I made my way into the town, trying to keep a somewhat low profile by walking through the less-active peripheries. My purpose, for the time being, was just reconnaissance. I wanted to scope things out and determine what I could before attempting to talk to anyone.
And what I found out as I walked through the busy streets was that it was not at all what I was expecting. It was not what I was expecting in that it was exactly what I would expect from a town like it. The town was built on the shore of a river. It had a port with docks and steamboats that were being loaded and unloaded of cargo. A pony was shouting directions to some others who were operating a wooden crane to lift crates off a barge. Two others came and carried the crate off to a warehouse. Another was sitting on a stack of lumber for his lunch break, casually eating a sandwich. There was an official-looking pony with a hat and badge pinned to his vest wandering about who I was careful to steer clear of. Ponies milled about in the streets, going about their business, running their shops, selling or buying goods, and generally just doing what I would expect. It was all so annoyingly mundane.
Well, with the exception that the population consisted entirely of talking ponies, of course.
And ponies there were. The little quadrupeds were running around all over the place. And they came in all sorts of colors. From the typical earth tones one would expect, to vibrant hues that had no place on the coat of an animal. There were unicorns, ‘regular’ ponies, and a few even had feathered wings on their sides. So far though, I hadn’t seen any of them airborne.
There was another noteworthy feature about these ponies: every single one had some kind of pictogram emblazoned on their flanks. I couldn't recall if the three ponies I’d encountered so far had had them, but everyone here had a unique piece of art on their ass. Why? I hadn’t the slightest idea, but it must've been something of cultural significance to be so prominent.
While I was walking, I kept an eye out for anyone looking at me too suspiciously. I’d gotten more than a few strange looks, but none so far appeared to carry any ill intent. Just curious glances from ponies in passing before they carried on their ways.
I wasn’t sure if the looks were because I definitely looked like I’d slept under a bush and was walking around in a dirt-covered bed sheet, or because I wasn’t a pony. I didn’t see any other griffons. Lots of ponies in all shapes and sizes, but no griffons. It was a little unnerving and made me feel out of place.
Well, more out of place than being surrounded by tiny ponies in the first place.
On the bright side, I hadn’t been stopped and arrested yet, which meant I probably wasn’t committing any crimes just by existing or being a griffon.
Unless the only reason I’d gone unbothered so far was that the pony police were carefully organizing the SWAT team before attempting to apprehend the dangerous predator fugitive.
I stopped in my tracks and scowled heavily. Okay brain, you can fuck right off with that shit. It is not helping. Why don’t you be useful and look for something that might net me some food?
Without any further commentary on ways things could go horribly wrong, my attention turned to the search for foodstuffs. Not too long after, I caught a whiff of a deliciously sweet scent and I went on autopilot, letting my nose take the wheel and lead me through the streets.
Since it was highly unlikely that anyone here accepted cash or credit, I was going to have to put to use my years of experience as a broke-ass college student in exploiting all opportunities for free food. Step one was simple: locate probable locations of food. Currently, my nose had that task covered. Step two: analyze offers and exploit for munchies. I kept an eye out for the obvious ones: signs or ads of any kind that included the words ‘food’ or ‘refreshments.’
I doubted I’d stumble upon any ‘come listen to this boring seminar that no one would attend if there wasn’t free pizza’ sort of things but hey, this place had done nothing but surprise me so far. Nah, my best bet was probably something like the time I’d gotten half a pizza for helping someone move a couch up into a third-story dorm room. Small people always seemed to need help moving things. And everyone here was small! How convenient was that?
Of course, if I’m being an interplanetary bum, and it comes down to it, just begging wouldn’t be totally out of—
My thoughts were derailed by a little brown blur running headlong into my side. Now, getting headbutted by a pony while zoned out was surprising on its own, but even more surprising was when I looked to see who had so rudely interrupted my quest.
The mare standing at my side, with her head rammed into my bound wing, was none other than what’s-her-face from the manor.
“You,” I said incredulously.
“Me,” she grunted in response. Then she stepped back a bit and headbutted my side again.
“What are you—”
“Stop talking and get inside before somepony sees you,” she said with her forehead still mashed against me. She was trying to push me, but wasn’t quite able to accomplish much with her petite frame—her hooves just slid ineffectually against the cobblestones. Rather than try asking again, I just relented and let her “push” me along and through the front door of the nearest building.
The building in question turned out to be a small diner. It was mostly empty, with only a single aproned stallion behind the counter and a few other patrons who seemed completely uninterested in our entrance.
The fuzzy head hit my side again and I was guided towards an empty booth by the window. There were some half-finished plates of pastries and a mug of coffee on the table. I was pushed into one of the high-backed seats next to a small pile of saddlebags and other bundles. She climbed into the seat across and then scowled at me.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m here. I’m sitting. Now, what are you doing? What’s with all the shoving?”
