardly a surprise, but I hadn't expected a hug to be in the cards early on, even if that gesture has become increasingly commonplace.
"So I take it tonight went well on your side of things, eh? 'Fun and excitement' is a promising indication."
"Yep – smooth as silk," she crows back, gradually releasing me from her embrace and dropping back down to all fours. "Granted, I stopped her a few times when she was getting carried away, but I think Starla's issues were a tad dramatized by Teddy. Not on purpose, and I obviously can't speak for instances in the past... but she did really well. I didn't have to do too much."
"Did you two actually have folks approaching you, or how did that all work?" I ask, finding myself invested in the happenings.
"Believe it or not, there were a lot of ponybots there tonight," Midnight answers, wide-eyed as if she can't believe it herself. "There were a couple of kids, but we mostly ended up mingling with bots. The rules were pretty lax too, so we got to venture off a short ways – but never out of eyesight with Teddy."
"Wow, I hadn't expected to hear that. So it sounds like tonight was a good night for everyone."
"Oh? even for poor old you?"
I pat Middie on the head, chuckling to myself. "Yeah, even for me. I missed you, but not having you here to comment on my terrible first attempts at painting meant my confidence didn't take a severe beating."
"I only criticize to help you improve," she protests, tongue in cheek. "I hope you improved and found your way around the spray gun before actually painting the engine. To be honest, you have me a teensy bit concerned now."
"I think the only way I can satisfy your concerns are to take a gander at how it looks," I suggest, motioning toward the shop. "Shall we?"
Eager to see the results of my solo work, Middie sidesteps me without a word and ambles forward. Her purposely languid pace makes it easy for me to reach her side and match her stride.
"So it sounds like you got some enjoyable social interaction beyond our little circle, too," I comment, wanting to hear more of her side.
"It was alright. To be honest, that sort of jumping around finding folks to talk to and shoot the shit – that's not my thing," Midnight admits without hesitation. "It got better through the night, but it was mentally draining nonetheless."
"Good – it means I don't have to change too much," I chuckle.
While it had not been that long since heading out of the garage to meet Midnight, the shop lights now have a more dramatic effect on the increasing darkness, casting it outward into the sand. As we round the corner and catch sight of the engine stand and its cargo, Midnight's pace quickens.
"Oh damn – I hadn't expected it to be so... so bright!" Midnight gasps, awestruck by the sight of the silver paint. "I'm not going to lie, you had me worried talking about your little learning curve – but it looks great!"
"To be fair, the learning curve is off to your right, sitting on cardboard now on the floor," I speak up. She stops circling the engine to view my test pieces now – and the sight of the first one that I practically drenched in paint draws a grimace from her.
Alright, I see your point," she murmurs, turning her head to look at me. "Glad you had the forethought to run some test parts with the paint. Was it really that hard to figure out?" It's a genuine question, rather than a dose of snark.
Even so, I can't help but smirk; it seems she didn't listen when I was going through what all operating the gun entailed as far as adjustments. "Paint viscosity, air flow, paint flow, and distance from the part you're spraying all have a big effect on the process," I sum up.
"I'll cut you a break then. But when are we putting this engine in the car?" she asks, plastering on a hopeful, innocent grin.
"Why am I not surprised that question came up next?" I tease, crossing my arms.
"Are you telling me you aren't dying to get this on the road?" Midnight counters, unable to hide a smirk.
"I'd like to give it a few days to make sure the paint is fully cured. It's lacquer, so we should be good to go about the start of the week. But it's funny you mention getting antsy..." Trailing off on my thought brings Midnight's full attention on me, forcing her to turn around. Her eyes wide, she cocks her head, silently urging me to get on with it.
"I was thinking we don't have to get everything done on the first go. The body and chassis integrity is not a concern – the paint is just weather-faded. But that doesn't stop us from driving it as is. And I'm leaning toward just getting new tires for the wheels already on the car, too."
"I do kinda like the wire wheels," she concedes, glancing over at the Chrysler still tucked away under protective sheets. "But I have a feeling that idea is also because doing what you wanted with wheels and tires is a complicated affair. I've looked over your shoulder on that subject from time to time."
Most surprising to me at this moment is the fact she's not doing cartwheels over the idea of fast-tracking the car into a driver. But her observational skills that blur the line crossing into nosiness are impeccable.
"Yeah, that's another part of it. It's not like tons of folks have restored these cars – there's not many left. So the information out there is spotty at best," I explain. "With how tall the tires are and their narrow width, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around what will fit and look good, for both wheels and tires. The last thing I want to do is fuck with returns and exchanges finding out a purchase won't work."
"We can always change it up down the line when the tires are burned off of it," she comments. Walking over to the Chrysler, she lifts up a sheet to take a gander at the still dirty and dusty chrome wheels. "You think these will clean up nice?"
"I'd put money on it – just about everything else has cleaned up beautifully, and there's no signs of the chrome pitting. But new tires will last a while – we won't be 'burning through them' for at least a few years."
"Not with that kind of attitude," she retorts, shooting me a devilish little expression.
"And that's why you won't be allowed to drive it."
"Ha! Good luck stopping me."
I just shake my head at her nonsense, preferring to get back to the prior topic rather than spiral into silly banter. "I think once we get the engine in the car and running, we'll move onto flushing the transmission to see if that will still work after sitting so long. I think it will, but in the near future, I suspect we will have to tear it down – I'll be surprised if there aren't some leaky seals on the internals. We get that flushed and bleed the brakes, check electrical... yeah, we might get the car on the road sooner rather than later. Part of the fun of an old car is the opportunity to get stranded – no sense in making it perfect."
Midnight has to raise an eyebrow at my final remark. "I'm all for getting the car on the road sooner. Death from being stranded in the desert... not so much."
"I kid – and we wouldn't be road-tripping with the car. It will be a while before we get to that point, but it will be immaterial if the transmission can't generate enough line pressure to function. We'll have to wait and see."
"I think I can go along with this plan," Midnight replies, keeping her excitement and anticipation under control for now while she trots back to my side. "I'll be level with you, I was skeptical about repainting the car anyway. I looked up prices to take it somewhere – that made my eyes water."
"Yeah, we'll just see what we can do with the paint for the time being. Guess it kind of makes it even more like your automotive counterpart, huh?"
"What does that mean?"
"A diamond in the rough."
"Ugh. I should have tried to find another family to take me home." Despite her groaning, it isn't lost on me that she's now leaning up against me...
The plan to expedite work on the Chrysler is in full swing; that combined with the prior hills of progress like engine assembly and painting having been crested makes it feel like someone has smashed the fast-forward button on a remote.
The new whitewall tires showed up just yesterday – I hadn't expected shipping to be that speedy, but that's no problem. Over the period of the last two or three days, Midnight has taken the time to clean and polish all four wire wheels on the car, and with how they have turned out, the new tires are really gonna make the whole setup pop.
The funny thing is, Midnight only started to clean one out of curiosity. I certainly didn't spur her to tackle the project, but the sparkling initial results motivated her to finish one, then move on to another... though to be fair, there hasn't been much else to work on the car at this juncture; the necessary bit of work made a nice distraction for Middie from other matters.
She did a better job than I could have ever mustered, and she went above and beyond the call of duty. A polishing cloth with her ability to get it around every wire to clean up the last bit of tarnish and dirt made surprisingly quick and detailed work of it all. My fingers hurt just thinking about trying to match what she did.
But with a few days behind us now to ensure the paint is cured, the main event is getting the engine back in the car. With the removal process under our belts in the not-too-distant past, I expect the installation to go smoother. Every car has its nuances in removing certain parts – we will take our time, but I feel confident all those oddities will be remembered and easily addressed once we get to them.
But I have to admit, there's a new wrinkle in this process – the fresh paint on the engine. Even though touch-up will be a cinch and the confines of the engine bay ensure most sins will be hidden, no one wants to mar up new color. So anticipation has blended in with anxiety once again...
And both emotions are rising as I watch Midnight fasten a chain to the engine block. With that done, she turns to me expectantly, tilting her head. "You aren't gonna get your panties in a bundle like last time, are you?"
"Have we installed an engine before?"
"You know what I mean – when we pulled it out."
"Oh. Anyway, I always get my panties in a bundle. It's cheaper than buying em one pair at a time."
Midnight rolls her eyes and huffs at my wisecrack. "That was fucking awful."
"I thought you might appreciate the joke – whoops." I shrug my shoulders, but can't prevent myself from cracking a grin at her response.
"You should fetch the engine hoist before I smack the shit out of you," she coos mockingly, batting her eyes.
Having had my fun and knowing the limits, I salute at Middie's instructions and shuffle over to the hoist still left in the corner from last time. As I head back with the noisy caster wheels on the concrete announcing my arrival, Midnight's face lights up.
"Wow, I actually expected you to find another avenue of stupidity to pursue. I'm glad I was wrong," she says.
"That can wait till later. We don't need the stress of this job turning light-hearted jabs into proper stabbing insults, you know?"
"Couldn't agree more," she answered happily. But after a short pause, her brow furrows. "You're gonna double down afterward, aren't you?"
"You worry too much. Let's get started."
One by one, Midnight cracks the mounting bolts loose holding the engine to the stand while I rig up the hoist and make sure the chain is taut in preparation for release. A slight jerk as the weight transfers completely to the hoist lets me know things are now in full swing.
Just not the engine – Midnight keeps it steady and from starting a pendulum motion while we wheel the cargo to the waiting bay of the Chrysler. She keeps a close eye on it as we move, but once we're close, her eyes dart to the engine bay, then to me. "Are you sure putting the headers on after we install the engine is the easier way?" she asks.
"It's a double-edged sword either way, but I do think it's the lesser of two evils. Yes, the headers would be way easier to put on now, but then we'll have to contend with working them around the transmission and watching for clearance around... well, just about everything," I explain, halting my steps and the hoist I'm pushing "The headers will fit, but I'm not sure how tight the fit is going to be, and I don't want to ding them up. Doing that after the installation will be a challenge, but we have new exhaust studs and other hardware that will ease the pain. It shouldn't be too bad."
"Ah, famous last words," Midnight jokes.
"You know it."
Midnight and I work together to maneuver the hoist into place, trying to center the engine for its descent into a now clean engine bay. With all the dust and grime gone, it makes potential hangups more visible; however, Midnight recalls much of what we had to pause for when taking the engine out anyway, such as the fuel lines.
As a result, the delicate process of easing the engine down into its cradle goes far quicker that I believe Midnight or I had anticipated, especially since we both agreed to take it slow. But before long, the chain holding the engine shows signs of slack as the front suspension of the car growls with the addition of weight to the front end.
"You think you'll be able to get the bolt into the motor mounts from the top here, or should I jack up the front of the car and crawl under it?" I ask Midnight.
Midnight, who stands on the passenger side of the car after dancing back and forth to watch for engine clearance, peers down toward the K-member, where the engine mount resides. Her brow furrows in contemplation while her eyes glow brighter, aiding her sight to see in the dim light below. "I should be able to. My viewing angle isn't great, but I can see the slots."
"Nice. We get that on each side and a couple bolts into the transmission and we can breathe a sigh of relief – but this is going really well."
"I figured it would – and that's not me boasting," she clarifies. "Guessing you're gonna finagle the hoist to help line up the slots for me?"
"Yep – you nailed the plan to a tee, Mid."
I leave my post without another word, heading to the shelves where I've kept many of the parts and fasteners for the Chrysler. I realize now in my haste to get started, I completely forgot to grab the motor mount and transmission to engine block bolts to have them on standby."
"So you had a plan, but didn't plan for the plan, huh?" Mid calls after me.
"Hey, shut up. That's a lot of plans to keep track of," I whine.
"That's two plans at most if you really wanna split hairs and separate them," she argues. But she doesn't have anything to add as I rummage through a large box filled with coffee cans and plastic bags containing all the fasteners for the car.
While I feel I did a good job of sorting and marking up everything we took off the car, I don't locate the bolts I'm looking for until I've narrowed down my search to one of two coffee cans. It's a process that, to my embarrassment, has taken a few minutes of time in relative silence. With a bag finally in hand and now making my way back toward the Chrysler, I can already see Midnight smirking, trying not to say anything.
"Go ahead. You'll hurt yourself if you don't spit it out," I groan.
"Should have started with the last can, huh? Would have saved you a lot of time," she jokes.
"Alright, that was even worse than I expected. You're getting almost as bad as me with stupid wisecracks," I accuse her.
"I'm just paying back a debt I owe you," she gushes in a silky sweet voice.
"Congrats – I'm wiping your debt away," I say while fishing out the first bolt for Midnight. She takes it without a word, but that smirk has grown devious.
"Wiping it away would be too easy. I need to make sure I pay it off to feel a sense of accomplishment," she counters.
"Maybe I deserve that – but hush and do your work," I playfully demand, pointing at her.
Focus shifts away from banter and back toward the task at hand. Midnight tilts her head at various angles and shifts her posture, trying to get the best viewing angle. It leaves me to wait for her instructions at the far end of the hoist, preparing to shift it in any way she calls out to line up the slots.
But that call never comes; with a satisfied grin, Midnight raises her head up and nods. "That one's in. No fighting needed."
"Guess we do damn good work. Sometimes they're a real bitch to get set right – maybe the car and the engine are just as eager as we are," I suggest.
Humming in amusement, Midnight circles around behind me, pausing only for a brief second for me to pass her the bolt for the driver's side mount. With one lined up and in, there's not going to be much movement available for me to shift the hoist. That could be a good thing or a frustrating thing...
Midnight's upbeat expression and mood sour with the first glance down into the abyss of the engine bay. "Alright, maybe things have been going too easy. We got a problem," she laments.
"I'm guessing it's not something small enough for me to just shift the hoist – what's up?"
"Motor mount is cockeyed in its seat. Too far forward," she explains. It's an explanation that I can't quite picture, at least not the way she's described it.
Unlike Mid, I have to grab a flashlight before stepping to her side and taking a look for myself. The problem is obvious as soon as I illuminate the area – the motor mount attached to the engine should be sitting between the 'ears' of the mating bracket welded to the K-member. Instead, we've somehow managed to get the engine to rest level with half of the mount inside of that bracket, and the other half forward of the front ear.
"I'm actually kind of impressed we were able to do that," I comment, trying to make the relatively minor setback a bit more light-hearted.
But Midnight sighs, the confidence and momentum we've had going so far dashed by this sight. "I'm gonna have to get that first bolt back out, aren't I?" she groans. "Should have known this was going too well."
"It's okay, we really haven't gotten that far – it's just one bolt," I remind her. "Besides, we're still making good time – and it's not like we're getting everything bolted in and hooked up for the first startup today."
"A mare can dream, can't she?" Midnight speaks up. It's a musing that's more desperate than hopeful, and she knows it judging by the sheepish grin that's managed to form on her muzzle.
"That's not a dream – that's a delusion," I clarify for her, deflating that expression on her face to be replaced by a pout.
"Oh, fine. You're no fun," she complains, pausing for a brief mental reset. "So did you want to try lifting up the engine a bit before I take that bolt out? Maybe we can sneak it over that ear."
"I doubt we can get it that high, Mid. Not a bad idea, but I'd be concerned about straining or marring something up while we try to brute force it into position."
"Fair enough. It was just a thought," she agrees, nodding her head. With deft footwork, Midnight cuts around me, then between the hoist and front of the car to retake position at the passenger side. In a matter of seconds, she's holding the first installed bolt in the air for me to see.
"Alright, guess this is round two – take the driver's side first, since that apparently wants to be the problem child," I instruct her, heading back to the jack on the hoist. It only takes a few pumps to raise the engine above the cradle again, leaving Midnight to hold the engine still once again in preparation for its second descent.
Both of us are dialed in for the second try; we meet each other's eyes and Midnight offers a slight nod. Every so slightly cracking the bleeder on the jack, the engine eases downward, jerking around for precise positioning under Midnight's guidance. Once again, a groan of suspension components and a hint of chain slack tells me we're all the way down.
"This side is good now," she announces. Rather than take the time to walk around, Midnight flares out her wings and gives them a few hard pumps, leaping into the air. She sails over the Chrysler with ease, touching down and pirouetting to take a look at the passenger side mount. She doesn't need to announce the results – her face lights up in an instant with one look down toward the mount.
I hold up one of the bolts for her, which she eagerly plucks from my hand again and transports down below. One nudge from her against the engine block is all it takes for that side to be done.
Passing off the second bolt as she reverts to using her hooves to maneuver around to the driver's side, I move to the passenger side to take a look at where we are in regard to the transmission. There's a gap between bellhousing and engine block of a quarter inch at most and just a bit uneven in level, not bad for the transmission being held in place at the front by chain – and unbolted from the crossmember at the rear for just a bit more clearance.
But trying to put a bolt through one hole in the case and into the engine proves the alignment isn't close enough. Rather than fight a losing battle, I pocket the bolt in my hand and walk around to rejoin Midnight.
"Hey, could you raise the jack up just a teeny bit?" Midnight asks, halting me in my tracks.
I give her a salute and give a quarter pump of the jack handle, at which point Mid motions for a halt. She sticks her tongue out while lightly shaking the engine, looking for that perfect spot...
"And there we go!" she cheers, raising her head, taking a step back and emitting a relaxed sigh.
"I guess if we weren't over the mountain yet, we officially are now," I comment, clapping my hands together. There might be some bumps along the way, but it's all downhill from here.
Things can't always go smoothly when part of the business involves shipping. Case in point today as I set about notifying a few unfortunate souls whose packages have disappeared en route.
An hour on the phone with the shipping company got me nowhere; while they acknowledge that somehow, about five orders have dropped off the face of the earth, they have no idea how or why, or if they will even turn up in the system again. With those orders already being over a week past the latest delivery date, I'm not going to make my patrons wait longer in the hopes those packages will mysteriously reappear. I'm betting they're gone for good.
Unlike in the past, I've been keeping good records of every purchase, undoubtedly aided by Midnight's website and the ordering system she set up. So far, I've gotten in touch with two of the five customers and offered either refunds or replacement parts, assuming I have them.
To my relief, I've yet to deal with anger or frustration from the other end; both customers retained patience and understanding, with one opting for a refund, and the other happy to await replacements to be shipped out.
This process has unfolded downstairs via cell phone on speaker as I sit at the counter. It gives me the opportunity to watch over Midnight as she fiddles with wires and hookups in the engine bay of the Chrysler. Not that she needs my help – I have yet to have my eyes or expertise requested.
I won't say it, but she's been making efficient work of everything that's needed attention during the reassembly process, which she's been eager to tackle. With her pace and lack of hiccups, it could be a matter of days before we try to crank the engine and hopefully hear it run for the first time in decades.
That's a thought mixed with both anticipation and anxiety, but I have more important matters on my hands right now – the business.
Setting aside the second order sheet that I've been able to contact, I pull up the next one and peruse it for the name and contact info. Fortunately, there's yet another phone number I can punch in, and I dial it up on my phone and hit connect.
It takes a moment for the little connection ditty to play, then the phone starts ringing. It's about midway through the third ring that the other end picks up. "Hello?"
"Hi, is this... Kenneth Johnson?" I stumble, having to check the sheet again for the name.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot movement – Midnight has abruptly pulled her head out of the engine bay to look my way with wide eyes. "Johnson?" she murmurs, just loud enough for me to make out.
I have to give her a funky look for that; Midnight hasn't batted an eye or shown interest in any of my calls thus far. Why the hell would this one stick out to her?
"Yeah. Ken, Kenneth, either or," the voice of a younger man speaks. "Who is this?"
"Hey, this is John from John's Vintage Auto Salvage. You had an order with us... oh, about two weeks ago now, right?"
"Oh, yeah. Set of chrome center caps for VW wheels and a shifter knob," he rattles off, confirming the order I have listed. "I noticed it's been over a week now and the tracking hasn't updated at all on the shipment..."
During this time, Midnight abandons her work and plots toward me and my phone on the counter. Her ears are perked up as the conversation rolls along, while her eyes are glued to the phone.
I put my hands out to either side with the palms up, utterly lost at her fixation right now. But if she notices my reaction, she doesn't flinch.
"Yeah, that's why I'm calling today – unfortunately, the company somehow lost your package in transit, and they don't have a clue where it is in the system," I explain, putting aside Midnight's bizarre behavior as best I can.
"Aww man..."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. But that's why I'm calling today – I'm not gonna make you wait to see if it will turn up a month down the road. I—" I can't help but pause as Midnight rears up and plants her front hooves on the counter. She leers down at my phone for a moment before shifting her vision to the order sheet still in front of me. I try shooing her away like a cat, but she snaps her jaws near my fingers in a surprisingly aggressive manner I'm not prepared for, forcing me to jerk my hand back on instinct.
"—er, sorry, lost my train of thought for a second," I chuckle, trying to play off my awkward moment of silence. "Anyway, I'm calling to ask if you want a refund, or if you want to wait for a replacement shipment of parts if I have them available."
"Yeah, I'd still like to get the parts if you have them. Aside from the cheaper price, I don't actually want new parts – do you know when you'll be able to have another shipment out? It's a birthday present, and ai thought I was planning well ahead of time..."
"That's him. That has to be him," Midnight murmurs under her breath, looking up at me now with eyes as wide as saucers.
"Er... what was that?" Kenneth asks on the other end. "I didn't quite catch it."
"Uh— no, that's my bad. My help is asking me something," I quickly lie. "I'm sorry, something has come up – can I call you back? Probably be this evening since I know you want the parts – I should be able to tell you if I have them."
"Yeah, that works. Thanks, John."
"No problem, have a good day." I tap the hangup button on my phone and make sure the call has ended before I look up again at the mare behind my current frustrations. "Midnight, what the hell are you doing? I don't need help looking like a dumbass, you know that."
But Midnight's expression retains a hard-edged seriousness unswayed by my irritation or attempt at a wisecrack. "John, that's him!" she cries out, slamming a hoof on the counter.
"Him. Being our customer, yes," I remark in a slow tempo, drawing a blank at Middie's hangup.
That only serves to draw her face into a cross expression as she snorts. "You dumbass – the man back at the lab that worked with me. The one that I think might have helped me get out of there. That Johnson." Her increasingly hushed tone brings the significance to me sooner than the explanation does. It's the same sort of hushed voice she seems to inadvertently speak in whenever recalling her past life as a test subject.
And with that, I recall the beginning of her recent issues – the sleepover with Starla. The sudden unearthing of a memory surrounding some fellow named Johnson who was assigned to her program and worked with her. One that she swelled upon for a whole day, and had considerations of seeking out before Starla and I talked her down.
I haven't heard her mention that name at all up until now – all from hearing the last name of a customer.
"Midnight, Johnson is a very common surname. I guarantee if you go looking through Facebook or some other social site – hell, even a phone book – you're gonna come up with tons of folks with that last name."
"It's not just the name – it's the voice!" she protests, almost desperate at this point. "I'd recognize it anywhere!"
"I had him on speakerphone, Mid. There's a good chance his voice was distorted from what it would sound like in real life – or even just through the phone normally," I counter, trying to be as polite as possible to defuse her inexplicable burst of fanaticism. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand what your focus was about this and I didn't mean to be a dick, but—"
"John, give me his order sheet," Midnight interrupts, unwilling to hear me out any further.
"Why? I'm still gonna need this, Mid," I remind her, putting my hand on top of the paper in front of me.
"His address is near here, isn't it?"
