//------------------------------//
// VII - Spawning Soft Spots for Smarmy Sarosians 
// Story: At Your Service 
// by Deyeaz 
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VII - Spawning Soft Spots for Smarmy Sarosians




Ninety minutes.

Ninety, grueling, unwell-spent minutes.

Midnight would know: he counted them, much to his trepid chagrin. Prior to this crusade of the Canterlot Mall, he had ten thousand Bits crammed cozily in his wallet. Now, his money had been reduced to six thousand, mostly due to Vinyl’s and Octavia’s impulse spending on uncommonly expensive name-brand products, as well as the latter’s forceful nature in demanding Midnight to buy the things she wanted lest she report him for disobedience and thus dig him into a deeper hole.

“Oh, poor sweet funds,” pseudo-wept Midnight, kneeling down and stroking his considerably slimmer wallet with a tender hand like a lover would her dying soulmate. “They ravaged you like some defenseless mare in an alley, and yet they hardly knew ye....”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” dictated Octavia, half of their huge abundance of merchandise she and Vinyl had chosen being shrouded in Midnight’s lime-green magical aura. She yanked on the leash in her hand and dragged him off of his knees and onto his hooves. Vinyl, alabaster horn and the other half of their purchased items also encompassed in periwinkle-blue magic fields, gave Midnight a sympathetic pat on the back.

“So what was next on the list, buddy? Lunch?” asked Vinyl, slipping on her favorite purple shades and giving her new headphones a test run as she slipped the auxiliary jack into her phone and hitting the "Play" button. The blotting out of all sound was made evident as her ears were battered and walloped with intensified wubs and electronic music. “Whoa, these are rad!” she exclaimed, slipping the headphones around her neck. 

Midnight was about to flat-out decline and reject any and all possible suggestions that both Vinyl and Octavia created: at this rate, they were to bleed him dry of all his money.

You gotta share. You gotta care, recalled the fourth tip of Twilight Sparkle’s friend-making text message in his head. Being greedy and stingy gets you nowhere in the long run.

‘Well, there’s a difference between giving to those in need, and getting robbed by those in need...’ Midnight thought exasperatedly.

...Just... don't be greedy, damn it! Alright? scolded Midnight’s conscience, one of the few things that had kept him company his entire life. It was both his help, and his hindrance.

‘...Fine... damn grey matter.’ As he forced a grin, Midnight’s face felt as though it had undergone a severe and irreversible case of unprofessional, mediocre Botox. The everlasting feeling of excruciation of his mouth curling into a fake smile stung him perpetually, just to keep himself from ranting on about how mares are like mosquitoes towards a stallion’s wallet. Especially when one of those mares was the necessary impediment between sweet freedom in the outside world and Canterlot’s unsanitary and unsafe dungeons. The latter, the Sarosian’s rear would be mincemeat in mere minutes. “Er, where do you guys want to eat?”

“Taco Belle!” squealed Vinyl in earnest, more than excited to eat those zestful vegan chalupas they distribute after weeks of never getting them, due to how fast they sell out.

“The Apple Garden.” Octavia couldn’t help but fantasise about those divine garlic breadsticks they serve, as well as their heavenly pasta, as though those noodles were crafted and cooked by the hands of Faust herself.

“...You do know neither of those are actually authentic Mexicolt or Itailian restaurants, right?” was what Midnight could have said... yet felt as though he would shatter their looks of euphoria in one clean and ephemeral, albeit devastating blow. Octavia, he didn’t give a damn about, but he was in no position to do such a thing to Vinyl. So, he simply left well enough alone before more horrible things could occur from his plausible slip-up.

“How about we flip a coin and find out where to eat, then?” he finally answered as he withdrew a simple one-Bit coin from his pocket, its gold and silver sides reflecting the fluorescent light of the mall’s lamps. “Heads for Apple Garden, Tails for Taco Belle.”

He flicked his thumb, and the coin escalated a meter into the air before plummeting back down into his palm. Instead of the silver side of the coin that was stamped with the New Lunar Republic’s crest and motto, the golden side of the coin, emblazoned with the Solar Empire’s insignia and motto, shone brightly in his hand. “Heads it is,” he announced. Vinyl sighed in defeat as Octavia adjusted her pink bowtie with a smirk, the trumpets of victory reverberating in her head.

