//------------------------------//
// XVI - A Rose to Sweeten the Present (Hoofghanistan - Pt. II) 
// Story: At Your Service 
// by Deyeaz 
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XVI - A Rose To Sweeten The Present (Hoofghanistan - Pt. II)




        The Sun.

        2.4 billion meters away from the planet. And yet, through the aeration holes in the ceiling of the underground city, and a baseball-sized break in the wall of Midnight’s bedroom, its beams of light still had perfect accuracy, striking Frédéric directly in his eyes, almost singeing his retinas. “Ahhh,” he groaned in discomfort, stretching out on the mattress he lay on. The digital clock on Midnight’s nightstand confirmed the time of 8:21 A.M. 

        The pianist wiggled from the maroon blanket and made the bed. It was the least he could do to repay their translator for his hospitality. He turned and saw that the area where Midnight had retired was tidied already, the futon and extra blanket put back in the closet. Midnight must have gotten up early, thought Frédéric, examining the room better in the light of a fluorescent ceiling bulb. A small television rested on the dresser, an old gaming system sitting on a little fold-up table hooked up to aforementioned telly. The array of literature on the walls were organized by chronological date of publishing, from archaic books on magic and spells, to modern day romance, adventure, and mystery novels, and everything in between.

        Taken by the rapture of the room, it was a little tough for Frédéric to tear his eyes away. Although, seeing the Lula Moon and Ruroponi Kenshin anime posters eased the task a fair deal. Frédéric, once dressed in a white polo and baggy khakis, and properly groomed and dentally cared for, entered the kitchen and saw Midnight and his mother Galaxy in the kitchen, the both of them preparing breakfast.

        Frédéric got seated at the table. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Midnight greeted, dressed in black slacks and a white button-up dress shirt with suspenders, as he cracked several eggs into a big mixing bowl. “I take it you slept well?

“Good morning. And yes, like a foal,” responded Frédéric, stretching his arms and yawning, covering his mouth so as to not crudely reveal his maw. “What’s for breakfast, might I ask? It smells divine.”

Galaxy spoke to her son in Ponsi. It sounded as though it was posed as a question. Midnight paused for a quick fraction of a second, then responded in the same language. With that, she went over to a cupboard in the kitchen, scooped out two cups of flour, and dumped it into the mixing bowl. Chasing that down with a large amount of milk, Midnight applied two dashes of vanilla extract and two spoons of baking powder, then mixed it all with an electric eggbeater.

“Pancakes, m’boy!” Midnight answered back over the whirring pitch of the eggbeater, a cheeky, fanged grin on his face. Galaxy exclaimed, and reached into the cupboards again. She returned from its depths with a little dispenser of cinnamon, sprinkling it here and there in the mix. “Before we get this ready, I have to ask,” he continued, beating the pancake batter fervently to disperse the cinnamon and other ingredients throughout, “are you allergic to milk or eggs? Do have a celiac disease, where you have a gluten intolerance?”

“Oh, dear, no,” Frédéric replied, happily anticipating the morning meal. The look of expectancy melted to a deadpan when Midnight mentioned they were using gluten-free flour anyways. “Well, then, why ask me if I had a celiac disease?”

“Hey, I was checking. I want to know what my friends like.” Midnight grinned again, realizing that he had mixed the batter to the right thickness. Taking a measuring up with “¼ cup” embossed on the handle, he scooped the inside of the mixing bowl, and poured it onto a skillet on the oven. Frédéric grinned. He was pleased to see that Midnight was not too strung up over last night.

As the Sarosian tended to the first hotcake, in walked Octavia, dressed in a white dress skirt and a blue satin shirt, decorative frills lining the collar and sleeves. Normally, Midnight would have been happy to greet her, but after she unknowingly affected him for the worse last night at dinner, he wasn’t exactly the happiest pony to see her. He felt a tug at his heart at the sight of her. It was… uncomfortable, as though he was about to have another panic attack. Struggling to keep warmth from rising to his face, he still greeted her with a chipper “Hello”.