...frankly, I hadn't even looked at the address. My focus was everywhere but that, seeing as I don't have the parts right now. Taking my hand away and peering down through the information, I have hopes she's wrong, and this whole situation will fade away.
But somehow, I know she's right before I even locate the address. Perhaps she was able to read it upside down, but the how really doesn't matter. Kenneth's address is perhaps an hour and change from here at most, guesstimating off the top of my head.
"Midnight... what are we really looking for here?" I sigh, trying to keep myself open rather than argue. "Suppose somehow this is the dude that might have helped you out – where do you want to go with this information?"
"I— I need to know if he really helped me get out," Midnight mutters, reverting to staring at the dark screen of my cell phone. "I want to know... I want to know what happened. If my mind is really running through past memories. If it was all as miserable as I remember it to be. I want to know if it's all true, or if my head and time have made things worse than they ever really were."
"And say you get your answers what are you hoping to get out of it, Mid?" I reach over and place my hand under her chin, coaxing her to look at me again. "Is knowing that going to fix anything? Is it going to make anything better? You have to tell me, because I really don't know."
"I... I don't know. All of it just— it still bothers me. I feel like I have more questions than answers about all of it, especially since I've been having nightmares here and there that seem like genuine flashbacks I had forgotten. Only someone that was there can give me... I guess validate what I remember. Give me some final sense of closure. I just feel like now, between memories and dreams... I need to know. I need to have the definitive truth to organize myself. And maybe apologize for being a bit shitty with him, too." To her credit, Midnight realizes her own explanation is a jumbled mess of partial thoughts. The energy she's displayed has left her at this point, leaving Middie deflated as she drops back down off the counter.
Maybe it's more of... a final confrontation with the past. Coming face to face with it, confirming it, and finally putting it to rest. But is that a good idea? Aside from the physical danger if this guy not only is the same Johnson fellow and still works at that lab – what if all a meeting accomplishes is to dig up more horrors to experience a second time? Hasn't she been through enough?
But just saying no to her doesn't feel right to me.
"Midnight, even if we were able to confirm this is the same guy, you understand why I dislike the idea of contacting him about you, right? Just a phone conversation makes me uneasy."
"I do. It's not an easy idea for me to stomach, either," she admits, sounding almost ashamed of her tirade from moments ago. "I don't hate myself anymore, I don't carry hatred around anymore – I've put that all to rest and buried it. But it doesn't just make everything go away. Maybe I'll always carry a bit of pain around with me – but I don't want to carry 'what-ifs' around with me if I can help it. Letting this go, not even taking a chance to dig into this – I don't want that to haunt me. I need an acknowledgment of the hell I went through before I got to heaven." That final statement comes with a blush of embarrassment, but she doesn't shy away or correct herself. If anything, she doubles down on it with a thin smile to assure me.
"You know, for someone that gives me a lot of shit for that sort of thing, that was a pretty corny line," I comment in jest.
"Must have picked it up from you," she says, sticking her tongue out.
I suppose I can understand the feeling of being left with a 'what if' – and at least Midnight isn't delusional about the risks associated with contacting someone like this. But that... it really doesn't make it much better. I'm still at square one.
Hell, we really haven't started yet – there's no proof that this Kenneth Johnson is the mystery man aside from a couple of circumstances. If we were to push forward at all with questions, I need more evidence I don't need to look like an absolute loony to a customer.
"What if you ask him where he works?"
"What?"
Midnight rears up to meet me on the counter again. "What if— call him back, and just sort of... float the idea of working at a factory. Say one of your workers supposedly thought they recognized his voice from a prior job at a factory."
"You want me to call him back now just for a little social chat? Am I hearing you right?"
"Tell him we have his parts. I'm sure we do – it's old Beetle parts," Midnight reasons.
"I'm not going to do that unless I know for sure. And what are we going to do if he does work at a factory? EquisCo, assuming that is your origin – that's not the only factory around. Asking him about a specific one seems like I'd give off stalker vibes."
"No, I know that," she laments, disappointed by my answer. Still, she remains undaunted, staring down at her hooves while brainstorming her next step.
That doesn't take too long – her head snaps back up to gaze into my eyes. "Have him pick up the parts. He said this was a birthday present – I'm sure he would rather be sure to have them on hand ahead of time rather than wait for them to go through the system. And it would give me a chance to look at Johnson – see if I can recognize him."
"And if he recognizes you?"
"I never said I'd be out in the open. I hid from you for months on end – I can do it for a ten to fifteen-minute visit to gauge his appearance."
I want to help Midnight any way I can – but I don't want to see her hurt. Where exactly do I draw the line here? Where's the overlap in risk and reward?
"Let's suppose I'm game for this what are you going to do if you recognize him?" I shoot back, crossing my arms.
"Well... there's gotta be some way to get a feel for him. Making small talk, sort of leaning into his job... you're good with small talk."
"We're gonna get a gut feeling on him based on idle conversation."
"John, I'm not stupid. You know that," Midnight replies softly. "I can be impatient sometimes. But not when it comes to delicate situations. Unless I can... I'm not making an appearance unless I'm sure that he's not a threat. But I need this – I don't want to live perpetually kicking myself for passing up this chance if he's the real deal. It's just a matter of risk management and ultimately... yeah, I guess I need to rely on my instincts. But I have a good track record, don't you think?"
"What's that?"
Midnight raises a hoof to rest it on my arm. I look into her eyes again.
"If there was a single bigger risk in my life aside from escaping, it was meeting you. At the end of the day, I had to trust my gut that you had enough of a heart to help me. And I was right."
I... can't really argue that one. But I can't just roll over because of her heartfelt message or the smile she sports, either.
"Your gut was wrong about Teddy. Starla, too," I point out. "I'm not calling out your faults for fun here, but..."
"I was wrong about them – on the other side of the line. I didn't trust them," she reminds me. "If anything, that shows I'm not willing to take risks unless I'm absolutely sure."
I'm not going to win this argument, but I'm not ready to roll over on this, either. More than anything, I need some time to think. "Middie, if you want me to call him back, we need to be sure we have those parts," I sigh, coming up with the only way I can think of stalling. "If you're serious about this, go run a quick check out back – then we'll go from there."
It's unclear how she feels about my lack of decision here; her face reverts back to a calm and level expression as she nods her head. "Fair enough. I'll be back shortly," she states. With little fanfare, she drops to the floor and trots out the door, off for a solo part search.
Leaving me with some time to agonize over a decision on a situation I never thought could happen...
The next few nights are going to pose some rather tense moments for Midnight and I – both in a good and bad sense.
I almost hoped we didn't have the parts to fulfill this Kenneth guy's replacement order – but just as Midnight assumed, we still had plenty of center caps and a few shifter knobs. All was not lost in my hopes to avoid even meeting the man who may have once watched over Midnight; but he was also more than happy to come pick up the parts at the end of the week rather than rely on a shipping service that ratfucked us once, particularly now since time had become a consideration for him.
At least for Midnight, one final nail in the coffin was her suggested line of conversation – mentioning my 'secretary' had overhead us earlier and thought she recognized his voice from her prior job at a factory. It turns out that is a possibility, admitting he's worked in a factory, but he shied away from talking about where exactly he worked.
That's understandable for more than one reason – there's the obvious, if this is work top secret and potentially illegal, if he is the man Midnight thinks he is. But considering I'm a genuine stranger asking into his personal life over the phone... I'd be quite tight-lipped, too.
So it would seem we have a possible question and answer session in store for Saturday evening; at least initially, it will be just me trying to make small talk and see what I can gather from that. Midnight plans to set up a hiding spot somewhere, likely a strategic junkpile set up nearby. Granted, this all came together Monday night, but now two days past that, Midnight hasn't been very chatty about the whole idea.
Just from her demeanor and lack of discussion, I can tell the novelty has worn off for her; this has become a serious matter, and anxiety is creeping into her like I've been fighting from the get-go. There's still a chance she decides this isn't worth the risk, and I guess that's my last hope. There's no need for her to be down here, and it doesn't change anything about Kenneth picking up his parts like any normal customer.
But I guess I know deep down, she's not one to shy away. This isn't a matter of arrogance or proving her toughness now – she really views this as a last chance to get some answers, assuming she feels it's safe to approach. Hell, I guess there's a chance that if he is apologetic about his work, we may find out more about this company.
But I'm trying to put that away, as that's not the focus for tonight. No, the big event for tonight is a positive sort of anxious anticipation – first startup of the rebuilt 392 Hemi, at home and complete in the Chrsyler 300C.
Every connection be it hose, hard line, or wire has been fitted and double-checked. All the builds have been filled up and topped off. By some twist of fate, the ceramic exhaust headers not only went in without a hitch, the fabrication work to fit them to the existing exhaust leading back to the tailpipes was minimal. Even the glass pack mufflers Midnight wanted fit with little issue.
Aside from fitting the new tires, flushing the brakes, and fitting the hood back on, all that's left requires the engine to be running – namely, giving the transmission a good flush. Then road testing can begin.
It's a moment of pride mixed with concern – things can still go wrong from here just from first startup – but I can't focus on that. I've done everything by the book, checking every clearance and tolerance of assembly two or three times just to be safe.
Midnight will be the lucky mare to turn the key and fire the engine. She's already taken her post in the driver's seat, and without the hood on, I can see her building anticipation and excitement clear as day.
I'm already busy at my self-assigned post – the front of the car. I'll be the one looking for visible signs of trouble once the engine starts up, as well as making necessary tuning adjustments to get the engine running smoothly; for now, everything from the carburetor mixtures to the ignition timing has been set to what could be considered 'default.' The exhaust changes alone will mean the factory settings aren't going to be the best option, but it's a good start.
More importantly, assuming no problems requiring immediate shutdown occur, I need to keep the engine running for a while; all of the new bearings and surfaces in the engine need time to 'wear in' to set it up for a good, healthy life. But it goes beyond that – we also need the car to start up almost immediately to ensure good oil pressure and lubrication at this critical period in time.
So I suppose my nerves are justified to a certain point, and as I pour a bit of gasoline into the throat of the carbs to expedite the starting process, a casual glance up reveals Midnight's excitement has died down a bit, too; with the quickly approaching moment of truth, I'm sure she's reflecting back on all the significant details I've explained to her.
Speaking of which...
"Alright Midnight, I think everything's set now," I announce to her. "I know you remember my instructions, but repeat em back to me, please."
"Stop cranking if it doesn't fire within the first five or ten seconds, make sure we have oil pressure, and once it fires up, aim for two thousand RPM," she drones, flashing a smile to show me she's not actually annoyed with me. "Got it down pat. I'm as ready as you are."
"In that case, the ball is in your court. Go ahead whenever you're ready."
Midnight takes a breath, peeling her eyes off of me to stare down at the dashboard in front of her and all the gauges situated within it. After a few moments of focus, the starter suddenly comes to life, kicking over the engine for the first time in over fifty years.
I quickly open the throttle with no sign of fire after a few seconds, hoping more air is what the combustion chambers are looking for.
*VRrRRrrRRrr rOOOOM!* The silver and gold heart finally comes to life with a roar after a couple of false catches.
"Oil looks good! Close to the max!" Midnight shouts over the engine. It's hard not to notice the sudden touch of giddiness that blemishes her voice now.
But the engine is a bit rough – I lean over to my right for a screwdriver, ready to focus on carb adjustment. "What's the RPM right now, Mid?"
"Around eighteen hundred!"
I start to turn the mixture screw of the front carb in – then quickly back out as the engine starts to sputter. I had it set to one and a half turns out to start – going back exactly on the adjustment I made plus a half turn instantly brings the RPMs and the smoothness up.
"Twenty-one hundred now!" she shouts again. I watch the linkage retract a bit as Midnight eases off the throttle, the engine slowing down just a hair in turn. Further adjustment out doesn't serve to change the idle, so I set it back to two turns out and leave it.
Turning my attention away from fuel and air, I focus on the ignition distributor, having left the clamp just a bit loose for my benefit now. Much like the fuel, I expect the engine is going to prefer a little more ignition advance on account of the better flow of the exhaust headers. But it takes a steady hand and methodical patience to bump the housing just a tad clockwise – easily enough for a degree or two. Judging by the increase in idle speed and a little more of the rough edge knocked out of the sound, my informed guess is right on the nose.
"Oil pressure still good?"
"Yep – everything still looks good on my end," Midnight confirms, just a bit quieter now; some of the excitement and nerves have melted away at this point on my end, and I'm sure the same can be said for Midnight.
But with the vitals now out of the way, it gives me some time to look for other signs of possible trouble, but of the visual sort. Grabbing my flashlight, I start scoping out the engine bay, scanning for smoke, fluid leaks – anything out of place. It also gives me a chance to listen, now that my focus is not tuning for smoother running.
Audibly, it sounds great at the RPM it's currently holding – that may change when the engine drops down to proper idle, half or less of what it is right now. More importantly, there's no rattles or ticking sounds; I can hear the valvetrain ever so slightly through the valve covers, but that's normal, particularly as I'm purposely listening for things.
But now with a bright flashlight at my disposal, I do see one concern – the slightest bit of haze emanating from the passenger side, around the exhaust header. Directing the full power of my light to that area, the culprit is exposed – a bit of oil seeping out from under the valve cover, near one of the mounting bolts.
That's no biggie in the grand scheme of things, but I'll see if I can't knock that out right now. I head back to my toolbox for a ratchet and appropriate socket; my sudden movements away from the car put Midnight on notice, her head jerking up to track me now rather than the dashboard.
"Little oil leak, nothing to write home about," I allay her fears while walking back to the problem area. It's a fine line when it comes to gaskets; overtightening can be as detrimental as having fasteners too loose. But I get a quarter turn out of the bolt with ease, and a bit more pressure on the ratchet handle – the gap spits out another drip of oil, then nothing. I relax again, setting aside my tools after another quick once over.
"Sounds pretty damn good, right?" Midnight comments from the driver's seat. A smile has again dared to wash over her face with a few minutes of relatively trouble-free runtime.
She's not wrong; it sounds really good, even beyond the obvious lack of mechanical concerns. The Hemi produces an aggressive rumble – but it's not all-out raw fury. There's a distinct touch of refinement in that angry thumping.
Satisfied with everything up front, I decide it's a good time to check around back of the car; the finned derriere of the Chrysler sticks outside of the bay doors to avoid fumigating the garage. I've done that one before – a stupid mistake, but one that thankfully only led to a headache and a wake-up call.
Now. out in the afternoon sun, the glasspack mufflers Midnight insisted on make their presence known loud and clear. There's a throatier rasp to the exhaust note that hadn't been present near the engine bay. Thankfully, I didn't quite follow Midnight's advice on the purchase – with multiple options available for sound and loudness, I chose something in the middle of the range, rather than the 'top sound' choice. As a result, it has a good sound, but it's not obnoxious in tone or volume, something that I was concerned about.
While the paint is still weatherbeaten on this old car, the sound and smell announce to the world this 300C is finally reborn after years of sitting comatose.
Everything seems to be well in order, but I head back into the garage for another check. Passing the driver's door, which Midnight awkwardly leans upon, I can sense how badly she wants to check things out, too. And I can't blame her – this project only sits here now nearly complete thanks to her efforts. I'm not a cruel man...
One more visual with the flashlight around the engine bay shows everything to be clear and in order. The sounds haven't changed either, so I think it's about time Midnight got to bask in the fruits of her labor. "Everything still look good in there?" I call out, raising my head briefly to glance at her.
"Yep. Oil pressure good, temp is finally reading but still cool, RPM two k," she rattles off. I nod my head and reach down to the throttle linkage, grabbing hold of it to keep the position.
"Alright, I got the throttle – hop out and take it all in, Middie."
There's certainly no hesitation in her I think she had the door open before I finished speaking. But now she's in full excitement mode with a big energetic grin while walking up to my side and peering into the engine bay with me. I can't help but laugh, watching her ears perk up just a little bit more, taking in as much of the auditory symphony on display as she can.
"Make sure you head out back, too – I'm suddenly glad you talked me into glasspacks."
So enamored with even having the car running, her eyes go wide at me for just a moment – then it clicks in her head. Like a bolt of lightning, she's off to hear the pipes for herself.
We've come a long way with this car – a car I was skeptical of even purchasing. Sure, it's looked like it was in good shape, but the gremlins and true horrors have a nefarious way of hiding themselves at first sight. Not to mention the engine; there was never a guarantee it could be salvaged, depending on what had gone wrong. On top of it all, the rarity of this car meant that any parts needed might be a treasure hunt at best or an impossibility at worst.
Yet somehow, Midnight and I have pulled it together. It really has been a gem of a car to work on with relatively few hiccups despite the odds, and I dare say it's turned out better than I could allow myself to imagine.
But there's still more to be done, that fact isn't lost on me. However, having the engine running and sounding this good... it's not only a major hurdle to overcome, but a significant motivator to keep up our progress.
But my senses are drawn to the present now – suddenly, the pressure on my thumb from holding the throttle linkage in place vanishes. But it makes more sense when I turn my head and see Midnight standing next to me, so giddy she's prancing in place. She pauses long enough to nod her head at my minor bit of confusion, allowing me to let go of the throttle and pass the task onto her unseen ability.
I don't get to make any other moves once I stand up straight again – Midnight giggles and rears up slightly, just enough to wrap her front legs around my upper torso and squeeze me. "John, we did it!" she shouts. "Holy shit, it sounds amazing!"
"Well now, let's be honest here – I did it," I proclaim with exaggerated arrogance. For good measure, I muster up the most disgustingly smug face and posture I can come up with for the full effect.
Midnight doesn't say anything to counter me, preferring to reach up to my face and boop my nose with her hoof.
"Joke aside, you should be happy – outside of the engine internals, which is the only thing I can take credit for, you've tackled every inch of this car that's needed attention. That's just as important if not more so than getting the engine to fire."
"I'm still gonna go with 'we' on this," she replies in a calm, almost bashful voice following my compliment. "You still gave me a lot of input and info when I needed it. I could argue that given enough time and web browsing, I would have figured things out... but I don't want to. It means more that you were there."
"I can go with that – I like the sound of that. I'm always here for you, Mid," I remind her, wrapping my arm around her. "You're right – we did it, and we should both be proud."
It's a weight off the shoulders for sure with a positive outcome. Here's hoping the end of the week delivers the same results.
Work was a welcome distraction today, even if Midnight and I could have blown it off till Monday. But with the waiting game having been in full swing for a couple of hours now, I've felt sick to my stomach. Neither of us has been particularly open to talking – there's just too much weighing on our minds.
Tonight's the night Kenneth picks up his parts and I'm in charge of... I guess a soft sort of interrogation. Midnight has gathered up a pile of junk consisting of tires, taps, upholstery... all of it sits stacked in a corner, not far from the counter where she's currently sitting. It's easier said than done to hide her away from view – those glowing eyes of hers can't be turned off, and even at their 'low' setting, they give off plenty of light to stick out in a shadowed space.
While I fiddle with fine-tuning the carb linkage on the Chrysler, Midnight's attention is shared equally between her laptop and the clock on the wall above her – even though the computer has the time down in the lower right corner of the screen.
I've suggested it multiple times now, but one more attempt can't hurt...
"Midnight, we don't have to do this," I comment aloud.
"I have to do this. I can't let this opportunity come and go," she calmly answers back without looking at me. It's the same relative answer I've gotten every time.
"I just don't want to see you taking unnecessary risks, Mid. I don't want to see you get thrown back into the frying pan if you're wrong about him and his view toward you."
"John, I don't want to go through this again, but I guess I have to," she sighs, closing her laptop and setting it on the counter. Her perked ears and rigid posture have been a staple for the past hour or two, but the slight frown that greets me when making eye contact is new. "There's still no guarantee it's him – I'll know that when I see him. And while this is an opportunity for one last visit to my past, I'm not making a move until I'm sure it's safe to do so – even if that means not coming out at all."
Just as she said, this little discussion is a carbon copy of the last few times we've had it. It doesn't make me feel any better or worse... but I had to try my luck one more time before—
The loud electronic buzz of the front gate bell drones through the shop, interrupting everything. Midnight's eyes go wide, but she doesn't hesitate in rising to her hooves and climbing out of her seat.
"One last time, Mid," I start to ask. But she shakes her head to stop me from going further than that.
"I'm doing this. The more questions you ask him, the more I can get an idea of how much or little I can trust him. So you can help yourself by helping me – remember that," she says.
"Can you fault me for trying one more time?"
It's why I haven't yelled at you. Now go – I'll get myself situated," she urges me, trotting over to her makeshift hiding spot.
With no alternative now, I let my shoulders slump in resignation and turn around to head outside. Behind me, I can hear Midnight already shuffling just around, trying to set up that perfect spot to not only give her a good viewing angle in relative comfort but more importantly, to be virtually invisible to our guest. Hopefully, the junk pile itself doesn't seem out of place to warrant suspicion.
Alright, so maybe I'm starting to get too paranoid. The die is cast – the sooner we get this done and over with, the better.
While walking outside and off toward the front gate, I try to take a few deep breaths and calm myself. It wouldn't do well to appear anxious or nervous to Kenneth right off the bat, so the forty-some-odd foot walk to the front gate is somewhat welcome to get my head straight.
Getting closer, I can see our customer through a gap between the fence and gate, idly kicking at the sand while awaiting entry. My first impression is Midnight has to be wrong about this guy; he looks to be on the youthful side, possibly even younger than me. Some of that could be due to the slightly curled mop of brown hair on his head, but it's hard to say for certain. But whether by chance or hearing me approach, Kenneth looks up and spies me through the same crack, offering up a small, awkward wave of his hand in greeting while cracking a smile.
"Good evening," I offer up my own greeting. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you're Kenneth."
"Yeah, that's me. Sorry if I'm a little late," he answers in regret. "I know we sorta settled on seven, but—"
"Nah, no need to worry.. there's nothing going on at this time of day," I assure him. Unlocking the padlock on the man gate, I pull it open and gesture with an accompanying "Come on in."
"Thanks," he says with an awkward chuckle. Though I had no expectations of him looking suspicious or the part of a lab rat, his appearance still has me a bit perplexed; his tired jeans cut off at the knee and a plain white t-shirt make him look more suited to manual labor than a high tech lab... though he doesn't really have the build for anything other than menial labor at that.
A peek out in the parking lot reveals his mode of transport – a newer model of Honda Civic bathed in metallic blue paint, seemingly well-kept with only a few minor blemishes that show age. Kenneth turns once through the gate, tracking my line of sight to his car. "Yeah, I never got into cars like my father. He's a Volkswagen fanatic," he comments. "He's got another Bug to wrench on – trying to keep it looking like a weatherbeaten original."
"Yeah, I guess I'm always curious to see what someone rolls up in, even if it isn't fancy. Just the car guy in me," I concede, quickly sticking my hand out for a shake. "Oh, I'm John, by the way."
"Good to meet you, thanks for working with me on the parts," he replies, accepting my gesture. "I've passed this place a few times here and there, just never looked into it until recently, with my dad talking about his new project and his birthday coming up."
"Wish I could have given you a better first impression so you didn't have to drive all this way," I comment with a chuckle. "You helping the old man with his projects at all, or while growing up?"
"Nah, I never got the car bug – er, no pun intended," he replies. "Never was very good with my hands on mechanical stuff – I didn't inherit that gene I guess. I've always been more interested in science, I guess."
