//------------------------------//
// XII - The Art of Gambling Your Dignity 
// Story: At Your Service 
// by Deyeaz 
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XII - The Art of Gambling Your Dignity




The next few days dolled on. It had been a fortnight since the issuing of Midnight’s punishment, and while he had initially hated Octavia, and she him, it seems that a détente had been established between the two ponies. Their greetings, once riddled with venom and contemptuous undertones, soon sank to a state of aloofness. They weren’t jumping at one another’s throats like they used to, but they still took verbal jabs at one another. They weren’t so much acquaintances as they were... "frenemies." 

Vinyl was rather happy by this change. She was happy to see that they were slowly warming up to one another. Granted, Midnight still had to do most of her and Octavia’s errands and chores, but at least they pitched in and lended a hand with them every now and again.

Frédéric, the stallion from their dinner night at Apple Garden, however, was not at all pleased with how nice and praising Octavia was being to “the creature” when he did a good job. Which, due to his “mental limits”, were trivial things like getting the tea tray, or buying the right tin of cookies at the store.

Yes, Octavia still had Midnight pretend to be her idiotic workhorse when Frédéric was around. The Sarosian wished she would just up and tell the truth, that he wasn’t actually braindead. He couldn’t keep up this act much longer. Sadly, those doe eyes of hers and rosy cheeks as she stared at Frédéric obviously screamed that there was no way the truth would be let out by anyone anytime soon.

Still, it wasn’t a catastrophic issue. Midnight’s rather clandestine revenge plans on Frédéric were made much easier under his supposed “retardation”. Magically nudging the carpet a few inches up to trip him, overheating his tea to where it would burn his tongue, or pushing his chair out of place before he sat down were big classics for him and Vinyl to snicker and giggle at. Better yet, Frédéric couldn’t pin those “phenomena” on him if he simply and stupidly stated, “Daaaah, no can use magic. Too stupid, yarp.”

Jokes like that, however, were a double-edged sword. While Midnight and Vinyl would laugh about Frédéric’s delusion of ghosts haunting the cafe or Octavia’s apartment, Octavia herself… well, she wasn’t as appreciative of it. After Frédéric leaves their proximity, she takes her Sarosian servant somewhere out of the way and scolds him for a good five to ten minutes.

That was where it got unusual for Midnight.

Initially, when he had first begun this horrid slave labor for her, he would shrug off her reprimands and murmur (bitter)sweet nothings to shut her up, calm her down, and get her to go away. Now… it made him a bit upset to see her brandish her disappointment at him. He would heed her warnings and lower the intensity of his cruelty towards Frédéric. ‘Even though I still think he’s a total prick,’ Midnight still thought begrudgingly, ‘and that he’s not right for you…’ Thoughts along those lines usually involved him shaking his head and questioning where in Equestria he got that silly notion. He shouldn’t give two hoots about who she ends up with, whether it be idiotic hick or uptight stiff. So why is he concerned about her future?

It was not just that, either. 

He paid finer attention to each of her details as she talked to him. The mild amethyst eyeshadow, the thin and elegant eyebrows, her well-shaped muzzle, the obsidian length of mane trailing behind her back, with a wrist-thick stream of it over her left shoulder, and her soft-looking lips. His eyes took it all in, embedding it thoroughly to memory, only to go home after the end of the day and bang the back of his head on a wall, muttering “stop it” over and over.

‘It was that text Princess Luna shot me that started this.’ He couldn’t rule out the possibility that maybe Luna could have made an error, given that she had been on the moon for a millennium. Especially since most of her time is spent in her room in the castle, churning out approved and declined bills and legislation. He would need a genuine mare’s opinion, knowledge, and personal experience with the matter of the abomination of “love”.

‘Nonsense, I tell you,’ he mentally barked.

He couldn’t tell Octavia, as she might catch on that maybe he had so-called “feelings” for her. He couldn’t tell his mother or sisters in Hoofghanistan either, as his sisters would either gossip about it with their friends, and his mother would guilt-trip him so hard for not following Hoofghani tradition and not asking for her hand in marriage first.

He needed the opinions of Vinyl and Scorch Shot.