“What am I doing? What am I doing? I was just sitting here, enjoying my meal, when a certain griffon just comes wandering down the street completely clueless. So, I have to run out and pull his fuzzy butt inside before somepony less friendly spots him. That’s what I’m doing. The real question is, what are you doing? You were supposed to disappear after you escaped. Remember?” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Graywall knows you’re out and he is not happy. He’s trying to not make a huge fuss about it right now, keeping it quiet and whatnot, but that doesn’t mean he won’t come down on you if he finds out that you’re still, right, here,” she hissed. Then she gave a frustrated huff, snatched a danish off the plate in front of her, and stuffed the whole thing into her muzzle while glaring daggers at me.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat while I thought of how to phrase my reply. “The escape was only… partly successful. I hit a snag.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “It looks pretty successful to me. You’re out, aren’t you? What else is there to do. Just… go.” She made a flapping motion with her forehooves.
“Yeah…” I said, avoiding eye contact. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know where to go.”
“Huh.” She took a bite of another pastry, her intense glare abating somewhat. “I kinda always figured you guys worked like homing pigeons or something.”
I sat there slack-jawed, my face going through a number of different expressions while I tried to figure out just how I was supposed to respond to that. “…I really don’t know if I should feel offended by that or not.” I shook my head. “But no. I do not have any inherent sense of direction. At least not that I know of.”
“Well if you don’t know where to go, allow me to make a suggestion: ‘anywhere that isn’t here.’ That would be a good start,” she said.
“I agree, it is a good start,” I said with a nod. “It’s just made a little bit more complicated by the fact that I don’t exactly know where ‘here’ is in any meaningful sense.”
The skeptical frown returned to her face. “‘Here,’ is Buttered Brioche’s Diner, located in the town just outside…” She paused to think. “…The place you entered without explicit invitation.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. That story was quickly becoming more of a hindrance than an asset. Maintaining it wasn’t going to get me any further. Fuckit. “I am not a burglar. I didn’t break into Graywall’s place—at least not intentionally. It was an accident. I was at school, and then I crashed and… fell…” I trailed off as I realized how ridiculous that sounded.
“You accidentally crashed and fell into a locked basement storeroom with no windows?” She let out a low whistle. “Impressive. You must’ve been flying awfully fast.”
“Flying? I was—” Oh, right. Wings. “I don’t really know how it happened. My memories of the night are a little… fuzzy.” In more ways than one.
She whistled again. “Damn, Birdy. Must’ve been one heck of a night. Invite me if you’re around next time you plan on getting that hammered.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” I protested adamantly. Then after a second added, “At least I’m pretty sure I wasn’t. I don’t normally drink.”
“Maybe you should.”
I sighed and cradled my head in my hands. “Right now, I’m tempted to actually agree.”
A long while passed where neither of us spoke, and then she broke the silence. “So, let me make sure I’ve got this right. You were at your school. Then there was this crash. And then you were at Graywall’s. Just like that? Nothing else?”
“Yeahhh….” I said without bothering to raise my head from my hands.
She continued, speaking slowly and deliberately. “And this school… it’s in Griffonstone?”
That made me look up. When had I mentioned Griffonstone? Must have been last night, though I couldn’t quite remember the context. Shit. What had I said? I gave a hesitant nod, not taking my eyes off the mare.
“And you don’t know where you are now,” she said flatly.
I shook my head. “Probably less so than you can imagine.”
She sat up straight and clapped her forehooves. “Well then,” she said with a smile. “This is Riverstone. In central Equestria.”
“Say again?”
“Equestria, you may have heard of it? It’s kind of a big place. Griffonstone is east of here.” She pointed with a hoof in a direction that I guess was east. “Way east. Across the Celestial Sea. I think you may have broken some world records with that crash of yours.” Then she smirked. “A few laws of physics too.”
My eyes narrowed. “Something makes me think we’re not talking about the same Griffonstone,” I grumbled.
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Well, for a start, unless I’ve seriously forgotten my fifth-grade geography lessons, I have never heard of an ‘Equestria’ or a ‘Celestial Sea,’” I said with a frown. “And I also have this little, nagging feeling that the Griffonstone you’re referring to is full of griffons.”
She gave me a flat look and said, “And that is a problem because…?”
I slammed my hands down on the table, making the dishes clatter. “Because up until yesterday, I didn’t think griffons even existed!” The other few ponies in the diner turned to see what the commotion was. I ducked down out of sight.
“Ooookay,” she said. “So… I don’t know if anypony has told you this, Birdy, but—”
“I am not a griffon,” I growled through gritted teeth.
She sat back and raised her forehooves up defensively. “Sorry, but you sure look like one to me.”
