Midnight [Part 6]


                                            >The sound of raindrops incessantly pattering on the windowpane above you clues you in that today is likely to be a wash before you even open your eyes.

                                            >You're also aware of a weight on your chest.

                                            >Cracking open an eye, blue and violet hair obscures your view of the owner's face - not that it's a mystery.

                                            >While Midnight's head is turned to rest on you, the rest of her is snuggled up close beside you.

                                            >Just barely audible amidst the rain is her snoring.

                                            >Over the past month or so, you've noticed that she doesn't wake up with bedhead anywhere near the degree she used to.

                                            >Clear indicator she's been sleeping much more soundly - though you kinda miss the sight of her ruffled and wild hair in the mornings.

                                            >With great care, you brush aside her mane with a hand to reveal her face.

                                            >At the same time, you notice her ear twitch just a bit, along with a slight disturbance in her snoring.

                                            "You awake?"

                                            >The snoring halts at once.

                                            >"...No," comes a lethargic voice. "Are you?"

                                            "I'm not sure yet."

                                            >"That doesn't make any sense."

                                            "Neither does you telling me you're not awake."

                                            >"Maybe I talk in my sleep."

                                            >With great care, you use your thumb to raise one of her eyelids for a view of her peepers.

                                            >From the darkness appears a faint bluish glow that gradually intensifies, while her pupil adjusts to the sudden intrusion.

                                            >"Why?"

                                            "I don't know. But I'm not convinced you're asleep. By the way, did you know your eyes don't really glow that much when you... well, when your eyes are closed?"

                                            >"I can't say I've ever looked in a mirror while *sleeping*," she counters.

                                            "When you say it like that, my question sounds pretty damn stupid."

                                            >As she turns her head to face you, the ends of her mouth turn upward.

                                            >"Might be more than just the way it sounds."

                                            >Her eyes shift away from you and to the window above your head.

                                            >"Sure doesn't sound or look like we need to be in a rush to get up today," she comments.

                                            "No, not particularly. Best we can do is get orders boxed today."

                                            >Midnight nods - or at least as much as she can with her head still resting on your chest.

                                            >"I'm okay with that."

                                            "Yeah, I think I am too. That was fun having Starla stay with us, but having to keep up with the two of you is tiring after a couple of days."

                                            >"Aww, you poor thing," Midnight coos in a sarcastic manner, poking you in the ribs with her hoof. "But you're right, it's nice to be back to... us. Slow down a bit, back to our normal pace."

                                            >You reach up with your other hand and boop her nose, which Midnight answers back by blowing a raspberry in a lethargic manner.

                                            "So cute."

                                            >"Shut up."

                                            "Maybe someday you'll learn that isn't an insult."

                                            >"Nah."

                                            >Midnight straightens up her body, content to now lie beside you, her head resting upon a pillow now.

                                            >Her left wing opens up to drape itself over your form.

                                            "You really have warmed up to flaunting your wings as of late," you speak up, turning on your side to face her. "What's up with that?"

                                            >"I don't really see a problem with it," she replies with an air of uncertainty.

                                            "No no, I didn't mean it as a problem, just a curiosity."

                                            >"I guess I have em - why not use em? I don't really feel ashamed of them like I was before," she replies, shrugging. "Plus they are handy in a pinch, like scouting."

                                            "I don't think you should have ever felt ashamed of them to begin with, Mid."

                                            >"Yeah, yeah..." she sasses, trying hard to hide a hint of bashfulness. "Maybe I'm starting to kind of like who I am now."

                                            "What changed?"

                                            >"Well a lot of shit has changed."

                                            >You can't quite tell whether she's being purposely obtuse, or not quite comprehending your question.

                                            "I mean to get to thinking like that."

                                            >"Yeah, and where do I even begin to answer that?" she responds with her own question. "I honestly didn't recognize - er, accepting who I am, I suppose. I just feel comfortable, y'know?"

                                            >You don't have anything to say or add without making her feel more awkward, so you just nod.

                                            >"It's hard when you wake up and find something new has been added or changed on you. These wings - they aren't real like most of the rest of me," she continues, fully expanding her wing to the point the tip nearly touches the ceiling fan. "They're from a bot. A Princess Twilight Sparkle bot - not even who I was supposed to be. So yeah, it sort of fucks with you when you start becoming someone's after-school project made up of a bunch of odds and ends."

                                            "I'm not trying to stir up any sort of bad memories, Mid," you interrupt.

                                            >"I'm fine, Anon. I swear," she assures you, lowering her wing to blanket you again. "I view things a bit differently now that I have others to bounce my thoughts off. But to my point - it took a long time to figure out how to control these - so maybe I wasn't born with em, but I've adapted, grown more accustomed to having them - there comes a point where arguing about who you are is sort of pointless. And honestly, not using these is wasting all the effort I put forth to adapt. I guess I look at it now as squandering something that I could use to my advantage."

                                            "Good way to look at it. And they look good on you."

                                            >"God, you're just trying to make me feel embarrassed, aren't you?" she asks, hiding her face beneath a hoof.

                                            >You ease her leg away from her head to catch sight of the blush she's undoubtedly suffering from.

                                            >The red tinge in her cheeks is noticeable even in this rather dim light, aided by the glow from her eyes as she tries to shy away from you.

                                            "You blush anymore and you're gonna turn purple, Middie," you tease her.

                                            >"Stop being a queer," she mumbles, trying hard not to smile and failing miserably.

                                            "Nope, I got you where I want you now," you reply, closing in and rubbing your nose against her snout.

                                            >Midnight can't help herself, giggling just a bit even as you can practically feel the heat emanating from her face.

                                            >"You're such a jackass."

                                            "I aim to please."

                                            >Midnight relents just a bit, relaxing as she kisses you.

                                            >A fleeting moment, but you got what you wanted, so you give her a bit of space.

                                            >But she scoots back up to you anyway.

                                            "So you gonna start flying more?"

                                            >"Maybe. I'm out of practice - though I was never really *in* practice," she admits. "Kinda hard finding space to fly indoors, particularly when you're in a fish tank ninety percent of the time."

                                            "I could see where that might be an issue."

                                            >"But, maybe with some time and exercise - it won't be so tiring. That's the biggest issue. I doubt I'm very aerodynamic, either."

                                            "I dunno, you cut a pretty damn good-looking figure to me," you gush, tracing lines through the fur on her stomach with your fingers.

