//------------------------------//
// The Frostysplit Incident 
// Story: The Divine Epidemic 
// by Muggonny 
//------------------------------//

“Bollocks!” P. Gander screamed at the top of his lungs. “I’ve heard better excuses from death row inmates during their last meal! Where is OddLuck? Where is that jaded mule? I’ll gnaw her ear off for this, I swear! I don’t pay you to stand around and stare! Tell me, where is she!”

It was more than evident how angry P. Gander was. He was stomping around Frostysplit Cavern, one of the highest rated skating rink and ice cream parlors in all of Equestria (or so according to him and his ogling mother), brandishing a charred hunk of meat in employees’ faces, yelling, “I will make her regret burning my lunch the same way I made that unicorn regret freezing my steak when I went to Canterlot for a visit!” 

Patrons heard his yelling and stood from their seats to get a better look at whoever was disturbing their lunch, while some Employees’ suddenly became too keen to their work to provide their boss with any unneeded attention.

“Geronimo!” he continued, referring to his friend and longtime colleague, a giraffe from Halfneckistan. “Get over here! I demand answers!”

Geronimo looked up from the register he was so keen on staring at while P. Gander was having another one of his fits. He deadpanned at the malicious griffon with a trying-to-be-placid expression on his face. Hiding a sigh, he walked out from behind the counter and over to the crocky middle-aged bird. 

“Yes, Mr. Gander?” he said, trying his best to sound pleasant and suckupish―the way a good giraffe should sound in the case of their feathered friend being a total asshole. Griffons are normally tall, and P. Gander, being the chalky griffon that he is, puts him just above the average height; although he still had to look up to stare the giraffe in the face.

“Where is OddLuck?” he said in a frightening tone.

Geronimo shook his head. “I dunno.”

“Bollocks! I looked at the employee roster, she’s here today and on grill duty. I went back there to find her, and she wasn't there. Where is she?”

Geronimo just shrugged, thinking that perhaps silence would be a valid option.

“If you do not tell me where she is right now, I’ll dock everyone’s pay! And you know how much I love docking! I have the boat to prove it! I’ll gather everyone’s paychecks, throw them onto the ship, set it ablaze, and watch it float out into the ocean while I roll in laughter from the shoreline!”

That was not a bluff. In fact, he had done it multiple times before and has lost numerous boats in the process.

The thought of no one getting paid―if you could consider it pay―sent a chill down Geronimo’s vertebrae. It was up to him to be his employees’ savior, as he was the supervisor and therefore felt responsible for sticking his neck out for them.

“Puh-please, Mr. Gander,” he spoke quickly. “There’s no need for that, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. She could be off to the restroom for all we know! Maybe if you give it a few minutes she will turn up.”

P. Gander glared at him with daggers, causing Geronimo to shrivel back a bit. “Why in the world would she go off and take a squat off the perch at this time―when we are at our most busiest hour! You really expect to get away with such a campfire story as, ‘She went to the bathroom?’ Tell me, Geronimo, why did you put her on grill duty? Of all things, you put her on the grill? Patties belong on the grill, not mares!” 

“Wuh-well, you see―well, she was doing such a good job as janitor that I thought it would only be right to put her in a more proper position to work.” He didn’t realize that he was dripping in sweat. Perhaps it was because P. Gander kept refusing to turn on the A/C, perhaps it was because how nervous he was. He wouldn’t be able to tell which. “I thought you knew she was promoted, you even signed the papers!”

“Geronimo, how long have you worked here for?”

“About nine years, Mr. Gander.”

“And you still aren’t aware that I don’t actually read those proposals unless they interest me? I merely signed the document while my brain was on static! Don’t you remember the last time she worked the grill? The fire department took some of the fire with them and spread it to the other businesses as if they were doing Hearth’s Warming carols! Now I have to go and throttle her throat!”

She saw it all unfolding from the window of the two-way doors. All the employees were gathered around her, throwing nervous glances between her and the cantankerous middle-aged bird. None dared offer her up. They all enjoyed having her around, and her being treated as another one of P. Gander’s pinions bothered them very much.

I step off to go to the bathroom and come back to this? she thought. Can I ever catch a break?

She took a moment to think about it. In the past she had been able to wiggle her way out of P. Gander’s mangy black talons when the situation seemed absolutely hopeless, mainly because she had coworkers and supervisors like Geronimo to back her up. But as she watched from the window, a feeling so worrisome slowly crept its way into her stomach.

There was no getting out of this.

P. Gander was having one of his fits again and she was to blame. When P. Gander was angry, he tended to be that way until the odds turned to his favor.

If I must…

Letting out a distressed sigh and mustering some courage, she pushed the two-way door open. 