I pressed my hand against my temple. “Ok, yes. I am one now. Somehow. But I distinctly remember not being one…” I rolled my wrist over and checked my watch. “…forty hours ago.”
“If you weren’t a griffon, what were you before?”
Oh great. We’re really doing this. Fuckit. It’s not like I can dig myself any deeper at this point. “A human,” I said, but got only a blank look in return. “Homo sapiens.” Still nothing. “Bipedal, tall and skinny—at least compared to you ponies—generally hairless. Uh… hands.” I wiggled my fingers in front of me.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” she said with a shake of her head.
I sighed and slumped down in my seat, staring at the ceiling. “Of course not.” I wasn’t quite sure what I expected to achieve from that.
She pushed her dishes out of the way to one side, leaned forward, and crossed her hooves on the table. “So, you were a ‘human’ and today you’re a griffon. How’d that one happen?”
I snorted at that. “Now isn’t that the question of the day? I dunno,” I said with a shrug. “My working theory was that I got here through some kind of portal in the basement back there at Graywall’s which may have also turned me into a griffon. But that theory didn’t pan out.” And then mumbling, I added, “Probably dreamt up the whole damn thing.”
I decided to leave out the tidbit about how there was a non-zero chance that she, and all of this, was just in my head too. It was never a good idea to tell someone you don’t think they’re real.
The mare bit her lip and ‘hmmmed’ with a slight bob of her head. “Did you by any chance hit your head in that crash?”
That got a chuckle out of me. It really shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I had a pretty good idea of where this conversation was going. “Oh, absolutely. The only question is how many times. Pretty sure it was at least twice.”
“Do you think… you should see a doctor or somepony about that?”
“No… Yes… Maybe. I don’t know,” I planted my forehead onto the table. “I don’t know what to think anymore.” Do I need to see a doctor? I might have a concussion, or worse. Should I be worried about that? Do I need to add that near the top of the to-do list? “Gahhhh! Everything was so much easier when all this was just a fever dream where nothing mattered!” I pounded the table with a fist.
The mare used her hoof to stabilize her rattling coffee mug then looked back to me. “H-hey now. No need to be like that. Just… relax. Deep breaths.”
I did as she said and forced myself to take deep, steady breaths. Having a mental breakdown in the middle of the diner would draw attention, which was precisely the opposite of what I needed right now.
When I was once again in full possession of my faculties, I lifted my face from the table and looked across at the mare.
She gave me a reassuring smile. “Are you good?”
I nodded slightly. “For a given value of ‘good.’”
She nodded back, then seemed to think of something. She cocked her head and asked, “Have you eaten anything at all since last night, when I brought dinner?”
“No,” I said sheepishly, my gaze averted. “After I broke out I ran away and slept under a bush. Only just got up. I was actually looking for something to eat when you ran into me.”
She frowned. “And you don’t have any bits, do you?”
My eyebrow raised. “Bits?”
“Money. Coin,” she clarified.
I shook my head. “The only money I have is paper bills. I don’t suppose that will work?”
“Uhhh, no. Not likely.”
“Then I am one hundred percent totally broke,” I said, my head falling back to the table.
“Okay. That’s fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hoof. Then she turned in her seat and called out to the stallion behind the counter. “Hey, Butter-butt!”
The stallion looked up from the dishes he was scrubbing and called back to her, “Whatcha need, Cinnamon?”
“Birdy here needs some breakfast,” the mare replied. Then to me, she said, “What do you want? I’m buying.”
I jolted upright, surprised by the offer, and looked around. I didn’t see anything that looked like a menu posted. “Uhhh… I-I don’t know. What is there? I—”
While I fumbled for words, she called back to the stallion, “Just make it the breakfast platter. And can I have two more of the banana breads, to go? Oh, and some more coffee, please.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up,” the stallion said. He set down his dishrag and moved over to the stovetop where he began cracking eggs into a bowl.
I turned back to the mare sitting with me and asked simply, “Cinnamon?”
She gave me a warm smile. “Yes, Birdy. My name is Cinnamon.” She extended a hoof across the table to me. I gingerly grasped it with my much larger, taloned hand and shook it.
“Garrett.”
Her smile grew wider. “Pleased to meet you, Garrett.”
I choked out a laugh and she started giggling too. Of course. Of course the talking pony would be named something like ‘Cinnamon.’ Why the hell not?
Quicker than I expected, the stallion arrived with food. He came and placed a large platter on the table in front of me, and a small, paper-wrapped bundle by Cinnamon. I distantly registered hearing her thank him before he left. My attention was locked on the steaming mountain of scrambled eggs, hash-browns, buttered toast, and fruit. Just the sight alone was enough to make my mouth water, to say nothing of the smell. In quick succession, I stripped off my filthy hand wraps, picked up the fork, and readied it to attack the dish.