“Good morning, all,” responded the ashen-colored mare. “Midnight, that smells heavenly.” The compliment ruined all efforts for Midnight to keep his blush under control. She sat down, his feeble “thanks” falling on deaf ears. Frédéric noticed this, and frowned a little, feeling somewhat bad for the Sarosian. “Good morning, Frédéric,” Octavia greeted, smiling, she too stifling the heat from reaching her face. “I take it you slept well?”

“Good morning, Octavia. Yes, I slept grand, thank you.” While Frédéric did have Midnight’s best interests at heart, he felt like he should make himself happy as well. What better way to do that than talk to the one he loved? He felt a little nervous in doing so, blushing mildly and shuffling his hooves. “And you?”

As the two rattled on into conversation, Vinyl declared her presence with a mighty yawn and a half-tired hello, walking into the room in thin dark jeans and a white tank top. “Good morning, guys and gals,” she announced. Her nostrils soon filled with the scent of the pancakes, the mild hint of cinnamon titillating her senses, the warmth filling her lungs. Her eyes widened behind her violet-tinted glasses. “Midnight, that smells awesome!” she exclaimed as she took a seat, humming approvingly as he said his thanks.

        He brought the small tower of pancakes over to the table, levitating with him a bottle of syrup, the chinaware and cutlery, washed fruit, orange juice, cold water, coffee, and a stick of butter. He spread them all along the table within reach of everypony, lading each plate with two pancakes and passing them around. “Well, guys, dig in.”

        He sat down next to Galaxy and Vinyl, and waited anxiously for approval as they bit off morsels from their breakfast. All of them hummed in unison from the taste. The sensation of the hotcake, its softness and fluffiness, the cinnamon that gave it its flavor and swirled around their tongues, and how it almost seemed to melt in their mouths. The butter that coated the surface seemed to fuse with the all-natural maple syrup. Each of their brains’ floodgates broke loose, releasing feel-good chemicals by the gallons from how magnificent the food tasted. To call it delicious would not do it justice.

        “This is… fantastic!” Frédéric said in , helping himself to more on his plate. Vinyl nodded in agreement, voicing her thoughts with a full mouth.

        She had to wash it down with a heap of orange juice before she could say, “Mmmm… these are Bomb-dot-com,” before returning hungrily to her meal.

        Galaxy, once she had taken care of her first hotcake, patted her son on the back, and said, “I’m proud of you. This is amazing.”

        Midnight, beginning on his plate, was elated by all of these words of praise. He never felt this euphoric in a while, and from compliments about his cooking, no less. However, despite how they all praised him, he was waiting for one final judge.

        He turned his head to see Octavia dabbing at the corners her mouth with a napkin… once she had finished her plate. Midnight and Frédéric were both astonished at her eating speed. It was as though she had made all of them vanish whole. Her metabolism must be quite high for her eating to not show on her impressive figure. Midnight whistled low at the sight. Octavia heard the sound and knew why it was issued; with a blush of embarrassment and a timid smile, she asked Midnight, “...Can I have a second helping, please?”

        Midnight’s heart skipped a beat or two. “You like it?”

        “Oh, yes,” said Octavia calmly. “It’s absolutely wonderful.”

Midnight rubbed his arm nervously, abashed—and euphoric. He felt much more confident in his abilities, now that his love interest heavily approved of his results. With a grin, he served all those who had finished—namely Octavia’s—an extra serving, adding berries to her’s and the others’ plates. The fresh blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries, each of them released a ton of flavor with the pancakes, beautifully harmonizing sweet and tart into one almighty sensation.

Once finished with their plates, Midnight poured them all coffee, the aroma of Prench Roast infiltrating their noses. “Ah… I made it right this time,” Midnight hummed, sipping gingerly at the hot drink.

“What can’t you do?” Frédéric asked of him.

“Seriously? Like, you want me to say the obvious, or what you’d be surprised to hear?” Frédéric’s deadpan didn’t answer his question, so it left Midnight to grasp at straws and list. “Well… I can’t bake. I used to be in track and field, and swim team in high school, but those were the only athletic activities I was any good at.”

“I figured as much,” was Frédéric’s response. “Long legs and scrawny—running away is the perfect sport for you.”

“Ah ha. Ah haha–shut up,” snapped Midnight. This fresh response earned him a smoldering glare from Octavia, from which he withered almost at once. “Ahehe, where was I?” He chuckled nervously. “Oh… Right. I also can’t sing, or play an instrument.”