                                            >"God damn you."

                                            >She blushes profusely once again, making you laugh.

                                            >She puts in a half-hearted effort to shove you away with both front hooves.

                                            "It's just us here."

                                            >"It's just us here," she mocks you in a nasally voice.

                                            "Aww, someone sounds gwumpy. Maybe you need more sleep," you tease,  positioning your other arm to reach above her and run a hand through her mane.

                                            >Midnight snorts as her wing raises high enough off of you to come down with a decent whap.

                                            >"I'd probably still be sleeping if *someone* hadn't asked me if I was awake."

                                            "You were the one that answered."

                                            >"Yeah, that was stupid of me in hindsight,  knowing now you wanted to torture me."

                                            >That makes you scoff.

                                            "Turning you into a blushing mess is torture now?"

                                            >"Always was," she replies.

                                            "You know I only do it because I find it enjoyable. And you keep coming back."

                                            >"Stockholm Syndrome."

                                            "You got an answer for everything."

                                            >"I try," she answers, patting your shoulder with her hoof. "Maybe we could go get the engine block today, huh?"

                                            "Mm, maybe. Not quite the end of the week, which is when the shop said it will be done," you remind her. "Also, we haven't gotten the new crankshaft or main bearings yet - so I wouldn't be able to actually do anything with it."

                                            >"Hmph. Thanks for crushing my hopes," she grumbles in jest.

                                            >Midnight rises up to her hooves, before resorting to a few leisurely stretches.

                                            "Could you turn around before you do the face-down ass-up one?"

                                            >A pillow is quick to smack you in the face.

                                            "Ow."

                                            >"Dirty bastard."

                                            "We need to buy some new pillows, these are getting too violent," you mumble through linen.

                                            >The pillow peels itself away from your head, aided by metal wire cinched around the far end from your face.

                                            >That wire releases the pillow to let it flop back on the bed beside you before it slithers its way onto one of your wrists.

                                            >"Time to get up, your comments are getting pretty stale this morning," Midnight instructs, gently tugging you to sit upright by her metal ally.

                                            "Oh thank god. Here I was thinking you were going to do some really kinky shit to me," you answer back whilst pointing to the makeshift bracelet.

                                            >"Oh man, this is gonna be of those days, isn't it?" Midnight sighs as she climbs off of the bed.

                                            >Despite that sound of mild frustration, Midnight sports a pleasant grin to greet the dreary morning.

                                            > It's the kind that's wide enough to force her fangs to pop out just below her upper lip.

                                            >Midnight's wire slips off of your wrist and floats back toward the mare, weaving seamlessly back into her necklace.

                                            >With a grunt, you throw your legs over the side of the bed and climb out of bed yourself.

                                            "You aren't in a rush to get at it this morning, are you?"

                                            >"Pffft, hell no. But I don't want to just lay in bed all day, either," she replies. "Breakfast?"

                                            "Eh, unless there's something you want, I'm alright. Probably just a granola bar or something that doesn't require effort."

                                            >"I'm fine with some jerky," she replies while heading to the door

                                            "Please not the teriyaki - that just does not smell great so early in the morning."

                                            >"Aww, poor baby," Midnight coos, stopping just before walking out and turning her head.

                                            >She has a devious look on her face that only accentuates her elongated canines.

                                            >"I think that's a small price to pay for having your fun."

                                            "That just makes me want to do it again tomorrow morning when you say it like that."

                                            >"Well, I guess we both have to make sacrifices, huh?" she proposes before sashaying out the door.


                                            >Rather than piss the whole day away lazing about, you started tackling a project that had languished for far too long.

                                            >Setting up new lights in the storage room.

                                            >Considering almost a quarter of the shop lights never came on when you flipped the light switch the first time, it was an upgrade to LEDs well overdue.

                                            >...and the lights you bought have sat in their boxes in a corner of the shop for over a month.

                                            >It's really something only *you* need - when Midnight is searching for a part in this room, she doesn't bother with the lights half the time.

                                            >As you unhook the last chain holding this fixture to the ceiling, it is taken by Midnight's ability, who stands beside you.

                                            >The new fixture is already on its way up before you even ask.

                                            "Man, this is going smoother than I thought."

                                            >"Did you really think it was going to be a pain?" Midnight asks.

                                            "I couldn't remember if the old ones were all wired in, or just plugged into an outlet," you explain. "I'll still have to do some wiring to add a few outlets for the ones that were wired in - but looks like most of em are plug and play."

                                            >"And there was a mix and match in here because..."

                                            "Hey, this wasn't my doing," you protest in response to Middie's challenging tone. "I've only ever changed bulbs in here - all of this existed when I bought the place."

                                            >She narrows her eyes, trying to discern whether you're being honest.

                                            "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

                                            >Rather than answer, her eyes glow brighter as she continues to play with you.

                                            "Indoor voice, please," you add while stringing up the new light on the old hooks.

                                            >You don't warn her before plugging it in, the bright white LEDs making her recoil as she shut her eyes in an instant.

                                            >"Dickhead."

                                            "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes."

                                            >"That never stops you."

                                            "I like stupid prizes."

                                            >You get a snort from Midnight as you clamber down your ladder, moving it around a shelf while she takes care of the old fixture.

                                            >"Maybe we ought to reorganize the storage room today while we're at it?" Midnight suggests from outside.

                                            >Ha.

                                            >You don't answer her, choosing instead to wait for her to return with the next light as you unplug the next in sequence.

                                            >"I know you heard me."

                                            "I never said I didn't."

                                            >"Why must you be so obtuse?" she whines.

                                            "Because you're acute."

                                            >You get a deadpan stare for your efforts.

                                            "A. Cute," you reaffirm, pointing to her in time with each syllable.

                                            >"I can accidentally shove this up your ass when I pass it off to you," she comments, waggling the light fixture in a lazy motion.

                                            "Oh, you know how to start me up, don't you?"

                                            >"Aaanyway," Midnight spouts, sidestepping your idiocy for the time being. "I recall your bitching and moaning any time you have to come in here and stumble around - what else have we got to do today? As you said, this is going well - we'll be done in no time at this pace."

                                            "But this is supposed to be an easy day!" you whine in an exaggerated fashion.

                                            >Midnight can only roll her eyes as you drop the light down and off to her, while she passes you the new one.