I hesitated a moment and glanced uncertainly at Cinnamon.
“Go ahead,” she said, motioning to the platter. “I already ate. That’s all yours.”
Not needing to be told twice, I started shoveling food into my beak with zero regard for table manners.1 It was delicious, and I was starving. Suffice to say, it did not last long. A few minutes, if that.
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1Although considering how I’d seen the mare sitting with me eat, both that morning and the night before—stuffing face in food or food in face—I doubt I was being judged on my manners.
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While I was wiping the platter clean with a slice of toast, Cinnamon got up from her seat and started towards the counter. She paused and pointed to the pile of bags in the seat with me. “Could you pass me my bags?” she asked me. “Just the blue ones.”
I held the toast in my beak and wiped my hand on my chest before plucking the pair of blue saddlebags out from the bottom of the pile and passing them over to her. She took them and set them down on the ground. She stuck her muzzle into the top, nudging things aside and emerged holding a small bag in her teeth, which she carried over to the stallion at the counter—I assumed to pay, given the way the bag ‘clinked’ like it was full of coins.
As she did that, I looked again at the items sitting next to me. In addition to the saddlebags, which were nearly as large as my own, there were a few other decently-sized bundles that were strung together for easier carrying. My brow furrowed. It sure was a lot of things to be carrying for lunch in town.
Cinnamon returned and sat down in her seat, grabbing her mug in her forehooves and taking a sip before smiling at me.
I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my beak and asked, “So uh, what’s with all the bags? You going on a trip?”
Her smile faltered slightly. “Funny story, that.” She set the mug down and leaned back in her seat. “When Graywall got up this morning and discovered a certain guest had left unannounced during the night, he was, understandably, quite agitated. Threw himself something of a hissy fit, I heard. Then not too long after, in a completely unrelated event, my employment at the Graywall estate is terminated. Apparently due to my ‘unacceptably poor performance.’ I suppose Graywall suddenly decided he’s no longer a fan of my cooking? Or maybe I didn’t fold some linens correctly. Could be anything, really.” She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “So, I’m leaving town.”
“Oh,” I said. In other words, I got her fired. My gaze fell and I stared at the plate in front of me. The plate from the food she had just bought me. While being jobless. Because of me.
Fuck.
Let it be known that guilt holds the power to retroactively make food less delicious.
Cinnamon hopped down from her seat and began tugging a set of fluffy white boots onto her hooves, one at a time. Then came a scarf and a hat the same blue color as her saddlebags. I got up and moved out of the way of her other items.
While she was putting on her bags, she seemed to be visibly gauging me and considering something. “Look…” she said. “I’m going to the capital. With no job here, I’ve got no reason to stick around, and I’ve got family there who will probably give me a place to stay for a bit. Why don’t you come with me? You need to get away from here and you sound like you could use a travel buddy. You can even stay with me if you need to.” Then she lowered her voice. “I’ve also still got to go to the guard about you-know-what, and it might be useful for you to be nearby, even if you don’t immediately go with.”
“Uhhh, yeah…” That was unexpected. And convenient. I nodded. “Sure. Thanks. I’ll try not to be a burden and slow you down.”
“Great! In that case…” She grabbed the mess of strung-together bundles in her teeth and flung it up and onto my back.
“Oooof!” My back drooped momentarily beneath the weight. It was surprisingly heavy. Much heavier than I expected such a small creature to be able to fling like that.
“…You can help carry some things. That way you aren’t a burden,” she said, grinning from ear to fuzzy ear.
“How considerate,” I grunted, adjusting the bundles overtop of my own bags.
“Oh don’t give me that look,” she said, lightly punching my arm. “You’re twice my size. If a little mare like me can carry them, then a big, strong, griffon like you can do it just fine.”
I could, and I would. I would be a pack-mule for a goddamned pony, and I would do it without complaint because it was the least I could do in return. The amount of generosity Cinnamon was showing caught me completely off-guard.
Why the hell was this pony so eager to help me? I got her fired for fuck’s sake. If our positions were reversed, I’d have probably just given her directions and wished her luck. Did that difference in attitude say something about me or her? Maybe ponies are just naturally nice? Well, no. Graywall was a total dick. So not all of them. Maybe this mare just had some morbid curiosity for the nutcase who’d fallen into her hooves.
I was dragged from my thoughts by Cinnamon flicking her tail under my chin as she walked towards the exit. “You coming, Birdy?” she said over her shoulder with a grin. “Or do I have to get a leash?” As she pulled away, it almost looked like her hips were swaying ever so slightly more than strictly necessary.
Or maybe she just can’t resist your hot, catbird body.
I smothered that sector of my mind, chained it up, and buried it beneath a mile of concrete. Screw you brain. Your commentary privileges are being revoked.
Just what the hell was I getting myself into?