        Vinyl’s ears perked up, stopping in mid-swig and lowering her cup. “You can’t sing?”

        Octavia, still cross about Midnight’s retaliation to her precious Frédéric, snickered. “I knew it. That rap of yours back at your home was terrible.”

        “It’s a rap. It’s not so much elevating and lowering my tone to make the same harmony as singing. It’s more about keeping rhythm and letting out a good ‘flow’,” Midnight answered. Octavia nodded; granted, she didn’t really care, but it at least gave him the sense that she was paying attention. “Okay, try to imagine a fusion between… a bag full of cats being clubbed by a lead pipe, an accordion getting stuck in a woodchipper, and a grand piano being chucked down a huge flight of stars. Multiply that by seven, and you got me when I even contemplate singing.” The mental image that soon followed earned a good chuckle from them, as their heads filled with the idea of Midnight opening his mouth and making those atrocious noises.

        “Ah.” Frédéric finished off his coffee and laid the mug to rest back on the table. “I guess that’s understandable. Singing can either be an issue with being tone-deaf, or not having the proper vocal chords for the job.”

        “Well, I am a little disturbed by the lack of instrument-playing,” Octavia said, taking a demure sip from her coffee. “I’d figure with all that time you spend cooped in your home, you would at least learn how to play something.”

“Heh… well, work is a bit of a throttler. Some days, I question whether I’ll see the sun again, there’s so much paperwork. Besides, lessons would be nearly impossible to arrange, due to my work schedule.”

“But you didn’t list that you can’t dance. Think you might have forgotten it?”

        Midnight looked at her blankly. “I actually can dance.”

        Octavia paused for a second, lowering her coffee mug and looking at Midnight seriously. “Really?”

        “Yes. Most of my life isn’t all about work. Princess Luna taught me how to dance, one Grand Galloping Gala ago. Then, I expanded my knowledge on dance with the help of the Internet.”

        “Huh,” Octavia sounded. She placed her hands underneath her chin, supporting her head with her elbows on the table. “That’s interesting.”

        “What kind of dances, Midnight?” Galaxy asked. Midnight did a double take, a bit of grief weighing down on his shoulders, now that his mother had joined in on the question.

Déjà vu..., he thought, remembering the first day his punishment was issued and how both Vinyl and Scorch Shot buried him under a mountain of questions. That was a little over three weeks ago. He groaned in agitation having to temporarily bring the occasion back from his graveyard of memories. “Flamenco, ballroom, salsa, slow dance. I’m fine.” Twiddling his thumbs in the next silence, he said, “I’ve got some plans for us. I want you guys to enjoy your visit here and not go home with memories of just us lazing about the house, regardless of how delicious the food is.” He got to his hooves and started walking towards the exit. “My dad has a Vespa he can lend us, and I’ve got my own. All four of us, good to go.”

“Vespas? Really?” Octavia cocked an eyebrow in amusement, suppressing a giggle at the thought of riding such a… peculiar vehicle. “Vinyl, I think you and Midnight share the same taste in men.”

The two ponies in question deadpanned at her, staring at her in disapproving unison. “Get bent, Tavi.” Vinyl said tonelessly.

“We could stay here, if you want,” Midnight said, agitation buried in the undertone.

Octavia shook her head. “Sorry. Let’s go?” The four of them arose from their chairs and made for the door.

“Actually…” said a slightly hesitant Galaxy. “Octavia, could you please stay here?”

“Pardon me?” Octavia stopped. She was a tad worried about why she was the only one being halted in her tracks. She was hoping this wouldn’t be detrimental in her capability of spending time with Frédéric. She looked at him, hoping he’d somehow pathologically give her some way out of this. All he could really do was shrug, and give her a feeble thumbs-up.

“Just for a little while. Please?” Galaxy insisted sweetly, sealing the deal with a little fanged smile and innocent eyes. Octavia sighed. She couldn't ignore that look and her cute accent of hers. She caved in and sat back down in one of the chairs not next to her.

