The little griffon hears somepony snoring. It’s one of those snores that define exactly why everypony hates the sound of snoring; it sounds just like a badly malfunctioning freight train, and it’s brought her out of her slumber quite effectively. Her eyes pop open, and a wave of pain hits her as she attempts to jolt upright. She whimpers, falling back to the bed she’d been sleeping on. It’s not her bed. She doesn’t have a bed, at least not anymore. Her face contorts into an expression of utter confusion as she lies back on the soft pillow. She wants to leap up and start flying but she knows she can’t, she can’t even look around; she knows the shooting pain in her back will return if she so much as tries again.
Whoever’s snoring lets out another percussive burst of noise. She’s got to know who it belongs to. Braving the pain that comes as she slowly twists her head towards the sound, she sees the big unicorn who’d almost killed her last night slumped in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, his neck awkwardly bent over the back. She inhales sharply in a combination of confusion and terror, the quick motion causing the pain to stab again, like a hundred tiny needles jamming into her back. She cries out, clenching her eyes shut, once again falling back to the bed in agony. Her jaw tightens as she waits for the pain to subside. The snoring comes to a grinding halt as the stallion the noise belongs to slowly wakes. The pony lets out a sleepy groan, and she hears him pop his neck noisily.
“Celestia help me,” he mutters as he rests his head in his forehooves for several seconds, shaking it gently.
The little griffon twists her neck again, just enough to get a glimpse of what he’s doing. She’s startled to see that he’s staring at her with a look of concern. There’s a tense pause as she stares back, slowly regaining her resolve. “Who are you?” She asks feebly, her voice filled with all the venom she can muster.
The stallion winces at her tone, and stares at his hooves as he responds. “I…I’m Tavern Barrel—I...uh—oh, Celestia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you last night,” he stumbles. “I wasn’t exactly expecting anyone, and I…I hate to admit it but uh…I was a little drunk—I promise I didn’t mean to—”
The little griffon cuts him off with a loud sigh and a lifted claw. She’s by no means blameless, and of that fact she’s very aware. She barely shakes her head. “I’m the one who’s not supposed to be here,” she exhales. She’s heard enough, he’s obviously not intending to finish her off.
“I don’t care,” he sighs. “I should have been more careful.” He looks her up and down. “Are you alright?”
She nods almost imperceptibly. “My back and neck hurt, but I’ll live,” she responds, sure not to look Mr. Barrel in the face. After a moment, she realizes she’s actually unsure if anything’s really hurt, but she doesn’t want to sound like a weakling.
“Thank the princesses,” He says. His expression brightens visibly. “Now, what exactly were you doing in my place?” he asks with a small, knowing smile.
The little griffon, whose attention had drifted to her surroundings—she must be in Mr. Barrel’s bedroom—snaps back to him. He has to know what she was doing by now, and she knows she doesn’t really want to answer in the miniscule chance he doesn’t. After all, to do so would be admitting defeat, and beyond that, she doesn’t want to disclose the situation she’s in, which, at this point she can’t help but admit is quite desperate. She clenches her eyes shut for a moment. Now it’s her turn to be remorseful. “I…I was breaking in.”
Mr. Barrel nods knowingly. “And why were you doing that?”
“Because—” she begins. She considers briefly. She could say it’s because she’s got nowhere else to go, she could say it’s because she’s lost and poor and homeless—but she doesn’t. She knows why she broke in. “Because it’s what I do.”
***
Another morning dawns in Phillydelphia, and I’m not all too pleased about it. Firstly, it’s actually morning, which is problem enough, and secondly, I’d built up far too large a collection of shot glasses at my barstool last night after our return from the warehouse. We’d started discussing the oddities of our latest client, and that moved into a conversation on the incredible pay, which from there quickly devolved into a celebration of our combined 72,000 bit take.
From that conversation, two things are clear: there’s no way in hell I’m going to pass up the opportunity of the client’s second job, and my head is throbbing. I struggle to lift myself out of bed, resolve strengthened at the fact that at least I don’t feel sick.
Unfortunately, I have things to do today, namely, I have to go scout that griffon-owned store for our high-roller client. Despite my condition, I’m almost looking forward to the job, after all, smashing things is always fun. I drag my way over to the door, prying it open and blearily tossing myself down the stairs. Barrel’s whistling in his office, and I let myself in.
“Hey, girl,” He greets me, looking chipper as ever. I know for a fact he’d matched me shot for shot, but nonetheless, here he is, looking like he’d spent last night drinking nothing stronger than tea.
