//------------------------------// // Nostalgia // Story: Langit at Lupa // by Comma Typer //------------------------------// It was the night before Christmas, and everything illuminated in green, white, and red. Star-shaped decorations lit the roads, holiday music blared from the terminals, and gift boxes lay in car trunks and public halls. Ninoy Aquino International Airport: at the country’s premier airfaring front door, planes arrived and departed in rhythmic flow. In all terminals, Christmas music kept playing: venerated chants from centuries ago, traditional songs from crooners and other oldies, and the usual pop tracks hitting this year’s charts. Macario sat at a bench in the second terminal: the grand window walls displayed a clear black night sky. With family along, he waited for distant cousins from Vancouver. Talking to them online had been nice, but nothing would beat meeting them in the flesh. The next stream of people showed up with wheeled luggage in hand and loved ones to meet: hugs, kisses, selfies, conversations, and tears. Cars, many of them taxis, lined up outside to whisk happy travelers away to midnight dinners or hotel rooms for much-needed sleep. “Hey, Mister Macario!” That got his family and a few others to look that way. Macario turned first, seeing a surprise guest turning up at the airport. “Garlan?” And it was the griffon himself, carrying several bags on his person to leave his family free of their luggage. Garlan achieved a smile on his tired face. “Yup, it’s me, and this time, I brought my family too. You wanted to meet them, no?” He checked out the group of new faces closest to Macario. “Come to think of it, we haven’t met your family either. Good to see everyone here, eh?” From there, greetings arose and hands shook with claws. Macario’s parents had a pleasant eye-opener in Ginger with how she was so familiar with the local cuisine. As for Genaro and Gwen, they sat in awe of Macario’s younger siblings who boasted much knowledge for high schoolers and collegians; on the flip side, the human youngsters were immobilized by the heart-stopping cuteness of griffon young. With their families occupied, Garlan and Macario had the floor to themselves. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” Macario began. “Are you waiting for friends and relatives too?” His smile grew an inch wider, turning into a tease. “Well, no.” “Huh. The Equestrian-Earth stuff’s still at Terminal 5 anyway. Why’re you here?” Garlan flapped his wings, hovering to meet the human on his level. “To tell you something: I won’t be seeing you for the rest of the year.” Macario almost stepped back. “Really?” He scanned the griffon up and down, taking him in so he wouldn’t forget a single detail. “Should’ve seen that coming since you declined the Christmas invite.” “Maybe next year.” Garlan’s wings slowed down, but he still kept eye-level with him. “Bringing the family to visit the other side, you see.” Macario furrowed his brows in disbelief. “Ha? Feels like you’re moving out all of a sudden!” Garlan shook his head, gentle wing-whooshes calming the human down. “I’m not moving out, though my brother would gladly drag me back there kicking and screaming.” “Alright, then... but what about the stall? It’d be like Fermin after he went off.” The name shot off a second of memory for the griffon: the deceased name he was told of when he first scouted for good locations to set his cart up in. However, there wouldn’t be much to miss for long: “If it pleases you, I temporarily gave my spot to a prospective hippogriff from one of the wet markets around here. He has odd ideas about sushi, but I think he can adapt well. Maybe we could even collaborate once I return.” Outside, the parade of cars continued, stopping to drop off many antsy locals waiting for their own reunions. Rare were the departers-to-be. “Why all of a sudden though?” Macario asked. “You didn’t give us any hints. I only know because you’re… well, here.” Garlan plowed a claw over his ruffled head. “Like what I said years ago, I came here to find a better life. However, seeing how things have progressed here… it told me to at least give my old stupid home a shot. The cash I make helps the people here, but maybe the griffons back there can do something good with my cash too. And hey, if they prove me wrong and grab my throat for not giving enough bits, we’ll fly out of there and never come back for good.” Macario could do nothing but nod. “You’ll always be welcome here, you know. Lots of good people have already helped you with your business.” “True.” He drew a long sigh, taking in the processed conditioned air. “Still, sooner or later, a nestling must learn to jump off the nest and fly. Giving back to Griffonstone... it’s risky just like jumping off that nest. But I’ll try. At least to shut up my brother once and for all.” A while passed. Macario stared at the floor and the other people in the terminal. “You’ll