                                            "Eh, if that's what you want to do, we can at the very least get started.

                                            >Midnight perks up at that before once again heading out of the storage room with the old fixture.

                                            >Now you just need to put both your heads together to think of the best way to organize.

                                            >Right now, everything is relatively sorted by make.

                                            >But the way the shelves have essentially been brought in and set up in an unplanned fashion means it truly is a bit of a maze to navigate.

                                            "Do you have any ideas on how this should be done?" you call out after her. "Other than moving shelving units? Or was that it?"

                                            >"Not... particularly," she responds, her voice hesitating again until she reappears in the doorway. "I figured you had an idea."

                                            "Huh. That might be a problem then."

                                            >Midnight frowns, disappointed by this abrupt setback.

                                            >"I guess that will wait another day then. I'll give it some thought."

                                            >As you gander at the shelves in a new and brighter light, it's apparent that this room isn't filled to capacity as it once was.

                                            >After all, the only reason this became such a useful storage room was a result of Midnight pulling apart engines during her first few weeks working with you.

                                            >Now - most of the time if you need an engine part, you and Midnight either find a car with the needed engine or the engine itself you occasionally purchase and pull the parts then and there if it isn't in the storage room.

                                            >There's no cycle of replenishment.

                                            "Should we just use this room to mark and sort orders as we bring them up and offload them from the truck?" you suggest. "Probably be a lot better than laying them in piles on the floor."

                                            >"Not a bad idea. You want to do away with tearing down engines in advance altogether?"

                                            "We haven't been doing that," you remind her.

                                            >"But we could. I could," Midnight chips in.

                                            "Yeah..."

                                            >You trail off, trying to consider what would be the best use for this room.

                                            >Some of the parts on the shelves haven't moved since they were placed in here ages ago.

                                            >That's not exactly purposeful use of space...

                                            >"Half and half, perhaps?"

                                            "Possibility. You wouldn't happen to know what we sell out of our inventory in here, would you?"

                                            >"Not in detail off of the top of my head. A lot of timing covers across most makes, oil pans, quite a few stock intakes. A few crankshafts, but much on other internals like camshafts, to be honest."

                                            >Funny, you happen to be staring at a bumpstick that's been in here a few years, judging by the blanket of cobwebs branching off of the geared snout.

                                            >"Heads seem to depend on the make - not much when it comes to Ford or Chevy considering what I've seen of the aftermarket supply, but Lincoln, Cadillac, some oddball niche parts or high flow performance parts like Chrysler 340 heads - those go pretty well."

                                            "I thought you didn't have details, nerd," you comment, turning to her.

                                            >"Eat a dick," she retorts, finishing off by sticking her tongue out at you in a childish manner. "So yeah, there's some stuff in here that maybe we shouldn't bother with."

                                            "But some is good to have on hand because we go through it."

                                            >Midnight nods.

                                            >"I don't think we should throw out what we haven't sold, but... well, I don't know. It takes up space that could be better utilized. I certainly don't like piling customer parts off in a corner of the shop."

                                            "Nor do I. Because someone ends up yelling at me when we have to search for something," you mumble, hanging your head as you pout - but making sure to keep your eyes locked on Midnight.

                                            >"It motivates you more than anything else, doesn't it?" she proposes, looking amused and just a little prideful.

                                            >Rather than wait for you to come up with a silly answer, Midnight trots past you, beginning to seize some of the aforementioned internal engine parts off of the shelves before turning and heading back out.

                                            "Put em on some junk carpeting off to the side somewhere, not concrete," you remind her.

                                            >"Please, you insult me. I'm not a rookie," Midnight answers back.

                                            >Taking her lead, you grab a couple of camshafts from nearby to begin sorting out this room properly.

                                            >Midnight is much more efficient than you, able to levitate several pieces away from each other, while even with the camshafts, you can only do one in each hand.

                                            >Too easy to nick the finish - which could potentially make them useless.

                                            >Even despite your comparatively feeble workload, all the parts that have been languishing for some time end up evacuated to a far corner of the garage within a half hour.

                                            >Of course, that was only part of the task - everything else still on the shelves needed to be condensed into one area to make room for orders awaiting shipment.

                                            >But with everything going so well, you decided to test your luck...

                                            "So, what's the big secret between you and Starla?"

                                            >"Hm?"

                                            >While she plays coy, it isn't hard to spot her jaw clench upon hearing your question as you both rummage through the remaining items on the shelves.

                                            "Something that she was going to discuss with you further at some point."

                                            >"We discussed a lot of things during her stay."

                                            >Dare you press further?

                                            >Of course you do.

                                            "Yeah, but she made the effort to shout out the truck window before leaving, so it must have been something major, y'know?"

                                            >"Mmm, nope. Not sure what it was," she replies in a carefree, dismissive manner.

                                            "Maybe I'll have to email her, pretending to be you."

                                            >"Really, you would be that petty?" she responds, still calm and collected as she awards you a glance.

                                            >You have to just relent at this point, your shoulders slumping in disappointment.

                                            "I've run out of tricks, haven't I?" you ask her.

                                            >"More that I can smell your bullshit from a mile out. You care too much to be that nosy and disrespectful," she explains.

                                            "Way to take the fun out of it. You could have at least pretended to get all upset and flustered."

                                            >"Oh, but you're doing that for *my* amusement now," she teases, flashing you a cocky smile.

                                            "I don't think I like you anymore," you pout.

                                            >Midnight cackles at your response before returning her focus to the task at hand.

                                            >"By the way..."

                                            "Hm?"

                                            >"If a package shows up addressed to me, don't open it."

                                            "You're really trying to aggravate my curiosity, aren't you?"

                                            >"Maybe," she comments, keeping her eyes averted from you.

                                            >You lean over and gently flick one of her ears.

                                            >A lack of attentiveness on her part means you get a slightly startled jump from Midnight, followed by a spastic twitching of her ear.

                                            >"Prick," she grumbles

                                            "Oh hush, that didn't hurt."

                                            >Mindful of her horn, Midnight cocks her head sideways and gives you a firm headbutt.

                                            >"You're still a prick."

                                            "Ow..."

                                            >You cradle your side, sniffling as if she's really injured you.

                                            >"C'mon, we got enough space cleared to bring it pulled orders," Midnight says, flaring out a wing to brush against you as she trots by.

                                            "Hey, you made you boss hoss?" you retort.