Everything about this guy seems genuine thus far – though granted, just because one works in a secret lab doesn't mean their whole life is shady. But that little footnote at the end of his response offers up an intriguing avenue to follow now...
"I wasn't into science much in school... well, I really wasn't interested in anything much in school," I quip, adding a chuckle at the end. "But I'm guessing science became a passion for you then?"
"Yeah, college and a career, I suppose," he muses. With a short pause, Kenneth's thin smile he's held onto this whole time falters. "Kinda hit a bump in the road on that now. I'm between jobs at the moment."
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, man," I apologize, uneasy with the sudden downturn in conversation.
"It's not too bad. I'm doing okay financially, and I'm probably better off now than where I was, to be quite honest," he assures me, breaking into a wry grin. "What about you though? You're asking me all these questions like I'm on trial. What's your story with this place?"
For the ensuing couple of minutes, I give Kenneth a brief rundown of my history regarding my junkyard – with some details left out for obvious reasons. It buys me more time to amble along back to the shop where Midnight awaits, though I can only purposely move so slow without it being obvious.
Inevitably, we reach the open garage door of the shop and step inside, greeted by fluorescent lighting which is beginning to eclipse the brightness of the sun outside. Kenneth hesitates for a moment, making my heart skip a beat – until I realize his eyes have been drawn to the Chrysler. "Wow, is that a customer car?" he asks, pointing to it.
"Nope, that's a personal project. Hadn't planned on it, but it was a good deal," I hawk, taking a little bit of pride despite my growing anxiety. I can't help but glance over at that junk pile set off in the corner near the counter; there's no sign of a glow from Midnight's eyes, so that's good.
"I got your parts in a box behind the counter over here," I mention, beckoning Kenneth to follow me. "Since you came out all this way, probably ought to take a look to make sure it's what you're looking for."
I can feel my heart beat faster with every step I take leading Kenneth along closer to Midnight's hiding spot. It doesn't matter that even just a few feet away I still can't see her to know she's this close in a potentially vulnerable situation terrifies me. Internal pep talks are no match for this bundle of fraying nerves, even as I cast one more glance her way before rounding the counter. I can sense her eyes upon me now, even if they're still invisible...
Fortunately, our visitor is more interested in the box I heave onto the counter rather than scanning the entirety of the garage. He pulls open the folded flaps for an inspection of the contents, while I start to formulate my next move. I'm well aware Midnight wants me to continue on with the 'secretary' cover story to dig at past employment – but there's not really a way to 'ease' into that sort of thing.
Fortune favors the bold, I guess.
"Hey, I hope you don't mind me asking – my secretary couldn't be here tonight to meet you. She was just curious about—"
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that whole thing," Kenneth interjects with an awkward little laugh. But he goes no further than that on the topic, preferring to enamor himself with the dulled chrome of a weathered hubcap. "These are just the sort of thing I was looking for."
"Hey, no problem, glad I was able to scout out what you wanted," I passively comment. "But anyway, my secretary – she's been here a few months now, but her prior workplace was in a factory. She swears she recognizes your name from there."
"Eh... I don't remember working with too many women there," he reluctantly replies, scratching the back of his head. "Maybe another department but... I dunno."
"It was a factory around here though, wasn't it? Is that the place that's left you between jobs?"
"It's... it's a complicated story. Kinda boring to be honest," he answers in an attempt to dismiss me. "I really don't like talking about it."
"Oh. Ugly job breakup I assume been there, done that in the past myself." It's an effort to try forming a connection again, as judging by his uneven expression and tight-lipped answers, I'm already starting to lose him.
"Yeah, sort of. I wasn't the only one though. But I— I really can't say much beyond that," he spits out in a rush.
I lean down on the counter with my elbows now. "Hey, I'm not gonna tell anybody, so don't worry about that," I mutter in a hushed tone. "My secretary just really wanted to know about—"
"With all due respect for the parts and service you've offered me tonight, why isn't your secretary here if she's so interested in me?" Kenneth shoots back, not allowing me to finish that thought.
Needless to say, I'm left on my back foot now while I try to come up with a neat little excuse. Unfortunately, emboldened by my lack of a response, or perhaps frustrated with my questioning, Kenneth presses on.
"What's her name, anyway? Maybe it would be easier to remember her if I had a name to work with here," he says, leaning on the counter toward me as I stand up straight.
"I'd tell you if I could, but she's my employee. I need her permission to give that out," I stonewall him.
Kenneth's eyes narrow upon hearing that excuse. "I really do appreciate you getting me these parts, but I'm thinking they aren't the real reason I'm here tonight," he comments in an ominous tone. "I'm wondering if my parts were ever lost to begin with. What's this really about, John? Is that really who you are?"
"It's— yeah, I'm John. This is my junkyard, John's Vintage Auto Salvage," I protest, putting my hands out as I try to halt this sudden runaway train. "I'm not trying to make you mad, I was just trying to get some info—"
"You're doing a lot more digging than just curious idle gossip about something that doesn't even personally involve you," he growls. "Let me be clear on one thing – I am not part of the place where I used to work. That's all I'm going to say on the matter, and I think we're done here tonight."
"Oh, but that idle gossip does personally involve John. Don't get too angry with him, Johnson," Midnight's voice calls out.
It's a shock to both of us standing on opposite sides of the counter – though for vastly different reasons. After all, that didn't come from the junk pile in the corner...
"I thought you said your secretary wasn't here tonight? Who was that?" Kenneth demands. Despite his questioning and angered tone, he looks... lost. He starts spinning around, frantically looking for his own answers.
"Well, she's..." That's about all that I can come up with now. Midnight jumping into the conversation was not part of the script tonight; explaining this away on short notice is just about impossible with the story I've set up so far.
"Who are you?!" Kenneth shouts, still searching for the source of that disembodied voice.
"I could tell you my name, but I can assure you – it would be unfamiliar," Midnight answers him.
I myself am trying to figure out where the hell she's at, particularly because of the way her voice carries. Granted, the garage is a cavernous space that lends itself to a slight echo, but this is more pronounced. It writes off the car – not that I would expect her to choose such a spot to hide. And I don't see her peeking around the corner of the open garage door either – I'd be able to place her there just from experience...
"I swear I've heard your voice before," Kenneth calls back. His voice has lost some of its bite now, even as he continues. "Why are you hiding if you want to know about me? What do you have to hide?"
"It's all just a simple matter of trust~," Midnight sings. It's beginning to sound like this is an enjoyable little game for her – but more importantly, I think I know where she is now. With Kenneth still looking around, I quickly flick my gaze upward toward the ceiling and the steel trusses supporting the roof.
There, amidst the dim lighting that reaches the rafters, a plywood panel has been wedged atop two of the beams. Midnight is perched atop the bridge, staring down at our guest. With her position relative to our guest, she only needs to pull her head back from the edge to vanish from sight.
"I'm done— I am so done with this tonight!" Kenneth belts out in frustration, turning and slamming his fist on the counter in front of me. "Who is she? What is this all about? Why am I here?!"
I don't have answers now. I can't even get myself to form words at this point. This meeting is so far off the rails down, spiraling into a mess...
"I will tell you, assuming you will accept one important condition," Midnight sings. "Nothing of this discussion leaves the garage tonight. Not from me, not from John, not from you – lips are sealed once foot touches sand. It comes down to you for that – John and I have kept quiet for months now. But this isn't really about you. It's about your... 'job'."
Like the flip of a switch, something clicks within Kenneth. The anger vanishes from his face while he stands up straight again. His eyes go wide with...
Is that a look of wonder or horror?
"I can— lips are sealed. I swear," he drones breathlessly, turning around in a trance-like state. "Nothing leaves here tonight."
"Fair enough."
I look back up into the rafters again just as Midnight leaps from her vantage point. She tucks in her limbs to avoid the trusses, then flares her wings wide and pumps them to slow her descent.
That descent concludes in a tight spiraling glide to the shop floor, touching down to face him from a good three or four-foot distance. Her face is stoic and emotionless as she faces her target.
"Hello again, Johnson," she greets him in a monotone voice.
"It is you..." Kenneth's statement comes out as a quiet gasp. He takes a step back into the counter offbalance before abruptly falling from sight without a sound.
Uh...
Midnight's expression shifts to confusion at about the same time. I quickly step around the counter to find Kenneth on his ass, leaning against the wall in a slumped, toneless heap.
Fear stabs into me when my head starts running through what the hell just happened. Did he— did Midnight—
I happen to spot his chest slowly rising and falling – at least he's breathing. But he's out like a light.
"I didn't think my entrance was that scary," Midnight mutters.
I'm left with one burning question after another while I flip between keeping my eye on Midnight and looking down at Kenneth passed out against the wall.
How the hell does one rouse someone who's passed out? Do cold water splashes actually work? Did he hit his head on the way down? Should I call emergency services? How the hell am I gonna explain the situation if I do?
It seemed like he was on the way down and out of it before slipping from sight... and I didn't hear a thump during his collapse... and he was already leaning up against the counter.
Midnight isn't helping my frenzied thought processes; she's currently standing about a foot from the unconscious man, posed as if ready to pounce should this somehow be a ruse or something.
"Mid, I don't think you need to watch over him like that," I finally speak. "I guess it's safe to assume this is the guy?"
Midnight relaxes her posture – a little bit. But she's at least willing to tear her eyes away from him and look at me with a dumbfounded expression. "You saw his reaction, you see him now – what the hell do you think?" she blurts out.
"Hey, I'm just trying— let's do away with the sarcasm. I'm a little freaked out right now considering the situation," I protest, gesturing to our current problem.
Midnight's ears dip, finally letting her guard down completely. "Sorry... I guess having a relative stranger passed out in our garage is— yeah, this isn't an ideal situation," she manages to stumble out, syncing in with my current state of mind.
"What was with the new hiding spot, anyway? Spent all that time setting it up, and you bailed on it."
"Mmm... there's more than one reason there," she answers in a slow, measured tone.
"That's helpful," I mutter under my breath.
"If you must know, it was partly because of a dream I remembered from a few weeks ago – the idea suddenly didn't sit right with me," she sighs before suddenly hardening her expression. "And I also started to consider the possibility of you constantly looking over in my direction and making him suspicious, which you kinda did. But you also made him suspicious overall, at the end of it."
Alright, so maybe I should have left that alone...
"Yeah, I guess those interrogation classes I took last week didn't stick with me. My bad," I joke, shrugging my shoulders. "What convinced you to speak up and make your presence known? It wasn't a particularly calm and collected discussion by that point – that seemed dicey to me."
"Exactly – with how worked up he was starting to get, I was worried about you ," she replies, pointing a hoof at me.
"And you suddenly speaking from out of seemingly nowhere made it worse," I remind her.
"Things weren't going anywhere at that point – I felt like we got everything you could pull from him. But it was enough... I went with my gut just based on his answers and demeanor."
"I really wish you had a better explanation than going with your gut."
"Oh, quit your bitching. You're suddenly pretty talkative for someone worried about a dude passed out on the floor."
"Oh, do you have an idea of what we should do? Because I'm all ears," I retort, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
Midnight's eyes go a bit wide once I turn the tables on her. "I don't know. Slap him around a bit or something."
"Fantastic idea. Assaulting him will definitely get things sorted out," I mouth off back to her.
"Not in the literal sense... what, you wanna just sit here and wait?"
"No, but... it's not like I've had experience with this sort of thing. Just seen it in movies," I admit, dropping my arms back to my side. "Which, that being said – go upstairs and get some cold water. I guess we'll try something simple first."
To my surprise, Midnight doesn't question me or bat an eye at the suggestion. In the blink of an eye, she darts toward the stairs and scampers up to the top. It leaves me alone for a moment to consider everything that just happened.
For someone who may have had a hand in Midnight's successful escape, it was odd to see him so freaked out by her presence. He recognized her, there's no doubt about that despite my rather obtuse musing earlier.
Maybe Midnight has more of a reputation than she ever let on – I haven't forgotten her attitude problem in the first month or two of living with her. But could it have been even worse before that? Has Midnight given me the full story of her past, or have some details been left out?
Do I want those answers? Will that do me any good to know more?
I still trust her. Midnight isn't the mare she was even a month ago. But depending on what Kenneth has to say... maybe the past will be set in a different light from here on out. But it all depends on whether he's willing to talk to us.
I hear Midnight trotting down the steps now – it would seem scaring the wits out of one person to the point of fainting has made her willing to announce a return via heavy hoof. She approaches with a large glass of water floating in front of her as I squat down beside Kenneth.
"You want me to just dump it on him or what?" Midnight asks, taking a hard look at Kenneth again.
"Maybe we can try being a bit more tactful to start," I reply, gesturing for the water glass. Midnight offers it up to me, though I merely dip my fingers into the frigid water. Pulling my hand out, I flick my hand towards the unconscious man, sprinkling his face.
There's no sign of stirring, even after giving it a few seconds.
"John, I've seen it where they take the whole container of water and just pour it on the person," Midnight speaks up, disappointed by the lack of success.
"Yeah, probably in movie clips," I scoff, casting my eyes upon her again.
"Isn't that where you got this idea?"
"Hey, your idea was to beat the shit out of him."
"Only a pussy like you could consider a slap to the face the equivalent of 'beating the shit out of him'," Midnight sasses. "It was more or less a joke anyways. You know, that thing you often do?"
"...ngh..? Wha..?
Midnight and I both seal our lips as Kenneth starts to mumble back into consciousness. For the sake of this guy, I try shooing Midnight away with my hand, but she isn't going to budge. She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and takes a seat upon her haunches, right in front of Kenneth on the concrete floor.
Alright, so we might go two for two here on fainting upon sight of her – at least Kenneth is already on the floor. Tonight is feeling like Midnight and I are checking off all the boxes for a bonafide disaster.
Kenneth's eyes gradually flutter open – then snap wide when he takes in Midnight's form sitting in front of him. "You— you actually made it?" he gasps.
Midnight remains mum, but her eyes flick over to me for a moment, as if concerned I may have somehow missed that remark and its significance.
First things first – I'm not keen on staying squatted down like this for a discussion. "Hey... uh, Kenneth— you feel alright to stand up and get a proper seat in a chair or something?"
He turns his head to look at me, a brief second of surprise at my appearance before his memory starts to connect the dots. "Yeah... I think so," he murmurs, rubbing his forehead. "I'm guessing I fainted?"
It's my turn to be surprised at his lack of concern or alarm at the concept. "Is— is that a common thing for you?"
"I wouldn't say it's common, but I have low blood pressure – extreme stress can sometimes... yeah, I pass out sometimes."
Rising up, I let my legs stretch out for a moment before gently helping Kenneth to his feet. In the meantime, Midnight circles around behind us, for a reason I don't know. But when she reappears, she's dragging along the bucket seat normally set off in the corner behind the counter – her normal seat. But now, she gestures for me to get him seated in it.
Kenneth's eyes refuse to stray far from Midnight during this time. His mouth is left agape, and it makes me worry he could faint again by the shock of where he finds himself.
"So... I guess you two kind of know each other," I comment, hoping to get him to focus.
"Not really – I've... well, I've dealt with... uh..." Kenneth just gestures to Midnight now, for lack of a name.
"Midnight," she speaks up. "I actually have a name now – it's not just a gibberish project code or a pet name."
Kenneth nods at the bit of information but has nothing else to add or continue on from his pause. To my relief, he seems alright now as he takes a seat in Midnight's chair.
"You seem surprised that I'm still alive and kicking. You know, I'm almost offended by that, Johnson... or I guess Kenneth would be more proper now." Midnight says. Her initial sarcastic wit trails off while she fumbles with what to call him.
"N–no, I didn't mean it that way," he protests with palpable unease. "I'm surprised that I came across you. I figured if you got out, you would get far away from this area as possible."
"Yeah... sort of difficult to travel when you stick out like a sore thumb – and anyone finding out what you are is liable to call the authorities," Midnight explains. "It made more sense to keep a low profile. And I really didn't know where I came from at the time. For all I knew, I was hundreds of miles from my origin spot."
"How did you not know? You escaped from the building on your own, didn't you?"
"Did I?" Midnight suggests in response, raising an eyebrow. " I thought it was awfully convenient someone dropped a memo in my room detailing the imminent termination of my project. Also an odd coincidence a ventilation duct was left open nearby."
"What makes you think it was me?"
Midnight can't help but roll her eyes at the feeble retort she receives, but softens her expression before answering him. "I suppose I don't know for certain. But you seemed to be the only person I can recall with half a heart in my time there. It certainly wasn't that miserable son of a bitch you called 'boss,' and there weren't many others I had regular interactions with, so..."
Kenneth drops his head now, looking down at his hands in his lap. "I really didn't think you noticed," he mumbles. "To be fair, you had every right to hate us with everything going on. But you never acknowledged my concern, so I thought nothing of it."
"No... I didn't," Midnight admits, her ears sagging. "I didn't realize it until much later. I was absorbed in my own misery and frustration, and I tried forgetting as much as I could of that hellhole once I got out. But come clean – was it you? It's not like I'm gonna tattle on you."
"Leaving the paper in your room, yes. I'm not sure what you're talking about with the duct though... how exactly did you escape?" Kenneth inquires, leaning forward.
"First of all, I figured out how to manipulate the inner workings of door locks. Frankly, I'm surprised you idiots never gave that possibility a thought considering my abilities," she says with a chuckle. "But I suppose I did try to hide some of what I could do for my own benefit. After that, I found the open duct and crawled through that – not much for options there. I ended up coming out in a hall near a scrap room, found a dump truck with a full load of junk... I didn't know where it was going, but anything was better than where I was. I dove into the back and waited."
"That's how you got out?" Kenneth blurts, wide-eyed as he leans back in his seat again.
"How the fuck else was I supposed to get out? Walk through the front doors to salvation?" Midnight shoots back, letting loose the first view of her snappy side.
"Uh... yeah, kind of. I left some of the doors unlocked for a few days – that was right around Christmas, so there was hardly anyone there in the lab."
Now Midnight gets the chance to go wide-eyed, though her expression is much shorter-lived. "How the hell was I supposed to know that? It's not like I was filled in on your holidays and special events – and I didn't have a calendar to keep track of what the date was anyway. Not that it mattered to me in that pit."
With Midnight now in full control of this civil conversation, I step back. I head around the corner of the counter and take a seat on a stool, happy to be a bystander. Interestingly, I have a rough timetable on Midnight's arrival here now, and how long she lived out back before contact – about six months.
"I... yeah, I didn't give that much thought, did I?" Kenneth replies, ending it with a nervous laugh. "But I'm still surprised you hid in a scrap truck. I would have been concerned with the idea of getting dumped into a molten pit of metal – or waiting for month for it to leave."
"Well, it was full to the top, so no way it was going to sit there for months," Midnight explains. "As for the other part... I took a chance. It was the only way I saw forward to get out scot-free with the knowledge I had at the time. And it worked out, since you guys take the cheap way out of getting rid of junk."
"And you found her?" Kenneth asks, turning to look at me.
I have to shrug, grinning at that memory. "It was more like she found me, if I'm to be honest here – she's very good at hiding, if tonight wasn't a good indicator. That was months after she was dumped here, and she made me a deal I couldn't refuse. Turns out that gadget you jammed in her allowing her to move metal objects is really handy working on cars."
Kenneth cringes at my description, slowly turning to face forward again with his head hung low, the regret visible on his face. "I guess... that's why I tried to give her an opportunity. No, give you an opportunity," he says, hardening his resolve to look at Midnight. "When I got that job, I never anticipated being the part of something so awful, doing all these... all those procedures just to test out ideas. Even though I wasn't there for all of it, and none of it was my idea... I still helped. And I had to watch you going through all that pain and recovery every step of the way. Mr Richardson didn't care, but—"
"I'm guessing that's bald boy's name?" Midnight interrupts.
"The boss? Yeah."
"I'll pretend I never heard that name. He doesn't deserve to be in my memories," Midnight growls. "Everything I went through was for him to look like some brilliant fucking genius. I was just a 'thing' to him, to be used as a stepladder to his goals. And then he hired fucks like you to help carry out his work."
"I know it doesn't help, but I'm sorry," Kenneth mumbles, slumping his shoulders.
It causes Midnight to realize the tongue-lashing she unleashed just a second ago, forcing her to slump just a bit, too. "He also treated every one of his assistants like shit – including you," she backtracks. "it's why he went through so much help – but without a doubt, you stayed the longest, and you're the only one I could picture. Why did you stay?"
Though Midnight's bit of empathy gets him to sit up again, Kenneth has nothing to say. He shrugs his shoulders, but no answer comes for Midnight.
"You had to have some reason to put up with that shit for so long," Midnight protests, rising to her hooves. "He treated you like shit... I treated you like shit. No one else was willing to endure that for long. Was the money that good? Just be honest."
"I— I don't know if I really had a reason, Midnight," he proclaims. "You were a bit rude, but considering the circumstances... it's understandable you were bitter, so that didn't bother me. What bothered me the most was no one cared about— well, you have feelings too, you know? Why was it okay to put you through all these tests and procedures without asking? Why was it okay to put you through a life of pain and misery?"
What starts as an uncertain, shaky answer from Kenneth turns into a tirade of frustration and condemnation from the past. It forces Midnight into sitting down again, astounded by it all.
"You wanted someone to be there... someone that at least cared a little bit. That's it, isn't it? You couldn't stop it, but you could... you could endure it," she drones, awestruck.
"A little bit... yeah. I never really put too much thought into it. I didn't want to think about what I was being told to document. It bothered me, and the only way I could live with myself was... well, that's why I tried to talk to you. Listen to you, try to ease the pain. Have someone that acknowledged you were much more than a 'thing'."
"Midnight has been having flashbacks and dreams of the past – and you came up in some of them," I comment. "She's had a lot to think about with those memories and... well, Midnight isn't the same pony she once was. She can actually be nice now when she wants to be."
"Wow, thanks for the convincing vouch on my behalf, John. I'm touched," Midnight responds, offering up a sarcastic bite and a wry grin.
"I never had any doubt in my mind you could make it," Kenneth continues. "You passed every goal and test that was set before you... even despite some of the odds given. You fought through everything you were put through, and I just felt like... well, you deserved something better than 'termination'."
"I didn't fail one of those damn experiments," Midnight reaffirms, stomping a hoof down as her expression sours. "I refused to let myself fail. I started to figure out by staying alive and continuing to excel, your boss was stuck there with me. It was obvious to me he was unhappy continuing with a project supposedly below him, so I wanted to make him miserable. Eye for an eye, and all that."
"He... he actually started to believe that. Or at least thinking that way," Kenneth chimes in. "I thought he was just losing a few of his marbles. As the boss, he liked making it clear to us that his goal was moving up in the company. He never explicitly said it, but I saw enough correspondence and overheard enough discussion to say you're right – you being alive kept him there. The head honchos wanted to keep seeing what he could do with her."
"But why Midnight?" I blurt, unable to keep my aggravation with the tale from tainting my voice. "There were other ponies, weren't there? I'm not saying it's right to spread the misery, but what made Midnight the prime target?"
"There were other ponies, yeah – maybe ten, twelve?" Kenneth answers, shrugging at the indecisive count. "I was hired as Mr. Richardson's assistant – and I came along after a lot of decisions were made. I didn't see the other ponies much and wasn't involved with them at all. Mr. Richardson was the head of experimental, and he got to make many of his own calls. I was on a short leash – we all were – so asking whys and hows was a good way to get a reprimand. This was all underground and secret for a reason."