“We’ll wait outside for you, okay?” Midnight offered. Octavia nodded, and watched as they all exited the room. Octavia faced Galaxy again. She looked… off. She wasn’t as happy-go-lucky and radiating with the aura of a loving mother. Instead, she had a rather stern look on her face. 

“Alright. I understand that you and Midnight do not exactly… get along,” began Galaxy. Before Octavia could retaliate and say her piece, Galaxy held up a hand, asking for silence. The cellist, swallowing away an agonizing knot in her throat, obliged. “It is okay. It is good to get a fire under his butt every now and again. He is usually too far away from home for me to do it.”

“I understand, but what are you getting at, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Galaxy sighed, a woeful look plaguing her complexion. She twiddled her thumbs a tad, and it was her turn to gulp away at an uncomfortable knot in her gullet. She breathed again and said, “Just… take it easy. Know your limits. There is big difference between bantering him and just... what is the word? Emulating? Emanating? Eh... no... curse this language of yours.”

“Emasculating?” Octavia suggested, throwing that up in the air.

“Yes. That is the word I was looking for.”

Octavia tilted her head. “Well, surely he can handle a little bit of verbal manhandling. It’s not like he has a heart or a stress condition, right?” Galaxy’s solemn, severe silence left Octavia’s lips to curl into a terrified, ashamed grimace. She couldn’t really believe it to be fact. Midnight? Cantankerous, crude… yet still chivalrous, gentle, and friendly Midnight? Surely somepony else was involved. Another Midnight, one who wasn’t the same as the stallion waiting patiently outside for her. However, the serious stare from Galaxy corrected her thoughts at once. “Oh….”

“He was not always like this. He was always such a smart and healthy colt. Completely different than now: he actually had a friend, and he would always beg me to let him go outside and play with him.”

Octavia’s curiosity was slowly piquing, raring to reach even a dangerous extent. “What was his friend’s name?”

“...His name was Jericho.”

Octavia’s jaw almost fell comically onto the table. Her heart dropped a little in her chest. But her brain did a double take. She had a feeling that Galaxy was merely pulling her leg. She would have asked, “is this friend by any chance a simian?”, but knew better. Either Galaxy is a very good actor, thought Octavia, or what she is saying is the honest truth. She felt it right to fall upon the latter of those choices. After all, the intensely solemn air in the room that purely resonated from Galaxy alone basically roared at Octavia to keep her silence.

“Okay…” she said. “How close were Midnight and... Jericho?” She felt uncomfortable asking it, as the simple brown monkey which she had quite a fond time bonding with still popped into her head. Thank goodness she got Midnight to find somepony to take care of him while they were away.

“Like a bee to a flower.” Galaxy sighed in reminiscent bliss, remembering how every month the two colts would wind up going back to Midnight’s house, dripping with mud and being splashed ferociously with the backyard hose by either her or Comet. She told Octavia this story, and another, and another. She didn’t go into reeling details like she loved to do: she knew that Octavia’s friends were waiting for her. But if they weren’t, at least one would.

        Octavia relished each story. She laughed and let out little “awww”s in all the right places. “The two seemed inseparable,” she said giddily, imagining the time Midnight and Jericho would wrestle. Midnight lost almost every time, and the one time he did win was when he shouted “Pocket sand!” and transferred a handful of the grit from his overalls pocket into Jericho’s face. Granted, he got a good spanking as a “reward” from Galaxy for cheating, and had to apologize to a crying Jericho.

Galaxy was even courteous to show her a picture of Jericho and Midnight when they were young. On the left stood Midnight, wearing a pair of denim overalls over a yellow t-shirt. He didn’t have his glasses or his long braid of hair, but Octavia recognized the color of his hair, serpentine eyes, and the protruding horn. On the right was another Sarosian colt, this one sporting wings and a short, magenta mane. dressed in a children’s pair of sweatpants and a tie-dye tee. Both of them looked as though they had just been doused with the hose, yet mud still lingered on them. Octavia felt her mouth beaming at the sight. The both of them looked unfathomably adorable, the way they stood holding hands, smiling at the camera, Jericho more timidly than Midnight. “Whatever happened? Why didn’t Midnight mention such a fascinating colt like this?”