                                            >"Mm, no one. I just took the reins," she replies, cracking a wry grin at her own pun.

                                            "That was fucking terrible."

                                            >"So was your comment," she argues.

                                            "It was less shit. It sounded decently casual."

                                            >Rather than respond with words, Midnight raises her eyebrows and shakes her head sharply in defiance.

                                            >You do the exact opposite, widening your eyes as you nod your head at a fervent pitch.

                                            >"What a compelling argument," she comments. "But still, no."

                                            "Bastard."

                                            >"Dumbass."

                                            >She disappears out of sight beyond the door frame, but not before waving a hoof to beckon you to follow.

                                            >You really appreciate her motivation to try getting this garage to work more efficiently.

                                            >But damn - you might end up doing more work on a rainy day - which was traditionally a day off.

                                            >Nevertheless - she seems to really be enjoying this today.

                                            >As you round the corner and head toward the closest pile of orders...

                                            >Midnight is nowhere to be seen.

                                            >Uh...

                                            "Midnight?"

                                            >"Yes?"

                                            >You about jump out of your skin hearing Midnight's lazy response directly behind you.

                                            "You son of a-"

                                            >You turn around as you finally hear her hoofsteps, finding Midnight trotting in place with glee.

                                            >"Hah, I still got it!" she crows, coming off of her high as she takes a calculated, silent step toward you in demonstration.

                                            "You won't be laughing when you give me a heart attack sneaking around and spooking me like that."

                                            >"On the other hand, there's plenty of car batteries laying around to jumpstart your heart if need be," she responds, hardly missing a beat.

                                            "How the hell did you get behind me, anyway? I saw you walk out this way."

                                            >"Ah, I can't divulge my secrets," she muses with an emphasis in her voice, even as she ruffles her folded wings.

                                            "You're getting a bell on you whether you like it or not."

                                            >Midnight trots past you, emitting a short cackle of laughter.

                                            >"Now what would be the fun in that?"

                                            "Not pissing my pants?"

                                            >Midnight whirls around, rearing up to place her hooves on your shoulders.

                                            >"Shame. That sounds like a 'you' problem."

                                            "Not if I kick you out of bed," you threaten with a big smile.

                                            >"Come on, that's my go-to ultimatum," Midnight whines, her devilish grin disappearing.

                                            "Too bad, now I'm using it."

                                            >Midnight's nostrils flare as she exhales in mock frustration.

                                            >"Fine then."

                                            > It's the only words she utters before moving a hoof from your shoulder, up to your face and-

                                            >"Boop."

                                            >Her hoof gently touches the tip of your nose.

                                            >"Fair's fair, right?" she challenges.

                                            "It's not as cute as when I do it."

                                            >"Even though I don't do cute at all.

                                            "Of course."


                                            >"You're screwing with me, right?"

                                            "No, why?"

                                            >Midnight exhales in obvious irritation as you toss the shifter into park.

                                            >"As if you really have to ask that question..."

                                            "Oh come on, you really think I pulled in here to get some cheap laughs or something?"

                                            >Midnight doesn't say anything as she stares out the window at the sun-worn sign.

                                            >Buckboard Bar and Grille.

                                            >The last time you were here, Midnight ended up very, very drunk by mistake.

                                            >And singing karaoke.

                                            >But dammit, they have good food, and you wanted a night out.

                                            > It's not like you have a ton of choices out in the middle of virtually nowhere.

                                            "Do you really think anyone in there tonight is going to remember what happened - hell, hasn't it been a year?"

                                            >"It's not been long enough," she sulks.

                                            "How long is enough time to come back here?" you ask, awaiting an unreasonable answer.

                                            >"A decade. Maybe two. And how could anyone forget?"

                                            "I thought it was a good performance, but that's just me."

                                            >Midnight whips her head around, glaring at you.

                                            "That's not what you meant, I take it?"

                                            >"You know, I could really go for some liver tonight. How's yours?" she inquires, leaning over to your side of the truck, honing in on your midriff.

                                            "I like that organ," you protest, shifting your hands down to your abdomen in a blocking maneuver. "You can't have it."

                                            >She snorts, but turns away and returns to her seat proper.

                                            "Where do you want to eat tonight if not here? The drive-in?"

                                            >"We were just there last week. And that's kind of the same old, same old now," she argues, letting up on some of the ire her voice has held since arrival.

                                            "Okay. McDonald's? Burger King?"

                                            >"No."

                                            "Neither you nor I want to make anything tonight, which is why we decided to go out," you remind her. "I'm not driving an hour beyond this town for food."

                                            >Midnight remains mum with your thoughts laid out for her to understand.

                                            "Sorry, I suppose I should have asked. I just didn't - I didn't think it really bothered you."

                                            >"It was embarrassing, Anon," she whines.

                                            "I get that, but - time heals all wounds, right?"

                                            >Midnight hardly looks fazed or amused by your feeble argument.

                                            >Having left the truck running this whole time, you're just about to move the shifter into reverse when the engine dies.

                                            >Startled, you scan the gauges before they all move back to their normal positions when the truck is off.

                                            >"Relax, I did that," Midnight speaks up, just as the keys in the ignition slide out.

                                            "Thank god for that. You about gave me a heart attack," turning to her.

                                            >She dangles the keys in front of you, and when you put your hand out for them, they're snatched away with a metallic jingle.

                                            >"If anyone says anything about that night or remembers me, we're gone. Right?"

                                            "Well, if we're in the middle of dinner-"

                                            >"We pack shit up and leave " she interrupts, her expression as steely and cold as her voice.

                                            >You nod, seeing as how this is the only acceptable answer.

                                            >Your keys are deposited into your hands, while Midnight pops open her door and hops out.

                                            >Following her lead, you lock up and join her around the front of the truck, where you both begin the trek up the sidewalk.

                                            >"No stupid comments either," she says in a rather gruff manner.

                                            "Outside of my normal stupidity, right?"

                                            >"Well, there's strike one."

                                            >At least there's enough emphasis and sass in her voice to tell you she's not completely bitter.

                                            Maybe there's hope for tonight.

                                            >But for at least the first bit here...


                                            *****


                                            "The food here is still awesome."

                                            >"Mhmm. And you're still kind of an asshole."

                                            >Well, that's a step above complete asshole, isn't it?

                                            >Definitely something better off thought than said.