“Hey,” I manage to mumble.
“You don’t look so good,” He observes. “Have a few too many last night?”
“Barrel, you were right there with me, what do you think?” I growl.
Barrel laughs. “I think you had a few too many,” he states smugly. I let out a massive sigh in response. “Anyway, you’re still good to go take a look at that place over on—” he pauses to remember for a moment. “What did the letter say…29th and Saddle?”
“Yeah, that’s the place. And yeah, I’ll make it out there,” I reply. By some miracle, the pounding in my head is actually subsiding somewhat.
“Well, you’d better get a move on,” Barrel says. “I’ve got to head on down to the market, anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah. Goin’ out to spend all that hard-earned coin of yours, I understand,” I deadpan.
Barrel laughs, letting his head loll back on his leather office chair. “Can you blame me? You gotta admit, for all the shit we have to put up with working with this client, they pay like crazy. What do you think, Nadia, how would this room look with some dark wood paneling?”
I sigh. “I don't know, probably like it came from some old movie. You know, Barrel, I get the feeling you may be obsessed.” The posters on the wall and the various memorabilia from several films may have also already given that away. “Well, I’m outta here.”
“Get on it,” he grins. “You know, maybe instead of doing more stuff to this place I’ll head on downtown and start looking at high-class real estate, what with all the money we’re making.”
“Now that’s money better spent, Barrel,” I reply as I paw my way back out the door. I hear him chuckle to himself as I launch myself over the bar.
As I head for the front door, I spot Mojito, who’s still cleaning tables from last night’s service. I give her a nod, which she returns in kind and with a smile. “Hey, Nadia,” she calls in her singsong, yet slightly breathy voice, which somehow manages to be both adorable and somewhat sultry all at once. “So, I’ve been thinking…” she lets her voice trail off.
Uh-oh, I think to myself. I’ve been caught off-guard; Mojito had been cordial, if a little quiet, to me since she’d started work at the Manticore’s Claw, sticking mostly to the standard-issue good morning and good evening routine. In fact, this is the most she’s ever said directly to me, so I’ve got no idea what to expect.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what exactly it is you do around here since I’ve been here. Most nights you’re gone almost all night, and all you and Barrel do is talk about money,” she observes.
I think I may be catching a whiff of where this is going, and I’m none too pleased by the smell. I suck in a breath to set her right.
“You’re a thief,” she states.
Oh. She got it right. Well, then. I exhale. I’m unsure how exactly she arrived at the right answer, but nonetheless, I’m impressed and slightly shocked by the faint smile that’s playing across her expression. “Err—yeah,” I respond awkwardly, still unsure of what exactly she’s getting at.
“I’ve never met a thief before,” she says, eyeing me up and down. “You know, I’d love to tag along with you sometime,” she says. “I mean, I see you go out in all that fancy gear and I can’t help but think about how exciting it must be, I hear all the numbers and the places and the tactics you and Barrel talk about, and it’s just fascinating,” She continues, a glimmer present in her eye that I hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before.
I chuckle faintly. I hadn’t expected this—not in the least—but as you can imagine, I definitely don’t mind. “Well, I’m sure we could work something out,” I reply. “So long as you can keep up and keep quiet, I wouldn’t mind a little company.”
She smiles, her icy eyes twinkling. “I’d like that,” she says.
Damn, she’s cute. I shake my head imperceptibly. Unfortunately, I’ve got places to be. “Well, I’ll let you know when the next job’s up,” I say with a grin as I head for the door. She gives me a smile as I step outside.
The door swings closed behind me, and the noise of the city takes over. It’s all kinds of bright outside, which isn’t doing my poor, bloodshot eyes any favors, but if nothing else, it’ll help me get a better view of the place on 29th and Saddle. After pausing to crack my neck, I launch myself into the air. A few solid flaps gets me enough altitude to clear the surrounding buildings, and I’m heading off towards downtown.
It’s amazing what a little wind-whipped breeze and speed does for a hangover. After only a few seconds, I’m grinning ear-to-ear as I fly along. I’ve got the air all to myself—usually there’s a few pegasi airborne by this hour, but I can’t complain, as their absence makes any sort of suspicious activity I’ve got to do that much less visible. As I fly along, I shake my head at the conversation between Mojito and I. I definitely hadn’t taken her for the adventurous type, but I can’t say I mind, and my mind’s already going through how I’ll handle having a friend along for a job. I hadn’t let her in on this one for a number of reasons—the stakes are too high and, beyond that, this job has a decent chance of getting a little on the violent side.