The latter, a member of the Royal Guard, would not be tricky, as he presumed she’d be at the castle gymnasium with Cirrus Storm at this time. The former, at the time Midnight felt like popping the question, was unavailable. She was busy at the apartment working on a new song. She would not want to be disturbed, surely. The other flaw with asking Vinyl would be to do it in a way where no misconceptions could be formed.

So he would go ahead and ask Scorch first.

The walk to the castle was its standard, bland stroll, with a small smattering of stink-eyes being shot at him here and there. The Sarosian wasn’t bothered by it; to each their own, he mused. Pushing the castle gates open and entering the archway that led to the gym, eyes carefully looking around for her.

“Heyyy! Midnight, over here!” Yelled a slightly scratchy voice.

“Yyyeah, that’s her,” he hummed.

An orange Pegasus mare, about a head shorter than him, came trotting up to him. The mane, voice, and burgundy eyes all confirmed Midnight’s expectations. “What are you doing here?” asked Scorch Shot.

True, the lanky Sarosian who never actually liked to go out much being in a gymnasium saturated with the stench of sweat and aura of body heat was indeed an odd sight for those in the vicinity. Particularly since that Sarosian was dressed in black slacks, a button-up shirt, and a suit vest. 

Nevermind a sore thumb, he stuck out like a broken one.

“Well, I, uh… came to ask you something,” Midnight confessed. Although, with Scorch in naught but a headband, training bra and yoga pants, it was a bit hard for him to keep his train of thought chugging along at a normal pace. “Relatively important, actually.”

“Uh… Sure. Wanna sit somewhere?”

“The benches outside looked good.” They made their way to the aforementioned location and took a seat. 

“So what’s up?” Scorch asked. Midnight thought out his question very carefully. One wayward twitch of the tongue, one misconstrued thought, one bad alteration in tone, and the results may not be what he wanted.

“So there’s somepony on my mind, for reasons unknown. I thought she was an ingrate… a snob… an overall brat with shit morals and behavior towards others not like her. But apparently… sometimes there are some weird thoughts and feelings going on when I’m near her….”

“...We’re talking about Octavia, right?” Scorch deadpanned.

“Ye-” His serpentine eyes shrunk in shock. “What the-? Damn it!” He growled as Scorch simply chortled. “So much for it being inconspicuous.”

“Well, there’s not that many ponies who you spend time with that act like that,” Scorch summarised. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t bother even being in the same room as them.” Midnight’s poker face masked the mild astonishment of her deduction. Her smile soon appeared as she then said, “But I think it’s cute that you have a little crush on Octavia! Weird, but cute!”

“Ew, please stop.” Midnight shuddered in horror while Scorch snickered at his reaction. “There’s nothing cute about her. Most of the time when I’m around her, I want to commit seppuku with a rusty harpoon.”

“One, that’s sounds painful and gross–” she began ticking off her list of things to say on her fingers “–and two, there’s got to be some feminine charm to her.”

“I assure you, there’s not even an ounce,” he scoffed. 

“There has to be, if you’re tittering on about her like a schoolfilly in denial.” Midnight’s face flared bright as the heat seared through them. She was a damn sight smarter and wittier than he had assumed. 

“R...Regardless, I want to know, right at this moment. Is this what everypony calls love?” He asked, almost a bit nervously.

“Why are you asking that question like you’re some heartless, unfeeling robot?” Scorch retorted.

“Because I am a heartless, unfeeling robot,” Midnight sarcastically huffed, earning a tiny laugh from the guard. “Guess I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Also, why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be asking yourself? Because this is the first time I’ve heard about this, and I can’t make a false assumption or wrong generalization without more proof. You should know yourself: you’ve spent two weeks with her.”

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts. I’ve got one already.” 

‘And might I add, it is fiiine,’ he thought lewdly. While he may not admit it, around every mare he does indeed notice the lovely show that’s down below.

“In any case.” Midnight cleared his head of his compromising imaginations. “What about you? You probably have a crush on somepony, no doubt.”

“Me?” Scorch was taken aback by surprise, not by offence. “Nah. Too busy serving the princesses to notice anypony worth my attention. Vice versa, too.”

“Hey!” Cried a deep voice down the hall. Both Scorch and Midnight turned their heads to see Cirrus Storm coming down in a sleeveless tank and gym shorts. “Midnight, what in Tartarus are you doing here?”

“Gee, didn’t know I wasn’t allowed here at the gym,” he responded blandly.