        The soon cross look that took over Galaxy’s face again made Octavia regret asking such questions. The mother stared at the ground, sighing in emotional anguish. She clenched the table with an iron grip. “It happened when the two of them were eight years old, before winter break. They were going on a school field trip, to the city above, at the museum. Midnight and Jericho were very excited to see the Ancient Fleece section. They were on the bus there on the surface. 

        “Then there was this horrible accident, on their way back. There was a leak in the bus, and brake fluid just poured out on the way back. They skidded on a bad patch of ice at a stoplight. The bus… crashed.” Galaxy was having a hard time talking. The event from sixteen years ago was being reiterated, and the emotions flooding through her were still fresh and as searing as hot razors, as though it had happened yesterday. She bit her tongue sharply, more content with drawing blood than tears. “The bus had twenty-four children, with a teacher and a driver on board. Seven, with the teacher and driver, died. Sixteen were hurt. Very bad. The other three only had a few scrapes and bruises. Midnight was one of the sixteen, however… and Jericho was amongst the seven.

        “Midnight had to be rushed to the hospital with the others. He was not hurt as bad as some of his classmates—their destroyed figures haunt me to this day. But, he was hurt very badly from a broken window. It hit his chest, and one of the shards, a long and sharp one, pierced his heart.” Octavia gasped. Despite Galaxy’s most resilient efforts to keep her eyes for shedding a tear, it was futile, as one had shattered through her defenses and leaked pathetically down her cheek. “The doctors said that he needed a new heart, or he would not last two days under their care. They wanted to use a heart from somepony who had died in the crash.

        “But it was not that simple. They said Midnight was a... what was the word? Universal recipient, as he was blood type AB. But all of the other ponies’ hearts were too damaged to be used. The only one that was safe to be transplanted was Jericho’s. They had to fight with Jericho’s parents just to get them to give consent to the cardiac transplant. Eventually they were capable of doing the surgery.

        “It took eighteen grueling hours. Nebula was praying in tears with Star and Night for my son’s recovery. Comet had been pacing back and forth, a, eh, nervous wreck. He is usually such a strong, tough pony... but when his firstborn son’s life hung in the balance, he just… lost it. Me, on the other hand... I was so scared. I thought Midnight might not live. 

“But it was a success. Midnight was the proud owner of Jericho’s heart. But… they had to take… Midnight’s old heart… and trash it, it was useless.” Galaxy was now in tears, remembering distinctly as they tore out her son’s heart and disposed of it, as though it was replaying in her head all over again. Octavia rushed to her, cradling the mother who would hold her and weep into her chest.

Octavia felt dread continue to taint every square inch of her being. She never knew. It was especially too soon to know about this. Three weeks in, and Octavia already knew more about the Sarosian than she was accustomed to. She knew about his hobbies, interests, dislikes, and even some of the dark deep secrets meant to remained buried in the gravel of the past, ever-so-rarely unearthed by nosy ponies like her. But he was clueless about her. His knowledge on her was very limited: all he knew was that she was a highly-esteemed member of Canterlot, and an immensely talented cello player for the Canterlot Quartet alongside equally-talented pianist Frédéric Horseshoepin, her colleague and love interest.

And from how she treated him, a cold-hearted, uncaring bitch….

She so much about him, yet he so little about her. It felt… unbalanced. Unfair, some would call it. “I’m sorry about what happened,” apologized Octavia weakly, still holding Galaxy to her bosom. “It was atrocious of me to do this to you. To relive a terrifying memory that shouldn’t have been reminisced.” Galaxy peeled herself from Octavia, sniffling and dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her sleeves.

        “It is okay, sweetheart,” Galaxy shakily responded, clutching Octavia by her shoulders. “It was never your fault.” She sighed, however. “But… if Midnight has ever had any of his panic attacks, you now know the reason why. He has been... traumatized by the accident ever since.”

        “Hmm… I see. I had a feeling “Jericho” was an odd name for a monkey…” mused Octavia silently.

        “Mm? What was that, Octavia?” asked Galaxy, a little intrigued by the noises she issues. Octavia shook her head and merely told it was nothing. Galaxy then got up, saying, “I have something before you go. Follow me?”