"I got picked because I was already a failure," Midnight grumbles. "I was the first attempt to match the coloration of a show pony – and they got it all fucked up. Not much use for a failure at birth – may as well use that one for experiments and save the small control group you have for general wellness and abnormalities."
"I... I never knew that about you," Kenneth gasps at the revelation.
Midnight shrugs off the dramatics. "Long story short, that was just extra ammo to force myself to succeed. For anyone else... that wasn't a detail that mattered."
The conversation stalls with that; both Midnight and Kenneth just stare down at the floor, unsure of where to pick up now with everything shared thus far.
I guess it gives me a moment to clear up my part in this evening's events...
"Midnight didn't notice you or your name from the orders until I called you," I speak up. "The package delivery service really did lose your original set of parts – but once Midnight overheard you on the phone and started thinking you might be the same Johnson she remembered... yeah, then there was some planning going on to meet you."
"I can't really say why I wanted to meet you," Midnight continues. "I can't really say I'm thankful, since we have to face the music you still watched all this shit happen. But I guess I wanted... I wanted your side of it. To hear if you really took pity on me. If all of it was as bad as my memory plays it out to be."
"I never enjoyed any of it. It was horrible what they did to you," Kenneth sighs. "And I was a part of it. I'm glad you got out, and it looks like you've made something of a life for yourself... but I don't think I'm any better for that."
"Well, if it's any consolation... I dunno, I guess it isn't – but it wasn't you there, someone else would have been, and possibly just as cruel as everyone else seemed to be. You were different and I can respect you for that. You gave me a chance. But by the sounds of it, you don't work there anymore?"
"No one works there anymore. The lab is gone."
"What?!" It's a chorus that Midnight and I exclaim in unison, startling Kenneth.
"Yeah. I guess if there's another silver lining of justice, your escape with unknown whereabouts spooked all the folks in charge of the facility. The factory making bots is still there and churning, but management picked up their secret area and took it somewhere up north. They were afraid of getting caught skirting regulations and creating... well, you. If you had gotten caught and decided to talk... They canned everyone in the lab, made us clear everything out, and scrubbed everything three or four times over to get rid of any trace."
"Just like that?"
"No one wants to be the first company caught playing God with these sorts of biological creations. The government will be sure to make an example of them, try to deter anyone from doing it. So best to just cut losses, keep the factory going and making some money, and take the research and important folks elsewhere. Drastic times call for drastic measures – I don't know anything about where exactly they went, or even if they changed names. Just north, somewhere."
"What about the ponies like me? What did they do with them?"
A shrug from Kenneth accompanied by a downtrodden look is Midnight's initial answer before he takes a deep breath. "I really don't know. They technically weren't part of my job, and I hardly saw them. I have no idea what they did with them. And I know you're gonna ask – Richardson went with them. He was promoted shortly thereafter, and he was considered one of the very important folks. I guess losing the experiment causing the move didn't matter much."
"Great. He gets to continue being a sadistic asshole," Midnight bemoans.
Perhaps her focus is currently on the negatives here, but mine isn't – I'm on the opposite side of the fence. "Midnight, you're missing the bigger point here," I interrupt, circling around the counter to turn my attention squarely to Kenneth. "So everyone involved with her, the company ties to her or would want her back – they're all gone?"
"Yeah. None of us grunts – all of us were pretty upset about losing our jobs. We didn't get any warning beyond some suspicion in the weeks following Midnight's disappearance," Kenneth recollects. "Anyone affiliated with that part of the company is long gone and pretending none of this lab ever existed and the experiments never happened. Speaking out about it doesn't do us any good, we have no proof – catching her wouldn't do any good for us at this point, either."
"Mid, it's over!" I shout, turning to her in excitement.
For a moment, she stares as if I've completely lost my nerve, both concerned and skeptical of my sudden outburst. But those synapses start to fire and connect the dots, and her eyes widen in shock.
"So no one is looking for me anymore?" she gasps.
"No one has been looking for you for months now," Kenneth clarifies. "I think there was a concerted effort the first month, and after that – they made the call to cut their losses and relocate. After that, you were – you don't exist."
"So as long as I don't go shouting to everyone I'm a genetic experiment–"
Kenneth nods, with the first sign of a smile during this exchange. "You're free."
"What's with the staring, anyway? "
"What?"
Midnight can't help but smirk at the dumbfounded response and expression she receives from Kenneth as the three of us walk back toward the front gate. "You've been gawking at me like my presence is something completely foreign to you. I'm not mad, it's just... confusing."
Kenneth's face turns red at Midnight explanation, realizing she's not wrong. "Sorry. It's— I know John said earlier you are a completely different pony from what I would have remembered, and its true. I would have never expected it, no offense."
I'm hardly surprised by his shock regarding Midnight – I saw the moment that surprise happened. Midnight could not have seen Kenneth's reaction to her damn near tackling me in a celebratory hug upon finding out the boogeyman in the shadows no longer exists.
Freedom at last.
Granted, Midnight can't go gallivanting about proclaiming her biological nature to everyone and anyone – but that's no issue. It's the fact she no longer has to keep a wary eye on everyone around doing her at every second of a public outing. She's given me some strong hugs in the past, but I swear she was gonna squeeze me to death.
"It's been a long journey for her, but Midnight's got a much better outlook on life," I add. "It's not been easy, it's been slow sometimes – but as you've seen, it's been worth it."
Midnight turns her head away from Kenneth and I – no doubt trying to hide her bashful reaction to my words.
"I can honestly say I've never seen her... happy. Mind you, that's for good reason," Kenneth chimes in.
"To be fair, I think I got dumped in the one place in the world owned by the one person in the world willing to put up with my attitude and give me a chance to prove myself," Midnight responds, willing to turn and focus on us again. It's a surprise move even for me – not just because of her candid words, but the blush on her face she still hasn't managed to tone down.
Just to reiterate her point, Midnight playfully bumps into my side, leaving Kenneth to stare for just a moment at the little sign of affection.
It's none of his business anyway, but I don't think the poor guy could handle how close Midnight and I truly are. Not tonight anyway – though whether we'll even stay in touch beyond tonight... that's best left up to Midnight.
"So what's next for you then, Johnson? Trying to find another secret experimental lab that will hire you?" Midnight's saccharine tone contrasts wildly with her suggestion, and Kenneth about trips over himself while walking.
"No— No way. Never again," he blurts in hardened conviction. "I'm not doing anything with ponies period after this."
"I figured as much – but the best way to get an honest answer is to keep someone on his own her toes. I'm satisfied," Midnight hums.
"Tonight – this whole thing has been surreal. It's a one in a million chance," Kenneth continues. "I'm moving east within a month or two, which was the other big reason I wanted to pick up the parts. There's just not a lot of career opportunities around here right now with my degree in mind. I've got somewhere to stay, just waiting on finalizing the job I have lined up."
"So this is it, then?"
Kenneth nods at my inquiry. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see Midnight made it, but... I really want to leave that part of my past behind, too."
Reaching his Civic, Kenneth gets ready to set his box of parts on the roof, rather than try to juggle it while popping open the driver's side rear door. He doesn't get that far, for the latch pops open on its own and the door eases itself ajar. Startled at first, Kenneth turns to see Midnight's eyes glowing just a bit more luminous than normal. She offers him a slight nod of acknowledgement before he relaxes and sets his purchase in the back.
When he closes the door, Kenneth sighs and turns back around to face Midnight proper. "I'm sorry for... well, I still helped with everything that happened to you," he admits, hanging his head and kicking at the sand under his feet.
"You did it for money – no more and no less," Midnight affirms, her voice emotionless and level. "It's hard for me to acknowledge that and say I understand. But I can thank you for what you did to give me a chance at something other than death."
Midnight raises one of her hooves toward Kenneth, who takes a moment to understand the gesture. But meeting her gaze again, Kenneth gladly takes her up on an amicable hand-hoofshake.
"And thanks for the parts," Kenneth adds, shifting his focus to me. "I better get on my way and leave you two to close up for the night."
"Safe travels – you ever need any more parts, you know the site," I say, offering my own handshake with a chuckle. "We ship everywhere and anywhere, and I hope this is the last time I have to replace stuff that disappears en-route."
"I guess that's just how fate worked it out," he replies, shaking my hand. "Take care you two – probably be the first and last time we meet, and I'm okay with that."
With little fanfare other than waves exchanged between the pair of us and Kenneth, he climbs into his Civic and starts up the car. Crawling up toward the road, he rolls down the window for one last wave and takes off, accelerating toward the horizon.
It was an anxious night to be sure, but we all got some answers. Overall, I'd say it was a positive night, but ultimately, I'm curious to how Midnight views it all now that the evening has come to a close.
She's come off her high on the news, regaining a more even-keeled demeanor. I follow her back through the gate and pass by while she holds it open for me, ready to close it and lock it behind. I wait for her to finish that task and face me before I start my questioning.
"I suppose that went pretty well, all things considered," I start for an icebreaker. "What did you think?"
Midnight snorts in amusement, cracking a smile. "Wow, that's all you had? I was expecting something much more dramatic and exciting, since tonight was very much a net positive."
"I think I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. For me, that was an hour of sitting mostly idle and trying to absorb all the info you two were putting out," I admit.
"Wow, something that has you at a virtual loss for words. I didn't think that was possible," she presses onward with the jokes.
"Alright – how about you?" I propose, turning the tables on her in a calm voice. "Did meeting someone from the inside fulfill your expectations? How do you feel about meeting the man previously only known as 'Johnson'?"
To my surprise, Midnight's amused expression falters. "He didn't do as much as I thought he did. Basically just dropped a paper and then unlocked some doors I never used. But besides that..." Midnight trails off, dropping her gaze to the ground.
Concerned by the sudden shift, I reach over and pet her back, giving her silence to put her thoughts together. Was this not a positive night for her after all?
"I thought it would be different. I thought it would feel different meeting him. A revelation, closure of sorts," she finally speaks. "I guess I do feel that in a certain way – all those experiences, those awful memories, they aren't just made up in my head. They have been validated. But..."
"Everything still just feels the same as it was before, too." I finish, confident in where her thoughts lay.
Midnight nods her head, raising it to look at me with a solemn expression. "Looking back in hindsight, I couldn't tell you why I thought it would change shit for me. Hell, I thought I put this all behind me months ago when I buried my anger and bitterness out back, yet I still get these damn nightmares from time to time. I doubt tonight will have solved that – but at least I don't have to worry about dickheads still on the hunt for me. I will admits that's a nice breath of fresh air to hear."
"That makes two of us."
"Hm. You know, I hadn't given that thought much more than passing consideration once in a while now. But it feels like there was a weight lifted off of my shoulders to hear that tonight. I guess you don't realize the sort of baggage you're carrying until you get relieved of it."
It's a valid point, but I have nothing else to add to that, merely forced to nod my head and flashing a fleeting grin. Silence wins out as Midnight and I begin to trudge back toward the shop.
I figured tonight would not solve much for Midnight. I knew she had hopes, but I didn't quite understand them; it seems she did not have them fully defined for herself, either. While tonight was a good night, I feel bad for her, being left to want like this.
I'd love nothing more than to definitively lock all those nightmares and memories away for her, never to be bothered by them again. Or even to understand why they've begun trickling back, in order to prevent them in the future.
Of course, I think some of it has had to do with Midnight trying to remember Kenneth, inadvertently digging up unpleasantries to get tripped up on later down the line. But I'm sure that theory has popped up in her mind, and I'm unwilling to say it anyway – there's no need for a blame game here, and I'd feel like I were pointing the finger at her.
Fortunately, not one of them has been a full-on night terror sort of thing – just bad dreams. With the book on Johnson now closed, perhaps these instances will finally die away. Either way, it seems talking about it with me in the morning is therapeutic for her – she has yet to have a recurring nightmare, so she may eventually just run out of them, too.
Regardless, Midnight will battle her way through them – she's proven time and time again the heart of a fighter resides in her chest. That flame won't be extinguished if I have anything to say about it.
It's a positive thought for me to land on, and I resort to petting Midnight's mane as we walk. The physical connection draws her to look at me in curiousness.curious news.
"Guess we also have a time table, too. Come a long way in thirteen or fourteen months, huh?" I propose.
I get Midnight to chuckle at that to break her stoic face. "Yeah, that's... hearing it now makes sense and seems right. But to think this has all happened in a relatively short time frame – I didn't expect that. I certainly don't miss the months skulking around back in the yard for places to hide and gamey meals."
"No? Strange, I seem to recall you ready to fight me tooth and hoof to stay living back there," I tease her.
"And thank fuck you twisted my leg until I agreed to stay with you. If it weren't for that, I'd probably be without a home today because you suck at business," Midnight jabs back with a mischievous smirk. "To be fair, I couldn't see any of the perks I have living with you today, either."
Yet again, that glimpse of relief and playfulness falls in time with her smile. "On the other hand, I'm out – but the cycle's gonna continue, by the sounds of it," she laments. "No one in charge has learned anything from my mess, the bastard that headed my project gets a promotion – can I really be celebratory?"
"Yes – you can and you should," I instruct her.
Midnight hadn't anticipated such a terse answer, for her eyes go wide at one. "Alright then – I expected at least some minor discussion about that," she muses.
"Life isn't a movie, Middie. The mean people don't always get their just desserts. It would be nice, but that part of it – I'm hardly surprised," I explain. "But they've moved on and you have no interest in their eyes any longer. Take the small victory as it is."
"I know... but it seems selfish to think that way."
"Sometimes that's what you have to do to keep yourself sane. You won your war – that's something worth celebrating." I put my arm around her neck and gently coax her up next to me, not that I really need to. She gladly sidles up beside me.
"Alright, point taken," she relents, emitting an amused hum. "I better stop before you start getting any sappier than that."
"Aww come on, I was just getting warmed up," I whine.
"I know – that's why I'm putting the brakes on that train before it leaves the station. Suck it."
Well, this is it – a proper bonafide date night out on the town. Which honestly sounds silly saying it out loud – Midnight and I have been out to dinner plenty of times before this evening. But announcing it beforehand... it feels like there's something a bit more special...
It is more special with the bigger headline – a double date with Teddy and Starla. Granted, it's a hole in the wall we've been before – Buckboard Bar and Grill. But it's perfect for Starla's first time out like this, as the weekday nights are pretty thin and they're already used to seeing a pony now and then with Middie and I.
Midnight's had extra pep in her step with this impending night out, too. I'm not sure whether it's having helped big sis achieve part of her goal or the first... er, 'official' date we've had. Never thought she would be interested in such a thing, but here we are.
Well, here I am – waiting for my date. Midnight has sealed herself away in my room for about an hour now, leaving me to switch between pacing about and watching the TV just to kill some time. I'm sure she's messing with her hair, but damn... what is she actually doing with it?
It took me fifteen minutes tops to get ready a simple matter of a shower and combing my hair into something other than a bird's nest for the first time in a long while... I even found a nice polo and khakis I didn't know I had. This may be a special occasion, but the place we are going to is a relative hole in the wall, not a Michelin Star restaurant.
"Are you ready?" Midnight calls from the other side of the bedroom door.
"No," I sigh, trying to sell the stupidity I'm about to share. "I got undressed and rolled around in the dirt outside while I was waiting on you. I'm gonna have to start all over again."
"...look, I realize it was a stupid question, but you didn't have to provide a stupid answer," she mutters.
"I think you subconsciously had interest in what I would come up with, so that's why you asked the question."
"Shut up, I think I'm set now." I hear the door latch click, spurring me to turn around and get a view of my date as she finally reveals herself to the world. Midnight steps through the open door – and I'm left speechless.
Midnight already had a lot of hair, but the volume looks like it's doubled after an hour of toiling in my room. Rather than straight, flowing locks as normal, she's styled it in layers of waves and loose, gentle curls. Somehow, be it the way the light is striking her hair or something else she experimented with, the violet strands in her hair really pop out as highlights. Moreover, she's taken the time to evenly distribute her hair, making it the perfect natural frame for her face, with light, wispy bangs.
I'm not a hair connoisseur or familiar with style, but I'd say that hair is Charlie's Angels-approved.
"...so are we just gonna stand here and stare at each other all night?" Midnight's quizzical expression and soft sarcasm draw me out of the trance I've apparently been stuck in for a few moments.
"Sorry, but – well damn, I didn't expect this," I stammer.
"What do you mean? Is that good or bad?" she questions with wide, anxious eyes.
"Good! It's good!" I blurt out, still fighting to come up with the words to express my amazement at her transformation. "I really like it. How did you come up with... did you see something that gave you the idea?"
"I just looked around online for something I liked that would work with the head of hair I have," she replies, barely above a mumble as she blushes. "I didn't know what you really liked, but I thought – I dunno, I liked the look of this, and I thought you would, too. It was a lot of work, but I think I did good, yeah?"
"I feel like a loser for just throwing on some clothes and half-assing a comb through my hair. Now I understand the wait – and I think it was well worth it."
"Yeah, this definitely won't be a regular style," she admits with a smirk. "But it's a special occasion, so I figured why not go all out for once? That was the plan all along with the care packages Star sent me."
"Yeah, you're right. Somehow that slipped my mind."
"To be fair, there's only so much that can fit in that thick skull of yours – I forgive you," she wisecracks. "But now it's probably gonna be obvious to everyone and anyone you see me in a more romantic light. What are you gonna do if someone makes a comment?"
"I'll have to ask em if they're gay. It's the only reasonable assumption – just look at you!"
"I— well, I didn't expect that sort of conviction," she admits, trying to stifle a laugh.
"You seem to forget I'm a long way from looking at you like a little girl's pet pony, too."
"Oh no – I just wanted to see what kind of reaction I could get from you with that little scenario. You didn't disappoint, but... eh, maybe we should stop. This is kinda getting weird now."
"If it helps, you're my kind of weird," I assure her, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips.
"Hm... no, that really doesn't help. But I'll let it slide," she hums, accepting my gesture. "But come on, we probably shouldn't keep the other pair waiting on our behalf. I already spent more time in front of a mirror than I expected."
I have no argument there, but I'm sure her thoughts of keeping the other duo waiting is a different scenario than mine...
But she doesn't need to know that yet. Instead, I silently follow Midnight as she leads us through the kitchen and out the door. I fall behind a bit while traversing the stairs, but that works out well for my purposes. When her hooves meet the concrete floor, Midnight turns and starts heading toward the main door, en route to the Trailduster parked outside.
"Hey, where the hell are you going?" I question.
Midnight stops dead in her tracks upon hearing my call, spinning around in place to look at me. "Where do you want me to go? We having the date night in here now?"
"No – but our ride is here in the garage. Unless you planned on walking all the way to town."
Midnights eyes go wide with wonder at my comment – right before they dart over to steal a glance at the far end of the shop. There, a weathered black and sparkling chrome beauty lies parked in the same spot since the last few test drives.
I haven't gotten around to it yet, but I may try to wet-sand the paint to see if I can breathe a little bit of life and luster into it. But as it stands now, it's still one sharp-looking ride; the stainless steel and chrome bits have cleaned up to an impeccable shine, and draw the eye away from most of the remaining flaws of the car.
"You— We're taking the Chrysler tonight?!" Midnight sputters in disbelief, her eyes returning to me.
A"A special night calls for a special carriage – wouldn't you agree?" I propose, unable to prevent a smile from forming on my face.
For whatever reason, Midnight is fighting hard to keep herself from exploding into a joyous celebration; I expected her to lose all semblance of control at the thought. But I suppose after spending all that time doing her hair, to mess it up in a flurry of excitement would be a shame.
But there's another side of it I understand now as her brow furrows in contemplation. "We haven't done a ton of road testing with it yet. Are you sure you want to risk something going wrong and stranding us?"
"Well, the transmission is working smoothly with no hiccups. The brakes feel great and stop the car no problem, and as far as the suspension – I haven't felt anything concerning or out of the ordinary, and it actually turns better than I expected from such a big car," I list off for her. "Worse comes to worse, we end up having to stop and get towed home – but no risk, no reward. We'll have to find out one way or another. But I'm confident we won't have any issues."
"Hm, I don't know if I really care for your reasoning..." she comments, trying to remain skeptical.
"The way you say that, I feel like there's a 'but' to follow."
"We do need to put miles on the car – as you said, the only way to find issues is to drive it and let them rear their ugly heads. So I suppose you make a fair argument." She hardly finishes that thought before prancing forward toward the Chrysler at a quickened pace.
I figured she would see things my way.
She's already in the passenger seat and waiting by the time I climb in behind the wheel. It takes but a few seconds of cranking before the Hemi awakens, rumbling in heightened anger for a moment before setting into a growling, sedate idle.
It's surprised me how despite the racy exhaust system, the interior remains comfortable and relatively quiet, even while cruising at highway speeds. But opening up all eight barrels of the carbs – yeah, she bellows her might. But break-in means I really can't put my foot all the way to the floor just yet. That fun will come in time.
With a minute or two of warmup behind us, I push in the Drive button on the dash and feel the car grab a gear. Easing off the brakes, we roll out into the evening and set off toward the front gate. Having been unlocked earlier, Midnight only has to poke her head out the window to open the gate for us, then close it again once we're through.
It's beautiful timing – the robin egg blue Cutlass convertible set to follow us to town and back rumbles up the road and coasts into the former parking lot here at the shop. Teddy takes a moment to ogle our car through a pair of dark aviators with a big grin on his face.
"Nice ride," he quips, whistling afterward for added effect.
At the same time, Starla rises up from the passenger seat to get a good look. While certainly not as dramatic as Midnight's transformation, she's adopted a more intricate braid pattern for her hair tonight. But that's hardly her focus as she steals a glance at my date.
"Oh my gosh, Middie – you look incredible!" she exclaims, putting a hoof over her mouth.
"Aww, that's Star – but I couldn't have done it without your help. Your tips yesterday gave me a better understanding of how to tackle it," Midnight calls back to her. "I really like your braid tonight – that's gorgeous."
"I'm following you, yeah?" Teddy suggests, gesturing the plan.
"Yep. I'm not worried – but you'll be an extra eye for anything amiss along the way."
"Sounds good to me – whenever you're ready, lead the way."
I salute Teddy and ease my foot off the brake, allowing the Chrysler to ease forward without swirling up a dust storm behind me with the rear tires. Once we crawl up onto the road, I give the throttle a small aggressive blip – just to make sure the rear tires are still there. Their presence is announced by a chirp and a swift launch pointed down the highway.
We get up to cruising speed rather quickly – and frankly, I can't keep myself from smiling. It's not only the sense of accomplishment to be in this position with the car; it's also the mare I feel scooting up next to me on the seat, right before planting an unannounced kiss on my cheek. I put my arm around her and sigh in contentment. "Did you ever think we were gonna get to this point, Midnight?" I ask.
"You talking about the car, or something else?" she counters playfully.
She has a good point, now that I think of it. After all, here we are cruising down the road in a project car we've toiled over together, setting off for a date night with friends. A night that entails no worry about shady underground organizations wanting to take back Midnight after her escape over a year ago.
And there's still the bizarre matter of the two of us... together. What started as a begrudgingly accepted deal between two parties has gone through a metamorphosis of epic proportions.
"You make a good point. I'll get back to you on that once I narrow it down."
The radio in the dash suddenly lights up as the speakers come to life, making me just out of pure shock. I had it turned off, so how...