“No, I’m not saying that. You just never come here.”

“True. I just had to ask Scorch here something. Right, Sco–” Midnight glanced over to see Scorch with beady pupils and a blush on her face more intense than anything before. A little dreamy smile irked upon her lips. “Uh… Scorch?” He nudges her back into the land of the living.

“Ah! Oh, h-hi, Cirrus!” She tittered, giggling at the end to punctuate the anxiety oozing from her. “W-what’re you gonna do today?”

“Oh, warm-up on the treadmill, a couple reps, then some cooldown on the exercise bike,” he answered calmly as he went inside. He seemed oblivious to Scorch’s change in attitude and behavior.

“O-okay! Cool! See you in there!”

Not Midnight, however. “Too busy to notice anypony, eh?” He sneered devilishly.

“I swear, if you tell anypony, I will beat on your skull until I hit tonsils,” Scorch venomously hissed. 

“Mum’s the word,” Midnight whimpered. “So, of all ponies, it had to be Cirrus. Why?”

“...Hmm… he’s charming, in a sense. He’s funny, polite, and can be sweet at times, I guess.”

“...I’m funny and polite... at times!” Midnight snarled in rage. “What the hell?!” 

“Uhh, that’s debatable.”

“Oh, shut it, you!” Midnight crossed his arms and pouted. “This is bullshit….”

“Relax, ya big baby!” Scorch locked Midnight’s neck in her left arm and noogied him with her right. “You’re still my friend. I just view your level of sexuality as equal to that of my little brother, or a lamp.”

“You’re not helping!” Midnight barked. “And please let go, you’re drenching my clothes in sweat.”

She did so. “Well, it least it doesn’t stink as bad as stallions’ sweat.” She put her chin in her hands as she started to stare off into space, mind churning viciously to think of the next words. “How about this? Let’s make a bet. We’re gonna have an endurance race on the treadmills. The loser has to confess their feelings to the person they love by the end of this month.” Midnight pulled out his phone and checked the calendar. Today was the nineteenth of May. The fifth was where his community service had been issued, and the fourth of July would be the final day the service would end. They’d have twelve days to do it.

“Sounds like a deal.” The two shook hands, solidifying the agreement. “But I’m pretty sure you chose a challenge that benefits only you,” Midnight grumbled. “What happens if one doesn’t do so?”

“That pony has to do one thing that the other says. Anything possible, they have to do it.”

“Okay… not too bad. I like it.”

“First, take off the vest and hat. You don’t need those for this.”

“I understand the vest, but the hat stays,” Midnight stated firmly.

“Come on, you wimp. It’s not like you have the worst manecut in Equestria!” Scorch tried swiping the black fitting cap off of his head, but no go. Midnight clung to it as tight as his fingers would allow. “Stop… fighting!”

“No! Stop it!” he belted over the straining.

“You don’t... look cool… with it on!”

“I... don’t... care!”

“Just.. give it here!” Alas, Midnight was still weaker than Scorch, and she had overpowered him and removed the cap, waving it high above her head. “Aha! Got it! Man, it’s pretty embarrassing being overpowered by–” Her jaunty cheers were dulled to silence as she looked over to her left. “–a… girl….”

Midnight looked down at the floor in defeat, the white torrents of his mane blocking his face from view and almost touching the ground. He sighed a bit, and grinned pathetically. “Yeah, I guess it is kind of embarrassing, eh?”

“Whoa…” Her first instinct was to touch it. It felt like gossamer to her fingers, sleek and flawless, cared for extremely well. Incredibly long, it reached to his lower vertebrae, almost half a foot above the base of his tail. Absolutely pure white, almost unreal. She looked at the dejected cap in her hand, and questioned how it could contain all of it. “It’s really cool,” she said subconsciously as she continued playing with his hair.

“Uhh… please stop,” he said plainly. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away. But she couldn’t help herself. It was actually a bit fun to play with.

“Why is it so long in the first place?” she inquired.

“Err... no real reason. Just didn’t want to cut it, I suppose.”

“Talk about laziness. I thought you were gonna say something about tradition or other… I mean, I could skip rope with this!”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he snapped in a worried hurry. 

“Huh…” Scorch grabbed a hold of Midnight’s hair again. “Well, it will probably be in the way of the race, so I’m just gonna tie it up a bit.”