Octavia obliged, leaving her seat and trailing after her into the den. It was designed much like the living room, but was much more spacious, and had a higher ceiling. Galaxy rolled up the large rug in the centre of the room until she revealed the stone floor. There was something off about it, though. It was very faint, but it seemed there was an outline of a tile, about six and one fourth feet in area. Along the parallel lines were cracked portions of rock, which Galaxy removed to reveal handholds.

“Can you help me with this?” the mare in action inquired, grabbing one end. “I am not as young as I used to be.” Octavia assisted Galaxy with the other end, removing the large, thin square slab from the floor. They set the thin slab of shale aside to reveal an aged trapdoor, placed an inch or so beneath the stone floor. It was whittled out of pine, and was sealed securely with a deadbolt lock.

“Brilliant…” hummed Octavia in fascination. Galaxy removed a key from off a necklace she had hidden beneath her blouse, and unlocked the trapdoor’s formidable deadbolt. She swung the doors ajar with a creaking groan emanating from the wood. Inside was a small, narrow case. Willow, treated caringly with a fresh coat of lacquer. Galaxy uncased the container and revealed.

...A rose.

Octavia was a little baffled. Flora that had been tucked away in the dark and not even tended to with dirt, water, and sunlight should be dead. Withered. Shriveled like raisins in the sun’s intense heat. But this one was still alive. Its petals, shining a pristine white at the base and gradiently fading to a dark blue at the tips, were still in full blossom, blooming brilliantly. The stem still remained supple and tinted green. The blissful fragrance it carried still remained, burning lovingly in Octavia’s nostrils.

“Asteqaamet Zibaayi,” Galaxy said, almost rendered aloof from the smell. Octavia turned to her, tripped up by the sudden Ponsi. “Endurance of Beauty. They bloom in cool, dark regions once every five years. They are given to loved ones, sometimes to propose. Nature’s wedding ring, it is also called.” she then said jokingly, blushing fiercely as she recollected the time Comet Ash had gone to practically the ends of the city to retrieve it and give it to her. “It shrinks back to a bud when it is unpicked. But when they are pulled by those in deep, true love, they don't wither. They don't age. They keep their shape for years and years, until the one who plucked it dies, so that it may die with them. They can only be plucked and given by those who are sure that they love the one they have in mind. Otherwise, it withers and shrivels to ashes.”

“It’s… so gorgeous,” Octavia said breathlessly. The very concept of it was exceedingly romantic. It welcomed the glory and majesty of true love, and permanently basked in its wondrous rays, and shuns and scorns false affection and lust by disappearing forever. She went out to reach it, but Galaxy snapped the hinged case shut, suddenly appearing serious again. “Wait, what’s the matter?”

“I am giving it to you. But you cannot touch it,” Galaxy explained. “Not yet, at least. I can only assume there is still doubt within your heart about who you hold dear to it.” Octavia wanted to retort, almost yell at her that she was certain of who she loved, but Galaxy raised a hand for silence. Reluctantly, Octavia held her tongue. Galaxy has been on the planet longer, and has more intensive knowledge and experience with the unfathomable, unreasonable creature known as love.

        “I know you wish to touch it. To give it to somepony who you think you love.” Galaxy shook her head and resumed. “But, love and time walk hand-in-hand. Give it time, and you will know who to really treasure. These flowers bloom once every five years, not once every five seconds.” Octavia weakly giggled. “Now, I am going to put this in your suitcase. When you know it in your heart that you truly, and dearly love somepony… you will know.”

        Octavia felt a little… left in the dark. These vague explanations and mystic reasonings played Ring-Around-the-Rosie with her brain, befuddling her and leaving her mind to spin in dizzying circles. She didn’t like this in the slightest: she felt that she deserved at least a simpler, more to-the-point answer to this rose.

        She did not want to have to brood on this matter for too long. After getting the okay to be released, Octavia exited the front door and entered the garage. She was hoping all three of them would at least have the patience. Her heart skipped a beat when she hoped for Frédéric to be waiting for her, waiting chivalrously to whisk her off on a motor vehicle she enjoyed bagging on.

        Instead of any of those possibilities, the pony who waited for her was the last pony she’d wanted to see, and for obvious—and obviously different—reasons. 