More eyes lingered on the trio as they descended down the escalators towards the exit. But by the time they reached third floor—the accessories section—something in the corner of Midnight’s eye caught his fancy, and would not let go. “Hold on a moment.” Midnight walked towards one of the jewelry shops, dragging a protesting and baffled Octavia along. Midnight pressed his face to the glass window barrier that separated him from the object of his interest: a pair of small, narrow silver bands, embroidered with emerald stone clips that would connect the hinged ends together.

“Hairclips. 350 Bits each,” read the sign next to the dual accessories. Midnight’s daggerlike pupils widened in wonder, enticed by the sight of such high-quality jewelry. The lustre, the durability, those gems! Surely, he can be able to squander just a little bit of dough on himself if it meant acquiring those elusive clips!

‘Want. Want. WANT.’

“Oh, no,” interrupted Octavia, abruptly pulling Midnight out of his hypnotic daze.

“Please?” Midnight pleaded, pupils returning to narrow slits.

“No!”

“Why not?” he pressed on. “First of all, it’s my money, I can pretty much do whatever I please. Second of all, do you know what the last nice thing I bought for myself was?” A pause elicited from the both of them. “Underwear.”

“How gross,” Octavia muttered with a shudder. “That is far too much information from you, Sarosian.” She blinked a few times at what Midnight had earlier said. ...the last nice thing I bought for myself... “Wait, you were trying to buy this for yourself?” she queried, snickering slightly under her breath.

“No,” lied Midnight, averting his eyes away from Octavia as he held his breath and hoped she did not catch on. “I’m buying them for my mother.” 

“Your mother? Really?” She raised a questioning brow, still sniggering away.

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I’d assume that she and the rest of your intolerable race suffered something terrible.”

“Yes. Taxes.” Midnight facepalmed. Hard. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groaned in exasperation. “And why does everypony like to assume my parents are dead? I’m not Batmane! My parents are not dead!” ‘But oh, what I wouldn’t give to be Batmane....’

“I dunno, Tavi, why not let him buy something for himself? After all, we bought a shitload of junk. Why can’t he spoil himself as well?”

‘We bought a shitload of junk?' thought Midnight. 'No, I bought a shitload of junk that you all made me buy.'

“Are you saying that you’re siding with this beast, Vinyl Scratch?” Octavia appeared rather upset by Vinyl’s request, brow cocked high for the disappointment the notorious DJ would dish out.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Vinyl finally answered, putting an arm around Midnight's shoulders, thumping him on his chest with a fist and eliciting a small "Oof!" from the scrawny Sarosian. Octavia uttered a low growl, causing Vinyl to gulp anxiously as she peeled herself away from Midnight.

In the end, Octavia could only click her tongue in disdain and state, "Fine. Go buy your damn jewelry.”

Grinning widely, Midnight dashed inside the store. Within minutes, he stepped back out, his first purchase nestled inside a plastic bag that he gingerly held. “Thank you, Master,” he said in appreciation. “This gift means quite a bit to me– I mean, my mother.”

They departed, struggling at first with pushing their hefty merchandise through the doors of the mall. Some concerned staff members advocated the idea of hooking a luggage trolley to their carriage, to which a sweaty Midnight, an indifferent Vinyl, and a complacent Octavia all accepted... at the cost of fifty Bits. 

“Thank heavens that’s over,” Midnight huffed, now 4400 Bits poorer. Closing the lid of the trolley with a shove and securing it with a cheaply-made lock that the mall staff offered, Midnight wiped his forehead of his exuding perspiration and heaved a great sigh: using magic for too long and for too many things would be relatively costly for a unicorn’s energy. He slipped the harness of the carriage onto his chest and waited patiently for Octavia and Vinyl to clamber aboard, recharging his stamina all the while. 

“Go,” ordered Octavia. Sure, it was heavier to a certain extent due to all the junk they had loaded on the trolley, but at least it wasn’t too much of a hindrance for him to remove the carriage from their parking space and cull it down the road towards the Apple Garden. Midnight plucked his phone from his pocket and checked the time: 18:43. According to Midnight’s calculations, they should be there within fifteen minutes.

Said fifteen minutes elapsed, leaving the trio standing outside the unauthentic, yet still delicious, Itailian Apple Garden. After parking the carriage right in front of it, Midnight ripped his harness off and put it on the ground, awaiting Octavia and Vinyl to descend from their seats.