                                            >After all, you do kinda get where Midnight is coming from with that sentiment.

                                            >But there has not been a single word mentioned of 'the last time' from anyone.

                                            >Other than Midnight.

                                            >As per the usual, some glances your way as you walked in, just out of pure curiosity and an unexpected duo dining in.

                                            >But Middie has gotten past that for a little while now.

                                            >No moonshine mistakes this time when ordering water - she asked for extra ice, too.

                                            >You offered to give it a sip for her, just to be sure.

                                            >In a serious manner.

                                            >Mostly.

                                            >But overall, tonight has been rather calm and uneventful.

                                            >If a little... quiet.

                                            >Try as she might, you can still tell Midnight is none too pleased to be here, or quite frankly, with you bringing her here.

                                            >But...

                                            >Well dammit, that was kind of an important night between you two, wasn't it?

                                            >You get her embarrassment, but if things hadn't fallen the way they did...

                                            "You know, if you hadn't gotten drunk, and hadn't teased me before doing karaoke to the point I decided to record you, we would have never..."

                                            >You trail off as your ill-advised musing brings a leer from those icy blue eyes that almost cut hard enough to draw blood.

                                            "I'm just saying. You know it wasn't my fault how it all began."

                                            >"We probably would have sort of figured things out later - and it was still sort of your fault," Midnight grumbles. "You really want to push your luck, don't you?"

                                            "No, I just think there's better ways to think about it, you know?"

                                            >Midnight has no response - merely staring at you.

                                            >With as much as it bothers her, and feeling desperate to somehow smooth out this pent-up animosity toward this establishment, you start to look elsewhere.

                                            >Somehow, you need to make it up to her.

                                            >You need something that will take the nonexistent eyes off of her and onto you.

                                            >And your eyes fall upon a stupid little stage off in the corner with a TV and microphone set up.

                                            >...really?

                                            >You just now thought of that?

                                            >Without uttering a word, you slide out of your seat and walk toward the bar.

                                            "Hey, you guys doing karaoke tonight?" you ask the bartender upon reaching him.

                                            >The man seems taken aback by your question at first, but quickly shrugs his shoulders as he finishes shaking a tumbler and serving it up.

                                            >"If you're feeling froggy, I guess. You don't look that drunk though," he jokes.

                                            "Nope, just stupid."

                                            >The bartender sets his mixers off to the side and beckons you to follow him as he makes his way over to the setup.

                                            >You glance back toward your table where Midnight sits.

                                            >Her eyes are glued to you, visible even from twenty feet away with their faint glow in the dim light.

                                            >"You know what you want?"

                                            "Nah," you reply to the man, scrolling through the songs available on the TV as he turns things on for you.

                                            >"Alright, well - just click on what you want, then hit play down at the bottom when you're ready to go," he replies, motioning to the points on the screen. "I gotta get back to the bar."

                                            "No problemo, thanks."

                                            >"You do know we don't get any sort of music producers or anything out here in the sticks, right?" he adds in jest.

                                            >You have to look up at him and laugh.

                                            "If there were, they won't bother coming back when I'm done. Bet on it."

                                            >Your quip gets a chuckle before you're left to your own devices.

                                            >Man, they have a lot of shit to choose from...

                                            >And a fair amount is shit.

                                            >"What the hell are you doing?"

                                            >Midnight's voice comes out as a quiet, terse hiss right behind you.

                                            >You don't turn around to face her.

                                            "Sit back down dear, I'll only be a few minutes."

                                            >"I'm not singing."

                                            "I know..."

                                            >Oh.

                                            >OH.

                                            >You haven't heard this song in forever - but you remember just enough.

                                            >This is perfect!

                                            >You finally turn your head to look at Midnight, who stands pensive and anxious just off of the stage.

                                            "Go sit down and enjoy the show."

                                            >"Anon, I swear..."

                                            >You click the song, and quickly hit play.

                                            https://youtu.be/12bgalqVFNc

                                            >Midnight bolts off back toward your table, not wanting to be seen as the music kicks in.

                                            >You snatch the microphone from its stand.

                                            "Good evening everyone," you greet the folks who have taken notice. "I'm Anon, and I'm about to make an ass of myself."

                                            >There's a few laughs, but you swear you can hear Midnight groan in the back, sitting low in her chair and attempting to shield herself with her wings.

                                            >Showtime.

                                            "We had a life. We had a love. But you don't know what you got till you lose it!"

                                            >Alright, so maybe the lyrics aren't quite perfect for this, but...

                                            "But that was then, and this is now! And I want you back!"

                                            >You shuffle up to the front of the stage and hone in on Midnight.

                                            "How many times can I say I'm sooorry?"

                                            >Oh cool, so they do have the backup singers with this.

                                            "Yes I'm sorry."

                                            >You head back to the center of the stage.

                                            "How can something so good go so bad? How can something so right go so wrong?"

                                            >Midnight has slowly crept out of her protective cocoon - at least enough to look at you.

                                            "I don't know, I don't have all the answers. But I want you back!"

                                            >You repeat your prior motions back up to the edge of the stage.

                                            "How many times can I say I'm sorry?"

                                            >And now, the part you do remember.

                                            >Well you know, you can run, and you can hide.  But I'm not leaving 'less you come with me!"

                                            >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!"

                                            >Is that a slight hint of a smile you can see on her face?

                                            >You can't dwell too long, as you need the television to give you the next lyrics.

                                            "I only wanted someone to love. But something happened on the way to heaven."

                                            >You aren't getting the cheers and hoots Midnight got during her performance, but at least no one is hucking batteries at you...

                                            "It got a hold of me and wouldn't let go - and I want you back! How many times can I say I'm sooorry? Yes, I'm sooorry."

                                            >You launch back into the chorus, at this point finding this kind of fun.

                                            >Damn, maybe you should have given Midnight your phone to record this.

                                            >To make it fair.

                                            >As your eyes go back to the table, Midnight has vanished.

                                            >Scanning the room, you're dumbfounded to find her standing just a few feet in front of you.

                                            >"You're a faggot," she says, trying hard not to let the corners of her mouth tip upward.

                                            >You offer her the only response you can - a wide, cheeky grin.

                                            "You're all I need, let me show you."

                                            >Despite it clearly being part of the song, Midnight adverts her gaze to the floor, kicking at it with her hoof.

