//------------------------------// // Rotted Apples // Story: Stroke of Midnight // by FanNotANerd //------------------------------// Sleeping had always seemed so easy before. Just collapse into bed after a long day of studying, pull the warm blanket over your head, and let your mind go blank… So why wasn’t it working? Twilight groaned in irritation and rolled back onto her back. No matter how she twisted and contorted herself, she simply couldn’t get comfortable. And forcing her mind to go blank was proving more than troublesome. For a moment, she actually contemplated the ridiculous idea of counting sheep, and discarded it just as quickly. How the hay was that supposed to help? The unicorn forced herself out of bed, and stumbled over to the kitchen for a drink. Too bad she’d given the last of her chamomile to Rarity. A few sprigs of that brewed into a tea usually knocked her right out. As she walked back upstairs, she glanced at the clock in her living room. It was nearly three in the morning. Twilight glared sourly at the clock, as if it was responsible for her insomnia. Of course, it wasn’t. That damned book was at fault. Twilight threw herself back into bed, blowing a tangled bit of her mane out of her eye. Okay, Twilight. You can do this. Just focus on how warm the bed is, and how comfortable the pillow feels, and… And now the bed was too warm. Twilight let out a frustrated groan and jumped out of bed, grabbing the window in her magic and flinging it open as she did so. The cool night air flooded the room, bringing the delicate scent of morning dew. The unicorn gave up on sleeping and walked over to the book, still lying open on her desk. “What are you hiding?” she said quietly, tracing the worn cover design with a hoof. “What am I missing?” Her eyelids drooped, and she slumped forward over the table. A moment later, she fell sound asleep, while the pages of the book shimmered and changed beneath her. XXX Macintosh walked out to the apple fields, taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air. This was his favourite time of day, when the flowers were just beginning to open their blossoms to the sun, and the taste of the morning dew was still in the air… The stallion smiled slightly. Maybe I’m more of a poet than I thought. He quickly set out toward the apple fields for his customary morning stroll, which doubled as an inspection of the trees. It was one of the rare times he had all to himself, and then it would be back to a hard day’s work fixing up the barn. He paused to inspect the ripening fruit on the nearest apple tree, noting with some satisfaction that a faint reddish hue was beginning to spread across the skin. They were ripening, all right, and right on time. Big Macintosh continued on, humming quietly to himself, past the next few trees. A few clouds drifted through the sky, likely ignored by the weather team. It was warming up nicely, maybe enough for the cicadas to start buzzing in the trees… The stallion’s humming cut off abruptly. He looked back at the tree he had just passed. At first glance, it looked fine, but there was still something off about it. Macintosh peered closely at the leaves, and groaned when he made out the cream-coloured spots speckled across the leaves. No, no, no! Not now! He checked another tree, and another. They both displayed the same pattern of spots. The next one was untouched, but the next five were similarly affected. Macintosh sank back on his haunches, breathing heavily. This was bad. Very bad. He quickly checked the apples on the affected trees, clinging to the naïve hope that it was just some discolouration of the leaves… Nope. The apples were stunted and green, despite the rising spring temperatures. Macintosh held his head in his hooves and groaned, shucking aside his coat of stoicism. Applejack was not going to be happy. XXX “Apple mosaic?” Applejack asked, shuddering slightly at the phrase. “And you’re sure?” “Eeyup,” Macintosh replied. “Little more than half the field’s got it, by my reckoning.” “Horsefeathers,” Applejack hissed, running a hoof through her mane. The apple mosaic virus was a nasty, virulent disease that spread though orchards like wildfire. Either the trees were immune to it, or they weren’t. Every tree that wasn’t immune was affected. It wasn’t fatal to the tree, but the spots Macintosh had noticed would turn necrotic and quickly rot in the heat of summer. The badly affected trees wouldn’t bear any fruit at all, and what fruit was borne would certainly be unsellable, and likely inedible. Applejack paused for a long moment, performing some calculations in her head. “This ain’t good,” she finally said. “Th’ barn’s already run us ‘bout fifteen hundred bits, and if them folk at th’ mill jack their prices again-“ “Ah know,” the stallion said, cutting