Her hooves rubbed against the purple plush carpet as she made her slow trek towards the griffon. His white feathers jumped out from the dim lighting of the parlor’s interior, in some ways glowing. Her mind just seemed to focus on the glowing white blob she was heading towards, not paying attention to the patrons eyeing her curiously as she passed their tables.

“On the count of three I’m going to march right into my office come out with the new paper shredder I ordered, and I will make sure your contracts are torn to shreds right in front of your face! One, two―”

“You needed to see me, sir?”

P. Gander swiveled his body around and fixed her with that same piercing gaze he used on his colleague. A smug smile stretched across his beak. 

A cold chill ran down OddLuck’s spine, and an odd feeling began to rise in her stomach.

“To my office,” he said. “Now.”

It was the change in tone that scared her the most. One minute he was running around yelling bloody murder, the next it was like having tea with grandma, who, by the way, was dead.

“Yes… sir.” she managed to choke out nervously.

She turned towards the door at the back of the parlor and began her thousand feet trek, the state-of-the-art stick-up-arse boss following in from behind. Never in her life had she wanted something to be over with so quickly.

As she walked she made subtle glances around the parlor. Employees pretending to do their work were giving her solemn looks, as were the many diners who took pity on the poor mare only trying to do her job.

The walk felt like forever.

Every step, every eye bored into her.

She was glad to finally reach the door.

Despite the diarrhea-like explosivity that P. Gander was known for displaying to others in the past, he was extremely formal, being the tactical business griffon that he is. The walls of his office were painted dark velvet, the pictures adorning it showing many of the outstanding achievements throughout his career―he even had a plaque from the mayor!―which he kept behind his desk at the precise level where anyone in his attendance can perfectly view it just above his head.

In the center of the white ceiling hung a fan, which was always kept at the lowest setting. When a pony would walk into the office, if they turned to their right, they would see a waiting area with a stack of vintage magazines. P. Gander was a collector of the sort. Why, he was so formal that he always kept a stack of kitty calendars handy and decorated along with the multiple awards and an autographed Hillary Dove poster.

On the other side of the room was none other than that wretched pheasant’s desk. It was remarkably clean save for a few knick-knacks, a black leather blotter, a tray filled with copious hours of paperwork, a swivel chair right behind said desk, and a nameplate just at the edge (Peregrin Gander).

All this described, it was mind-boggling to see, right beneath the ceiling fan, directly in front of his desk, in the very center of the office, that rickety-splintery not-safe-for-work barstool.

Immediately a sense of dread went through OddLuck as she laid her eyes on it. She once asked Mr. Gander about the barstool and had gotten a stern scolding from him. She didn’t know what she did wrong, but nonetheless, she had gone right back to mopping, feeling uncomfortable as his golden irises bored their way into the back of her head.

She lowered her head and breathed a huge sigh. Realizing that she couldn’t turn her back now and leave, she walked straight over to the rickety-splintery, not-safe-for-work barstool and sat down, feeling the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan from above―a soothing irony for the situation.

Almost at the exact moment, she plopped her flank onto the stressed surface, P. Gander walked into the room, slammed the door behind him, marched right over to his desk, and sat down into his swivel chair. He leaned back in a relaxing slouch and spun around with a childlike smile on his face.

“Ooh, OddLuck,” he said in a gleeful tone. “Do you know what today is?”

OddLuck sat up straight and looked around the room, doing the best she could not to make eye contact with the griffon. “Umm…” she said. “Tuesday.”

The griffon roared with laughter. “No, you dunce! Today is a great day! I woke up this morning―at the crack of four―and said to myself, ‘Why, this day is going to be remarkable.’ And I daresay that I wholeheartedly agree with myself! Don’t you agree, dearest OddLuck? Isn’t this day just splendid?”

She nervously forced a smile. “Ye-yes… splendid. You’re right. It is.”

“Of course I’m right, you dunce,” he remarked. “I just told you I was, after all. But do you know why today is so great?”

OddLuck shook her head.

“Because I get to spend this one moment with you. The one moment I have been anticipating since I first hired you.” He leaned over his desk staring at OddLuck, forcing her to make eye contact. “But first, have I ever told the story about how I founded Frostysplit Cavern?”

“Umm…” Nine times in total. Five times in the past two weeks. “No.”

“Ah, well I’ll spare you the long version because you don’t deserve such a luxury.” He cleared his throat and stared at her solemnly. “The story begins with a young―and quite handsome I might add―Gander, barely at the ripe age of fifteen years young.

“Growing up in Griffonstone was awful. Absolutely awful. You think your life is bad? Try living off stale biscuits for a week! I hate biscuits. I truly hate them. Have you ever had a biscuit before? I don’t know how anyone could eat them, it’s nothing but tough bread―anyways, I’m getting off track.