No, I've seen this movie before. I turn my head to look at Midnight; conveniently, she's also turned her head now to gaze out the passenger window, leaving me to guess on her current facial expression. Not that it's a difficult task.
"You've been planning that for a while now, haven't you?"
"Hm? I dunno what you're talking about. What plan?" Her attempt to feign ignorance is purposefully terrible, earmarked by the amusement on her face right now as she turns back. Even those fangs have made an appearance in that devilish little grin.
"You fucker."
"I got you to legitimately jump a bit, too. I'm impressed," she snorts, completely giving it up now.
"And how long have you been working on this?" I question, leering at her.
"Oh come on, it wasn't that hard. Your eyes on the road make it easy for me to fiddle with the radio with my trusty wire unseen," she explains. "The station was the 'hardest' part – had to do some dial-surfing a few days ago for an oldies station. It was just a matter of when we would drive it in a more relaxed setting, and hope the station would be playing music at the time and not a commercial."
"Well, I guess you get a freebie tonight. But just remember I owe you for that stunt down the road."
"Aww, that's so sweet of you," she gushes. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"And now I wish I had a voice recorder for that last line," I comment, pointing at her. "Evidence later, in case you get snippy about my antics."
"That wouldn't save you anyway – you'll inevitably take it over the top to a point my comment can't cover such nonsense and aggravation," she retorts, sticking her nose up.
"Oh, so now we're making rules up as we go?"
"I learned it from you."
"Well, I'm glad to have been such a good teacher," I brag. Midnight pokes me in the ribs for that, making me flinch.
"That's not nice, but I guess our mission tonight isn't so rosy either," I sigh.
"Huh?" Midnight's dumbfounded expression makes the ensuing terrible joke worth it in my mind.
"We're off to kill Moochie Welch, right?"
Midnight narrows her gaze, silent for a moment while she listens to the song on the radio. It doesn't take long for her noggin to make the connection, and she rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Oh god damn. I didn't even notice," she laments.
"Hell, it's all I can think about hearing this. We got a ways to go before hitting Cali, I'm afraid."
"Yeah, yeah – I'll find something else, dumbass." Midnight hones her attention on the radio now, fiddling with the dial. The sound through the speaker alternates between static, commercials, and various chords of music while she tries to find something palat—
"Right there , Mid," I instruct her.
She scoffs, looking at me as if I'm joking.
"What?"
"Really? This?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"It feels like I'm in some really cheesy fucking movie," she mutters.
"Well, that works – I mean, I feel like I'm sitting next to a movie star," I comment with a widening grin. "You could make Farrah Fawcett jealous with those looks, Mid."
"Just... just shut up and drive," she mumbles, turning to look away. But not quick enough – I see that blush forming on her face.
But there's no need to feel bad or apologize – despite her protests, I feel her wing easing its way between my back and the seat, eager to affectionately embrace me.
I can't help but grin about... well everything right now. Yeah, maybe it's a good time to shut up. Reaching over to put an arm around Midnight, I feel her yield and scoot closer once again.
Author's Note
And with that, a cumulative three years and change of work between the greentext and this conversion comes to a close. It was fitting that was I consider my best work and is so significant to me ends on significant days – the greentext came to a close three years to the day I started it in August, and this version, albeit slightly manipulated to hit it (sue me) comes to a close on G4's anniversary and my birthday, a gift to myself for fighting through burnout to complete this.
Is this really the end? At least for an overarc for story, yes. I suspect there will be some Alice of life updates in the future, perhaps even some little things fitted earlier into the story, too. But Chapter 86 is the conclusion to mark it as complete, and I will put that in the description for further reference when that time comes.
For everyone that's stayed for the entire ride – and even for those who didn't but gave valuable input – thank you. I'm humbled that this story has struck such a chord with so many folks, something I hadn't anticipated.
"Got a real boner for Halloween, huh?"
The unexpected voice intruding into the silence that's been lulling me to doze off causes me to jolt up in surprise.
I get a hold of myself pretty quickly – the squat middle-aged man that stepped up to my counter an hour earlier has returned, prize in hands. He sets down a toolbag in an awkward fashion while keeping his grip on the stamped metal panel, hoisting it up onto the counter.
Front left fender, '73 Mercury Cougar. Good shape, no rust – but a hideous sun-faded shade of green that could only be from the swinging seventies.
It's pretty easy to remember requests when the customers are only trickling in. This late in the day – well, there was a reason he startled me. YouTube can only entertain for so long in a day.
Far from being the first day on the job, the other noteworthy detail about the panel he's probably hoping I'll miss is the lightly pitted chrome Cougar script still attached behind the wheel opening.
"Emblem is extra. You still want it?"
His shoulders slump as soon as I point it out. Sorry dude, no freebies. I'm not as blind as he had hoped.
"How much extra?" he concedes.
"Another ten on top of the fender. Not exactly a mint piece," I reply.
Satisfied with that answer, he begins fishing through the pockets of his shorts.
"You never did answer my question," he reminds me in the meantime. "Halloween's still a month away last I checked."
"I'm... not sure that I follow," I admit, feeling like I'm missing the joke here.
"The old Dodge 'Scare-avan' out there off of the main path?" he wisecracks, evidently unconvinced by my confusion.
The specific notation of vehicle in and of itself raises my suspicions on more than one front. "That's a few rows down from the FoMoCo section you needed," I remind him.
His light-hearted demeanor shifts at my comment. "Oh, no – I was headed to where you said the Cougar was located, and I thought I saw something darting around near it."
"Like a bird, maybe?"
The customer isn't too impressed with my skeptical response as he lays a pair of crinkled fifty-dollar bills on the counter, followed shortly by another ten. "I don't think I want to know how you got birds that big out there. Or why they're warning people to stay away when getting anywhere close."
Well, that confirms my other suspicion. He isn't the first to mention hearing someone out there in the yard when it should otherwise be empty. But he is the first one that seems believable, rather than crazy or hopped up on something.
"If you really aren't playing a joke, I'd say you probably be on the lookout for someone out there. I wasn't interested enough to investigate," he concludes, picking up his stuff and making for the door.
"I'll keep it in mind. Thanks for the heads up," I call after him, though still not quite sure how much I believe him.
If the damp bills of the counter that reek of perspiration are any indication, the sun has been relentless again on my plot of the New Mexico desert. Heat can make a man see and hear funky things from time to time.
As I glance over at the desktop of my computer and spy the clock hitting 5 pm, I realize I get the full experience now – not just the dry heat that's settled into the open garage.
It's closing time – for the self pick and pull. I still have to pull parts for call-in orders. A long day, but that's the skids about being the only employee.
On the upside? I'm not paying someone to find innovative ways to slack off or use me as a free source of parts for their project. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirts. Way too many times. I had enough about six months ago.
So it's me myself and I going through familiar motions – heading out into the sandy sun-scorched landscape to shut and lock the chain link front gate. Heading back in and upstairs to my little shithole of a living space and filling up a couple of jugs of water. Heading out to the old shop truck that's parked just outside the open garage bay door, perpetually stocked with tools.
Did I mark down that grille of the '74 Ranchero being sold from earlier? Ah, screw it. I'll do it later if I haven't. I'm not exactly judicious in keeping track of that shit anyway.
Dropping the jugs of ice-cold water on the passenger seat through the open window, I head around and reach in through the open window of the driver's side and fumble with the door handle.
It's still pretty damn hot, but better than the sizzling chrome of the outside handle.
The door opens with a groan, reminding me I still haven't lubed the door hinges as I hop inside.
Oh well, it's an old truck. It was supposed to be junked, for some reason. That's why I even have it. Sure, there's a dent or two and some scrapes, the two-tone brown and tan paint has seen better days – but it's solid. Probably lived its whole life in this area.
A new cap and rotor, a fuel pump, and fresh gas got the last of the Chrysler big blocks – a 400 – under the hood going again. I think the guy was just hard up for any money he could get quickly. Or clueless. Maybe both.
Still, there is also the annoying exhaust leak I still haven't quite nicked, it drinks fuel (not that I was surprised), and the suspension has seen better days.
That being said, I still get a kick when the occasional person points out the RamCharger to their friend, before being perplexed by the Plymouth badges.
To be fair, I don't think I've ever seen another Trailduster, either.
It cranks up with little hesitation when I hit the key, the engine quickly settling into a low, content rumble. The radio kicks on a split second later, Three Dog Night starts singing about some road to BFE as I pull the gearshift down into drive for the jaunt out into the yard.
Coincidentally, I get to do my own investigating this evening. The 'Scare-avan' is on the list of stops. A used and abused first gen that's been out in the yard since I bought the business. Pretty lackluster find – unless one were looking for a stout little sleeper on the streets. The 2.5 liter this one has under the hood also has the turbo that made the boxy people-mover quite spicy.
As far as I know, the turbo for the Caravan is the same as any of the other 2.5 turbo Chryslers of the era, but this guy insisted on having one from a bona fide turbo van.
Whatever. He's happily paying a premium for it – that's good enough for me.
The ride out into the yard is not particularly relaxing, as prior runs down the dusty graded path and the washouts from a recent heavy rainstorm combine to make me feel like I'm on a rickety rollercoaster.
Nevertheless, this is the part of the job I enjoy. Wrenching on old cars, free from dealing with stupid people. Perhaps a bit harsh, as that is generalizing a specific group of people that I've brought upon myself.
I have a section of newer cars more towards the front – vintage auto sales pay a good premium, but having late models makes a more steady cash flow. That cash comes from some people who are hard up. Sometimes people of a more... questionable nature, or the aforementioned high as a kite group. Some people come that shouldn't even be touching a wrench, let alone work on their own car.
Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose. The only other revenue stream is from the occasional nearby factory looking for a place to offload some junk – and willing to pay fairly handsomely. As long as it isn't biohazard or nuclear, I don't ask questions. Back of the yard, by the imports, thanks for your business. The less I know, the easier it is to play dumb if the EPA or some tree-hugger group starts snooping around for some reason.
Hasn't happened, but one never knows.
I pass row upon row of weatherbeaten cars over the ensuing five or so minutes it takes to crawl toward my target. But it isn't long before I'm near the Chrysler section, and the rattlecanned black van that denotes the start and my goal.
I pull up next to the crusty van, unable to help but chuckle again at the crudely spray‐painted orange flames stretching from the edge of the front fender to the middle of the driver's door. I can't imagine what stories would come out if this heap could talk.
Shutting off the engine and hopping out of the truck, my mind hardly gives a passing thought to whatever might supposedly be lurking here. I certainly didn't spy anything 'darting around' while rolling up to the van, and I have yet to hear anything. My main focus is the job that's gonna get me paid.
Before grabbing any tools, I head over to the front of the van, reaching under the hood for the latch and popping it open. Oil, grime, and dust have ensured the engine bay possesses a nice patina of brown and black hues overall – but the mechanical snail still rests wedged between the cylinder head of the engine and the exhaust pipe.
And... no hood prop rod to keep this open.
Jack handle it is, then.
As I make my way to the tailgate of the Trailduster, something starts scurrying around... somewhere. Obviously an animal, with unsurprisingly fleet movement.
Double that on the jack handle request. It's certainly bigger than a mouse or bird by the fact that I could make out the distinct patter of footsteps - even if they were quiet. Probably a coyote. Wouldn't be the first time – though the fact it took this long to spook away is abnormal.
The sharp tang of metal on metal should get it scurrying far away for now.
Grabbing what I think I'll need to tear the turbo out of the van and tossing it into a bucket to carry, I grab the hollow handle of the floor jack still in the back and head back, making sure to step on any rocks or bits of metal to make my presence better known. Once alongside the driver's side of the van, I give the jack handle a good swing and strike the upper lip of the rear wheel arch.
It lets out a sharp crack that echoes along the relatively flat landscape of the yard.
"Don't you dare do that again."
Having expected nothing more than a frantic flurry of some animal hightailing it, the sudden presence of a voice growling out a threat forces a startled jump from me. Head on a swivel, I look around – but find no one.
So there is someone here - and from what I can tell, sounded like a young woman.
"This is private property, and we're closed!" I shout, spinning around in the hopes of catching sight of this intruder.
The sound of movement again – surprisingly quick and well-practiced as it dances among junk cars nearby.
"Leave me alone and we won't have any problems."
A demand for an answer in the same voice. Definitely feminine. I still can't figure out where she is.
"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but how about you stop playing hide and seek and get out of here before I have to contact the authorities!"
I'm not going to play games tonight. If this woman is squatting out here and bold enough to think she can do as she pleases, she's probably not right in the head. And quite possibly dangerous.
"So be it," she calls back. It's a normal tone, a fluid and sweet voice that has an edge of raw, unrefined spunkiness to it.
But then... nothing.
"I don't have time for this shit. The sheriff can deal with you while I get back to my work. I'm not going to look for you."
"You don't have to search. I'm behind you, dumbass."
My blood runs cold as I hear her. Right behind me.
I drop the bucket on the ground, turning and getting ready to wield the jack handle with both hands if I need to.
Instead, I damn near stumble back onto my ass as I take a step back, finally having a face to match up with the previously disembodied voice.
She isn't what I expected at all. She isn't even human.
Dark blue fur, hardly a shade above the midnight sky graces her whole form, which stands on four legs. Even with that seeming handicap, the top of her head would come up to damn near my neck, if one were counting the voluminous mass of deep blue and violet hair that flowed down from around her high-set ears and into a mane ending in slight curls, matching her bangs. From what I can see, the tail is likewise styled and colored.
But then there's the spiral horn that sprouts from her forehead area, easily making it a draw between me and her in height. The wings that begin to spread out wide and upward in an imposing display are utterly massive , though matched to her size. They seem to be a dull, dark violet hue when it comes to the feathers - not glaringly obvious, but more an accent.
Most unsettling is her face. The scowl she wears is initially dominated by her large eyes, possessing irises that glow dimly with a light that matches their sky-blue hue, topped off with slitted pupils that would look at home on a cat. But if that weren't enough, she decides to show off her dental work - bestial sharp teeth with prominent pointed canines.
Okay, maybe I'm starting to suffer from heatstroke. No way am I seeing this horse...
No. Wait a minute.
...well, now that I've gotten a moment, she is unnerving, sure. But she's a pony.
Been a while since I've paid any attention, but I remember ten or fifteen years ago, pretty fresh out of high school – somehow My Little Pony became a big thing. Particularly with a group of sweaty man-children. There was enough hubbub and demand that someone started making these... well, robots.
"You're one of those pony pet things, aren't you?" I blurt out, even as she tries to keep up her display.
The look of intimidation she's sporting falters as my response takes her by surprise. But it doesn't last long, as her short huff of irritation means I clearly struck some sort of nerve.
"I am no pet," she mutters. "I think you're referring to pony companions - and I'm... not quite that, either." The addendum at the end brings a touch of insecurity into her voice as she tucks her wings away neatly on either side.
"Alright, whatever. Tomato, tomahto - you're just one of those animatronic things that's the fruity baby step to Skynet becoming a reality," I shoot back, finding this whole situation less uneasy and more awkward by the second. "What the hell are you doing in m y junkyard?"
"Yeah, and you're a sack of muscles and bone in a wrapper, if we're going to be stupid about it," she snorts back, accompanying her unhappiness with a glare. "This has been my home for months."
"Bullshit. I've owned this salvage yard for years . I've never seen you or anything else like you in my time here."
"Well, I'm obviously quite skilled at hiding, shit-for-brains," she sasses back, flashing a boastful smirk as she thrusts her chest out with pride.
I know little of these niche products – but one thing I do recall is the cost. As well as the fact they're supposed to be – well, cute and friendly. Neither descriptor fits this one - and vinegar isn't getting me anywhere.
"Okay, look," I finally relent with a sigh. "I don't know how or why you're here, but you can't be living out in my yard."
"Oh? And where am I to go then?" she demands, taking a step closer. One of her wings unfurls again, the feathers at the tip being used to point out the mounds of scrap in the distance. "Do you think I came here on my own accord? I was dumped here, discarded as useless. And judging by your business and the fact I was driven here with a load of scrap, you invited me into your yard."
Her pace of speech speeds up noticeably through her argument, making it clear there is some desperation regarding my thinly veiled threat of eviction.
She certainly can't stay out here and continue to spook customers. And while it's a stretch for her to say I invited her, I don't have a quick retort to counter her argument.
"What are you doing out here?"
The abrupt shift in tone and topic draws me away from the predicament I was just mulling and back to the... pony's attention.
That just feels weird to even think.
"I gotta pull some parts off of cars for orders," I answer back, keeping a level tone and head in some attempt to build a bridge with her. "I came out here specifically because I need the turbo off of the engine in this van."
"Perhaps I could help you, in exchange for making an exception to my residence here in the yard."
It's a proposition so absurd, that I can't help but scoff. Which of course only draws the ire of the pony, her brow furrowing in response.
Smooth, dude.
"You dismiss my offer before allowing me an attempt to prove myself?" she retorts, stepping forward.
"I don't mean to be a prick, but you have four hooves that I doubt can hold tools. And I doubt you have much knowledge of what I'm even talking about – like the turbocharger I'm trying to get out of this heap."
While keeping her eyes glued to me, she sidesteps and starts to walk along the passenger side of the vehicle, the windows giving me a view of her movements. The sand doesn't lend itself to creating loud footsteps but for her size, she's almost soundless. Quieter than she probably should be.
I start mirroring her pace from the driver's side, feeling a bit uneasy as to her plans. However, I still keep some distance as I reach the front of the Caravan. But she doesn't seem to pay me any mind, as her eyes begin to glow – this time I'm certain of it.
Almost at the same time, the hood raises up in one sharp movement, allowing the pony to step forward and glance into the engine bay.
"What the hell was that?!"
"A little thing called electromagnetism," she responds, almost bored by your shocked outburst. She pulls her head back, pointing to the spire on her head with a hoof.
My focus drawn to that bit of her anatomy, the faintest sight of what looks like heat rays seem to emanate a short distance from its surface.
"You didn't think it was just for show, did you?"
...I don't have anything to answer back with on that front. Whether it's normal or not for these robo-ponies – I haven't a clue.
Satisfied with my lack of a response, she returns to her primary focus, scanning the engine bay. It's only a few moments time, but it's not a look of a frenetic, uncertain search I anticipated...
"It would probably be easier to just take the valve cover off to reach the head bolts, and just take the whole head with exhaust and intake assemblies rather than fight with no room to get just the turbo off," she muses, lacking in any sort of emotion. "Those bolts are badly corroded, while the head bolts have at least been sitting in oil for most of their life. Unless you'd rather do it the hard way – the connection to the actual exhaust pipe heading off of the turbo downward is probably going to be punishment enough."
Cue my jaw dropping with that detailed assessment.
She doesn't have to glance back for my reaction before putting on a smirk that exposes the tips of those canines from under her lip.
Should I point out the turbocharger for you, or have I gone beyond that simple test?" she sasses, continuing on to ensure she really rubs it in. "Maybe I can be useful despite the presence of four hooves and no opposable thumbs."
"How do you know any other that?" I finally manage to speak. "I doubt they programmed you with that knowledge."
"No, but one can learn a lot just by listening to the occasional passerby weighing his options," she explains, letting the hood drop with a loud clatter as her eyes return to... not as glowing. "The other half of learning it comes from what you can see if you look in the back windows."
Perplexed by what she's trying to convey, I nonetheless follow her instructions, taking a few steps back in order to peer down through the dust-covered, tinted windows behind the driver's seat.
The second-row bench seat is gone, with the dingy grey carpeted floor instead left with scattered pamphlets, owner's manuals, various books—
And a Chilton's 1981 model year service manual. One that came up missing from my collection a few months ago.
"Hey, where the hell did you get that service manual?!" I shouted, more out of surprise than anger. I still can't help but get a jolt when the pony's reflection in the window pops up next to mine.
Holy shit is she sneaky.
"Oh, it was laying on a fender of a car over there," she says, pointing a wing toward the next section over in the junkyard, where the Ford products lie. "I had no idea where it came from, but I found it just before a rainstorm while I was hunting. Guess if I hadn't found it and taken it, you would have lost it anyway."
In that whole explanation is one word that hangs in my mind as soon as it escapes her mouth.
Hunting.
"What do you mean by 'hunting'?" I ask, that unsettled feeling from earlier on initial contact starting to well up again.
"Well – it's not like there's – there's no charging ports, after all," she stammers, taken aback by my inquiry. "I have to get energy somehow."
"And you do that... how?"
"Finding things that move on all fours and remain oblivious to the apex predator out here, duh," she snaps back.
"Oookay, I guess there's a lot I don't know about you robo-ponies," I admit. The comment doesn't come off particularly pleasing to her ears, but other than a frown appearing, she says nothing.
I'm not thrilled about having one of these things hanging around. I know I have my own bias, the the thought of some guy living alone and having one of these things... doesn't paint a very masculine picture. Not to mention she gives off some odd vibes – black project military-type vibes if I let my imagination venture away from reality a bit.
Whoever discarded this pony, for whatever reason – why didn't they deactivate her before trashing? I assume there's some sort of deactivation switch or something. I'm not keen to start snooping, but she doesn't have any obvious ports or joints, or seams...
But I don't know if these things are supposed to be that way. After all, they are meant to be as real as possible to the show, as far as I can recall from when they came out. Certainly the breathing animation is down pat, and evidently, the lack of electricity doesn't cripple them.
Beyond all of those thoughts, I can't deny I'm a bit impressed at the knowledge she's spouted thus far. And the ability to move things without having to touch them – that could come in handy for tight spots. I also don't have to pay her – she just needs a place to stay. Swiping parts from me? No reason for that.
Plenty of pros and plenty of cons. Saying no isn't really an option right now, is it? What else is there to debate?
"Alright... Turbo. You help me with pulling parts like this shit and you can stick around. Just – well, you can't stay out here."
"Erm... Turbo?" she inquires, raising an eyebrow as she's not at all thrilled with my hasty moniker.
It was pretty spur-of-the-moment desperation.
"Well I'm not calling you 'pony' or 'companion,' you got an actual name?"
"Do you?"
Yeah, we did kind of miss out on proper introductions. I'm not sure what I was thinking.
"John," I answer, hesitating for a moment before putting my hand out for a handshake. "Owner of John's Vintage Auto Sales."
The pony looks down at the gesture I've put forth but doesn't move a muscle before turning her eyes back to my face.
"I'm not going by 'Turbo,' I can tell you that much right now," she grumbles.
"So you don't have a name, I take it?"
"Beyond a collection of numbers and characters in what amounts to gibberish? No," she answers back, unable to prevent a slip of her tone into something approaching a forlorn lament as she averts her eyes."
Other than that, she says nothing, even after a moment of silence.
"So..."
"Midnight," she spits out, finally looking at me again with a determined face. "I'm not letting you come up with any more retarded names."
"Okay – we got a deal then, Midnight?" I extend my hand out just a bit further, emphasizing the gesture I'm looking for.
The name issue must have been the final hangup, for this time, she raises a hoof and accepts a shake.
It's the first time I feel the fine fur she's covered in – as well as the smooth, fluid movements of her joints as the agreement is settled.
"Deal."
It's been a couple of days since Midnight began putting her knowledge into practice tearing apart junkyard engines in the garage. There's been a distinct learning curve for her – much to her own surprise and frustration.