his sister off. “Worst-case scenario: prices go up another ten percent or so, an’ we have to sell every apple we can salvage t’ pay for it.” The orange earth pony pawed nervously at the ground. “Which won’t leave us anythin’ for winter.” In short, the farm would not only be broke until the next harvest, but they wouldn’t be able to get food from their own fields, seeing as they would be stripped almost bare. Both were silent for a long moment. “Can we stall the barn repairs ‘till next year?” Applejack finally ventured. Macintosh shook his head. “Th’ place is practically fallin’ down as it is. We wait another winter, and we’ll have dry-rot in th’ foundation. We’d have t’ knock th’ whole thing down and rebuild. An’ Ah don’t know ‘bout you, but Ah don’t want Rainbow Dash on demolition duty again. Ah was pickin’ bits of wood off the property fer months.” “What Ah’m worried about,” he said, lowering his voice. “Is if we should tell Applebloom.” Applejack looked out the barn door, to where her baby sister and friends were frolicking by the drainage ditch. The orange one…Scootaloo, wasn’t it? The orange one looked to be trying to jump the ditch, using a pile of dirt as a ramp. “No,” she finally said. “Ah hate keepin’ things from her, but the filly’s heart’s jus’ too big fer her own good. Let’s jus’ keep this quiet and see how it turns out.” Macintosh fidgeted. “You know Ah don’t like that idea.” “You think Ah do?” Applejack shot back, looking her brother in the eye. “You know how hard it is fer me t’ lie. An Ah’m supposed t’ look mah little sister in th’ eye an’ tell her nothin’s wrong?” “You don’t have t’ lie to her face,” Macintosh reasoned. “Jus’…y’know, evade the question.” Both cast a nervous glance out the door again as Scootaloo's voice drifted across the field. "All right. Here goes nothing." The stallion ignored the fillies and continued on. “Don’ bring it up, and she won’t ask.” Applejack shot her brother a sidelong look. “Fer a pony of few words, you seem t’ know a lot ‘bout th’ theory of lyin’.” Macintosh looked away. “Well…” Applejack swallowed. “Well, Ah need t’ get a few more two-by-sixes fer the south wall. Ah can find out what the situation is then. Until then, jus’ keep it on the down-“ A horrible, tearing wail suddenly echoed across the farm. Both earth ponies jerked their heads toward the barn door. Without even thinking, Applejack galloped out of the barn. I swear, if one of those fillies got herself hurt… “What’s the matter?” she said breathlessly, skidding to a halt. Before her sister had even opened her mouth, Applejack immediately saw what was wrong. Scootaloo was huddled at the bottom of the drainage ditch, shaking slightly and hugging one of her forelegs close to her body. The filly’s initial scream had trailed off into an odd, groaning sob, and she was making an obvious effort not to howl again. The earth pony hopped down into the mud at the bottom of the ditch, quickly noting the scooter lying beside the pegasus filly. “What happened?” she asked. Applebloom hesitated a second before answering. “Well…Scootaloo tried t’ jump th’ ditch, but…she hit the wall, and her leg got bent all funny…” “We thought she was joking at first,” Sweetie Belle said, blinking back tears. “But then she screamed, and…” “Is…is she gonna be all right?” Applebloom cut in, eyes huge. “Ah’ll see ‘bout that,” Applejack growled. She’d have to have a discussion with her sister later about this. “C’mon,” she said to Scootaloo. “Let me see th’ leg.” Scootaloo whimpered and pulled away, face white with pain. Even that small movement was enough to send a bolt of agony through her foreleg. A yelp of pain escaped her mouth, and she immediately clenched her teeth against it, fighting with every ounce of her will not to scream. Applejack lowered her voice. “C’mon, you. It’s all right. Ah’m not mad, Ah jus’ want t’ help you. But Ah can’t do that if Ah can’t see your leg.” The pegasus filly slowly began to respond to her coaxing, and carefully extended her injured leg. “There we go,” Applejack continued, in the same soothing tone. “Now let me just have a look at it…” A glance at the shoulder joint told the earth pony all she needed to know. The filly had dislocated her shoulder. She’d seen the same thing on Rainbow Dash more than once after a trick gone wrong. “Okay,” she said, gripping Scootaloo’s foreleg. “Now when Ah count to three, you take a deep breath and hold it, all right?” The filly managed a slight duck of the head, which Applejack interpreted as a nod. “All right. Now, one…two…thr- say, ain’t that Rainbow Dash up there?” Scootaloo flicked her gaze upward to the empty sky. “Where-“ she started. Whatever she’d been about to say was lost as Applejack wrenched on her injured foreleg, slamming her shoulder back into its socket. The filly