“Miss Octavia, is that you?” A voice all too familiar to Octavia cried out. The aforementioned pony turned around and gasped in surprise at who she saw.

Striding briskly across the street was a dusty-brown Earth Pony stallion, a mane and tail the colour of sun-bleached sand and a well-kempt chocolate-hued suit about his person as his legs traversed across the cobblestone road, forest-green eyes fixed on Octavia. “My my my! What a lovely surprise to bump into you on an evening such as this!” happily exclaimed the stallion, shaking hands with her and smiling.

The cellist’s cheeks began to flare and burn a brilliant shade of bright red, her lips cracking into a goofy grin as her hand was clutched tightly in greetings. "F-Frédéric?! H-how nice to see you!" she sputtered.

“The pleasure is all mine,” said Frédéric, kissing the back of Octavia’s hand, producing from her a giggle one would only hear from a smitten schoolfilly. Midnight and Vinyl exchanged quick glances between the both of them, before sharing a smirk between each other due to Octavia’s actions. "Oh, hello, Vinyl, how do you do?" Frédéric then directed to the white mare, who jerked her head up suavely with a plain and simple “Sup”.

Frédéric’s gaze then fell upon Midnight. Between the sophisticated, gorgeous mare Octavia and the plus-sized, yet still very attractive femme Vinyl, Frédéric felt as though the tall and bespectacled Sarosian was the most wanton and out-of-place, from his serpentine eyes to his confining dog collar.  "And... who might this be?" the brown stallion queried, tone tinged with concern and distaste.

Octavia’s thoughts screeched to a halt, thinking rapidly on how to answer his question. “That– er, He...” ‘Quick! Think, think, think! What would work? My pet? No, he doesn’t roll over! My slave? Sadly, no... my lov– Oh, Goddess, not that! Not in a million years! Wait, I’ve got it!’ “...He is my stablecolt!” she quickly lied. Well, a half-lie, since Midnight did drag her around in a carriage like a stablecolt would; nonetheless, Octavia’s answer still lacked verisimilitude. 

Midnight, upset by her fib—and a bad one at that—was about to retort and correct her; yet when Octavia reared her head back and fired one of the most menacing glares she could muster at him, the words died in his throat, resulting in a rather feeble squeak that sounded as though a mouse had been quickly trodden on.

“He was a farmer back in whatever dirty, backwater wasteland he called a country when he got a nice, glorious buck to the head from an angry cow at a young age. He’s a hard worker, he’s just not at all very bright, and he’s rather slow. Isn’t that right, half-breed?” Octavia said that last bit through gritted teeth. She stared icily at him, her vicious orchid eyes screaming, ‘You’d better play the part, or so help me Celestia....’

Midnight gulped anxiously, vehement chills vigorously violating his vertebrae as he reminisced on Octavia’s glare. So, he did as he was implied to do. Forcing his eyes to take a chameleon-like imitation and veer off in different directions, he cleared his throat a bit and dumbly replied, “Yarp!”

Vinyl chuckled, as did a few other pedestrians, while Octavia displayed a smirk of success. “I see. Well, I’m glad to see that you’re keeping the inbreds in their place,” commented Frédéric with a snicker, provoking a silent, furious snarl from the Sarosian. “Say, I’m feeling rather... peckish. Don’t you?” Octavia whipped around and nodded fervently, smiling and blushing all the while. “Well, I say the Apple Garden is a splendid choice for the evening!” He made way for her to enter inside. “Shall we?”

“O-o-of course!” answered Octavia, accessing the door to the Itailian restaurant with Frédéric by her side, and Vinyl and Midnight trailing behind them.

“Who’s the stiff?” asked Midnight quietly in Vinyl’s ear, refocusing his draconic eyes to their original positions.

“That’s Frédéric Horseshoepin,” whispered Vinyl, the four of them waiting by the front desk as Octavia and Frédéric began making a reservation. “He and Octavia have known each other since they became pianist and cellist—in that order—for the Canterlot Quartet.”

“That little fancy band that plays classical music at all the parties here in Canterlot?”

“That’s the one. It had only been about a year ago when Octavia started having a crush on Frédéric.” Vinyl let off a little shudder. “What she sees in him is beyond me. I mean, you’re way cooler than that dude!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” confessed Midnight, slightly embarrassed by Vinyl’s praise.