Now, that's not to say Midnight doesn't know what she's doing. She can easily identify parts and possesses a good understanding of the disassembly process in getting to specific components.
Her biggest issue has been a lack of patience – which in turn feeds on her stubbornness. It's been obvious to me from day one of meeting her Midnight is not one to ask for help or otherwise rely on someone else. To make matters worse, once Midnight is pissed off, she suffers severe tunnel vision – the world around her fades from existence aside from the one particular issue transfixing her anger.
Whatever problem or hangup denying her success is an affront that is unacceptable.in her mind.
"Turbo!"
"Stop calling me that!" Midnight shouts from the far garage bay. Her glowing blue irises are a clue-in to her boiling anger, bright enough to evaporate her cat-like pupils from sight. Meanwhile, the engine she's been fighting with is released from her magnetic grip, left to rock back on its side.
"Well, you didn't say anything the first three times I called your name, and I'm certainly not going to get between you and the violent tug of war game you have going on right now," I explain. With the last of the emails and parts requests on the computer dealt with, I sigh and shuffle around the counter. Time to see what Midnight is battling before she destroys the shop.
Fortunately, there haven't been many walk-in customers. But that's not about being embarrassed; the few that have trickled in for parts all sort of taking a glance, a double-take of surprise or shock, but say nothing about Midnight's presence.
I haven't figured out nor have asked whether it's just because she's here in an odd setting, or if it's her unique looks. At least Midnight hasn't taken notable exception to it.
Now, on a side note, I have historically had more business with shipping things out than people actually coming in and pulling their own parts. The trend of less in-the-flesh purchases has been going for a while. That's just due to the shift in the automotive business as a whole; a combination of convenience, lack of free time, and newer generations preferring to do their dealings over the web rather than in person.
God, I sound like an old fart talking about 'newer generations.' I have yet to even reach the halfway point of my thirties. But facts are facts.
Midnight continues to scowl as I reach her side and squat down to get a better look at her current project. Her height on all fours means she's now scowling down at me. But it's gotten a bit easier to ignore that look, considering I see it multiple times a day.
"What are you trying to do that has you literally dragging this engine around the floor?" I inquire, pointing to the fresh scrape marks on the dingy concrete floor. As evidence of her tunnel vision, the marks trail for more than a foot from the origin.
"I am trying to get the oil pan off, and I almost had it," she grumbles, making her frustration with my entrance crystal clear as usual.
Brushing the attitude aside, I take a good look over the rusted and dust-caked surface of the oil pan, scanning the lip around the perimeter that bolts up to the block. Circles of blue paint show where freshly removed fasteners once were, and it looks like she did indeed get all of them.
All of them that screw into the engine block, anyway. The front timing cover of the engine remains caked in hardened chunks of dust, particularly around the bottom. It's a reminder of how long this engine had been sitting out in the desert sand, subject to infrequent bouts of rain and mud since pulling it from the engine bay.
There's an area of the front flange that butts up next to the timing cover still completely obscured despite Midnight's wrath. I grab the ratchet she had been using to take out the bolts and tap the dirt away; two more bolt heads appear from that simple act.
Rather than comment on the discovery, I stay silent and keep my eyes glued to the engine. I find it better to just let the results do the talking for Midnight, as my words are likely to just whip her up into a fury. Nonetheless, Midnight snorts as the sharp clap of one of her hooves striking the floor echoes amidst the short-lived silence.
I still haven't figured out how she can be so damn quiet on hard floors with those hooves, both because of their nature and her physical size. Disciplined steps is my best guess.
"I would have found that on my own," she mutters, bitter at my revelation.
"I know you would have," I agree in a calm, reserved voice. I'm merely bracing for the successive escalation of her temper.
"You didn't have to come over and point that out to me," she continues to seethe.
"Youre right, I didnt have to."
Waiting for a moment, I finally glance over to Midnight as she offers no further venomous responses for the time being. At roughly the same time, her cold blue eyes dart toward me as they continue to bore holes through anything that opposes her.
"What?" she barks expectantly.
"I didn't say anything."
"You look like you want to say something."
"Will you let me say something?" I propose to her with caution. "I swear I'm not here to judge or criticize."
"Fine." I swear when Midnight's in a mood, it's like talking to a five-year-old ready to unleash a vicious temper tantrum. Its the main reason why I've begun to just let her mouth run rampant rather than argue. Let her vent before I speak up.
"Why is it a problem if I come over here and help you with something?" I question, hoping to get some semblance of productive discussion.
"Because I don't need your help," she rebuts without hesitation. "This is all just simple parts and pieces put together that need to be disassembled – I don't need help with that, I'm smart enough to do that."
"I have no desire to make you feel like you aren't smart. I guarantee you got me handily bested in the brains department," I concede. It's the best option for an olive branch I have to extend.
"Yet you can come over and point that out as if it were no big deal," Midnight shoots back without missing a beat.
"Because I've been doing this of shit for a long time, Midnight," I remind her. "I was over there with no involvement while you have been at this for a little bit now, too. That makes a big difference – a fresh pair of eyes."
Midnight's intense stare softens up a little bit as I explain my side of things. As I pause to find where I've landed with my comment, she offers a slight nod for me to continue.
"When things aren't going right – I mean, holy shit, you were dragging that whole motor halfway across the shop by an oil pan you thought was unbolted - just step back and take a breather. It's easy to miss something; I do it, believe me. All those books you've been reading are in-service maintenance manuals – they aren't going to tell you what could happen, or things to look for if a part has been sitting for a while."
"I'm not giving up once I start something – that's admitting failure," she hastily replies
"Taking a break to clear your head isn't giving up – it's giving you a chance to clear your mind and take a wider look at what's going on. There's no shame in that, and it's not like I'm timing you on this, either. This is your project."
Midnight takes a deep breath, glancing back over at her project for a moment, before turning back to me. "I'm not going to make a habit of taking a break," she warns.
"I'm not asking you to, and I'm not telling you what to do," I assure her, fighting to hide my amazement that she is receptive to my advice. "All I'm trying to do is offer some insight and a solution. You just let yourself get so pissed off, you don't use your sharp noggin."
Midnight raises her brow at that comment but has no reply – at least, not before the phone on the counter begins to ring. The shrill sound instantly halts the constructive discussion we seem to be having.
"I gotta get that. Seriously, there's no shame in asking questions, either. I'm not gonna make fun of you," I remind her as I make my way back to the counter.
Midnight stares at the engine block before her her as I glance back, not moving a muscle.
The parts-pulling work after closing turned out to be a rough and frustrating venture. There weren't an overwhelming amount of orders – it just so happened every single part I needed was a stubborn bitch to remove.
By far the worst had been the rear bumper off of a '64 Imperial. The car alone meant I would be dealing with a hefty part. But with unfortunate timing, Midnight had overestimated the endurance of her strength the last few days. She wasn't lying when she boasted about being able to lift a whole engine – but between her insistence that she do everything herself and the extra gusto she put forth whenever she became frustrated...
There wasn't enough left in her tank to hold the massive chrome slab while I fought with the mounting bolts in the frame. Like clockwork, every damn bolt mounting the brackets to the frame was rusted to hell and back, to the point the threads were nonexistent. To compund all of these issues, the customer needed the brackets, so I couldn't just torch em off.
That single order had cost the better part of two hours, between getting everything loose and then heaving the bastard out of its home without hurting myself in the process. Midnight's frustration over the situation was almost palpable – mainly because other than handing me tools and offering a token effort at pulling and prying, she was relegated to watching.
The other orders went marginally better, but by the time we had wrapped up everything urgently needed, the headlights of the Trailduster were required to illuminate the path home.
Even so, today wasn't all bad – far from it. Much to my surprise, Midnight seemed to have taken my advice to heart for the majority of the afternoon tearing apart engines. On more than one occasion, I witnessed her stepping away, taking a few moments to collect herself after having issues with attaining her particular objective at the time.
Of course, she played it off as looking for a tool, or being thirsty, or...
I pretended not to notice for the most part, knowing full well she was already reluctant to step away, let alone having me aware of the actual reason. It further makes me wonder where in the hell she came from and what circumstances made her so prideful to a fault. I can't say I've ever seen anything quite like it.
But now, while I fiddle around in the kitchen waiting for some poor-quality off-brand chicken strips in the oven to be done, I can't help but smirk. Midnight, the pony that doesn't need sleep, is lying on the couch with her eyes closed. Only the quiet drone of the TV offers any sort of sound to the living room.
It's been quite the adjustment having someone else with me all day – not to mention sleeping in my little shithole of a living space. Hell, I've lost track of how long it's been since I last had an employee. Obviously, she's not really an employee; I'm not paying her. But it has been a nice change of pace to have company, despite the abrasiveness she isn't ashamed to display.
"If you're still part of the living world, food is just about done," I announce, watching for any movement.
One of her ears perks up, swiveling in my direction from out of the mess of her mane. "I'm still awake. I told you I don't sleep," she murmurs.
"So, you're checking your eyelids for holes, I'm guessing?"
The comment draws enough attention from Midnight for her to raise her head and open her eyes. "I was relaxing with my eyes closed, you ass," she refutes, too tired or apathetic to offer proper venom in her voice.
"Oh, okay."
Midnight turns her focus to the television while I pull dinner out of the oven. I unceremoniously toss the chicken onto two paper plates and head out to living room, setting her pile of chicken strips on the coffee table while taking a seat on the other end of the couch, in front of the TV. Currently, an awful History Channel original series plays on the tube. But I don't really care; it's just moving pictures to pass the time.
"Are these even edible?" Midnight asks, sniffing at her plate before recoiling a bit.
"They go into a grey area of what is considered food, but yeah, I guess so."
"That's not a very reassuring answer," she grumbles, leering at me.
"Good thing it wasn't supposed to be," I retort, offering a shrug.
Despite the hesitations and the negative comments shared between us about the food, the focus is solely on getting something in our stomachs for the next five or ten minutes.
"What made you want to own a junkyard?" Midnight question comes from out of left field to break the silent stalemate.
I turn my attention to Midnight, who has already finished up her imitation edible chicken and stares at me now.
"What makes you wonder what made me want to own a junkyard?" I respond with my own admittedly obtuse inquiry.
"Boredom. And you bothered me with questions the first day or so I was here, I may as well get some sort of retribution."
"Well, I didn't really aspire to own a junkyard, I'll say that right up front. But I always liked older cars, even though most of what's here is before my time."
"How do you even know of this kind of stuff then? I assumed that you must have been around it," she objects.
"I was – my family was into that sort of thing, and they grew up in that time. Seemed like everybody had some vintage rod they wrenched on for fun. Hell, my dad had a '74 Charger from before I was born, so those were some of my first memories – cruising in the passenger seat, listening to that boat anchor 400 under the hood."
Midnight cocks her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. "'Boat anchor'?" she repeats back with unease.
"Yeah. Basically, their best use was tying em to a chain and throwing the fuckers overboard," I quip, trying my best not to crack a smile.
Midnight continues to stare back at me, though one of her brows raises after my brief and unsatisfactory explanation.
"Hey, I didn't come up with the term, I just always heard it in the automotive circles," I defend myself. "It wasn't necessarily a bad engine, it just came at a time when compression was getting lowered in all production cars to accept unleaded fuel. There was decent low-end torque out of em, but anything above about 2000 rpm, it just felt gutless. That's what's in the Trailduster, which suits my use for it to a T. Just need the low end torque – not a dragstrip screamer."
"Okay, but back to my question – why a junkyard?" she huffs, growing impatient with my derailing. "Why a place where the things that you like are here to be taken apart, left to rust, and ultimately crushed?"
"There are two sides to that coin, and you're seeing the side that I don't," I clarify, turning my body a bit more toward her as I can't help but feel invested in the conversation. "First off, I've actually sold more than a few whole chassis or bodies. But I buy whatever someone is selling, whether it be a true basketcase that's only good for parts, or something that can be saved. Sometimes, people are just trying to offload something as quick as they can."
"You still cannot deny you are tearing apart other cars," she counters, her voice cold and unflinching in conviction.
While I can't say I'm surprised by her pessimism, I also feel like she's trying to project her feelings onto me at this point.
"I'm not denying that, you are right in the black-and-white image of it," I yield to her point. "But consider this – every part that I take off is going to a person that needs it to complete their vehicle. Everything out there in the yard has something it can still offer; it isn't just useless junk, even if it seems that way."
As I finish my counterpoint, Midnight recoils back as if something just threatened to hit her in the face.
"What?" I ask, stunned by the sudden movement.
"Nothing," she barks back, hardening her resolve again. "I just didn't expect you to be so damn sappy about a scrapyard."
I have to shake my head at the minor outburst, turning away from her and staring at the TV. "I get more than a few people that show me pics of what they're working on, or before and after photos, and it always impresses me. Sort of always wanted to go through and do a project like that myself."
"Then why don't you? You have a whole yard full of parts, what's your excuse?" she presses.
"Aww, look at you trying to be a motivator. That's so sweet," I can't help but tease.
"I don't care what you do - I just asked why you don't take advantage of your situation," she mutters, rolling her eyes at my jab.
Letting out a chuckle, I point at the clock mounted on the wall ahead of us, just above the TV. "Does it look like I have the time to do a project car?"
Midnight's face contorts into a bit of a scowl at the answer I provide. "And yet you spend all day screwing around on your computer, even when you aren't going through orders," she protests.
"Yeah, and I gotta be here if someone calls or comes in to go through the yard," I counter with a shrug.
"Uh-huh. How about you at least make the truck a bit less miserable to ride in? You should be able to do that."
"You're going to bitch about that until I do something about it, aren't you?" I'm tickling the dragon's tail at this point, but I can't help myself.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had an affinity for spinal damage," she shoots back. "I sure as hell don't enjoy it."
"Do you even have a spine?" It's a question with some honesty underneath the bit of sarcasm I provide on top.
Midnight growls quietly upon hearing that, making me keenly aware that Ive finally crossed a line. Not content with an audible warning, she proceeds to bare her teeth like a dog readying for an attack.
"Alright, sorry. Chill out," I back down, putting my hands up in surrender.
"Then stop making retarded excuses," she belts back.
"If I was retarded, I would take offense to that."
"Yet you're taking note of it. How odd."
... fuck. I'm not surenhow to come back from that one. It's impossible to say whether she set that up or I backed myself into the corner. Regardless, Midnight looks as if she's ready to gloat over my hesitation.
"Tell you what – I'll buy new shocks and leaf springs for the Trailduster, you can suffer through putting them on," I offer as concession.
"Fine. If it means eliminating the danger of biting my tongue or chipping a tooth every time we hit a bump, I'll gladly do it," she agrees, sticking her nose up in the air.
"Do you have a backup plan if you don't get it done before we have to make our evening parts run?"
Midnight stays silent, though her gaze falls back onto me as it hardens for a moment. Im expecting some sort of vitrolic response considering aim questioning her abilities now, but that never comes.
Without another word, she turns her attention to one of the shop manuals sitting on the coffee table in front of her. It opens and begins to flip through pages, aided by scrap metal.
The sudden silent treatment makes it unclear to me whether Midnight is still for this plan or not; I'll just let it go for the time being. It will more than likely get brought up tomorrow while I'm messing with the computer.
Since she's done sparring, I start flipping through the channels on the television to find anything remotely palatable to watch for a bit. I have to question myself from time to time why I keep paying for cable. There's never a good answer – I just keep holding out that there's something worth my attention.
The couch shifts in sequence with a book being dropped back on the coffee table. Turning my head to see what's up, Midnight is already out of the living room and shuffling toward the door leading downstairs. She doesn't walk with any sort of enthusiasm in her step, her head held relatively low.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to take a shower," she mutters quietly.
While moodiness comes with the territory, I've not seen her look so...
Sullen. Defeated.
"You okay?"
The knob on the door is twisted slowly by the unseen force of her ability as her forward progress briefly halts. "I'm fine. Believe it or not, I'm tired," she answers, unwilling to look back at me.
With that brief deflection, she slips out of sight through the narrow crack she allows the door to open. It closes behind her, barely allowing enough time for her tail to make it out.
Well, it's finally happening. After a month of having an improved ordering system, I finally made a decent profit for the first time in years.
Midnight almost has the whole junkyard cataloged, aside from the imports section in the back. I went ahead and got that done on my own. Pretty soon, that whole spreadsheet will be finished and uploaded on the website for customers to view what we have.
For me, it will help me keep track of what I have, as well as where it is located.
Depending on how this month starts, I may finally give a month's notice that the business is going to get rid of the self-serve picking model, and go all-in on orders - with me and Middie doing all the pulling.
Just as well - it seems the customer base that used to pull parts themselves has found the new system preferential. There has been a couple of days where not a single customer has come in.
But the orders online have certainly picked up.
Everything is looking far brighter than I ever expected. Even with how things turned out last weekend.
Midnight cornering me on my actions and mannerisms was an awkward and nerve-wracking moment. I must be pretty shit at being low-key about how I feel about her.
Or maybe she's that observant.
Regardless, I couldn't lie to her. Even though I really wanted to. After all, I was basically saying I found her - a pony - attractive.
This development came after Midnight made it clear early on she didn't want me to be one of those creepy bastards that lust over ponies.
But, Midnight didn't freak out. She wasn't pissed off. She didn't holler and carry on about how much of a nutjob I am, and how she couldn't stand to be around me.
Midnight just said 'no.'
It stung to hear that - but it was a load off of my mind, too. Now I don't have to worry about tiptoeing around her, scheming how to test the waters. Or mull options of how to back out of things if she began finding something suspicious about me.
It's all out in the open now. Rather than driving her away, Midnight seems to want everything to stay the way it has been.
Friends.
I'm good with that.
The biggest fear was losing what I had because it meant something to me. It's good to know she really does see me as a friend.
First and foremost, everything I have done for her was to help her as my friend - that wasn't a lie. So if that's all we amount to... hey, I can't be upset about that.
I can't help the way I feel, but the boundaries have been drawn in clear and concise lines. I have no intentions of pushing or even staring down those lines.
Maybe someday, there will be another chance. But I'm leaving that alone. The ball remains in her court until she decides to serve.
Since that night, my focus has once again been placed firmly upon the junkyard - and helping Midnight adjust to a more normal life.
All things considered, the latter goal has been going well aside from the supermarket visit. That was a blindside hit to learn kids may be frightened by her just from tenuous connections to the show.
"You know, when I said I would eat something if you were going to stop to make lunch, I didn't mean I would eat whatever you decided to char on the stove."
Midnight's voice causes me to become aware of the harsh sizzles emanating from the skillet in front of me. I hurriedly flip the sausage patties that had slipped my mind, showing off the dark brown caramelization that had nearly begun to slip into carbonization.
"Sorry."
"What has that little empty space between your ears so damn occupied today?"
"Same thing as every day," I say with a dreamy sigh, turning to Midnight.
She looks on with sudden apprehension.
"Air."
So, I do kind of like how my feelings out in the open allow me to get under her skin with a simple choice of tone. Case in point, Midnight's face scrunches up in mild embarrassment.
"You know, I'm supposed to be the one teasing you about this shit," she mutters.
"And yet the turns have tabled, haven't they?"
"You mean the tables have turned," she corrects.
"I know what I said."
"Retard."
"You know they send people to sensitivity training for using that word?"
Grabbing a paper plate, I toss two of the lighter sausage patties onto it and slide them over to Midnight.
"Guess it's a good thing I'm a pony then. Excludes me from that retarded shit."
"Hm. I guess that's true."
I sit down on the stool across the kitchen island from where Midnight has seated herself.
While Midnight has elected to just eat hers plain, I decided to throw my pork onto some bread with cheese. Nothing fancy, just something quick.
"What's really got you thinking?" Midnight asks.
"Just trying to figure out what to do about your appearance now that we know how kids see you. I know you say it isn't a big deal, but we can't be causing a fuss when we go anywhere, either."
Midnight shrugs, but she doesn't do a very good job hiding that mischievous grin. "Guess you will just have to do your shopping and other lame errands without me. Just to be safe."
Pinching off a small piece of bread, I roll it into a ball and flick it, plinking her square in the snout.
"What the hell?!" she shouts, recoiling and snorting reflexively.
"We'll just have to stay near each other from now on. No wandering off."
"As I recall, you were the one that left me ."
"Only because you dawdle."
"Bitch, I walk faster than you do," Midnight retorts.
"You have two extra legs, I would hope so."
Midnight stares, while I stare back at her.
A standoff.
Except she doesn't blink nearly as often as I do. If she even has to do so. I guess I've never paid attention to that...
Fuck. I have to blink
"Loser," she taunts.
But that little exchange ends there as we return to stuffing our faces. It doesn't take long before both of us head back downstairs, ready to resume the work day. Only one customer so far - in person, that is. A fair amount to do this afternoon picking parts.
As usual, I take up my spot holding the counter down, while Midnight sits in a bucket seat set aside in a corner off to my left by the stairs. Nothing I can have her tear apart - the storage room is packed to the gills.
It will be nice when the transition finally does happen. If enough days without customers occur in a row, I may just say fuck it and go ahead early.
"If you could pick out a car to do, what would you want to restore?"
"That's an out-of-the-blue question."
"Perhaps. Not like there's anything pressing to accomplish because you won't let me out in the yard to get shit done," she replies, a hint of bitterness in that notation.
"Nah, I'm going to make you suffer with me, even with that pendant and the fact you're on private property."
"Ass."
"Misery loves company," I rib her.
"Back to the question, for shits and giggles."
"It's still not an easy question - you know that right?"
Midnight looks frustrated while I continue to withhold any sort of an answer.
"Fine. How about a few cars?"
"Is that supposed to make it easier?" I chide.
Up from the floor, I see a small discarded bolt slowly levitate on its own.
"Hey, no throwing things, Middie."
"I do what I want. Answer the question," she demands. She turns her attention upward while making the bolt do loops and swoops through the air above her.
Alright, I guess I better do a few.
"Honestly, I wouldn't mind a Charger like my dad used to have. And I always thought the Barracudas were cool."
"What body?"
"A-body or E-body. If it's an A-body, fastback body all the way."
"First-gen A-body?" she asks with a knowing grin.
"Good lord no. Ugly as sin," I laugh. "But if I had to choose a specific there... I always thought the AAR 'Cuda was cool."
"The what?" The bolt Midnight had been juggling clatters to the floor.
"1970 AAR Cuda. Limited production car meant to homologate it for road racing. Side-exit exhaust, flat black hood, strobe side graphics, and a 340 with triple two-barrel carbs. Rare, but cool."
"I don't remember seeing anything about that - but I guess I don't really focus on any particular cars when I read," Midnight admits.
"You know, you don't have to focus on cars anymore - you can branch out to other stuff," I propose.
"I don't follow. What do you mean?"
"I mean if there's something else that interests you, go for it. I don't expect you to know everything and anything about cars. You read through every one of my shop manuals, and you see how well some of those directions actually apply in practice."
Midnight gives me a funny look as if I have spoken complete gibberish.
"John, I've gone through other topics from time to time. How do you think I figured out how to fuck with your website?" she reminds me. "How do you think I have some basic understanding of the outside world despite having lived in isolation for virtually my whole life?"
"I get that - I just feel like whenever I glance over, it's always car-related. I just sometimes wonder if you feel pressured into it."