        He sat cross-legged on the driveway, a light in his mouth as he played with a Balisong, the collapsible knife in his hand twirling exotically on his thumb, in his palm, in mid-air. He was whistling a song, making each note extra sharp every time he successfully performed an intricate trick not meant for those with poor dexterity. 

Midnight had been waiting.

        For her, and for her alone.

Octavia’s heart warmed at the sight of Midnight sitting there, perhaps not chivalrously, but at least patiently, for her to arrive. Yet at the same time… her heart plummeted at Galaxy’s story of what happened to him. She could imagine it. The screeching of bus tires. The screaming of children. The beeping of a heart monitor. The image of glass burrowing greedily into a young colt’s chest.

Midnight stabbed his light into the pavement, then flicked it into a dustbin once he was sure he extinguished it entirely. He missed, a disappointed “Damn.” dispensing from him.

His ears perked up at the sound of Octavia stifling a giggle. He turned and saw her waiting next to the Vespa. “Hey,” he said, rising to his hooves, quickly closing and pocketing his knife. “Sorry I couldn’t get them to stay. I let them have my phone, it has a voice-to-voice translator.”

“It’s quite alright, Midnight,” said Octavia calmly. She examined the Vespa carefully: it was a silver-grey hue, a black Neighpanese kanji character “銀” stamped on a white circular background on both sides of the back wheel. The seat, a plush black leather cushion, was treated with a coat of black shiner that gleamed softly in the garage light. “Where are they now?”

“I told them to take the main highway to the surface, and wait for me once they reached the top.” He walked over to Octavia and the Vespa, drawing the driveway doors open with his magic and taking out his keys from his pocket. He sat down, took a helmet off of the right handle, and strapped it to his head. “Vinyl got tired of waiting, so me and Freddy had a coin toss on who’d get to partake in the adventures. He lost, so he had to go.” He removed the second helmet from the left handle, gave it to Octavia, and gave the keys a good twist once inserted into the ignition.

Midnight felt warmth creeping to his face as he felt Octavia sit down right behind him. He sighed intensely to get rid of any bad nerves, and forced the heat to simmer down before he said, “Hold on tight.” He felt her arms slink around his midriff, saw her thin fingers cross on his stomach. Each digit was capped with a nail painted a rich, enticing color of purple. He sighed again as he rolled slowly out of the driveway of the house, magically sealing the gate again before starting down the street.

Octavia sat there behind him, both of their hair that wasn’t concealed by the helmets flying in the gentle slipstream of the motorbike. She remembered her words last night, about how she didn’t deserve a friend like Midnight. If she said she didn’t deserve him by her side, she definitely felt like she shouldn’t even be within his presence. Maybe it was the guilt that was speaking, or the fact that she can empathize with the Sarosian. Either one could be explanations as to why she sidled closer to him, securing her grip to keep from slipping off the end should there be an incoming pothole. It was odd. He felt… warm. Abnormally warm. As though he had lit a bonfire in his belly, or he had laid in the strong heat of the sun (or lack thereof, given their location below the earth.) Without knowing it or any intuition in the slightest, Octavia felt a yawn slip through. Understandable, as she had woken up not too long ago and had eaten a very filling breakfast. She put her head down on his back, square between the shoulder blades, eliciting a shiver from the driver.

“Octavia? You okay?” asked Midnight as he turned another corner onto the main road that lead to the upper level of Jalalabuck, only to reach a large traffic jam. As he growled in irritation, the mare hummed drowsily to confirm his question. “If you’re gonna fall asleep, just… be careful.” He sparked his horn alight as he traveled up the winding highway. A seatbelt appeared on the sides of the Vespa, flying over Octavia’s lap and clicking shut, tightening to keep her bound to the bike and not bound to hit the asphalt.

        Midnight got the sneaking suspicion that this sudden development of… affection? For lack of a more appropriate word, yes. He would use “affection,” for the time being. He figured it wasn’t just Octavia getting an out-of-the-blue desire to cuddle somepony. This wasn’t born from total care and adoration: she reserved that mostly for Frédéric.

He knew this emotional phenomenon all too well.

This was… pity.

She knew something he didn't know.

At least... he hoped he didn't.




~End of Chapter XVI~