“Maybe she’s just one of those fancy frou-frou Canterlot ponies through and through?”

“That, I can agree on wholeheartedly,” Midnight muttered through sealed teeth, firing an angry stare at Octavia behind her back.

“...By the way, and this is totally off-topic, but... what kind of music do you like?” Vinyl then asked.

“Me?” Their short wait was over as the four ponies were escorted to their table by the hostess. “Er... I’m mostly inclined to listen to rock: Metal, alternative, indie, and hard rock are amongst my favourite subgenres. But I dabble in a little bit of hip-hop and rap, some jazz, some orchestral, some electro, stuff like that.”

“Oh, cool!”

But I cannot—cannot—stand country and pop.”

Vinyl chuckled. “I can agree with you on that.” As they approached their table, she nudged Midnight’s ribcage, alerting him of what she had to say. “We’re about to sit down. Act... er, unnatural for Tavi.” Midnight nodded and, with a little concentration, forced his eyes to go askew again, earning another giggle from Vinyl.

“No, you stand,” ordered Octavia, regardless of their table having a fourth seat for the Sarosian to sit in. Midnight knew better than to argue against her, so instead of that, he simply sighed and barked out another, albeit weaker “Yarp”. The other three read the menus before them, eyes scanning for the food item of their choice. While Vinyl just browsed the menu in silence, Octavia and Frédéric simply conversed with one another while they chose what they would like, the former still blushing heavily from having to sit next to the pianist. 

‘Oh my goodness oh my goodness oh my goodness oh my goodness–’ thought Octavia repetitively, heart racing in her chest. ‘He kissed my hand earlier. What a gentlecolt! I may never wash this hand again!’

Midnight, being the ever-hyperobservant pony he was, rolled his eyes at Octavia and her internal fangirling.

“What shall I get you four?” asked their waiter, a white Pegasus stallion with a blasted-back yellow mane. He sent down unto their table a large basket of their famous garlic breadsticks and a bowl of their delicious Ponaesar Salad, topped with ranch dressing and a myriad of croutons.

“I would like a bowl of lentil soup, please,” requested Frédéric, “as well as a capellini pomodoro and a bottle of some of your finest wine.”

The waiter began quickly jotting down the orders. ‘Pfft, what an amateur,’ Midnight thought, unimpressed by his moderate writing speed and—upon closer inspection—somewhat poor handwriting. ‘I mean, really, that’s just sad.’

“I’d like your classic fettuccine alfredo, please,” Octavia implored.

“Can I get a... five-cheese Ziti al Forno?” asked Vinyl, enunciating the dish’s name in an attempt to not get tongue-tied.

“And for you?” The waiter beseeched of Midnight, who was too deep in his beleaguering thoughts on the staff penmanship to respond.

“He’s not hungry,” Octavia quickly answered, nopony detecting the cruelty hidden in her tone.

*RRRRRR,* went the stomach of Midnight, snapping him out of his reverie and destitute on getting sated inside of it. ‘Oh, damn it all,’ he thought.

“...Okaaay....” said the waiter. “We’ll be right out with your food momentarily.” At that, he skimmed away towards the kitchen. Midnight reached his hand out for a breadstick, licking his lips in anticipation. Sadly, all his hopes and dreams were dashed as Octavia slapped his hand away from the bowl. 

“Don’t touch!” she seethed. Midnight flipped her the bird, which went undetected.

“C’mon, Tavi, let him eat just one,” Vinyl beseeched her friend. “You heard his stomach, right?”

“If you wish for him to taint the whole basket with his filthy hands, by all means,” said Frédéric chuckling at his joke, Octavia following suit. Vinyl fired a dirty look at him from behind the guise of her purple shades. Midnight clenched his fists, resisting every iota in his body that begged for him to use his magic to turn Frédéric inside-out, or to cause him to spontaneously combust.

Just like with what happened at the mall and outside, Midnight became the topic of conversation on the lips of the dining ponyfolk yet again.

“It’s on a leash! Ahaha!”

“Thank heavens it’s on one, too: otherwise, it’d probably maim us all.”

“Mommy, he looks funny! May I touch him?”

“Preposterous! I won’t allow you to even go near such a dreadful abomination!”

Succeeding in overcoming his anxiety, Midnight didn’t really have enough middle fingers to offer to the whole lot of them.