sucked in a breath and screamed even louder than before, yanking her foreleg away from the earth pony and pressing a hoof to her shoulder. A moment later, she was testing her weight on the limb, the pain having abruptly faded to a dull ache. “Wow,” she said, her voice feeling strangely rusty. “How’d you…” Applejack smiled. “Ah’ve seen that kinda hurt more’n once. What Ah don’t want to see is you getting’ it again doin’ something like this.” She turned back to the two fillies standing anxiously at the edge of the ditch. “Now whose idea was this?” All three were silent for a moment. “It was my idea,” Applebloom finally said. “Ah dared Scootaloo t’ make th’ jump, and-“ “No way!” Scootaloo cut in. “You didn’t have anything to do with it! The whole thing was all me!” “But I thought it was my idea!” Sweetie Belle piped up. “Applebloom mentioned a ditch, and Scootaloo had her scooter here, so I wondered if she could jump it-“ “Enough!” Applejack groaned, massaging her temples. “Since yer all insisting it’s your fault, Ah’ll assume it is. And so…” She paused, realizing the argument had completely stolen her thunder. Ah, to hell with it. “Sweetie Belle, Ah’m sure Rarity’ll have some choice things t’say ‘bout yer behaviour. Applebloom…we’ll talk about this later. And Scootaloo…for th’ love of Celestia, please stop makin’ ridiculous jumps on that thing. It ain’t safe, and Ah’m amazed you haven’t hurt yourself more often. Now get on with whatever you were doin’.” The Cutie Mark Crusaders immediately swapped out their suitably chastised faces for wide grins and scampered off, hooting about whatever idiocy they were planning next. Applejack sighed in defeat. Frankly, she had no idea if she’d handled that right. Then she caught sight of the look her brother was giving her. “What?” Her brother said nothing, and simply nodded in approval. It meant she’d handled the situation the exact way he would. For a moment, the orange earth pony felt a surge of pride. Maybe she was raising her baby sister right after all. XXX Twilight… Twilight… “Twilight!” The lavender unicorn yelped in surprise and straightened up, eyes wide and unfocused. “The product of the pressure and volume of a gas is a constant!” she blurted. Spike sighed. Outbursts like this were not uncommon when the unicorn fell asleep studying. “Twilight, you’re not in Canterlot. This is the library. Ponyville.” The baby dragon’s words pierced the fog of sleep wrapped around Twilight’s brain, allowing a couple neurons to fire in sync. “Ponyville?” she repeated dumbly. Spike left for a moment, and returned with a mug of something in his claws. “I didn’t know you’d have so much trouble sleeping without me,” he said dryly, plunking the mug down in front of her. Twilight inhaled the steam that rose from the mug. Whatever it was, it smelled heavenly. Working more by instinct than anything else, she wrapped her magic around the mug and drained it, ignoring the pain as the scalding liquid burned down her throat. Thank Celestia. Coffee. Strong, black coffee. The stuff was hard to come by, seeing as it had to be brought up from far to the south, but the unicorn had learned long ago to keep an ample supply for situations just like this one. In the few minutes it took for the caffeine to take effect, Spike carefully laid his recently purchased supplies of parchment, quills and ink in their respective drawers, directing an apathetic glance at the book that laid open on the table. It wasn’t one he recognized, but Twilight was always dragging dusty old tomes out from one place or another. The curious thing was that she’d left it open. She’d lectured him time and time again that leaving book open was bad for the spine. That it was left open meant one of two things: either Twilight had stopped caring about the welfare of her books (unlikely) or she’d fallen asleep reading it. Nevertheless, his curiosity was piqued. “What’s with the book?” he asked, mixing together some barley and oats for a quick, high-energy breakfast. “Applejack found it while fixing her barn,” Twilight said, yawning. “I’m trying to figure out what it is.” Spike placed the bowl of grains in front of her, frowning. “Uh, Twilight? Hate to break it to you, but that’s a book.” “I know it’s a book,” the unicorn replied irritably, diving into the impromptu breakfast. “But I don’t know the title, author, or anything about it. The contents don’t make sense, and to top it off, it’s one of those changing books.” Spike chuckled nervously. The last time he’d found one of those, it had changed from a recipe for spring green salad to a rather graphic diagram of female equine anatomy. That one had been difficult to explain, to say the least. “Uh huh,” he said, hanging his knapsack from a wall hook. “And all this happened while I went to Canterlot for supplies?” “I’m not saying you missed much,” Twilight said, stretching. “Right,” Spike said, eying the book. “Did you check the-“ “Yes, I did,” Twilight snapped, her voice rising an octave. “I’ve been through every reference guide in the library, and can’t find so much as a footnote! It’s like this book was never even written!” A moment later, she flattened her ears and forced herself to relax. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never been stumped like this before. And I don’t like it!” Spike chuckled. “Twilight, if I hadn’t learned to put up with you by now…well, I guess I didn’t have much of a choice.” “Besides,” he continued. “I already know what you haven’t checked.” “Where?” Twilight said. “There’s not a single book in my library that mentions this one!” “Exactly!” Spike crowed. “If there’s nothing in this library, you’re not going to get any farther here. You need-“ “The Canterlot Archives!” Twilight finished, her face brightening. “Spike, you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of that?” “That’s why you keep me around,” Spike said, grinning. “I’m not your Number One Assistant just for my looks, you know.” Twilight snorted. “That’s obvious.” She smiled a moment later. “I’m joking, Spike. You don’t need to give me that look. Now do me a favor and take a letter.” The dragon stomped over to the drawer he had just filled, and hauled out a roll of parchment and a fresh quill. He dipped the quill in the inkwell on Twilight’s desk and held it poised over the paper. “Dear Princess Celestia,” Twilight dictated. “I have recently come across an unusual manuscript, the properties of which are proving quite odd. My attempts to perform a contextual analysis have proven fruitless, and request immediate transport to Canterlot to access the-“ “Slow down!” Spike protested, scribbling furiously. “Is analysis spelled with an ‘i’ or a ‘y’?” “It’s spelled with a ‘y’,” Twilight sighed. She waited a moment for the dragon to finish and continued. “And I request immediate transport to Canterlot to access the library and general archives, in hopes that I will successfully decode the nature of this curious tome there. I await your swift reply. Your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle.” P.S, Spike added underneath. I’d recommend getting a quick psychological assessment while I’m there, as I fear I may be losing what little sanity I have- “It can’t take you that long to write that,” Twilight said, raising an eyebrow. Spike chuckled nervously and dragged a claw across his postscript, smearing it into a black streak. “Anything else?” he asked, trying to change the subject. Too bad. It would’ve been nice to see how that would’ve gone over. “Nope,” Twilight said, peering out the window. “Go ahead and send it.” The dragon was already blotting the ink with a clawful of sand. He deftly rolled it into a tight cylinder and bathed it in a stream of green fire, incinerating in and sending it to the princess. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up, though. I heard things are a little hectic in Canterlot right now-“ “I know, something about a forest fire over in the east. Near the Griffon Empire, right? But there’s not really much the princess can do about it, is there? So she should at least be able to get back to me sometime-“ A loud belch interrupted her, and she ducked out of the way of the stream of flame, yelping. She’d expected a prompt reply, but this early even by her expectations. The princess would barely have had time to read her message. Nevertheless, she unrolled the parchment and squinted at the unfamiliar calligraphy. The letter was composed of a single line of text, in a hoofwriting entirely different from the princess’. It read simply: Do not assume. Some things are not as they seem. It was unsigned, and bore no other markings. Twilight turned it over, to see if there was a seal or something to identify the sender, but saw nothing. “Weird,” she muttered, crumpling the parchment in a ball. Whatever the odd letter was, it was most definitely not from the princess. “What’s it say?” Spike asked, chewing on a piece of cheese from the icebox. “Nothing important,” Twilight replied. “It was probably sent by accident. Don’t worry about it.” The dragon shrugged. “You’d think that since I’m a living postbox, I’d get to read-“ Twilight dodged out of a second stream of flame, and snatched the letter, this one adorned by the sun emblem that was Celestia’s personal seal, out of the air. “My dear student,” she read aloud. “I regret to inform you…that I simply can’t accommodate your request…” She frowned and kept reading, falling silent. “But…this doesn’t make sense! Of course this is important!” Spike grabbed her face in his claws. “Twilight,” he said firmly, “Get a hold of yourself. It’s just a book. You’re getting obsessed over nothing.” Twilight’s eyes softened. “I…I know. You’re right. It’s just a book, after all. Just some crazy, mixed-up book.” “That’s the spirit!” Spike crowed, releasing her. “Now, let’s grab a couple of those bok choy stir fries you like so much, and put all this behind us!” The unicorn nodded, suddenly seeming strangely detached. “Unless…” she muttered. "Twilight," the dragon warned. "Remember what happened the last time you got this obsessed? Let it go." "No," she said with sudden vehemence. "I won't let it go. You know why? I'm right! This book is important, and I'm going to find out why! And as for getting to Canterlot..." Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll have to find my own way.” Spike sighed. “Well, there’s no point in talking you out of this. I hope you don’t plan on walking the whole way.” “Of course not!” Twilight laughed. “I mean if there was no other alternative, I would. But there’s a much better way to get to Canterlot. There’s a train heading there tomorrow. And I plan to be on it.” Spike frowned. “Can’t you just teleport?” Twilight actually seemed horrified by the idea. “Spike, I can manage a couple feet without too much trouble. If I focus, I can get across town. But I don’t think even Celestia’s strong enough to get all the way to Canterlot from here. Besides, I can’t exactly just appear in the middle of the throne room.” Spike grunted. Every time he seemed to have a good idea… “In the meantime, can you grab me the third volume of Starswirl the Bearded’s biography? I think I remember he crafted a few changing books…” The dragon sighed and scanned the shelves. So much for a quick break. XXX “Hey! Macintosh! Ah could use some help out here!” The red stallion carefully positioned his bookmark along the spine, and carefully flipped the book closed. Twilight had lent the novel to him almost a week ago from her personal collection, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t giving it back to her in the exact same condition he’d got it in. “Comin’,” he called, rising to his hooves. Outside, he met Applejack as she was sending off the two stallions helping her with the load of wood. “Thank ye kindly,” she called. “Any time,” one called back. Macintosh frowned at them “You know ‘em?” His sister chuckled. “No. Ah was perfectly capable of pullin’ this load by myself, but these two gentlecolts insisted. Chivalry. Ah’ll never understand it.” Macintosh said nothing. It was painfully obvious that Applejack was avoiding the issue. “How much?” he asked. Applejack winced. “Ah was hopin’ you’d avoid that.” The stallion gave her a pointed look. His sister sighed, breaking eye contact. “He pushed the price up to half a bit per board foot. This load ran me ‘bout two hundred.” Macintosh sucked in a sharp breath. That was up almost a tenth of a bit from the last time they were there. “Did he have a reason?” Applejack shook her head angrily. “That there’s the part that bugs me! His best excuse was some line ‘bout supply an’ demand, whatever the hay that is. That and some forest fire east of here. Son of an inbred cow jus’ got greedy, Ah guess.” The stallion sighed. “Ah did the math a bit earlier. Even if prices stayed th’ same, we’d still be short about five hundred. Luck jus’ don’t seem to be cooperatin’ with us right now.” They remained silent as they hitched themselves up to the cart of lumber and pulled it toward the barn. It wasn’t until they were both inside that Applejack finally spoke. “Macintosh…what are we gonna do?” Macintsh looked down into his sister’s eyes. They were wide and afraid; he hadn’t seen them like that in years. “We’ll figure somthin’ out,” he said. “Even if we don’t have enough money t’ get through the winter, we’ll make it. Somehow.” His voice conveyed a confidence he didn’t really feel, but it seemed to have the right effect on his sister. “Ah hope so,” she said. “Cause if we don’t get some extra cash, and fast, we’re in for a rough winter.” “So Scootaloo was right?” Both earth ponies looked up the stairs, shock mirrored on their faces. Applebloom was standing on the landing, fidgeting nervously. “Is it true? That th’ farm’s in trouble?” “Don’t you worry your head none,” Applejack said, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears. “Jus’ me and your brother havin’ some adult talk-“ “Ah’m not a baby any more!” Applebloom snapped, stomping a hoof. “Ah deserve t’ know what’s goin’ on!” “Go t’ bed, Applebloom,” Big Macintosh said, his voice carrying the subtle weight of adult authority. “We’ll talk ‘bout this in the morning.” The yellow filly turned and reluctantly walked to her room, determination etched on her face. She’d show them. She could take care of herself. XXX It was near nightfall when Celestia decided to check on her new artist. It must