“...What.” Too late. Scorch was getting to work at braiding Midnight’s mane into one long trail of mane.  “Ow! Watch it!” She messed with the bangs a bit, parting them before ending her procedure with a black hair band at the end of the braid. 

“Done!” Scorch scooted back and observed her masterpiece. “What do you think?”

Midnight took out his phone again and looked at the self-shot camera. His eyes dilated, and his brows hiked up his head at the sight. She made me look like Edward Tailric… Can’t really complain…. “...I like it. Thank you.”

“Now, are you ready to get your ass whooped in that race?” taunted Scorch. 

“Don’t get cocky, pal,” Midnight jeered as he removed his suit vest and put it back on the bench. The two stepped into the gymnasium and walked directly towards the treadmills. The stallions and mares looked over in curiosity at the white-maned individual, and going slack-jawed as they realized who it was. “Ready?”

“Whoa, what the-?” Cirrus came over, eyes widened. “Midnight, I thought you looked like a chick!”

“Shut it. Can you keep track over an endurance race between me and Scorch here?”

“Uhh, sure? Okay.” Cirrus cleared his throat. “Why, though?”

“N-no reason in particular!” Scorch stammered anxiously, eyes darting this way and that. “Just some friendly competition!”

“Okaaay. Start the machines, get all nice and stretched. We’re starting off at 5 miles per hour, and then up a mile every two minutes, until the cap of ten. Ready?”

“Yes.” They both said in unison.

There is no way in Tartarus I should lose. I have to tell Octavia that I “love” her? I’d rather perform an ice-pick lobotomy on myself. Midnight reprimanded himself. She’s going down.

I can’t, Scorch thought firmly. I just can’t tell Cirrus something like that so soon. I’m gonna demolish this dork and have him be the one to do it first. I’ll tell him at my own pace, thank you very much.

“Go!” The treadmills churned the tracks at a mild five miles per hour, a normal pace for the two of them to jog at. Soon, it moved to six, then seven. Their jogs evolved into gentle runs. On eight MPH, the two of them were building up perspiration, Midnight more than Scorch. Not surprisingly due to his choice of attire.

“Crap… my lungs burn,” he croaked. But he kept pushing and demanding his legs to trudge him farther and his lungs to take in more air. Scorch didn’t seem as fazed, but she was panting a bit. 

“Feel the pain, love the pain,” she told herself. Nine MPH came and went, and they were almost sprinting on the ten MPH speed limit. The two of them were trudging forward like cheetahs dashing towards prey. Midnight’s breathing was ragged, and his legs felt heavier than lead. Scorch was exhausted as well, but she too pressed on, not demanding to lose to her rival at the moment. “How’s that *pant* burn coming along, *pant* pal?!” She heaved.

“You *pant* You’re one to *pant* talk!” wheezed Midnight. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t push himself to the levels that he needed to win. The eyes that stared in astonishment for his display of stamina was eerie to him. All the attention diverted to him was about to give him a panic attack. He stopped the treadmill and plopped less-than-gracefully onto the ground, panting and choking in the effort to catch his breath.. “Shit… *cough!* Oh dear… help! *cough!*” He laid on the ground pitifully in his own sweat and lethargy, as Cirrus helped him up.

“Not bad. I expected less, man,” said Cirrus. “That was impressive, by your standards.” 

“Thanks *pant* a lot.” Midnight trudged over to the nearest water fountain and drank the water with immense greed. His throat rejoiced as the cool refreshing fluid soothed every iota inside. “Gah… that was murder by the end. See you all later...” He went back outside to put on his vest, but remembered that he was too drenched in sweat to even try. He slung it over his shoulder, fixed the tie that felt suffocating around his neck, and pocketed his old cap.

“Pretty good, man. But you still lost,” said Scorch matter-of-factly, leaning against the wall, “so you got to hold up your end of the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah… I read you loud and clear.” Midnight turned around before he left, and asked, “What if I don’t love her? What if it’s all just my imagination?”

“You’ll find that out yourself, bub. Try spending time with her. That might help you find out.”

Midnight sighed in defeat. “Alrighty.” He exited the castle’s confines and walked over to his tower, ready to shower, change his clothes – and follow Scorch’s advice.

‘Faust, please smite me where I stand… I can’t believe I have to do this.’




~End of Chapter XII~