“At that time border patrol wasn’t as keen as it is today. Although getting into Equestria was still difficult and quite dangerous. Fortunately, my father knew a smuggler and one thing led to another and they concluded that if I were to fulfill the family legacy of finding success, I would need to be moved into this lustrous country.”

At this point, he had gotten out of his swivel chair and began prancing around the room. OddLuck did her best not to look at him while he moved around her so much.

“The smuggler knew a simple path around three mountains. Mount Fangtooth, Mount Elephantine, and Mount Don’t Jump You Will Die. We eventually stopped in Manehattan where he dropped me off.

“By ‘drop me off’ I mean he left me by a fence post like a dog waiting for his owner to come out of the store.”

He stopped in front of one of the kitty calendars he kept on the wall, staring at the kitten playing with a ball of yarn, reading the word Hope! at the bottom left corner. He felt himself on the verge of crying, and he did the best he could to hide it.

Ah screw it! Big cocks cry too! He cried into the kitty calendar.

“Even those with awesome power have buried pain deep within them, OddLuck,” he continued, turning to her and wiping away a tear. OddLuck could feel herself wanting to cry―not for the story, but for other reasons she couldn’t quite put her hoof on.

He walked back behind his desk and continued his story. “I was forced to ravage the streets of Manehattan at that point. Every grime I got under my claws was just a reminder of how much of a failure I was. Eventually, though, an antique store owner took pity on me. He took me in, fed me, gave me a job, and showed me how to run my own business. He also had this strange obsession with cats. I guess some of that rubbed off on me.

“Then, at the age of twenty-one years young, I did it: I bought a small corner shack and opened an ice cream parlor. I had finally done it! I had followed my passion and opened my own place for my own self! Nopony could tell me what to do or how I had to do it, nopony told me how much money I had to charge or who to give it to. It was all mine to decide how. To me, that was the Equestrian Dream, OddLuck.”

At this point, the griffon didn’t realize that he was, in fact, giving the long version of the story, which only pressured OddLuck more into wanting him to get to the point much quicker so that they could move on to the inevitable.

“Business was slow at first. At the time, every place of business was a competitor with Frosty Shack. But I knew my place in the world and I would not be laid to rest until I had succeeded! It happened to be a sheer work of odd luck that a middle school was nearby. After three o’clock, all the children and sometimes their parents would come to old―or young in this case―and quite handsome I might add again―Mr. Gander’s palace of joy. That was what kept me in business. But I soon realized I couldn’t keep it up forever as summer vacation was nearing, and ponies much preferred the more well-presented ice cream parlor Dicky’s Icey Creamies, which was no more than a block further.

“Then it happened―The Equestrian Stock Market crash―oh I love how it just rolls right off the tongue! The Equestrian Stock Market crash, The Equestrian Stock Market crash, The Equestrian Stock Market crash! Now you say it, OddLuck!”

“The Equestrian Stock Market Crash…” she muttered.

“Louder!”

“The Equestrian Stock Market crash!” She didn’t stop herself from doing it, but she did it―she was practically weeping at her own funeral. She managed to scream it at the top of her lungs. She didn’t realize how much anxiety she was holding in at that moment.

But P. Gander wasn’t fazed by it. In fact, he looked enthused. “Yes, OddLuck! Spout it out! Tell the entire world! Others suffered so I could find success! It was a dream come true. Do you know why? Because the banks failed! Every place of business in the area had their own accounts set up. I didn’t! I kept every last morsel I earned safeguarded in a chest I hid under my bed! For the first time ever, I had a chance at success, and I took it!”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, a relaxed look on his face, bathing in his own glory. “For the first time in my life, I felt like a god. Cut open a vein and all that flowed was ichor. Just about every place of business on the block closed up―all except one, of course. A bar across the street called the Forgetful Filly. Me and the owner are friends now and occasionally I’ll let him or his customers come over and use the bathroom.

“Eventually comes the end of the story. There was a fire, Frostysplit Shack burned down, and I had to completely rebuild. The owner of the Forgetful Filly helped by sending over a few supplies, and I had accumulated enough wealth to build the Frostysplit Cavern you see today. I added a skating rink and a nice, hot pink neon sign out front.”

He sat up straight, putting on his best business-like demeanor. “Do you know why I told you this story, OddLuck?”

Because you feel the need to bathe in your own glory? she thought.

“I…” she began, but when she decided she had nothing to say she shook her head in the negative.

“Because OddLuck, I care. I was you once. Young. Innocent. Vulnerable to the world around me, letting it take advantage of my every move like a puppet on a string. Because I care.”

Because I care. That sentence echoed through her head. Because I care. If you really cared, Mr. Gander, you would stop paying me minimum wage and stop yelling at me every time I have one little slip-up.

P. Gander inhaled the fresh air of the office. Cinnamon. Just like how his father’s funeral smelled. Refreshing. “Which is why I’m more than ecstatic to teach you this little lesson in business!”