The waiter returned, this time with his hands and rather dexterous wings laden with food and drink for all but Midnight. A plate of hot noodles drenched in seasoned white wine cream sauce was placed elegantly in front of Octavia, a bowl of warm lentil soup and a plate of angel-hair spaghetti doused with tomato sauce and diced vegetables descended calmly before Frédéric, and a platter of white steamy noodles blanketed in an amalgamation of cheese clattered cleanly in front of Vinyl. The large bottle of aged wine lands neatly upon the table as well. “Bon appétit,” the waiter said before returning casually to the kitchens.

‘That’s Prench, you git,’ Midnight deadpanned mentally. Still, he had to give him props: Neither Octavia or Frédéric caught wind of his slip-up, since the nicety of wishing somepony an enjoyable meal sounded similar in both Prench and Itailian.

Midnight’s stomach rumbled yet again, this time at a louder volume. Frédéric sighed in frustration, facepalming as he proceeded to say, “Can somepony please get the mongrel a dog bowl and shut up his stomach?!”

Laughter. Genuine, cold, cruel laughter. Those who heard Frédéric’s remark replied in that way as they glanced at Midnight, whose breathing was rapidly increasing, sweat beginning to trickle down his brow. He glanced back and forth, left and right, looking for a way out of this maze of ridicule—but to no avail. He was an animal locked behind the oppressive bars of a zoo’s cage, on display for all to see, mock, and comment on. He could not move, pace back and forth, or even protest: he could only sit still and take it, anxiety about to erupt like a volcano.

He was helpless.

Weak.

Pathetic.

He hadn't felt this way in so very long… and he hated feeling the same way again.

“That’s it.” Vinyl grabbed Midnight by the arm and yanked him down into the seat next to her. A vast majority of the laughter stopped. Octavia and Frédéric witnessed Vinyl scoop a spoonful of her pasta and stuffed it into Midnight’s mouth. “Chew,” she ordered. Midnight slowly complied, teeth gnashing and breaking down the Ziti al Forno. “Faster, damn it!” His jaw sped up, mashing the meal much quicker. “Swallow.” He obeyed again, pasta hitting his stomach satisfactorily. 

‘Wow, that’s tasty...’ Midnight thought, happy that his hunger had been sated. Vinyl repeated the process again and again, feeding Midnight in front of everyone without shame or hesitation.

“Vinyl!” Octavia barked in a hushed tone. The restaurant-goers had their eyes fixed on their table, loose lips launching hushed whispers between them. “What are you doing?” 

Vinyl removed her shades, setting them down upon the table and locking eyes with her friend, brows raised in a questioning pose. “Being a good friend... something at which you’re being horrible at.” The words were taken right from both Octavia’s and Frédéric’s mouths, whilst Midnight’s was being crammed with the food that Vinyl inserted. The Sarosian felt his anxiety from before gradually die down, his heart no longer dying. Her forceful demeanor softened, as her strong feeding movements slowed. “Have a breadstick,” she offered to him, plucking one delicately from the basket and breaking it in half. Midnight gingerly took one of the halves and slowly chewed it.

“Friend?” reiterated Frédéric, as though the word was lost to him. “How could you possibly be friends with that?” Vinyl ignored the pianist, her teeth biting into her half of the breadstick, the garlic seasoning enticing her tongue. Horn sheathing itself in another periwinkle corona, she popped open the bottle of wine with her magic and poured she and Midnight two glasses of it, the maroon gold splashing into the basin of the wine glasses smoother than silk.

Midnight blinked. He was not much of a drinker of alcohol, since he knew it was another way to kill off his brain cells, something he valued very much. He did not take Vinyl for a wine drinker either: he presumed she was more of a fan of the harder stuff, like vodka and whiskey.

Even if that were the case, that did not stop her from raising her glass to Midnight, a euphoric smile on her face and a subtle blush to her cheeks. “Cheers,” she said simply.

Midnight slowly felt his lips curl up into a grin as he grabbed his wine glass, clinking it against hers. “Ch... cheers,” he choked out, before they sampled a generous swig of the stuff.

The rest of dinner went surprisingly well for the both of them.





In the end, Midnight had to pay, again keeping up his “mentally handicapped stablecolt” façade in order to avoid getting reported by Octavia to the Princesses. Frédéric departed for his home—much to Octavia's disappointment—saying to them he had important business to attend to. They had decided not to go to the movie theatre, for nothing was being premiered that they hadn't either already seen or that they deemed interesting.

