//------------------------------// // VIII - An Expletive's Grim Foundations (Rather Reedited) // Story: At Your Service // by Deyeaz //------------------------------// Letter from Deyeaz-senpai: So, guys, I had a friend overlook this chapter, and while he did like it, he saw that the fight between the thug and Midnight was rather one-sided, so I prettied it up somewhat by actually having them knock each other around a bit. And I know you're probably thinking 'But he's a unicorn, he's supposed to win unscathed!' Regardless, I felt like Midnight felt a little too OP in this chapter. Happily, that isn't that big an issue anymore. Enjoy, dorks. :3 VIII - An Expletive’s Grim Foundations Time was a very fickle thing. When one wishes for it to speed up during a moment of great monotony, it contradicts their desires and crawls at a snail’s pace. Vice versa applies as well, where the clock blasts off with the velocity of a space shuttle whenever somepony requests that it slows down. Within the two months that Midnight wished would finish up, only four days has elapsed, and the situation with his exclusive service remained rather the same throughout: Midnight would awake hours after dawn had cracked, barely eat breakfast in a hurried manner, and rush off towards Octavia and Vinyl’s home. There was only one thing that was truly different about his current routine.   ‘Man... Why did she make me get rid of it?’ Midnight complained in his head, scratching at his clean shaven face. Even though he had removed it but a few mornings ago, Midnight still mourned taking a razor to his goatee. He had grown rather attached to it. “Oi!” called a deep voice. Midnight turned and saw Cirrus Storm speeding his way. He sighed in frustration as the Pegasus guard pulled over beside him. ‘Oh Celestia, this again....’   Cirrus caught up to him. “Now give it to me straight–”   “Ha. Gaaaaay,” bantered Midnight.   “What? Ew, no! Listen: are you seriously working for Octavia? The Octavia Philharmonica?!”   “For the last time, yes!” Midnight pinched the bridge of his muzzle, incredulous as to how this question was constantly asked of him by almost every male guard in sight. He had repeated his answer for what he felt was about the fortieth time. “Have the suds from kitchen duty gotten to you and made you daft?”   Cirrus ignored that bit. “You lucky dog, you!” Midnight groaned at the word “dog”: acting like one for three days and counting was far too much for him already. “But seriously, tell me this: she’s hot, right?” the Pegasus pressed on, his giddy smile profuse and bent on remaining on his face.   “She’s what, now?” Midnight was somewhat taken aback by the earlier question. “Is she or is she not freakin’ hot?” simplified Cirrus somewhat impatiently, thumping Midnight on the back and almost knocking him down. “Oops. Sorry.” “Don’t worry about it.” Fixing his glasses back up onto his muzzle, Midnight clicked his tongue and pondered on Cirrus’s rather... simplistic question. Did he think Octavia was attractive? He had to admit, she did have an appearance about her that many stallions—and perhaps some mares—would find alluring. Even Midnight had thought of her to have a breathtaking grace... that is until her true colors reared their ugly heads towards him. Still, had it not been for her animosity towards him, he’d have been more inclined to answer with an ecstatic “Buck yeah!”   This was not the case, however, when Midnight replied, “Well, she’s cute, but... her attitude could do with some serious work.”   “Huh? What do you mean?” asked Cirrus, bewildered by the response. “And why are you dressed up in your work suit?” Indeed, Midnight was donned in his scribe clothing: Black tuxedo pants, a white dress shirt, a black button-up designated for tuxedos, a silver pocket watch as big as a hockey puck in the vest pocket, white rubber gloves, and a black tie. In the middle of each arm of the sleeves was an black length of cloth, each one wrapped around the bicep like an armband and emblazoned with a sand-colored papyrus scroll with a red arcane pentacle etched into it, the golden tip of a crimson phoenix quill submerged in the contents of a stout blue ink pot. “She wants me to serve her in something ‘presentable’,” the Sarosian answered. “And what I mean is that she’s been an über-bitch to me, Cirrus! Literally, since she laid eyes on me, she’s been making my life a living Tartarus: don’t do this; do that; shut up; you’re a dirty half-breed; you’ll never amount to anything.” Midnight ejected a puff of air through his lips in frustration. “Honestly, what you see in her is beyond me, man.”   “What, I just think she’s definitely worth hooking up with,” Cirrus admitted, a tantalizing image of a bikini-clad Octavia formulating in his mind. “Have you seen those perfect legs? And that plot?! Hot damn!”   “Can you not?” Midnight implored, irked by the Pegasus guard’s lustful gobbledygook.   “Hey, well, maybe she’s just a bitch to you, dude,” said Cirrus, shrugging.   “That’s most likely it,” concluded Midnight. “Anyways, I should get to their place before I get yelled at... again.”   “Their place?”   “Yeah. I work for Octavia’s friend Vinyl Scratch also.”   Midnight rather regretted having to admit that, for Cirrus’s jaw dropped almost comically. “You’re working for DJ P0N-3 as well?!”   “That’s her handle?” Midnight came across that moniker before, and was a little disturbed by it since the numbers and letters had to be pronounced rather than just simply saying “pony”.   “Dude, she’s hot as Tartarus!” Cirrus wrapped his arm around Midnight’s neck. “You lucky little pencil-neck, you, getting all the mares you want!” He laughed heartily, muscular bicep and forearm crushing Midnight’s esophagus in a mighty headlock, noogie-ing the Sarosian only to shuffle his knuckle on his hat and nearly dislodge it.   “Ah, watch it!” Midnight’s horn encased itself in an acid-green glow before removing Cirrus’s arm from his gullet. Fixing his hat and his glasses to their original positions, Midnight sighed in frustration. “I don’t ‘get’ mares because what mare would want to be ‘got’ by me?” As Cirrus blinked at the blunt truth of his words, Midnight stated, “Exactly. My kindness towards the opposite sex should not ever be confused with what you like to call ‘being a player’; most of all, while I like them, they don’t like me.” Sighing again, Midnight finished the conversation with, “In any case, I have stuff to do that I don’t want to do. See you later.”   “See you later, Midnight.” Turning on his heel, Midnight’s horn glowed brighter as he concentrated briefly before he teleported outside of the apartment complex. He entered the complex and made his way up the stairs towards door 394, before rapping on its sleek surface with a knuckle and stepping away. Vinyl, dressed in sagging jeans, a white tank top, her infamous purple sunshades, and a red beanie, opened the door and greeted Midnight as she usually did: with a beaming smile and a cheery “Good morning!”, to which Midnight returned with a nod and a little grin.   “Where is Octavia?” Midnight inquired, praying she wasn’t in proximity.   “In the shower,” replied Vinyl, but something about her face betrayed the possibility that she wished to warn him of something.   ‘Drat,’ grumbled Midnight mentally. “May I come in?” At Vinyl’s somewhat reluctant nod, he casually stepped inside, closing the door behind him with his long white tail and a little bit of effort. He stood in the middle of the room, the same pieces of furniture laying about the room as before, except much cleaner than prior his first visit here. That was because Midnight had been tasked by Octavia to clean up their apartment. Since he had been serving the cellist and her DJ roommate, the Sarosian was constantly assigned large, arduous, sometimes trivial chores and errands. From cleaning, to taking them out to eat (Octavia didn’t trust Midnight with the oven), to doing laundry, to even incinerating the garbage: each responsibility was shirked by them and thrusted squarely upon his shoulders. He didn’t mind: magic made tasks of this magnitude loads easier. “I should get to work on cleaning, huh?” “No need: everything here is spotless anyway, right?” Vinyl gandered curiously at the symbols on Midnight’s arms. “What does this thing mean? I keep seeing it, and I can only guess what it is.” “That?” Midnight looked at the insignia and responded, “That’s... my Cutie Mark.” “Is it?” “Yes. The scroll, quill, and ink pot collectively show that I’m geared towards literature. Reading, writing, books, poems, et cetera.” Midnight tapped the red complex circle on the scroll. “This little pentacle on the scroll shows that I’m also really good at magic, especially since I’m a unicorn.” “What about these little things in the pentacle?” Vinyl poked at three markings inside the circle, their locations making up the vertices of an upside-down triangle. Midnight withdrew from his pocket a pen and a napkin from off the kitchen counter before sitting down at the coffee table and drawing them out. Vinyl, wondering what Midnight could be doing, walked over to him and sat next to the Sarosian. The first of Midnight’s drawings