She shakes her head, scoffing at the idea. "John, the first thing I could latch onto once I got out of that hellhole and arrived here was cars. There wasn't much else to learn or figure out aside from occasional faded newspapers or magazines left in some junker out back. So for me - yes, cars mean a lot to me. They were the key to finding me somewhere to fit in. There's a very special meaning there for me."
Well damn. Now I feel like a dick.
"I never took you for the sentimental kind, Middie."
"I'm not. I'm merely appreciative of the opportunities that I've been fortunate enough to encounter. Now, less bullshit, more cars."
"You scheming something with this info?" I'm beginning to become skeptical of this as just idle chat.
"What else do we have to talk about? Do you have another topic you'd like to discuss?" Her voice betrays the impatience and guarded nature in regard to any answer she has.
"Alright, alright. Charger, AAR 'Cuda... I always like the Mercury Cyclones, both the fastback of the late sixties and the Cyclone Spoilers of the early seventies with the gunsight grille. The front end was really wild-looking, like a trident from a top-down view. Oh, and the Pontiac Catalina, with the 421 Super Duty..."
"John, I said a few."
"Nope, you opened this can of worms, you're going to deal with the fallout now..."
"You got it?"
The whole engine shifts upon its mounts aggressively a split second after my inquiry.
"Could have just said yes instead of trying to flex."
"You could have just taken that as a yes and not given me a lecture on my actions."
"My point stands."
"Mine too."
Midnight and I have been battling with a stubborn exhaust manifold in a Plymouth Valiant for the better part of an hour now. An old workhorse 225 Slant Six engine.
As expected, every single nut and bolt on the cast iron piece was virtually welded into one with years of rust - hardly uncommon, but still a major pain in the ass.
"Seems so odd someone would want to keep something like this around," Midnight muses, ogling over the odd little compact from '62.
"Yeah, Chrysler sort of lost their way in design at the turn of the decade. Almost every one of their cars was odd-looking after a downsize. But, like anything, people have sentimental value over some cars. But they used this engine for many years and many models - just because we're pulling the manifold off of this particular car model, doesn't mean it's going on an exact twin."
Right on cue, the bolt I had been straining on during that exchange lets loose with a crack of snapped metal. The sudden lack of resistance causes my knuckles to find the cast metal with force. Instantly, a familiar feeling of pain that has yet to become tolerable with experience washes through my veins as I instinctively pull my hand back.
"Goddammit," I mutter, grimacing as I grab hold of my hand. Unfortunately, I also hear the ratchet I had been using plink its way down through the engine bay.
On my sore hand, blood slowly pools into the voids left by skin impacting rusted iron. That's gonna hurt like hell for a few days.
"This is going smoothly."
"It could be worse. That should be the last bolt, Midnight."
I watch as her eyes glow just a bit brighter, in unison with the engine shaking back and forth.
The manifold remains in place.
"Alright, now it's worse," I say, my shoulders slumping in disappointment. "Fuck, I must have missed one somewhere."
"Let me try," she offers, squatting down to the side of the car momentarily. Midnight returns to her previous position over the fender shortly, with my ratchet in her care.
"Don't break that one, please."
"Oh fuck you," she resentfully snaps back. "You said so yourself, that last one was a piece of shit."
"That was a joke, relax," I say, gesturing with my hands for her to settle down.
While not wholly convinced judging by her expression, Midnight goes to work finding the last hangup while I take a break. I pull out my phone and check for any new messages, pausing to hop up and take a seat on the hood of another Plymouth nearest the Valiant.
A couple of days ago, I reached out to an old acquaintance with a backhoe, hoping to not only smooth out some of the ruts in the main path that have accrued over the many trips out here but to bury the scrap dumped by EquisCo by the imports. He mentioned he would text back when available, as he already was helping someone with laying drain pipe.
I didn't even think to ask for an estimate of time. Not that it really matters - I would just like to get both items taken care of.
But not knowing kind of sucks.
Nope, still nothing.
Just as I go to tuck the device back into my pocket, it begins to ring. The screen lights up with not a number, but a contact name.
Teddy.
I ended up adding him to my contacts after the last time he was here and the explanations that entailed - just in case I ever needed his help.
Odd to be hearing back from him - but then again, he did mention the Cutlass he's working on. It was why he even came to my armpit of the universe in the first place.
"Hello?" I answer the phone.
"John, good afternoon!" Teddy's voice cheers from the other side.
"Easy to say that when your knuckles aren't a bloody pulp," I chuckle, inspecting the damage again.
Yep, still fucked up.
"That rough of a day, huh?"
"Nah, not too bad up until now. Hang on, let me put this on speaker."
"Sure thing."
I fumble around with the phone and finally hit the speaker icon on the temperamental touchscreen.
"Can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," his voice blares through the speaker.
"Who the hell is that?" Midnight asks, looking over as I shift my seat to the fender of the Valiant we're working on.
"Ah, still putting Midnight to work?" Teddy chuckles, catching wind of her voice.
Midnight freezes for a moment before I show her the screen of my phone and the name on it.
"I work on my own terms. John doesn't get a say in what I do," Midnight replies.
"How are you doing otherwise?"
"Alright, I guess," she says, devoid of emotion or interest.
I had hoped she might be a little more receptive to someone she'd met before - as well as the guy who gave her a free pass to the outside world.
Oh well - typical Midnight.
"What's going on with you?" I ask Teddy.
"Well, the Cutlass is running again and moves under its own power - but I don't have a working speedometer. The cable is new, I'm confident everything is good with the trans, so that sort of leads to the gauge itself being bad."
"Sounds like the perfect excuse for an expedited joyride - I'm sure the cops will buy that."
"Ha! I had too much fun in my younger years - I'm sure they still got a rap sheet of all my speeding tickets."
"Never hurts to try your luck," I wryly suggest.
"I don't care for the sounds of making this car a target for Johnny Law to keep an eye on, thank you very much," Teddy replies with a laugh. "I was wondering if you had any speedometers for a Cutlass that you know work for certain."
"I can probably pull a couple of em - I don't have any on hand, but I can test to make sure I have at least one working one."
"How much you reckon a good used one will go for?"
"A moon pendant with an RFID chip inside of it."
"Well damn, I had one of them, and I gave it away," he jokes.
"That's alright, your credit is good here."
"You know you missed two bolts, right?" Midnight asks, unamused and seemingly oblivious to the exchange. "Both at the very bottom?"
"I don't have the eyesight you do, Middie," I remind her as she gloats.
"I question whether your eyes work at all."
"I meant in dim light, you ass."
"I still stand by what I said."
On the other end of the phone, I can hear Teddy laughing at the idiocy that Midnight and I are displaying.
"See what you did? You made him cry."
"Shut the hell up, he's laughing."
"What did you want for din- oh, sorry." Another voice can be heard from the other end of the phone, hushed as it may be.
"It's alright hon, I'll be done in a moment," Teddy replies to the other voice.
"Don't let me hold you up with the misses, Teddy," I tell him.
"No, no. It's fine," he says reassuringly. "Knowing Starla, she already has something in her mind she wants to try - it's the perfect excuse for her to do it."
"'Starla'? Was that her stage name?"
"Midnight!"
I shoot her a disapproving glare, which Midnight brushes aside with an apathetic shrug.
Thankfully, Teddy is in stitches again on the other side of the phone.
"Sorry about that, Teddy," I apologize anyway.
"No, it's fine," he says, finally getting his laughter under control. "I see Midnight hasn't lost her edge one bit."
"I wouldn't go that far, but she does find time to make a snarky comment or two."
"I can do it more if you want."
My suspicions Midnight is doing this to keep a facade up around Teddy begin to grow with that threat. After all, she's not been this consistently combative in some time now.
"Is that manifold ready to come off yet?"
I get a frustrated leer in response but Midnight does return her focus to the task at hand.
"Starla, huh? That's an interesting name for sure," I remark.
Speaking of suspicions, I already have my own about who this Starla is...
Or more appropriately, what she is.
"Well, as I said - ponies really do tug at my heartstrings. In more ways than one."
Bingo.
I would really like to ask more about her, but it doesn't feel appropriate.
I glance over at Midnight, curious if she was paying enough attention to have heard that. Maybe that wasn't the best idea to talk about right now...
Sure enough, Midnight has stopped what she's doing, staring incredulously at the phone.
"What the fuck," she murmurs to herself.
But her eyes rapidly dart to me and narrow in time with an expression shift from shock to suspicion.
"Anyway, I'll probably get a couple of speedometers pulled tonight and test them to be sure I got a good one. Just stop by whenever you get a chance, whether that be tomorrow or a week from now."
"Will do. I appreciate it John - you two take care," Teddy replies.
"Right back at you. See ya."
I pick up my phone and end the call, awaiting Midnight's inevitable response.
"Has everyone lost their fucking mind?" she wonders aloud.
"To be fair, I sort of already knew just by what he told me that day during our discussion," I admit.
"And he set you on the path to trying to woo me?"
"No. What he did was weird me out when he mentioned it."
"Really?" Her tone and accusatory staredown make it clear Midnight doesn't buy my answer.
"Yes, really. What he did aside from that initial feeling was make me realize I do care about you - I care about your well-being, your feelings, your wants, and aspirations. And that was a result of him seeing your little outburst behind the counter."
Embarrassed by that reminder and my revelation, Midnight nonchalantly tries to return to her work. It's her ears sagging down that betrays her shame.
"I didn't mention it because I didn't want to embarrass you, and Teddy didn't want to mention it either. But if that doesn't tell you that I wasn't already sort of on this track, then I don't know what else you want from me."
"I just don't understand it. I really don't," she says, shaking her head.
I have to throw my hands up - in agreement, more than anything.
"I don't either. All I know is I'm a degenerate, but I'm not going to do anything with that, as I promised you. I don't see you as a goal, Midnight. I see you as someone that's had a miserable go of it through her life, subjected to awful shit that I couldn't imagine. And I want you to see the good sides of life. That's what I want out of you, I want my friend to be happy."
My tidal wave of heartfelt words causes Midnight to perk back up enough to look at me. However, her expression remains reserved and unsure
"That's all I'm hoping to get out of you - a smile, excitement, contentment with where you are. The shit you got out of me last weekend - that's beside what I'm telling you now. Everything I do for you, I do it because I give a shit - not because I'm hoping for something better."
"So going out to that drive-in and going grocery shopping - those really weren't dates."
"Midnight, that was a shitty attempt at exploring how you felt while making it as a joke. I didn't see either expedition as an actual date. I swear on it."
Midnight's demeanor has yet to shift as she goes back to her work in silence.
I have no indication of how she feels about everything she's gleaned from me after this inopportune phone call.
I played it honestly - that's the best I can do.
Midnight's eyes glow as she strains her power on the ratchet in her grasp. With a metallic pop, she exhales, bringing up the ratchet into my view with a busted bolt in the socket.
"That should be the last one," she announces.
I shuffle over and grab the manifold, which now has some play upon the remaining studs it rests on.
"I'm glad one of us has decent eyesight so we aren't out here all damn night," I comment in hopes of building a bridge between us again.
"I never actually saw them - I just felt around with the socket in the tightest areas," Midnight replies as she helps me slide the manifold out.
"Yet I would never have been the wiser if you hadn't told me."
"I figured why not be honest since you're doing the same right now."
It is not a challenging or sarcastic remark. Her quiet, almost bashful tone lets me know that was not something easy for her to say.
"Well, thank you."
"Likewise."
The blank screen of my laptop suddenly flashes into color, showing a quaint room whose walls are splashed in a rich burgundy hue. Wood paneling decorates the lower half of the wall, at least as far as I can see. But front and center, a familiar creamy-white unicorn with an eager and welcoming smile is the real focus.
"Hi Midnight!" Starla cheerfully greets me, waving a hoof.
It's the first time I've seen her since our initial meeting. Too long, I have to admit.
It was John's idea with Teddy's help to get Starla and I connected via video chat on the computer. I didn't know such a thing was possible.
I will admit I was initially a bit aversive to the idea.
Why?
...I don't really have a reason. Nerves, maybe.
Starla was certainly helpful in sorting out some of my feelings regarding how I approach the world and John. All that despite my rather shit attitude toward her. Now, I have to say it is nice to have someone to relate to.
"Hi, Starla. Been a little while, huh?"
Starla nods her head, her gold and orange braid bobbing off of her right side.
"Too long! I've been asking Teddy about you, wondering how you are," she replies with an exuberance that is much more than I'm used to experiencing. " But you look like you're doing well - and I see you have your hair braided again!"
"Yeah, I did it a day or two ago," I reply, flipping it with a quick motion of my head.
"Any special occasion?"
"No, just kinda... wanted to change it up a bit, you know?"
"I'm happy to hear you're trying different styles. What does John think of it?"
It seems like an innocent enough question... But at the same time, it feels like she's looking at a deeper meaning.
"He doesn't get a say in it, I do what I want."
Starla snorts at the sharp remark. "Of course - it was more of curiosity than anything. Don't take it to heart," she says. "But what's going on with you?"
"Not too much. We finally got the junkyard squared away and everything set up to switch to online and part pickup only. So that's a relief."
"I know that was your goal, so that's great to hear. But how is it a relief?"
"Well, it means roaming free for me during the days and actually working, rather than sitting around and sharing stares with John for eight hours," I calmly explain. "I don't like sitting idle, and there is something..."
I pause for a moment, trying to think while Starla sits patiently.
"I sort of miss spending time out there, I suppose. It was the first place that felt like home to me. I knew certain areas and little paths through piles of scrap like the back of my hoof."
"Was it because you actually liked it out there, or you finally felt like you had control over your life?"
I give the question some thought - though the reason is painfully obvious.
"The latter."
"But you really do enjoy working on that kind of stuff, huh? I know Teddy enjoys it too. I suppose his passion lies with all things mechanical."
"Yeah, there's a comfort in being around cars. I'm trying to convince John to adopt a project car for us to work on, now that we will likely have more free time with the shift in the business."
While she has been excited just to hear from me, Starla seems to abruptly perk up even more upon hearing my idea.
"Oh, that would be really nice for you two! Something to bond over!" she cheerfully replies.
"Yeah, maybe..."
As I watch Starla's enthusiasm fade away, I realize I should have been a bit more assertive in my response.
"Something on your mind?" she asks. "I would have at least expected a snappy response out of that comment."
"No, I just... I'm sort of agreeing with you."
"Oh," Starla replies, sounding quite dumbfounded for a moment. "Wait, really?"
"It is more about the car though," I affirm as I suddenly feel a bit vulnerable.
She doesn't need to know what's going on - even if she did sort of set me on this path...
"It sounds like things between you and John are going really well. Teddy told me about the little excursion you two had a few weeks ago."
"Nothing happened!" I blurt out instinctively.
Dumbass. That sounded desperate.
The outburst certainly gets a brow raise from my friend on the other side of the screen.
"I... didn't say anything happened, Midnight. But with that much enthusiasm behind that - what's really going on with you two?"
Is her knowing about me and John possibly looking into a thing between us really a big deal? Who is she gonna tell aside from Teddy?
Again, I already know my hangups without someone else explaining it.
Vulnerability. It's an awful feeling. But does it have to be?
I'm sure at some point, John is going to blab about it to Teddy. Why not be in control here?
"It's... complicated, Starla," I start hesitantly, keeping my eyes directed on anything but her. "I guess I sort of... I said things. And I didn't really know what I said at the time. But later, when I heard what I had said - things made a bit more sense to me."
"...what?"
I sigh.
"John and I are... finding more enjoyment in each other's company lately."
"You're dating?!"
"No, that's not-"
Starla lets out a giggle of excitement, clapping her front hooves together. "Midnight, that's great!" she cheers in a bubbly voice, hardly able to contain herself. "Why are you acting so ashamed?"
"It's kinda embarrassing, Starla," I admit, cowering down in my seat.
She cocks her head at that, eyeing me expectantly and a sly grin.
"Why? Because big tough mares can't have a heart?" she says in a playfully gruff voice.
"It feels weird. I don't feel like I'm... me."
That utterance causes Starla to drop her silly act, leaning closer to the screen. The abrupt shift in attention unnerves me as my ears fold flat against my head.
"Who are you?"
Huh?
"What kind of a question is that? Have you lost your marbles?"
"Midnight, are you really the iron-hearted and bitter mare you try to come off as?"
"You think I'm just an act?"
"I think you did what you had to do in order to deal with everything you've been through. I didn't have it anywhere near as hard as you did, and I still have nightmares from time to time being back where I came from - without Teddy. So I really can't imagine the hell you experienced. But you're out of there now."
...
"I don't follow."
"You say that experiencing a relationship feels weird like you aren't you - what exactly do you mean by that?"
"I'm just not used to being open with someone else. Being more... close with someone? That isn't me."
Starla frowns a bit at that response. "What if that is the real you - and you've just buried it for so long, you've forgotten?"
"To my knowledge, I've never been close to anyone," I bitterly comment.
"Exactly. I'm not suggesting you completely reinvent yourself - but stray out of your comfort zone, Midnight. By the sounds of it, you do kind of like this closeness, even though it feels strange."
"It is quite a foreign sensation having someone else play with your hair or hug you..."
"See? And I figured you did your hair up for John," she answers back with a rather mischievous giggle and accompanying grin.
"Shut up - I did my hair, not him. And I like keeping it out of the way when I work, too."
"I'm just teasing. Really, it looks good," she compliments. "Though I might be a bit partial to braids."
Starla bats at her own braid with a hoof in demonstration.
"But, maybe I should change it up a bit" she continues, putting a hoof to her chin. "Of course, I'll need Teddy's help to do that, but he enjoys it."
"Glad I can do it on my own, to be honest with you. I don't know if I would trust John's styling abilities."
"No?"
"I've already been a guinea pig once in my life - I don't want to do it again."
"You might be surprised what John could do. It took Teddy a few tries to get my hair right - though I didn't have the heart to tell him it was anything other than perfect."
"Not to be an ass, but you don't seem like the kind to worry about perfection."
"No, I'm not - merely making a point I was thankful for what he could do. We enjoy each other's company - it's really the thought that counts."
"I think I understand that a bit more now," I reply, unable to prevent a chuckle from escaping. "John has been trying some recipes he found online, and his cooking skills aren't exactly great... there was an instance where it was pretty awful. I don't know what it was supposed to taste like or what it started out as. But he did find a good chicken recipe."
"Well, I can't say I was a natural when it came to cooking or baking either. Not at first," Starla replies with a laugh.
That reminds me...
"I understand that you can't do your hair - but how do you do other stuff? Like cooking?"
"In a way, I suppose I am just a teensy bit envious of your *ahem* 'magic.' But I have a few tools Teddy has made. And may I ask, how do you pick up items that aren't magnetic?"
Of course.
"... really? You just grab and use utensils and other tools with your mouth?"
"Sure. At least, that's one of the ways. Obviously, you get better at manipulating things the more you do it. If you don't mind me bragging, I have to say I'm pretty handy in the kitchen. But it's because I enjoy it so much that I have gotten a knack for it."
"You aren't as stupid as I thought you were."
Whoops.
Starla is taken aback by my offhanded comment, grimacing and recoiling from the screen just a bit.
"Sorry, sorry!" I frantically backtrack, waving my hooves in desperation. "I meant that you're smarter than I gave you credit for, being a real pony and whatnot. The few I remember being around... I was probably being judgmental then, too. Again, I didn't mean that."
"You're okay, Midnight. Apology accepted," she says, breaking into a smile and nodding in reassurance.
I sigh with relief. "I need to work on my social graces."
"You've improved just since the first day we met - but it takes time. Maybe sometime, we should all get together for a day out. Or a night out - whatever works. Like a double date."
"Oh stop - you're sounding like John now," I joke.
"He sounds like he's full of good ideas."
"He's full of something, alright."
Laughter rings out from the speakers of the laptop, before getting cut short by a buzzer in the background. Starla instantly perks up, her ears swiveling in response to the stimulus.
"Oh, I forgot I had a pie in the oven - apple cinnamon, a new recipe I found," she explains, letting excitement creep into her voice as she slips out of her chair and onto all four hooves. "Sorry to cut this short Midnight - we should do this again soon!"
"You bet. Thanks, Starla. Take care."
"You too - buh bye for now!"
Waving a hoof in response to her wave - the video feed goes to black as the chat disconnects.
As I close my laptop, I can hear footsteps trudging up the stairs on the other side of the door out in the kitchen. Slowly, the door cracks open as I turn my head to look.
John pokes his head in, scanning around tepidly before focusing on me.
"It's not that big of a deal, you know," I tell him.
It gets a smirk out of him before the door swings open, his right arm cradling a bag of groceries.
"Yeah well, I figured I shouldn't listen in on girl talk. You two giggling about boys and stuff?"
"Oh, shut up. I'd chuck something at you if you weren't holding food."
"I find it surprising that you would be that reserved," he answers with a laugh, setting down the brown bags on the counter and opening the fridge door. "But you know I'm kidding - I did want to give you privacy. And I'm glad that you decided to reach out to Starla."
"Yeah, she's got more advice and helpful ideas than I thought when I first met her."
"Oh? What is the new one for today?"
"...Eh, maybe it's better to keep some stuff to myself."
Well, other than the little snafu starting out this morning, today is going quite well. Starla and I are slicing through the parts list at a torrid pace, and she's found her niche fetching me tools from my bag. Up next, a center console from a Chevy Caprice. I work on the driver's side, while Starla stands on the passenger side looking on through the open door with my toolbag sitting on the floor.
"Prybar, please. One that looks like a screwdriver," I request.
"I... huh?" As I turn to look at Starla, her eyes are wide with bewilderment at my request as she tries to process what I mean.
"Ah, it's a really lame joke, don't worry about it," I say, dismissing any concerns she might have with a chuckle. "I just need a flat-blade screwdriver."
In a flash, Starla nods and dives into my toolbag, rummaging around for a moment before rising back up with a decent-sized screwdriver clenched between her teeth. Even though I try to clean up my tools on a regular basis, Starla still has a hint of grime on her snout – having been my tool caddy for the last several cars now.
"You really sure that doesn't bother you? You know, fetching tools with your... um—"
"Oh stop – how many times are you gonna ask me that today?" Starla sasses back as I take the tool from her.
"Sorry – I just don't think I would be able to do it without dry-heaving. Also, you do have a little..." I trail off, motioning to my own nose.
Starla rolls her eyes but nonetheless chuckles as she uses a foreleg to try wiping away the dirt. "Grease, grime, and cobwebs haven't stopped you from rummaging through cars today. I'm surprised that's what bothers you," she comments.
"Yeah, but I'm not putting that stuff In my mouth, you know? I don't really like getting it in my fur or my hair, either. It's just the nature of the beast doing this sort of work day in and day out. I don't really bat an eye."
"Well, I don't have many options in picking smaller items up. Maybe I've just been doing it for so long, I don't think about it – sorta the same thing you're describing to me."
"Hm. You make a good point."
I'm certain I've gotten all the fasteners out of the floor, yet this console does not want to release from the carpeting. I set down the screwdriver and start ogling every square inch in the hopes I missed one tricky screw somewhere around here...
"You didn't always have your levitation, though. Don't you remember what it was like before you could pick things up like that?" Starla asks.
Hmm... I really don't remember being without my electromagnetism. There are huge chunks of time from... well, whenever I was born, I guess, up until hightailing it from the lab. I've really not given it much thought until now...