The intersection 29th Street and Saddle Avenue comes into view too quickly; I’d been enjoying my flight, and in direct opposition to the trip here, something seems off, and although I can’t quite put a claw on it, the fact that something is somehow wrong is immediately obvious. Maybe it’s the absence of any traffic on the streets below, or perhaps it’s the feeling of discomfort I always get when I know I’m in an area well-patrolled by the metro police, but whatever it is, it’s unpleasant. With a sigh of knowing that any fun I was going to have on this stake-out had fallen down the drain, I do a few backflaps, coming close to a hover, scanning the area for a good vantage point. There’s a radio tower on top of a building down the street a ways, it will definitely work to give me a good view of the area.
I float down to the gravel rooftop of the building with the tower. Judging by the number of receiver dishes and antennas that line the top of the building, I’m going to assume the place belongs to some sort of radio station. Ignoring all the “NO TRESPASSING” signs and the chained-off entry to the tallest radio tower, I begin my ascent. The view from the rooftop itself already affords a view of the intersection of 29th and Saddle, but in order to get a better look, I flap my way vertically, up the side of the tower, lighting on a service platform, landing with a metallic clang. Anypony who decides to come out on the roof probably won’t bother to look up and check the service platform, I figure, so I’m as safe as could be. The wind’s a fair bit stronger up here than on street level, so I’m sure to brace myself against the steel structure as I get my bearings.
The intersection looks like it would usually be a busy one, but the lack of hoof traffic I’d noticed earlier makes the whole area look abandoned. The bizarre feeling of unease kicks into overdrive as I spot my mark. Of the four buildings that make up the intersection of the two streets, one advertises “Avian International Imports.” It sounds about right, and, to my confusion, altogether too familiar. I stare at the building’s white-brick and green paint façade with as I try to remember where I’ve heard the name.
Maybe I’m freaking out because I’m dealing with griffons, I think to myself. It’s a good point; I’d never had a job where the targets were of my own race. I’d always been able to separate myself from my marks, perhaps having to deal with my own kind is setting off some sort of subconscious empathy. I have to stop myself from continuing this line of thought, however; sympathizing with someone whose livelihood I plan to destroy doesn’t sound all that conductive to business. They did, after all, default on what the client said was a “sizeable loan”, I rationalize.
And what’s more, the store itself looks just as deserted as the streets. Ordinarily by now I’d have at least been able to pick up a moving shadow or some sort of movement from inside. Thankfully, after only a minute of waiting, a pony trots around the corner and across the street, looking like he’s heading into the griffons’ shop. He pauses for a moment before heading inside, and I’m able to catch the merry jingle of the doorbell as he swings the door wide. I watch as he moves around the store, browsing aimlessly and my raptor vision snaps to focus on the griffon that comes to his aid. I can’t make out much from this distance, but a griffon it is, and that’s all that counts. It’s not long before the pony makes his way out of the store, saddlebags empty, the griffon still in tow. She follows him partway out the door, waving a slightly disappointed looking goodbye.
I focus even harder on the griffon as she stands in the doorway, watching as her only shopper trots away. At once, My heart flies into my throat while my stomach turns a flip—I know the griffon.
Oh Celestia.
The feelings and memories I’d worked so hard to suppress come flying back, and hit me harder than a ton of bricks. I clench my eyes shut; I’m desperately hoping I wake up soon. The griffon in the doorway—it’s my mother.
I can’t— I shake my head. No. I can’t do this.
***
The little griffon cheerfully paws down the stairs.
Despite everything telling her otherwise, the day had been good. Nopony had bothered her at school and she’d got an A on the math test that had been daunting her for weeks. Better yet, she was already done with her homework and to top it all off, Friday was just around the corner. She’s already anticipating her “walk” tomorrow night—she’d already scouted a few choice places to rob over the past few days on her way home from school.
All that comes to a screeching halt as she sees both her mother and father sitting at the table. Her mother’s giving her a look of pure betrayal, and her father’s staring at the collection of stereos she’d stolen last week and the sizeable sack of bits she’d been paid by her fence only a few days ago, both of which sit on the table.
“Your mother found this under your bed today while she was cleaning,” The griffon’s father begins, looking up at her with a face devoid of emotion. His blank expression terrifies her more than if he was furious; she’s never seen this before. “I think we’d both like to know what’s going on here, Nadia.”