looked like a horseshoe, the open end facing to the left with a dot inside it; the second looked like a square with the top side missing, two dots lined up in a column on its right side; the third final one looked like a character in Neighpanese kanterkana script for “ru” (ル), but with a dot above the marking on the right. “These are runes,” Midnight answered, hovering his pen’s tip in a circle around the three markings. “These are but a few of the hundreds of runes out there. This first one–” he tapped the horseshoe one “–is ‘puis’, which means power. The second one, this little incomplete square with the two dots, is ‘qu’on’, or knowledge. This third one–” he tapped the Neighpanese-looking character “–is ‘oubli’, or will. These three are required for unicorns to perform magic. Without power, how can your magic be strong? Without knowledge, how can you know how to perform magic? Without will, what purpose will doing magic bring?” Midnight then encased these runes in circles, which he surrounded in an upside-down triangle. “This new addition—the triangle—represents balance. Since you have three crucial things in doing magic, you need the balance, the inner peace, to execute it.” The triangle was then surrounded in another circle, the vertices of the triangle connecting with the circle. In the middle of each of the triangle’s sides, Midnight etched two lines extending out at sixty-degree angles and touching the circle, so that the lines could form more triangles inside the circle. “This final circle represents control. Since you shouldn’t let your magic lash out and be aggressive, you should learn to practise control, and maintain your magic so that you don’t go about wreaking havoc.” Vinyl examined his Cutie Mark’s meaning, fascinated by how Midnight had made the complexity of his special talent sound so simple. She looked over to Midnight and saw the smile on his face. It looked genuine, elated at the fact that he was presenting literature towards someone who appreciated what he had to offer. A very weak blush elicited from her cheeks before she looked back down at the pentacle. “That’s amazing.” “You really think so?” Midnight’s grin widened slightly at the comment. Vinyl felt euphoria intensify at the sight of how happy the stallion in front of her was. Rarely had she ever seen such white teeth peek out from behind his lips before. She also noticed something: with his facial hair, he looked rugged and experienced like somepony who has seen every square inch of the planet more than once. Shaved, he looked younger without a doubt, with the energy to put a filly hyped up on sugar to shame. 'He totally oughta smile like this more often,' she thought, her cheeks burning a smidgen more. 'He really does have a great smile....' “Y-Yeah," she voiced aloud. "That’s really cool. I didn’t even know stuff like this was around until you told me.” “Heh....” The sound of a door opening and closing brought the attention of both Midnight and Vinyl towards where it came from. Out from the hallway came Octavia. Rather than being confined in her tuxedo for when she could compose at concerts, she was instead dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a black sweater vest over a white dress shirt, a rosy pink bow holding her mane up in a ponytail to replace the bowtie she usually wore around her neck. Midnight blinked a bit in surprise at this sudden change in wardrobe. ‘Well, she... fills out that shirt nicely,’ he thought coyly, eyes unable to help themselves as they wandered towards her somewhat large bosom. "You're late," stated Octavia, a dog collar from her to Midnight's face hauling him out of whatever compromising thoughts he was having about her figure. Vinyl bit her lip, her chance of warning Midnight about Octavia's actions slipping out of her hands. "What were you doing?" "I was, uh, watching the news," answered Midnight as he slipped it around his neck with reluctance and closed the latch, securing it around his gullet. "Again?" said a doubtful Octavia. "Well, it change every day, you see," deadpanned a sarcastic Midnight, to which Vinyl snickered quietly, undetected by her best friend and roommate. Ignoring his jab at her, Octavia spotted the cap on Midnight's head, and proceeded to snap, "I thought I told you to get rid of that damn hat." "And I'm telling you that there is no way that's happening. You can get rid of whatever about me that displeases you, but the hat stays." "Everything about you displeases me," retorted Octavia. Midnight mentally cursed himself for walking into that one. “Is everything in the house clean?” she