Plus, Midnight could bootleg all these films onto his computer and he had all the snacks he wanted, so he saw no need to pay twenty Bits for a midget-sized box of candies that would only last him about five minutes.

The trio pulled over at the cellist and DJ's apartment complex, the moon starting to poke out through the clouds and bathe the entirety of Equestria in its light. Midnight felt more alert, focused, his magical prowess strengthening due to the power the moon's ethereal glow emitted. It was an unusual phenomena for unicorns: their magic grows profound when the moon takes the stage. Seizing this opportunity, he unlocked their cargo trolley and encased their shopping bags in his acid-green corona of magic, before concentrating hard on their dorm room and teleporting their merchandise inside their apartment room on the third floor.

“Say,” Midnight began, looking at Vinyl, who produced a “hmm?” in response, showing her cooperation to what he had to say. “I want to say thank you, for being so kind to me tonight.” Vinyl could feel her face conflagrate with heat, cheeks practically glowing a hot bright red.

“D-Don't mention it...” Vinyl stammered as she and Octavia stood in front of their complex. “Did you have fun?” Midnight nodded calmly, easing whatever qualms she had about this evening. “Good. I did, too.”

“Vinyl, come along now,” Octavia requested, to which Vinyl complied. Midnight removed his collar, and hovered it towards Octavia with his magic. “Well, Sarosian, you almost made a mess of things.” Midnight clicked his tongue. He readied his ears for a good scolding, an eternal chewing-out from the cellist, whom he knew could go on for hours and hours poking at the most trivial of details... but it didn't come. “However, I do admit your feats of generosity towards me and Vinyl today were somewhat... er, admirable. And you did play along relatively well with the stablecolt charade.”

“Yeah. Thanks for buying all that stuff for us,” Vinyl said appreciatively, “even though we kinda, hehe, took advantage of you at the mall today.”

Midnight would have been mad, had it been anypony else, and would no doubt make them feel guilty for making him blow money on clothes, electronics, games, movies, jewelry, makeup, and other items that were deemed arbitrary to their lives. But, it was Vinyl and Octavia. He couldn't really refuse them; doing so would put his butt behind bars. Not only that, but... he rather liked working for them. The service itself was but a sidegrade to his life—he had the opportunity to gain friends like Vinyl and Octavia, at the cost of him having to make a complete, flat-out mule of himself. But he'd take that any day of the week.

“Don't mention it. It was... my pleasure. I'll, er, see you guys tomorrow,” Midnight said, turning around and heading home.

“Very well,” stated Octavia. “Oh, and Sarosian....” He turned back, seeing a smile—not of treachery, but of mild impression—on Octavia's lips. Midnight was a little surprised at the sight. Usually, her mouth was plagued with a grim frown or a sadistic grin. But to see her mouth curved up in a smile of admiration was something entirely new. He actually thought she looked... well, nice with it, despite how she’s mistreated him so much in the past day alone. It suited her much better than her malicious frowns. “I want you to dress properly next time you come to serve me and Vinyl. And shave as well: That goatee makes you look like a tosser.”

Midnight sighed. Dressing properly was his forte, an essential part of his job as scribe and something he could do without problem. But shaving was a different story entirely. ‘I like this beard, woman...’ he thought defencively. But alas, 'twas a thought, and nothing more. “Very well, then....” he grumbled, walking back home to the castle with his bag of hairclips in hand. “G'night.”

Octavia and Vinyl entered the building and made their way up the stairs to their room, glad that Midnight had the courtesy of teleporting all of their newly-purchased items inside. “You like him, don't you?” Octavia said coyly, taking Vinyl completely by surprise.

“What?” she said dumbly.

“You have feelings for the half-breed, correct?” Octavia simplified for her, a wry expression upon her face as she unlocked door #394 and casually stepped inside.

“What do you mean?” Vinyl blurted embarrassedly, cheeks flushing bright red again from the mortification. “H-He’s just a good friend, is all!”

“I didn’t hear a no~," sang the other teasingly.

Vinyl harrumphed grumpily whilst Octavia chuckled at her dismay. “Shut up, Tavi!” she whined. “I don’t even like him like that!”

“Sure….”




~End of Chapter VII~