                                            "They say you can't take it with you when you go - and III believe it!"

                                            >Shaking her head, apparently defeated, Midnight looks back up at you, smiling.

                                            "But taking what I got, or being here with you - you know I - I'd rather leave it!"

                                            >You do some half-assed shuffle on the fake wood floor under your feet, waiting for the next bit to kick in.

                                            >When it does...

                                            >Still off stage, Midnight is mouthing the lyrics in tune with you during the reprisal and the repeated chorus, having thrown away her anxiety.

                                            >Maybe she figured out where she's standing, no one can see her singing.

                                            "You can run, and you can hide! But I'm not leaving till it's all over! We've had our problems but I'm on your side!"

                                            >You lean over just far enough to pat her on the top of the head.

                                            "You're all I need. Please believe in meee!"

                                            >There's a few claps as the music dies off and you set the microphone back in its place.

                                            >Whether the applause is due to the show or the thankfulness it's over...

                                            >Who cares?

                                            >Midnight is already trotting back to the table as you skip off the stage, saluting the bartender as you walk past.

                                            >He seems indifferent, but that's alright.

                                            >You think you might have done a thing tonight as you rejoin your mare.

                                            >"I can't believe you actually did that," Midnight murmurs as you take a seat across from her once again.

                                            >She's back to attempting a straight face.

                                            >And quite frankly, failing miserably.

                                            "Yeah well, to use your words - it felt right," you reply in a hushed tone.

                                            >Her hoof reaches over to lightly rap the back of your hand as you go back to what's left on your plate.

                                            "So... can we come back sometime? Or is this a one-time deal?"

                                            >"Hmm..."

                                            >Midnight pretends to mull this over like a serious debate.

                                            >For your part, you snap your head up to look at her, feigning a display of shock.

                                            >"You think you'll be able to handle the embarrassment of coming back here?" she finally teases.

                                            "I think I can stomach it. Maybe next time, we can pull a duet."

                                            >"Dream on, fucker," she scoffs.

                                            "I don't think I can pull off a Steven Tyler vocal, Mid."

                                            >Confusion quickly turns to exaggerated disapproval at your comment as she shakes her head.

                                            >"Terrible."

                                            "Aww, I thought I did good up there," you sigh, changing the subject.

                                            >"As for that... you're no Phil Collins."

                                            "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

                                            >"It means if you shut up, you're forgiven and get an apology for me being a bit of a stick in the mud tonight."

                                            "Oh. Neat."


                                            "Kick the AC back on, please."

                                            >Midnight strains to raise a hoof, stretching it toward the window shaker on the wall behind you.

                                            >"I can't," she groans.

                                            "Man, if only you had some sort of power that could allow you to manipulate the controls from here," you muse, poking the side of her horn with your index finger.

                                            >"Yeah, but you have legs."

                                            "So do you. And you're laying on top of mine."

                                            >"Not completely."

                                            >No, not completely.

                                            >She just happens to have the front half of her body in your lap, her legs nestled in comfortably while her head rests against your chest.

                                            "Alright, guess I have to get up..."

                                            >You don't even lift a finger before a stray piece of scrap metal soars over to the control panel of the air conditioner.

                                            >With a few frenzied motions, the appliance kicks on and begins wafting a welcomed cool breeze.

                                            "Huh, must be a threat-activated feature I didn't know about."

                                            >"I was going to have to get up for you to get up," Midnight speaks up.

                                            "Hey, you connected the dots of why I made that comment. Good job," you jab, patting the top of her head.

                                            >"Fuck you."

                                            "Maybe in a bit."

                                            >You feel her eyes dig into you at that offhanded comment, but focus on the TV as the commercial comes to an end.

                                            >It's funny how someone who has a potty mouth and only sort of modest based on the placement of her tail can be so uptight and prudish regarding comments about sex.

                                            >"I'm going for $137k on the split window '63," Midnight quickly calls out, her attention snapping to the TV.

                                            "We haven't even heard or seen the options on the car, dummy," you remind her.

                                            >"Don't need to - I feel it in my gut."

                                            >Ever since watching some auctions during Starla's stay, you and Midnight have made it a regular occurrence - with a spin.

                                            >You both guess where the final bid will end up and the closest one "wins" the car.

                                            >It's kinda stupid and has led to some odd moments where one of you tries to convince the other to trade for something else...

                                            >Okay, so this whole game is autism squared.

                                            >But you both get invested in it.

                                            "Have you been looking up values on your laptop in order to cheat?"

                                            >"How is that cheating?"

                                            "New rule I made up, can't do that now."

                                            >"Not my fault you're too lazy to inform yourself," Midnight chastises.

                                            "Fine. I'll say $129k."

                                            >"We haven't even heard the options on the car, dummy," Midnight mocks you.

                                            >You poke her in the nose, making her snort in response.

                                            "You're just full of piss and vinegar tonight, aren't you?"

                                            >Midnight doesn't respond - instead, she holds her head up high and smiles with pride.

                                            >Meanwhile, the silver Corvette coupe at auction is pushed onto center stage as bidding quickly proceeds at a blistering pace.

                                            >The starting bid was only $30k, though...

                                            >Do they make replica bodies?

                                            >That thought dies away pretty quickly as the price soars past the five-figure threshold and into the six digits.

                                            >It starts to slow down...

                                            >"I got this."

                                            "If you do, it's a technicality."

                                            >"Aww, you sound like a sore loser," Midnight gushes, sitting up straight and leaning toward your face.

                                            "I'll bite you," you warn her.

                                            >"I bite back."

                                            "...I'll just flick your nose or ear again."

                                            >Minor disappointment pokes through as the bidding putters past your guess...

                                            >...and as the gavel brings the back and forth to a close, Midnight's 'bid' is within a thousand of the final total.

                                            >You turn just enough to see the smarmy look on Midnight's face as she eyes you, waiting for you to say something.

                                            "Not giving you the satisfaction."

                                            >"I still got the split window, so nyah," she retorts, sticking her tongue out.

                                            >With that act of defiance, you reach behind her and fiddle with her mane, done up in a ponytail today.

                                            >"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

                                            >Even as she puts up a token struggle against you, your fingers find the scrunchie tying up her hair and deftly peel it off.

                                            >"You fucking-"

                                            >She doesn't get to finish that thought before you've already finagled it into a weapon, stretching it taut between your thumb and index finger and letting it fly.