demanded. “Yes.” “Yes what?” Midnight sighed. “Yes, Master.” “Good. Now, let’s go get some breakfast.” Octavia slipped on a pair of high heels by the door before opening it and making her way out. Vinyl and Midnight followed suit, much to the latter’s hesitance, since he knew for a fact that he was to pay for it all. As Octavia and Vinyl saw the doughnut shop, their destination, looming into view, their noses picked up the very delicious smell of marvelous baked confectionery treats wafted through the air, all crafted by the notorious Donut Joe and sending them spiraling into scent heaven, tummies rumbling with hunger. Midnight, stomach rather empty as well, could only sigh in content as the blissful aroma of freshly-baked doughnuts invaded his nostrils. The agonising minutes of travelling to the doughnut were not in vain, however, as they pulled over in front of Donut Joe’s Doughnut Shop. As they stepped inside, the smell of the baked goods intensified dramatically, assaulting their nostrils without end. They didn’t mind: they adored this aura just as much as the next pony. Several of the customers sat in classic 50s booths with red vinyl seats and circular tables, or in lengthy stools at the counter of the shop. A jukebox blaring indie rock music sat cosily by a potted plant in the back of the restaurant. The three newcomers took their seats on the stools, tails dangling behind them as they awaited the buscolt behind the counter. They looked up the menu, or down at the glass counters to hungrily examine the delectable doughnuts on display. "What to get, what to get..." mumbled Vinyl. Octavia stared at all the options she had to choose from, while Midnight knew habitually what he would get: a simple chocolate doughnut with a medium-sized caramel macchiato. When Vinyl had finally decided what her most important meal of the day would be, she felt a hand tap her shoulder and a rather outlandish voice say, "Ey, lady, I think youse is sittin' in my seat." She and the other two ponies next to her spun around in her seat and looked at the speaker: a green Pegasus stallion dressed in black jeans, a white wifebeater, and a yellow bandana that clashed hideously with his short-cut orange mane. Gold chains hung limply around his neck, and gang tattoos blanketed his arms, giving him a roguish aura and a thuggish demeanor. "I beg your pardon?" asked Vinyl, bewildered. "I said, youse is sittin' in my seat," reiterated the thug firmly as his bloodshot eyes slowly filled with annoyance. Midnight's keen eyes detected a shining glint emanating from his mouth as he spoke, showing that he had gold teeth implants to boot. "I was in da bathroom, see, and youse took my spot while I was gone." "Huh... You're right, we'll move over some," said Vinyl. "Yeah, dat's right..." the other stallion then said in a hushed tone, "tubby." "Excuse me?" Vinyl demanded coldly, sudden ire swelling within her. "Youse heard me, lard ass!" the gangster hollered. The din of camaraderie from earlier soon died like a roach beneath the crushing weight of a horseshoe. Everyone, once calm and happy to be eating, now sat deathly still and silent as they watched the scene unfold. Even the buscolt, who was about to put a stop to the predicament, held back, in case he too would receive a taste of the thug's bitter backtalk. “Is all the blubber keepin’ youse from hearin’ me clearly?! Cuz if dat's da case, youse oughta eat a salad next time, thunder-thighs!” "Keep your dirty tongue behind your teeth, you uneducated ruffian!" Octavia scolded as she stood to her hooves, anger fueling her as she stared at the assailant with fury. A seething, emotionally hurt Vinyl sat in the sidelines, trying to keep herself from standing up and beating their bully to an inch of his life, with Midnight comforting her and alleviating her temper. "Stay outta dis, ya buckin' mud pony!" Octavia recoiled at that insult, those very words hitting her hard. Midnight turned around and watched as Octavia's lower lip quivered. He felt a horrid disturbance in what he saw, despite the satisfaction he ought to feel from her despair. "What?!" she finally choked out, still offended by the gangster's previous assault. “How dare you?!” "What, is you stupid as you is worthless?!" He leaned in closer to Octavia, who stepped back, broken by his terrible words. She had heard those words a long time ago, yet to hear them again was crippling to her emotional health, where she was almost the verge of tears. "Well, ya lousy workhorse?! Too buckin’ pathetic to answer me, huh?! Figured as much, ya shitty two-bit skank!” Octavia's