Her mind goes blank. There’s nothing she can do—the evidence is laid out in front of her. “I…I, uh—”
“You don’t have to explain what this is,” Her mother interrupts. She gestures at the stolen goods and the money. “This speaks for itself. What we want to know is why.”
“Why—why I…” she exhales. “Why I steal?”
Her father sighs. “Yeah, Nadia. Why you steal. Why after everything we’ve done—well, everything we’ve tried to do to keep you out of trouble, that you think is a good idea.”
She knows exactly why she does it. It’s a need; it’s that side of her brain that begs for action, the kind that all the pathetic extracurricular activities at school can’t supply. But, beyond that—she knows she’s in trouble, and not just with her parents. She’d become popular, nigh-on notorious within her school for her ability to take without being seen, and that has caused the little griffon a host of problems. Most prominent, however: “I steal…so I can stay safe.”
Both of her parents look at her confusedly. “What?” Her father asks emphatically.
“Yeah.” She looks away. “The ponies I used to call my friends. They’ve, well…they expect me to steal for them now. I’ve been trying to quit working for them for a month.”
“Your friends expect this of you?! What kind of friends are they?” Her father asks.
“They’re not—not anymore,” she exhales. “I’ve been trying to get them to leave me alone. I know they’re dangerous—they do stuff I want nothing to do with. Two of the colts I used to be friends with brag about the ponies they’ve killed. A mare I know is now in with one of the most notorious drug dealers in Phillydelphia.”
“Celestia, help me,” Her mother gasps. “Why haven’t you told us this before?”
The little griffon shakes her head. “Because I knew it would lead to this,” she says. “And I know that if I quit working for them, they’d hurt me. I told them I want to quit before, and all they do is threaten me. It’s been five weeks since I’ve worked for them. I…don’t feel safe anymore,” she admits. It’s all true. She’s taken to staring over her shoulder as she traverses the halls in school.
Her father lets out a small harrumph of disapproval. “If all you do is steal for your friends, and you’ve since quit working for them, then what’s all this?”
The fly had just landed in the ointment. Any hope the little griffon had of being able to play off her afterschool activities as due to blackmail were now out the window. She rolls her head back where she stands, letting it hit against the stairwell wall, taking in and letting out a deep breath.
“Well?” Her father quizzes.
“I…I can’t help it.”
“Can’t help what? You can’t help but steal?”
“Yeah,” she admits. She can feel the storm rising. “It’s like this…this need to steal. It’s not like I’m a kleptomaniac or anything, I just can’t help it.”
“Nadia,” Her father sighs. “Why? Do you know what this means? What this says about you? If this were just some issue with some thugs at school—I think your mother and I could understand. But this…this is something else entirely.”
“Your father’s right, Nadia,” Her mother agrees.
Oh no, the little griffon thinks. It’s coming. What she’s dreaded the most.
“This…this is a matter of honor now. This isn’t blackmail, or anything else. No...it’s personal failure, Nadia. You knowingly continued to do this—you’re knowingly hurting others! Taking from them.”
She knows all this already. She’s thought this very conversation over in her head over the course of countless nights. She knows it’s a matter of honor, and she knows she’s “failed”. But she knows she can’t help her impulses. A burning anger begins to boil deep within her; there’s nothing she can do. After taking a deep breath, she lets the burning within to simmer as she braces for the second wave.
“Nadia, your mother and I didn’t uproot and move all the way from Griffonia for this, and you know as well as we do that why we left was also a matter of honor. I failed. I let our shop fail—we lost our honor. We couldn’t stay in our homeland because of me, Nadia! I can’t let this happen to you, to my own daughter. I can’t have you make the same mistakes I did.”
She can hold it no longer. The slow burn erupts immediately into a fireball of rage, and it’s directed squarely at her parents. “What?! You want me to leave? Is that what you’re saying? Like you left our home? My home? And all for what? Honor?! I’m so sick of this ancient Griffonian bullshit! I’m going to do what I want—I don’t care what some ancient code says!” The little griffon’s screams, feeling the anger tearing at her throat as she does. “You don’t think I know that what I do is against your code? It’s either this or worse. I need something,” she shouts.
“Nadia, calm down—” her mother begins.
“You want me to calm down? You just heard my own father tell me I’ve lost my honor! You know what that means as well as I do! My own father is telling me I’m a failure.” She snorts. Her rage is causing her to shake. “You know what? I learned from you two what being a failure is, and I know what to do. I’m leaving." She gives her parents one last look, chest heaving, eyes filled with hatred. The little griffon makes her way to the door, her parents stunned silent, and walks out. She’s certain she’s never coming back.