He took out the charred hunk of meat and set it onto the desk, pointing at it with an extended talon. “When I asked for lunch, I didn’t expect to be given this. What do you think this is?”

She stared at it nervously for a moment, not sure how to respond. “Lah―l-lunch?”

“Lah―lunch?” P. Gander mocked. “Choo-choo! You hear that? It’s the Stupid Express on its way to pick you up from the station! And guess what? The conductor wants his coal back!” He picked up the patty and banged it against the hardwood. “Listen to it! It’s harder than a horny brick! It’s darker than my preference in the other gender! It’s a newfound element much rarer than diamond! Do you see where I’m getting at, OddLuck? Do you!”

She didn’t say anything. Her only option was to wait for the outcome.

“Aren’t you going to say something? Do I have you in the corner with a dunce cap? Are you so incompetent that you can’t seem to realize the impact of the situation you’re in?”

By now his words were hitting her, and they hit every last nerve in her body. Before she realized it, she was tearing up.

“I should have fired you long before I hired you―nay! I should have never hired you in the first place. I should have known that hiring a unicorn was bad for business considering the current ties between our countries, let alone a unicorn mare. I should have known better than to associate myself with the enemy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

She didn’t realize what she was doing until it was too late. One minute she was sitting on the rickety-splintery not-safe-for-work barstool, and the next she was standing, staring at what she assumed to be her now former boss with tears streaming down her face.

“Yes, yes! Yell at me! Throw things at my face! Hit me! It gives me all the more reason to fire you!”

She couldn’t. She just couldn’t help herself… “I have nothing to do with the war! In fact, I want nothing to do with it! I want nothing to do with you! You’re nothing but a―but a―but a BULLY!”

Silence.

Laughter.

P. Gander wiped a tear away. “Oh, I must thank you dear, sweet OddLuck. I haven’t laughed like that since I was a child and I saw my grandmother blow out her ninety birthday candles then proceeded to eat the cake with her face. That was a lovely little fit you had. Lovely indeed! It’s a shame that I must be letting you go if it means I’ll be giving up on entertainment value such as this. But hopefully, there will be a day when we can make amends and we’ll be quite the business colleagues.”

OddLuck didn’t say anything for almost a minute. P. Gander didn’t say anything for almost a minute. She stared at him with disdain on her face. He stared at her with eyes full of enthusiasm. He knew he was in power, and that was what ticked her off. 

Huffing out some air, and trying to settle herself down a bit so the situation wouldn’t escalate any further, she turned around and walked over to the door.

She stopped.

The seconds clung together as P. Gander raised a brow in suspicion. “Well, if you have something to say, spit it out. I don’t have all day. There is some resignation paperwork I need to go through.”

She spun around to face him, her face reddened with anger. Before either of them could catch on, OddLuck had lifted the rickety-splintery not-safe-for-work barstool into a green aura of magic―and smashed it to pieces.

P. Gander’s pupils shrank back, his wings stuck out in a surprised gesture, his feathers stood on end. “What…” he said. “What did you just―you incompetent mare! I’ll have your head for this!”

“Fuck you!”

The griffon tried getting out of his chair, possibly to make an attempt to restrain her. OddLuck took several chunks of the broken stool and threw them at him. P. Gander yelled and threw his talons up to protect his face. This gave her the time she needed to stomp out of his office and into the dining area.

“Don’t you go anywhere, I’m not done with you!”

She didn’t listen. The only thing she knew about what was going on was what she saw in front of her: the exit. Her freedom. 

Patrons were standing up now to see who was disturbing their lunch. A child’s birthday party came to a complete halt when both the parents and children stared at the deranged griffon in shock as he let off a string of curses.

“If you go out those doors I’ll report you to the police for vandalism, and you’ll never set hoof in Frostysplit Cavern ever again!”

Worked for her.

Opening one of the doors with her telekinesis, she turned around and stared at the flustered griffon, who had stopped making his way toward her, now instead giving her a daring gaze. 

“Go to Tartarus, you pheasant!” she yelled. Then, taking a brief second to reflect on her time spent at Frostysplit Cavern, she realized that there was nothing for her to reflect on.

She slammed the door, the windows shaking in their frames upon the violent impact. Outside OddLuck flipped a trashcan over in frustration. She proceeded to kick it repeatedly, the hot tears still streaming down her face. She didn’t stop to take heed of the surprised stares she was getting from passersby, but she did stop when she realized she didn’t have a reason to be angry anymore. 

She slouched down against the curb, finally noticing that she had been crying the entire time. She didn’t realize she had pent up so much frustration over the course of seven months.

She was getting worse.

Gathering as much willpower as she could muster to walk, she crossed the street towards the Forgetful Filly.


The Divine Epidemic