eyes finally started watering as her knees, weak and wobbly, crumpled beneath her as she fell on her bottom onto the laminate floors. Midnight witnessed this and, for once, he felt... empathy for the cellist; sure, the Sarosian relished in insulting Octavia and outwitting her, but he wasn't as heartless as to make her cry openly like that. "Sir, I think you should stop," he warned adamantly. "I think youse should stop!" mimicked the thug in a whiny voice, gradually irritating the scribe before him. "I'll do whatever the buck I want!" He started periodically jabbing Midnight in the chest with a finger. "So I don't need to hear no lip from a scrawny-ass, weak little nightcrawler like youse!!" "Hey!" Vinyl exclaimed, her vigour and rage returning. "Watch your mouth, you prick!" She was going to ready herself an army of put-downs, had it not been for Midnight standing up. Once again, even though she wasn't on the receiving end, Vinyl wilted slightly as she witnessed Midnight's eyes leering at the offending Pegasus in utter hatred. "What did you just say?" Midnight asked rhetorically, his tone cold enough to bring winter's frozen chill to the immortal infernos of Tartarus. “Shit, I must be surrounded in morons!” cried the gangster in annoyance, grabbing Midnight by the tie. “I called youse a buckin’ nightcrawler!” Midnight removed his glasses and handed them to Vinyl. The perfect vision his corrective lenses blessed him with became short-sighted and blurred at a distance. “Hold these,” he told her, as she slowly accepted them and held them in her lap, the white pony worried about what was happen. Horn flaring a blinding glow of lime green, Midnight encased his assailant’s hand in his magic and peeled his fingers off his tie, all the while glaring at the punk venomously. Externally and internally, Midnight looked ready to kill. No one just threw a derogatory expletive like that in his face and get off scot-free. Even if he lost, even if he was to be overpowered by the gangster’s shear strength, Midnight felt it was his obligation to face his newfound nemesis head-on, for a sense of honour was billowing in every iota of his being, tsunamis of integrity crashing about inside him whenever he reminisced on the damaged looks on both Octavia’s and Vinyl’s faces. Especially the former... it was true that Midnight disliked Octavia severely, yet... at the same time, he felt his heart break a little at the sight of her tears. Loyalty, chimed the advice of Twilight in his head. Show that you're reliable to your friends. Always be there for them and catch them when they fall. ‘No stallion would ever make a mare cry like that and not feel guilt,’ he seethed mentally. Ill thoughts and emotions soon took over whenever his mind snapped back towards the Pegasus stallion who started it all. Adjacent to the two brawlers, all the doughnut shop customers—even the owner of the store Pony Joe himself—had taken to watching them, as though they were a thrilling programme on television, and the good part was commencing. “You. Me. Outside... now,” hissed Midnight vehemently, dragging along the thug in his magic aura, the collar’s leash slipping out of Octavia’s limp, frail grasp. “Ohoho, tough guy, eh?! Well, c’mon, then, motherbucker! Let’s go!” challenged the hoodlum as they exited out the front and turned a corner, entering an alleyway and reaching the area behind the doughnut parlour. It appeared like every clichéd alley one would see in a movie or read about in a book. A dumpster was overflowing with vapid garbage against the parlour’s wall. A little sewage drain was suctioning up all the rainwater from last night’s little shower. A rat scurried along hastily, hunting down what it deemed passable for its next meal. The towering buildings cast a cool cloak of shade upon the area, given how the sun was not yet at the peak of its celestial sojourn. Before he even had time to react, Midnight felt something rocket ferociously into his muzzle, the subtle sound of bones breaking as his nostrils spewed blood like a busted fire hydrant, splattering grossly upon the asphalt floor as some of it diluted into the running rainwater that slugged disgustingly into the storm drain. Midnight recoiled from the blow his enemy dealt to him, staggering backwards. Shaking his addled head, Midnight charged recklessly at the gangster, not even considering the fact that he was still a unicorn, and simply possessed by the sheer hate that raged through him. Sadly, his efforts to craft extreme bodily harm was put to a halt as the thug slapped his meaty mitts onto Midnight's throat, hefting him up into the air and planting him against the brick wall of the doughnut shop. "Damn, son, you suck at fightin'! It's like ya don't know what to do!" Jeered the crony raucously. "I'm gonna enjoy wastin' scum like you!" Midnight tried to pry off the bully's hands, but not only was he not strong enough to do it, but the asphyxiation was seriously affecting his magical power. His legs flailed ridiculously, kicking the thug in his abdomen and chest with no avail. He needed a weapon, something which he lacked and had left at home. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it, glinting slightly as it sat atop the dumpster not one foot from their current position. The glass neck of an empty bottle of hard cider. The way it simply sat there, just begging to be utilised, forced Midnight to calculate an escape plan. It was without a doubt within arm's reach. Midnight would have but one chance at this. If he wasn't quick enough, he'd have to get Octavia to call a morgue. Wait, no, she wouldn't give a shit.... Doing his best to be as quick as a whip, Midnight snatched the bottle by its neck and swung it into the pegasus's head as hard as he could. Sure enough, the bottle's base shattered into a myriad of lethal shards, leaving the remaining upper half of it intact and tipped with malicious-looking points. Dropping Midnight, the thug stumbled back, blood leaking out of the side of his head from the blunt trauma. Midnight clambered to his hooves, coughing and heaving for air and greedily filling his lungs. "You bucking punk!" roared the bully, clutching his wound and wringing the blood from it, tainting his orange hair crimson. "You're dead!" Midnight smiled a bloody smirk. Now free of his assailant's grip, he could use his magic on a more focused level. Horn glowing green, just as the gangster began to blitz the stallion with a cocked-back fist, Midnight stopped his foe from hitting him by encasing his tail in his emerald aura. "L-Lemme go, bitch!" the pegasus demanded. “Do you know what you just said earlier? How disgusting and abhorrent that word was and still is?!” Midnight pressed on, his hatred never faltering. “That word is what you and every regular pony would holler as you massacred every last one of us!!” Midnight’s magical grip extended towards the goon’s index finger, which he bent backwards at a sickening angle, before twisting sharply and breaking with a nauseating CRACK!, eliciting a scream of anguish from the thug. “It was what you jeered as you greedily raped our wives and daughters!!” Another finger broken. Another screech of pain. Midnight’s voice elevated in volume and ferocity. “What you would smear all over the walls of our homes with our blood–” *CRACK* “–as you mounted our heads on pikes–” *CRACK* “–drowned our foals–” *CRACK* “–AND TOSSED OUR HACKED-UP CORPSES IN THE EVERFREE FOR THE MONSTERS TO EAT LIKE TABLE SCRAPS FOR A DOG!!!” *WHACK* Despite his seething and voluminous growls of anguish, the thug still delivered a tremendous kick to the solar plexus that sent Midnight reeling, with the bully chuckling moronically at his words. Midnight felt more and more enraged as each second of his stupid laughter snailed away. "Youse honestly think... I give a shit?" He laughed even harder at his jab, infuriating the Sarosian further. "Listen, punk. Everypony's got problems, but in the end, who's gonna help ya? Who's really gonna give a shit? Yer friends back in that diner? Please. They'd save their own skin 'n' hang you up t' dry." Laughing even more, he ended with, "Face it. Yer pathetic. And youse ain't worth their time." With a small flash of concentration, Midnight blasted back the bully with magic, smashing him against the wall, far too offended for one to even describe. He wanted to speak up against him, to say that he was wrong. That that can't possibly be a verifiable fact. But it was. Oh... how it was. Midnight, body chilled slightly from the loss of blood and by the truth of his foe's bitter words, let his breathing lower to a more natural rate, adrenaline evaporating and his heart slowing down to a casual rhythm as his magic aura swallowed the dumpster where he had gotten his broken bottle from. He pushed the dumpster against the bully, crushing him against the wall, eliciting a howl of pain from him: he had smashed it on his bad hand. "OWWW! Get me outta here!" "Shut up," Midnight barked at him. "Somepony was bound to hear your screams. They probably went and got some parademics. Just sit tight." Normally, he would have felt nervous and undergone another anxiety attack had he been