                                            "Pew!"

                                            >The dark blue missile beans her right on the forehead.

                                            >"Bastard!" she exclaims, more out of shock than any real ire.

                                            "That's what you get for being nasty."

                                            >Midnight tries to push you over with one of her legs on your side, while you resist and lean forward onto her.

                                            >The once tranquil atmosphere turns into a minor skirmish on the couch more akin to a shoving match than anything.

                                            >The auction on TV becomes an afterthought until something catches Midnight's attention.

                                            >"What the hell is that thing?" she mutters, pointing to the screen.

                                            "Dodge Coronet," you answer as the cool grey car with black roof rolls onto the stage.

                                            >"I gathered that much - but that's not normal looking."

                                            >She does have a point, considering the front wheels are practically up against the backside of the front bumper, while the rear wheels have also been moved forward significantly.

                                            >But it should be pretty clear by the injection stacks poking up out of the hood and the fat rear tires what it is...

                                            >Not to mention "Landy's Dodge" lettered on the side, interrupted by a bright red fratzog on the door.

                                            >You grab the remote and pause the program for the time being, coinciding with a good fullscreen view of the car.

                                            "It is odd," you agree with her, lining up your shot. "Would you say it is a funny car?"

                                            >Midnight eases into a reluctant stare at your purposeful pun.

                                            >"What the hell are you trying to get at here?" she presses.

                                            "A couple of weeks ago, you were watching drag racing on TV - remember the flop top dragsters?"

                                            >"The funny cars..." Midnight mumbles, the light going on in her head. "Is that what it is?"

                                            "More or less. That's where the name started, anyway. Originally, I think they were in the Factory Experimental class."

                                            >"You mean that's not custom work?"

                                            "It's... sort of a misnomer," you admit.

                                            >Midnight shakes her head before you can continue.

                                            >"That doesn't make any sense. How the hell can it be from the factory, but custom fabricated?"

                                            "Easy now - don't shoot the messenger here," you plead, putting your hands up.

                                            >Midnight stares, before jolting forward just a bit as a feint.

                                            >Having had enough of her nonsense, you use both hands you flip her recently freed mane over her face.

                                            >"Really?" she whines.

                                            "Figured I'd give you the pissy cat treatment - throw a blanket over your head to calm you."

                                            >"Uh huh."

                                            >You help her brush aside the mass of hair sitting between the two of you.

                                            >"Anyway, continue. Please."

                                            "Wow, I got a please out of you," you can't help but toss in before clearing your throat. "Anyway, they were built by the factory. They were normal unibody cars that were cut up and modified in a separate area away from the standard production line. Then they were sold to trusted drag racers or teams. I don't think they went into the double digits with building either the Coronet or the Plymouth Belvedere."

                                            >"Huh."

                                            >That's... all you get out of her.

                                            "You still think it's kinda ugly, don't you?" you prod.

                                            >"Kind of," she admits, low and rather hesitant. "I mean, at least there's some purpose to it rather than being some hillbilly's backyard custom like my initial impression."

                                            "You're not hurting my feelings. They're function over form - all about weight distribution."

                                            >"Well, you get a freebie if you want it," she answers back, motioning for you to resume the program.

                                            "Because you cheated on the last one, right?"

                                            >"Aw, you gonna cry all night?" she asks in a mocking tone, her face contorted into a pout.

                                            >You sniffle a bit just to stoke the flames.

                                            "No."

                                            >"Anyway - what else was there? In competition with these, I mean," Midnight asks, watching the television as the camera highlights sections of the car.

                                            "I don't think there was much. I think Ford put together a few Mustangs with the Cammer engine, but that's all I know of. General Motors was still very against factory racing, so they didn't put anything together, as far as they know."

                                            >"Cammer engine?" Midnight asks, cocking her head.

                                            >You smile at her.

                                            "Guess you get to do some reading in the near future since you want to be mean to me."

                                            >"Oh no! Reading is so hard!" Midnight shouts with an exasperated and desperate voice, obliging the sides of her head with her hooves.

                                            "Hm, thought you might have let up a bit for an explanation."

                                            >"Nah, I always need something new to read. Besides, I think you're talking about the overhead cam 427, aren't you?"

                                            >You nod.

                                            >"Took me a second to put that together, but yeah - glad I didn't let up on you just for that."

                                            "I feel so loved," you jest, leaning against her.

                                            >"You wouldn't know what to do if I didn't give you a healthy dose of attitude," Midnight suggests.

                                            "I'd be assuming you were incredibly sick."

                                            >"Mhmm. And I know you're always incredibly sick," she chides with a smirk.

                                            "What can I say, I make a good impression, huh?"

                                            >"Ha. Yeah."

                                            >The auction wraps up on TV - albeit short of the reserve.

                                            >"No sale - but you can still get it if you want."

                                            "Yeah, why not."

                                            >"You won't be winning the Lemon Twist '71 Barracuda with the 440 Six Barrel that comes next, anyway."

                                            >As you shoot her a look, Midnight bites her lip while focusing her gaze straight ahead, trying not to grin.

                                            "You fucker, you have seen this one."

                                            >"Maybe."

                                            >Midnight fidgets for a moment, glancing off in another direction of the room.

                                            >"Oh, by the way..."

                                            "What?"

                                            >She turns back toward you, her face twisted into a perverted and fiendish grin.

                                            >"Pew!"

                                            >Her hair tie from earlier zips through the air and smacks you in the face.

                                            "That's it!"

                                            >You bear down on her, snagging your arms around her neck and pulling her into your lap again.

                                            >"Hey, let me go!" she protests, putting up a token struggle as she pulls against you.

                                            "Nope, you're stuck here now."

                                            >"I'll turn off the air conditioner!"

                                            "That hurts you as much as it does me."

                                            >"...give me a bit, I'll come up with another excuse."

                                            "I'm sure you will," you agree, resting your chin on top of her head, amidst a soft sea of blue and violet hair.


                                            >"Come on, move your feet."

                                            >Midnight's muffled voice whines out her command as she presses her snout into your back.

                                            >Now, you aren't dawdling today...

                                            >Granted, that is a fun pastime, just to see and hear Midnight's surprising amount of impatience when she's really excited about something.

                                            >No, you've already got your few hundred pounds of iron on the cart you're pushing.

                                            >Sure, she could have carried it - and she really wanted to do so.