Before I open my eyes, I regret even becoming conscious again. Through the darkness, my head throbs with a dull pain, like the inside of my skull is under pressure. This isn't a particularly foreign experience. More often than not, it means I've once again been an unwitting participant in some sort of new experiment. I have yet to figure out if it's something they put in the slop they serve me for food or if they're pumping gas in my room to knock me out ahead of time – and it frustrates me that this remains a mystery.
I suppose even if I did know the process they used to knock me out, it wouldn't matter – even if I could find a way to convert their tactics, they would come up with something new. Perhaps even worse.
....I'm nervous to even open up my eyes right now to take in the world. I still remember the eye experiment, waking up with no vision...
Can anything really top that horror? I don't know. Frankly, I'm scared to consider it. But just laying here doesn't do me any good, so I brace myself for the fluorescent lighting that will likely assault me...
And it does. It's relieving as much as it is irritating to grimace and squint while my eyes adjust to the artificial light. It certainly doesn't help the headache I'm fighting, but everything comes into focus soon enough.
The bigger issue is what I'm finding amiss. For one, I feel... weighty. My neck feels like it has to throw more muscle around just to raise my head from the mattress – and as I do that, I catch sight of something dangling from my head, out of my periphery.
Wires.
A sense of renewed dread fills me as I fight to get up and onto my hooves. Every muscle in my body feels stiff and uncoordinated, resisting me in protest. Who knows how long I've been out of it and laying here – and who knows what all was done in that time.
I have no mirror in my room, but the glass door will serve well enough to give me a glimpse at the newest wart on this horror show I'm becoming over time. Coincidentally, there's a bundled mass of wires that run toward my destination, before disappearing underneath the rubber seal at the threshold.
The faint reflection that greets me sends a shudder through me accompanied by a heavy wave of nausea. Multiple areas on my head have been shaved clean of fur – only to be supplanted by sensors and wires stuck on with some sort of adhesive patches. If that wasn't concerning enough, there are heavier gauge wires that appear to somehow be hooked up to my horn, before streaming over my head and down the back of my head. Suddenly, this foreign weight all makes sense – yet it doesn't make me feel any better.
After all, I still don't know what the point of it all is, or what exactly they've done with me. Are all of these wires supposed to monitor something? I'm used to seeing electrodes for equipment like that, but none of this looks familiar, particularly the wires that run to my horn.
I shift my focus from my reflection in the glass to what lies beyond the confines of my room – and now I realize I'm not alone. Sitting in a chair beside some sort of large gizmo is the boss's right-hand man. Judging by his slumped position that shows off his mop of brown hair upon his head, I can only assume he's fallen asleep.
That 'hippie hairdo' is his defining feature – if only because the bald-headed asshole in charge berates him for it on a regular basis. That's hardly an isolated incident, for he seems to enjoy being miserable to everyone. Hell, it's why he keeps going through personal assistants.
Yet somehow, this guy has managed to tolerate it and stay for a while. It doesn't make much sense to me – he's always seemed too soft to me, from what was apparently his first day, when I awoke without eyesight. That was the first time anyone seemed to show any sort of concern for my well-being...
Not that I believe him. A lot of newbies start out a little meek and uncertain. This guy might just be even more toward that extreme. If he doesn't quit, he'll harden up and treat me like an object, just like everyone else.
Whatever, I'm used to it at this point. Now, I can either sit here and do nothing or at least find out what the hell they've done this time. I rap on the glass twice with my hoof.
With a jolt and an expression bordering on terror, the man wakes up and darts his head around in all directions. Once realizing no one else is around, he sighs – only to realize I'm looking at him through the glass door. "Oh, you're awake," he mentions.
"Astute observation – no wonder they hired you," I sarcastically comment. "What the hell are you doing, and what the hell is all of this shit that's hooked up to me?"
He rubs his eyes, blinking a few times before he's apparently able to offer me an explanation. "It's... ah, it's another experiment," he offers in a tone of uncertainty.
"Well no shit, Sherlock. I gathered that much already," I bark back at him, irritated by such an inane comment. My renewed ire only serves to send a fresh wave of nausea as my headache briefly intensifies, making me grimace. "Ngh... the only reason I exist is for experiments. What's this one supposed to be? And why is it making my head hurt like hell?"
"Is our little princess awake?!" The shout from down the hall instantly sets me and my temporary keeper on edge. He stands up and turns as footsteps hurriedly make their way toward us.
It's hard to not recognize that voice, harder still to miss the derisive nickname used toward me more often than not. As expected, the bald, beady-eyed bastard of a boss himself appears from around a corner, clad in his customary grey lab coat – as if he needs separation from the lowly white labcoat commoners.
There's nothing else remarkable about him – I refuse to remember his name or take in any other defining features. He doesn't deserve accommodation in my memory. He's the sole reason I keep having to wake up every day as a punching bag for science.
"I told you to let me know when she woke up, Johnson," Baldy growls, taking just a moment to glance in my direction before frowning at his assistant.
"Yes – she just woke up, sir. Sorry," Johnson quickly concedes, almost cowering under the leer his superior is feeding him.
"I didn't get shit for an answer so I guess I'll ask you," I interrupt, making sure to growl my displeasure toward him. "What the hell is all of this electronic shit?"
Bald boy turns to face me properly, taking a step closer to my door. "Part of an experiment," he says, finishing off with a flash of a cheeky grin before his normally dour expression returns.
I didn't expect much, but his answer and sarcasm pisses me off even more. "Fuck you."
Johnson looks on with unease during the terse back-and-forth but perks up as Baldy turns to ignore me again. "Sir, she mentioned that she's suffering from a bit of pain in her head waking up—"
"She's fine," Baldy interjects, putting up a hand to silence his subordinate. "We had her skull popped open rearranging and adding some things – of course there's going to be some pain."
"Right, I understand, sir," Johnson replies, wringing his hand. "I just thought I should mention what she told me."
The comment doesn't appear to sit well with the boss, who puffs his chest out and crosses his arms, hardening his gaze. "You are here as my assistant, not hers," he lectures unhappily. "I'm not concerned about how our creations feel – they wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for people like me."
"Yeah. Lucky us," I remark, throwing in a short, bitter chuckle.
"Shut the fuck up," Baldy snaps, his temper making an appearance as he turns and points a finger at me with a complementary cross expression. "You aren't involved in the conversation here, Princess. I don't need comments from the fucking peanut gallery."
"Sir, I only mentioned it because... ah, the longevity of the program," Johnson speaks up, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "It would be a waste of time and resources if she expired before we could test her, after all."
"Johnson, if you have a bleeding heart, you may as well quit and find somewhere else to work. It's not going to do you any good here."
Johnson's shoulders slump as he hangs his head in defeat. A silent nod displays his acquiescence to the boss.
Baldy frees his arms from their confinement and claps his hands together. "Good. Now turn this thing on and let's get the ball rolling here."
Johnson moves his chair over in order to take a seat in front of a small console beside the gizmo Baldy is starting to fiddle with. No words are spoken between them – their movements and ministrations are practiced and calculated.
"I'll shout into the void again – what is this test? What are you trying to do with that thing?" I demand, stomping a hoof down in frustration.
"It's to get you charged up," Baldy drones, his focus not straying away from the processes in front of him. "I'd suggest you go lie down within the next ten or fifteen seconds."
"Right, because I'm eager to take advice from you. And what the hell do you mean 'charged up'? That doesn't tell me anyt—"
Everything goes white as a surge of violent pins and needles starts to course through my head. Nothing else exists now – I can't feel my limbs, my body, my orientation in the world...
It's an endless void of searing pain that makes it hard to even conjure coherent thoughts aside from agony.
"Sir, I thought we were doing a slow charge!"
"It's not going to hurt her – we're just speeding things up. If we did everything right and the idea works, it's the only time she's going through this anyway."
"But look at her! This is a lot to be doing all—"
"You can keep the machine going or you can find another job! Your choice!"
Through the deluge of agony, I suddenly feel... something. Someone patting me on the shoulder. "Hey..." It's a meek voice calling out to me... Johnson? No, that's a hoof patting—
The junkyard. Starla. It all suddenly flashes back to me as the pain evaporates at once, and I can see again. I'm inside the interior of a Caprice, standing over a center console, looking down at what I should be working on. Starla continues to gently pat me with a hoof, as she's now standing inside the car with me, albeit on the passenger side from what I can see of her hooves. Looking up for the first time since... who knows, Starla's wide-eyed expression tells me all I need to know.
I've been zoned out for a while. A frightening amount of time for her. It probably doesn't help her anxiety about me with my realization that I'm quivering at the moment.
That was... I've always tried to repress a lot of memories regarding what was done to me, and how they went about it. That's a memory I wish had been left forgotten. I've never had something feel so intense and real.
Well, reliving something so intense and real.
"I... I'm good, I think," I manage to sputter out in hopes of easing my friend's troubled expression. That's easier said than done – but at least she blinks and takes a deep breath.
"What happened?" she gasps, barely above a whisper. "You were working on the console and then you just... stopped. It was like you completely left."
I really don't know how to answer her at this point. I try to get a better handle on my bearings in the meantime, sitting on my haunches and focusing on calming my nerves.
"Should I get John?"
"No, I'll be fine, Starla. Just... give me a second here."
While she looks ready to split at a moment's notice to fetch John, Starla gives me the time I need to recollect my thoughts and temporarily compartmentalize them into something understandable.
"Your question just got me thinking about the laboratory – where I came from," I start slowly, keeping my eyes glued to the floor as I reluctantly speak just above a murmur. "Remembering how they... I guess how they got the gizmos in my head up and running, starting with the... they said 'charging,' but I don't feel like that's quite right. Probably calibrations of some sort, too – but it involved sending electrical current through my head. And I was reliving that, I guess."
I expect to get some sort of physical consolation or verbal response from Starla, but nothing happens. I look up to find her in the same position I was, trying to bore holes through the carpeted floor under her hooves.
"Are you okay?"
"I am – I'm just trying to wrap my head around what you just said," she mumbles. "I believed you when you said the before times were miserable... but I didn't think it was actual torture."
"It's— yeah, it was awful. But it wasn't mindless torture on their part. But now I'm wondering if— if I made it more miserable for myself."
"What?" Starla's eyes leap back up to me.
I can't even begin to explain my thoughts right now. I purposely forgot the past and the people around me, and I've put it all behind me now for the most part. Yet now I've unwittingly dug something back up – and there's a name and a face. A name and the face of a man who didn't seem so thrilled with what was transpiring.
I always figured I might have gotten a bit of aid with my escape. Was it more significant than I thought? Do I know who was behind it with this overwhelming flashback?
I don't want to revisit the past. Yet at the same time, now I'm a bit curious about what I buried.
As I ease open my laptop and power it on, I'm already beginning to feel ill at ease. It's a feeling that is accompanied by a bit of shame, but I guess I can't really help either of them – and both are ultimately a result of my own actions.
But I've been delaying a video chat with Starla for almost a week now – primarily because I know she wants a better understanding of what happened that night we went to the doctor's office. Dodging inquiries about it is easy going back and forth via email – not so much when it comes to live chats. But I know she means well in her questioning – which is why I feel so bad now.
As the home screen flashes into view, I find the chat icon is already blinking, desperate for my attention. With a sigh of resignation, I click on it, allowing the chat to pop up and begin connecting. In a matter of seconds, Starla appears from the other end, her face taking up almost the whole video window.
"Midnight!" she cries, a bit too loud for the volume level of the laptop right now. "I was starting to get worried we would never get to video chat again."
"I know, I'm sorry about that, Star. I've just been really busy as of late," I lie.
"How have you been doing?" she asks, already leading into the territory I expected. "You know, the last time I saw you..."
"Yeah, it wasn't a particularly pretty sight, was it?" I wisecrack. Despite my best attempts to lighten the air, I feel my face grow a little warm. It still feels awkward to talk about... well, having a panic attack. I feel like I should be better than that; while I've come to grips that it happened, it doesn't do much to dampen my feelings that the past should all be behind me, not continuing to plague me.
To my surprise, Starla shakes her head. "I'm not worried about looks, sis – I felt bad for you," she explains solemnly. "Yeah, we've messaged back and forth here and there, but not actually talking with you until now... I've been worried."
The pit in my stomach grows with that little revelation. I've been thinking about me and how I feel talking about all this – but avoiding video chats has left Starla in the dark. I hadn't really thought of it that way; even though the cold and logical side of me is trying to jab me into believing it's none of her business...
It is her business, because she cares. I feel dirty now that I realize skirting around this has caused Star to endure the unknown of how I'm really doing. As much as she's helped me over the last few months out of the good of her heart, she deserves better from me.
"I know, and I'm sorry," I apologize with a sigh. "I know it sounds bad, but I'm going to be honest with you – I've been coming up with excuses to not get on. It's not... I know you want to know what happened. But I'm ashamed of it. You know as well as I do I hate being vulnerable and opening up. And yet now that I'm saying this out loud I'm doing the same thing that got me into trouble that night."
Through my explanation, Starla's expression runs through a gamut of changes; from glum at the start, to understanding with a thin smile, to general confusion by the end. "I guess in the back of my mind, I thought you might have been trying to avoid me and talking about that night. I get it," she replies trying to assure me of no hard feelings.
"That doesn't make it right. You've helped me a lot, more than I could ever repay you for – and I know you want to know because you care and want to help. So I really am sorry," I repeat, taking a deep breath as I recollect my thoughts. "I'm doing better, but that night was hell for me. Right from the get-go I was uncomfortable – and I just kept forcing myself to push through. I did, but then... it all came crashing down, which is what you saw."
"Aww Middie... I wish I could hug you through the computer right now," she mumbles, looking at me with sad eyes. "It just reminded you of what you had been through before, didn't it?"
I nod my head. "Yeah, it ran through the whole gauntlet – sights, sounds, smells... it brought back a lot of horrendous memories. I didn't expect that at all – and it just kept getting worse. I think John was the only reason I was able to get through it... and that only lasted for the doc visit and the walk outside."
"You know none of us would have batted an eye or taken exception to you asking for some time, right?" Starla asks, playing it cautiously just in case.
But I know she's right – there's not been any doubt in my mind about asking for assistance from John, Starla, or Teddy – I'm just too prideful for that sort of thing.
"I know – and I've been talking with John about this. I'm trying to learn to... not be so hard-headed. I hate that I have these moments or nightmares where the past starts coming back, because that's the past, and I want to let go of that. But for some reason, it still bothers me. I hate admitting that – and that's where the pride thing comes in."
"I didn't know you were having nightmares too – when did that start?"
"Uh... well let me start by saying you have no reason to feel guilty. But it was shortly after our sleepover – after having that flashback out in the yard. I guess it sort of uncorked some other memories."
Despite my assurances, Starla's expression sours, with any trace of her normal bubbly demeanor sucked out of her. It's an infectious feeling that carries back over to me, and for a short bit, silence wins out over conversation while each of us figures out what to say.
"You know I'm always willing to listen if you need an ear, Mid," Starla finally speaks up, breaking through her somber face to offer a heartfelt smile. "I'm sure talking about it has to do some good – at least, it's better than keeping it to yourself."
"Yeah, I just had a nightmare one or two nights ago, and though it felt awkward to share it with John at first, I have to say I did feel like a weight was lifted off of me. So I'm trying to improve, and it's definitely better than keeping mum about it to be 'tough' so far. It just sorta feels like I'm going backward, you know? Dealing with this now?"
"I don't think you're going backward – it sounds like the opposite to me," Starla suggests. "Could it be now that you're comfortable... like, maybe stuff you had to cram away has time to unpack? Like actually dealing with it?"
"Maybe? I dunno, John has been the one trying to read up on psychology, and he hasn't found much," I admit, shrugging my shoulders.
"I guess the most important thing is you're doing better and learning from that night," Starla says, nodding her head. "I'm glad to finally hear from you – and I have news of my own to share."
The announcement tacked onto the end reinvigorates Starla to her normal self almost instantly. It's good to see after such an unpleasant topic that preceded it – but I can't imagine what sort of 'news' she may have in store. Regardless, I can't help but crack my own grin as anticipation builds. "What's going on in your part of the world, Star?"
"Ever since coming home from the sleepover, Teddy and I have been talking about getting 'out' more. A bit like you and John," Starla explains, flipping her hair back. "Teddy sorta realizes now we've been moving backward in that regard – when moving out here was supposed to be an opportunity for us to be more free. But old habits die hard... which is quite the coincidence to say, after the discussion we just had, huh?"
"I'm certainly testament to the idea – I have no problem admitting that now," I laugh.
"It's easy to fall into habits – and Teddy will be the first to admit, he gets very protective of me, sometimes to a fault," Starla continues. "So we've both been sort of setting goals and working toward small outings, such as going to the grocery store yesterday evening. I have to say, it had been almost a year since the last time I was there – I couldn't believe how much changed inside. And I got some new ideas to try after looking around, but that's a whole other story."
"I haven't done any cooking yet myself – hell, John hasn't lately, either. I guess it wasn't a complete lie when I said we've been busy," I chip in. "But anyway – what's the goal in mind for you?"
"That's also why I bring this all up, because you might have some interest in it," Starla teases. "Toward the end of the month, there's a car show the next town over in the main square – Teddy is thinking of taking the Cutlass out there to display and walk around, with me as company!" Her voice sped up by the end, Starla finishes off by gleefully clapping her hooves together a few times before settling back down.
"Damn, that sounds great – and I wish we had the Chrysler ready to join you," I chime in.
"Well, you don't have to have a car to display to be there. I was wondering if all goes well and we decide to go – would you like to come along? I wouldn't mind having a wingmare to keep me straight. To be honest, I'm excited and a bit nervous," Starla remarks, uncertainty tainting her voice at the end.
The sudden shift, as subtle as it may be, still managed to catch me off guard – particularly as this is a goal Starla herself wants to reach. "What exactly has you concerned about the idea, sis?" I ask, cocking my head.
"I guess my worry is getting carried away. It's going to be a fairly big social gathering, and ponies – well, bots – are welcome, and while we're working toward being more social, there's still a line there, you know?"
"I... think I understand?" I reply, questioning myself as much as my answer. "To be fair, I don't do a whole lot of talking to others when John and I are out. That's not really interesting to me – but granted, I kinda have trust issues. I really have to think before I say anything – which has gotten better with time."
"You seem pretty open and fluid right now," Starla counters.
"Well yeah, I know you and have a good idea of the standing between us. Don't forget I accidentally called you stupid once."
"I had forgotten that until now," Starla mutters, feigning some semblance of hurt feelings. It doesn't last long before she's forced to stifle a giggle behind a hoof. "But that's what I mean; I'm the exact opposite of you as I don't really feel that sort of apprehension around folks I'm unfamiliar with. I have a more... a naive view of the world."
"Well, you acknowledge the problem right now, that's gotta be a... a step in the right direction. Like me with admitting I try to keep too much bottled up, yeah?"
"It's one thing to talk about it and acknowledge that right now, but in the moment – I guess I share Teddy's concern that I'll be too open, just start getting carried away if I get into a conversation with someone – or somepony ," she adds with a smirk.
"Ugh, that was terrible, Star. You have no idea how hard I have to fight off the desire to cringe at that," I groan in what is mostly a jesting manner. "So you suggesting I sorta be the little angel on your shoulder to help guide you?"
"Yeah! I figure between my overwhelming friendliness and your guarded nature, we would balance each other out."
"I don't know if I can pass off the look of an angel."
"True..."
"Hey, you weren't supposed to agree with that!" I cry out, garnering a laugh from Starla.
"Well, you sort of set yourself up for that," Starla floats. "But anyway, nothing is set in stone right now. And I realize you two have your own lives and work to balance, so if it all happens to work out and the stars align..."
"I'm always up for a car show, and I don't think it would be too much trouble to twist John's arm into attending. Worse comes to worse, I'll just steal the Trailduster."
"Orrr, if John was okay with it, Teddy and I could probably pick you up en route. But I suppose we'll talk about that more later."
"I dunno how much advice I can give... you know, us just talking right now. But I'd be willing to help you any way I can, Star. You've done more than enough for me, I'd like to return the favor in at least a small part."
"Aww, no need to be counting favors – I got me a sister out of it, that's more than I've given, you know?" she suggests with a chuckle. "But don't be afraid to reach out to me either if you're feeling troubled with a nightmare or another flashback."
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Just remember, we're all here for each other in our little group. I want to help you as much as you want to assist me. But we can't get anywhere unless we talk."
"Yeah... but you're starting to get a little preachy now," I tease her.
"I wouldn't have to if my little sis wasn't so stubborn," Starla retorts, putting on an exaggerated stern face to go along with her tone.
"I like to think my stubbornness is an endearing trait," I coo, tossing my hair back and smirking as Starla rolls her eyes, laughing at my show. But she suddenly stops, her eyes lit up.
"Oh, have you gotten the package I sent yet?" she questions.
"Yeah, just a day or two ago – I opened it up and wow, you sent everything!"
"Not everything , but a fair bit of stuff that I had that was either replaced or I don't use. It should give you a good start with the tips and sites I linked you to," she says, her grin creeping ever wider. "Any idea when you'll be using em to knock John's socks off?"
"I think you're giving me a bit too much credit," I comment with a laugh. "I don't think I'm going for anything exotic. But John mentioned doing a 'proper' date at some point – I like the idea of that. Sooner or later, I think we'll set something up."
"Maybe down the road we can do a 'proper' double date. That would be a lot of fun," Starla sighs, caught up in the idea as her eyes stray off to places elsewhere momentarily. "But, baby steps till we get there. Overall, I'm glad to finally hear from you."
"I'm glad I finally reached out. I shouldn't have waited so long, for both your sake and mine. I'm not gonna repeat that mistake."
"Well, I'm gonna hold you to that," Starla announces, pointing a hoof at me. "But ta-ta for now, I've got my own project brewing in the kitchen."
"No worries. Talk to you later, sis."
With a brief wave beforehand, the screen goes blank from the other end. I close the windows and shut the laptop, setting it aside on the coffee table and taking an invigorating deep breath.
After that conversation – all of it – everything feels more open. It feels like there are so many more opportunities ahead of me that I don't think I could have or would have found interest in months or even weeks ago. It's been a hard lesson to learn, but being more open is... it feels good. It feels lighter.
With extra pep in my step, I hop off the couch and waltz through the kitchen, stopping momentarily at the door leading to the shop downstairs. Feeling confident in what I'm about to face, I plaster on my biggest smile and swing open the door.
Sure enough, John stands beside the doorframe. "You kept part of that conversation intentionally vague didn't you?" he mutters.
"Sure did – I told Starla beforehand that she should keep any questions about that package vague, in case you wanted to try and eavesdrop on girl talk," I gloat. "Correct on that call, wasn't I?"
"Well, I know it's for a possible date in the future, that's something," he blurts, trying to find a silver lining in his failed attempts at spying.
"Mhmm, and that's about all you're gonna get until the time is right. Congrats."
John suddenly snaps his fingers, then points at me with wide, frenzied eyes. "It's clothes, isn't it? That's gonna be it."
"Nope. Clothes can't improve on this," I boast, striking a pose and flaring my wings out just a bit. "We tried clothes during the sleepover one morning before you woke up – I wasn't a fan."
"You mean I missed out on dress-up?" he whines, slumping his shoulders. "You're fucking mean."
I can't help but chuckle at his childish attitude, even as I strut past him and head down the steps. "Come on you big baby – we got a Hemi whose top end isn't gonna rebuild itself."