confronted by one or more thugs like that. He would have curled up in a ball in the corner, or run away to whatever safe place was available. However, given the terms of racial slurs being involved, the word “nightcrawler” became the spark that set ablaze Midnight’s oil of hellish rage. Especially after seeing Octavia and Vinyl become so devastated by such horrendous sobriquets.... He walked briskly out of the alley and left the thug still calling for help. As he exited his arena with only a physical victory, he was only to be saluted with blank stares or shocked glances from the pedestrians that either loitered outside the doughnut parlour, or that went about their business as they cantered up and down the cobblestone roads. He could understand, given the sight of the broken bottle in his hand and the blood meandering down his face and dripping onto his unkempt clothes. But that didn't mean he was flattered by the way their eyes wandered upon him. Ignoring the unnecessary attention, Midnight tossed the bottle back into the alley before sauntering to the entrance of the parlour and pushing through its glass double doors, yet he was still presented with the same rewards of blank glaring, stunned stares, and a crippling silence. "Oh my Goddess, Midnight!" Vinyl yelped in worry, rushing over and checking on her friend. "Are you alright?!" "Yes, I'm fine," he answered, blood infiltrating his mouth and infecting his tongue with its metallic flavour. "My glasses?" "O-Oh!" she handed him his spectacles, which he placed onto his muzzle with a twinge of pain: perhaps that gangster had really done some damage there. Midnight came over to Octavia, who was still watery-eyed, staring at the floor beneath her mindlessly. He pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket as he raised Octavia’s chin with a hand. She gasped at the touch: even though his hands were clad in gloves, she was vehement in not letting Midnight, of all ponies, to touch her. She felt her leaking eyes be dabbed dry with the handkerchief, Midnight paying close attention to her face as he did so. ‘Maybe Cirrus is right. She is rather cute, once you get past her animosity towards Sarosians,’ he thought, folding his handkerchief up. He couldn't help but examine her flawless fur and skin, her well-groomed charcoal mane, her small feminine muzzle and mouth, her white fangless teeth, and her large, hypnotising orchid eyes. “W... what are you doing?” Octavia demanded, attempting to sound angry and disturbed, only to be audibly perceived as a saddened form of surprise. “I never told you to do any of this.” “A butler does what he is told, right, Master?” Midnight said, to which Octavia nodded. “Well, a great butler does what he feels he must do to make his master happy.” He grabbed her by the hand and hoisted her up. It was great work, given that his clobbering had left him faint, and that Octavia’s legs were in an inoperable stasis at first. Eventually, she rose to her hooves, still mulling over what Midnight had said to her. “Shall we go?” Midnight murmured to her and Vinyl. “I’m not really hungry anymore....” The two obliged mindlessly, walking out of the shop without a single purchase. “Hey, kid!” yelled a masculine voice. Midnight turned to see Donut Joe, the owner of the parlour, toss a paper bag at him. He caught it with his magic and opened it. His glasses were fogged up with the warm air that the multiflavoured doughnuts inside it permeated. “Good job stickin’ up for your friends,” he said. “Thanks....” Midnight said dully. “Now scram. You’re scaring the customers,” said Joe. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Exiting the shop and handing the bag of doughnuts to Vinyl, Midnight slipped on the carriage’s harness yet again, this time with much more ferocity than prior their stop to eat breakfast. He was so... angry! Just the thought of that thug’s vulgarity and derogative monikers nearly made his blood boil! It made him sick to his stomach! And what he said earlier... about his friends betraying him... it tackled his spine with a myriad of shivers. “Midnight...” started Vinyl as she boarded the carriage. “Yes, Vinyl?” “Is that true?” she asked. “Is what true?” “All that stuff about that... that word?” Midnight felt a twinge of annoyance surge through him, reminded yet again of why he despised such a moniker. “You heard all of that?” At her nod, Midnight sighed once more. He had nothing else to do to dumb down his emotions. How could he have been such an ass as to yell the foundation of the term “nightcrawler” out in broad daylight like that? “Yes. All