                                            >But it's one thing to explain away an eating utensil levitating in the air as a 'prototype feature.'

                                            >An engine block?

                                            >Yeah, that would be a bit much.

                                            "I can actually go slower, you know."

                                            >"I am aware. I'm also aware you could move faster," she mutters.

                                            "Even though we're already here?"

                                            >Midnight eases up on her pushing to step aside and glance forward beyond you, just in time to actually reach the back tailgate of the Trailduster.

                                            >"Okay, so I expected you to go slow, just to be an ass."

                                            "I probably deserve the skepticism, but no tricks today," you assure her.

                                            >It's been a couple of days since you were notified by the machine shop the Chrysler's Hemi block was ready for pickup.

                                            >A couple of days that seem to have been agony for Midnight, eager to get to work assembling it.

                                            >Well, eager for you to assemble it.

                                            >But you know full well she will help however she can.

                                            >Having already opened up the back of the truck before going inside, you take a cursory glance around for anyone with a set of eyes on you.

                                            >No passing cars, and there's no one walking the streets this close to the outskirts of town.

                                            >Coast is clear.

                                            "Alright, beam it up, Mid."

                                            >In one swift and efficient motion, the engine block and two-wheeled cart carrying it rise up and into the back.

                                            "Nice. Glad I installed that lift in this thing," you comment in jest while closing up the tailgate.

                                            >The stupid quip garners a slight snort from Midnight before she trots to the passenger side of the Trailduster, slipping from sight.

                                            >She's already hopped into her seat and waiting when you climb behind the steering wheel.

                                            >"So, you'll have the engine back together by this evening, right?" she asks with a smug expression.

                                            >You chuckle, knowing the real question behind that cocky suggestion.

                                            >'How long do you think it will take to get it together?'

                                            "More like a week or two, assuming I have all the parts we need," you reply, nothing the hint of disappointment Midnight exudes as her perked ears falter a bit. "I want to get it back together and running as much as you do, but rushing through assembly is a plan for disaster."

                                            >"Anything in particular that's gonna take a long time? I read that first startup of a fresh engine is a tense time, because of break-in," Midnight comments as you get the truck headed for home.

                                            "That's where my call for patience comes from, yeah," you agree. "All the clearances between moving parts are at their tightest when brand new, and they have to wear in a bit. So taking extra time to make sure the clearances from bearing to camshaft, crankshaft - all that is important."

                                            >"So, have you ever had one die during break-in?"

                                            "They usually don't blow up - just kill a bearing or eat a cam lobe. But no."

                                            >Maybe it's a vibe you're giving off, but Midnight doesn't seem particularly satisfied with your answer, judging by that cold, inquisitive stare.

                                            "The answer is no because I've never actually built one."

                                            >"Oh..."

                                            >That is a very uneasy-sounding response from your companion.

                                            "Hence why I'm taking a lot of time to make sure everything is right," you add, freeing a hand from the steering wheel to put an arm around Midnight's form.

                                            >"Hell, now I kinda feel like an ass for joking about you throwing it together quick," she concedes.

                                            "Well, you are an ass - but you're my ass."

                                            >"Annnd there goes the guilt," she shoots back, moving your arm away from her playfully with a minor extension of her wings.

                                            "Which part did it, calling you an ass, or the sappy bit at the end?"

                                            >"You've given me a really tough choice if 'all of the above' isn't an option."

                                            "Lucky for you, that was secret door number three."

                                            >"I'll be honest, this gameshow sounds pretty damn lame."

                                            "You win and you still whine. Jeez."

                                            >You feel Midnight rest her chin upon your shoulder, her breath tickling your ear as she scoots up close.

                                            >"Maybe we can at least get started on the engine this evening?" she croons.

                                            "It's cute how you're trying to butter me up when I already had planned to work on it," you muse, tilting your head and curling your arm up and around her neck, in a relaxed and odd combination of a hug and a headlock.

                                            >Of course, Midnight focuses on the likeness to the latter, making a cacophony of muted gagging noises.

                                            "You're very distracting, you know that?" you tease.

                                            >"I'll take that as a compliment."

                                            >You can't see her face with the current positioning and the fact you're navigating town streets, but you can sense a prideful grin accompanying that remark.

                                            "I could get pulled over for distracted driving."

                                            >"Don't be distracted - simple."

                                            "Yeah," you chuckle. "Simple."

                                            >Hey, she didn't object to being called cute for once.

                                            >You're just gonna let that go unmentioned.

                                            >"Any plans for the transmission, then?" Midnight asks as you release her.

                                            >You shake your head negative on that one.

                                            "Torqueflites are hardy transmissions - I'll try flushing out as much of the old fluid as I can, but that's about it. I've got no worries about that."

                                            >"So it sounds like we're on the home stretch," Midnight perks up, though after a slight hesitation, adds, "Relatively speaking, of course."

                                            "In relative terms," you agree. "Still gotta make sure the brakes are good before we try it out on the road. We haven't flushed those out yet, either."

                                            >"And brake fluid is hygroscopic, so even out in this climate - it's probably been bad for quite some time," Midnight chips in.

                                            "Hygroscopic, huh?"

                                            >"Attracts water, for a simpleton like you. I'll also add I brought up the brakes again when we dropped the fuel tank to dump that out - you forgot."

                                            "Neeerd!" you antagonize in a drawn-out howl.

                                            >"I'd hit you, but you're driving. Slowly, might I add," Midnight grumbles.

                                            >You goose the throttle, just to make Midnight flop back in her seat a bit with unexpected acceleration.

                                            >It doesn't faze her one bit - probably was anticipating it.

                                            >Not your first time doing those kinds of shenanigans, after all.

                                            >"By the way, if you're thinking of slamming on the brakes, you have a car behind you," she states, putting on a serious face. "And I'll kick your ass regardless."

                                            "Do you promise?" you croon, batting your eyes.

                                            >Midnight shakes her head, turning away to prevent you from seeing her stoic expression break.

                                            >"You're sick."

                                            "Yeah. Got a bad case of lovin you."

                                            >Midnight's attention snaps back to you, cocking her head as she tries to discern what the hell you just said.

                                            "Doctor, doctor - give me the news..."

                                            >>With the realization comes a roll of her eyes as Midnight points out the windshield ahead with a hoof.

                                            >"Shut up and drive, Robert Palmer."