have been bewildering to him after all, especially considering the hardships he’d endured on the way to Canterlot. As some form of recompense, she’d had him placed in one of the more opulent guest chambers. His one curious request had been for a room with a view of the city, which the solar princess had been more than happy to accommodate. She paused for a moment at the door, taking a moment to compose herself. Then she raised a hoof and knocked on the lacquered mahogany. To her surprise, there was no response from the other side. The alicorn frowned, and knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. Maybe he’s in the kitchens, getting a snack, she thought, before dismissing the notion. Dinner had been brought to his quarters barely an hour ago. Patience exhausted, Celestia pushed the door open, wincing at the slight squeal of ungreased hinges. Once inside, she took a quick look around. Midnight had brought so few possessions that it was difficult to tell if he was settled in or not, and most of the furnishings appeared untouched. She was just about to leave when she caught sight of some movement at the far side of the room. Celestia took a hesitant step forward, and relaxed when she recognized Midnight’s silhouette, partially masked by shadows. The stallion was staring fixedly out his window, horn giving off a faint sheen of magic. “I apologize if I am intruding,” Celestia said. “I just wanted to see how you are settling in.” Midnight didn’t respond. Instead, his horn glowed with the faint sheen indicative of unicorn telekinesis. Celestia frowned and began to repeat herself, before realizing the stallion was simply ignoring her. Just who does he think he is? she fumed. It’s one thing to ignore royalty. It’s quite another to ignore your host! She stomped forward, poised to give the unicorn a severe tongue-lashing…and stopped once she realized what the focus of his attention was. The unicorn was standing in front of the window, as Celestia had seen earlier, but what she hadn’t seen was the easel set up to his left. On it sat a small canvas, shining with the fresh paint of an unfinished, but spectacular work of art. At first, Celestia thought it was a simple painting of the view from the window. Then she realized that the richly detailed landscape was nothing but a background. The real focus was a sprig of ivy growing along the stone of the castle wall, that had intruded slightly through the window. The ivy and the stone it grew from was rendered in such stunning detail that the princess couldn’t fathom how it needed any additions. Yet the stallion continued to make miniscule changes, lightly stroking the canvas with a fine brush. And he’d evidently painted the ivy at near the precise moment of sunset, for the leaves were bathed in the wonderous mix of reds, oranges and pinks that marked the boundary between Celestia’s day and Luna’s night. So absorbed was Celestia by the painting that she didn’t notice when Midnight turned to her, a bemused expression on his face. “Forgive me,” he said, startling her. “I would have answered earlier, but my work required my undivided attention.” “I…I’m sorry if I caught you at a bad time,” Celestia stammered, backing away. “Quite the opposite,” Midnight replied, dunking his brushes in a small container of a foul-smelling solution. “You came at a perfect time. The reflection of the sunlight off your mane added just the thing I needed to the painting. I wasn’t really satisfied with it until I added that.” The solar princess cleared her throat and fought to regain her composure. “Yes. Well. I see you had no difficulties settling in.” Midnight frowned. “Well, there was one. Your sister…Luna, is it? Well, she seemed to think I was an intruder of some kind. It took some quick talking on my part. Might I mention that her conjuration skills are particularly impressive? It takes a firmly disciplined mind to create and hold a lance to match the complexity of the one she was holding at my throat.” Celestia blinked. It wasn’t the fact that her sister had interrogated the unicorn at spearpoint that surprised her. It was that his tone could be likened to a pony discussing the weather. “Well, I…must apologize for my sister’s behavior,” she sputtered, her composure well and truly lost. “I’ll have to have a word with her about that. Her blood runs a little hotter than mine, you see.” Midnight then surprised her again by throwing back his head and laughing heartily. “No worries at all, your Highness. If anything, it was the most fun I’ve had all week.” Well, that was it. Celestia’s smile cracked on her face. A moment later she was doubled over, tears streaming down her face, howling with laughter. A moment later, Midnight joined her, the two of them sharing the humor of a joke neither really understood.