of it.” Octavia still had yet to climb aboard, leash in hand and a blank look plastered to her face. It appears as though the terms “mud pony”, “worthless”, “stupid”, and “workhorse” hit her hard. Midnight could only guess as to why those insults ailed her so. Former friends? Cruel classmates? Perhaps... even her parents? All moments of guesses, however, were brought to a halt as Octavia walked over to Midnight and removed the collar from around his neck. Fresh air carpet-bombed the ring of once-confined fur around his esophagus. Midnight rubbed his throat with a gloved hand, the area relishing in his rubber-gloved touch. “Consider that as repayment.” “For what?” inquired Midnight, bewildered as to what Octavia was repaying him for... and why. “For being a loyal... pony...” Octavia had a hard time using that word to describe Midnight, given that she only viewed him as anything less than the common equine. “... to me and Vinyl back when that insubordinate rebel came in and... and said what he said.” Her mind flitted back to what that thug had shouted in her face, and she shuddered and gasped at the painful reminiscence. She shook her head to clear it of such dementing thoughts before saying, “So, as a reward... you no longer have to wear this dog collar.” “You... you mean it?” Midnight said, heart soaring at the prospect of just one little ounce from freedom she served him out of the heaping tons of oppression she usually dished out. “Yes. You stood up for the both of us back there with what you said and did.” Octavia swallowed hard, the next words she’s attempting to say becoming difficult to vocalise. “And... because of explaining why... I won’t call you ‘Nigh–’, er... I won’t call you the N word anymore.” Midnight couldn’t believe his ears. Two good things in one day? It was too good to be true, too glorious to be even plausible. Surely, there’s a string attached somewhere in this proposition, a bear trap just waiting to cinch Midnight. “Is there a catch, Master?” “Yes. I wish to see what’s under that hat.” Midnight clicked his tongue at how persistent she was. There was a good reason as to why he didn’t want to show anypony the mane he hid underneath his cap. “Maybe later, Master,” he decided. He still didn’t trust her enough to actually reveal what he had hidden beneath the headgear. The rejection of removing his hat made him feel like a mare of Saddle Arabia, shrouded in the concealing clothes of her burka to avoid the lustful gazes of stallions, but he was adamant in not showing his hair. “Come on! Why won’t you show me what’s under there?” Octavia demanded, a little upset by Midnight’s refusal. His mind wandered off, going down the desecrated road of Memory Lane, down to a childhood he was not inclined on revisiting, where the crisp sound of breaking cider bottles, jeers of cruelty, and tears of sadness plagued him. Of enraged brawling between family and the magic flames of punishment brought about by failure. “It’s just a personal matter, Master," he said dully, his brain targeting memories far better than those of his younger years. "Nothing more, or nothing less. In due time, I’ll show you.” “...Very well, then...” It required some willpower, but Octavia slowly raised her hand and extended it towards Midnight. “Do you promise that when you’re ready, you’ll show me?” Midnight contemplated her question, brain working double time to erect a response. Aware of the idea of chaos theory and multiverse theory, where even the slightest errant twitch of a single molecule will yield a different result each time. Waiting any longer could bring impatience to Octavia, yet he was not accustomed at all to answering yes and committing a leap of faith like that. Decisions, decisions... … ... … … ... … He took hold of her hand and shook it after his contemplations came to an end. “Okay, then, Master,” he said slowly. “Good. I’m holding you to it.” Midnight’s breath was caught in his throat as she smiled again. It was another smile of good will, rather than cruelty. It was another rare occurrence to see her grin in such a way. It looked... much nicer, to be honest. Midnight felt his face burn up a teensy bit, and he couldn't help but hope that his cheeks flushing weren't visible to the mare in front of her. Octavia relinquished her grasp on the Sarosian’s hand and climbed up into the carriage’s seat. “Now, move it, Sarosian. To your house.” “Certainly, Ma–” Midnight stopped dead in his vocal tracks, heart pounding wildly in his chest as though it wanted to make a mad escape from his ribcage. “Wait... what?!” ~End of Chapter VIII~