still come by here, right?” “I hope so,” said with a smile. “It’s just that I feel too different here. Not that you’re trying to push me out, but if I had to choose between my pride and your acceptance, I’d choose my pride. It’s a win-win either way: if Griffonstone’s good, then good for me; if they’re still a dumpster fire, then I was right from the start.” Macairo’s father shot a finger toward the distance: the Vancouverites were coming home. They dropped their baggage as faces unfamiliar to the griffon opened in shock. Legs hurried them closer to hugs, kisses, and tears. Macario turned back to Garlan one last time. He extended an open hand to the griffon vendor. “So, see you around?” Garlan took his claw out and shook appendages. “Sure, and if you come to our place during the Blue Moon Festival, stop by for some food. My treat.” “It’ll be for free, then?” “Pay up or I’ll kick you out.” They had a good laugh over that, but it was cut short. Macario had greater family moments in mind. The man silently bade the leaving Garlan and his family a Merry Christmas. Terminal 5 was the airport’s latest addition, a large complex spanning the space of three hangars. It held dear to Garlan’s heart for it’d been the gateway to paradise on Earth, for in this terminal lay the portals between worlds. Once he entered the terminal, a tingle rushed through the air: background magic. Mingling and interacting with human staff were once-frequent creatures: ponies, hippogriffs, dragons, breezies, yaks, Abyssinians, Diamond Dogs—every creature under the sun, Celestia’s sun in particular. On the walls, posters screamed holiday discounts for Christmas/Hearth’s Warming vacations in Equestria’s world. Garlan went through the motions, turning over papers painstakingly filled and signed through much of December. Machines scanned his bags, and they gave him a ticket to be paid for at the final station: one last fee to pay for the portals’ upkeep. The papers and the fragrance of human money told him of his first time here: it’d been a sweltering summer afternoon. The sight of cars zooming around, the clamor of airplanes flying everywhere, and the cramped city threw him off. The human officers and tellers treated him well through the transition: a comfy solace, a sign that his caustic past was dead for a new future to be forged. The first Equus staff member came up, and she was a pink unicorn. Her name tag read Canter Crowhop, a familiar trace of ponish absurdity. The unicorn smiled at him, waving for the griffon and his familywhile saying something sweet in her cutesy voice: “Enjoy your trip! Welcome back to Equestria, sir!” In the portal hallway, there was no fancy vortex or universe-breaking hole here. It was just a hall, stretched to the other side with shops, quick-meal stops, and inside patios for creatures to lounge in and enjoy. His ticket ensured him an optional three hours’ stay in this hall. Still, the portal was there: nigh invisible. He stood on Earth, but the other side resided in Equestria. Their flight was slow and steady, hopefully without ponies stopping him midway to chat about everything. Ignoring potential friend requests from the chatty horsies, the whole family hovered together. His ears popped. Felt funny for a few seconds before his senses crashed back into the air. Those seconds felt long, slowly speeding up to normal. As he regained his bearings, he knew what everything meant: the magic, now fully back in the air, surrounding and permeating his being, re-welcoming him into the harmony of creatures in Equestria. Garlan held his head with a claw, making sure he wouldn’t get dizzy from the crossing. Ginger too, holding her nauseating temples. The hatchlings, however, looked the worst. They looked close to puking, stumbling in the air as their cheeks went green. Gwen had to land to handle the magic influx without vomiting or crying. Genaro could still fly, but he rasped, “Wh-what… what was that?” Garlan rubbed the feathers on his son’s head. “That’s magic, kid. Lots of it. That’s how it is in Equus.” “But it feels weird.” It only made Garlan ruffle his feathers into an adorable mess. “You’ll get used to it over the week. Those amateur humans with their birthday party magic shows can’t compare.” Outside the hall, pink and yellow walls filled the space, adorned with the occasional heart and flower on the ceiling and columns. Tacky, but ponies had always been tacky even in fancy-snooty Canterlot. The personnel were very nice too which was a given when ponies held most of the positions in their adorable uniforms. They reached the lobby, almost the same as the human one but the tints and shades shone brighter. Humans became rarities, and the posters changed to ads of slashed prices on tropical Earth vacations in paradises like the Bahamas. Once out of the building, they saw Princess Luna’s moon and stars: they lit the sky up bright, painting a colorful horizon for the evening. The Fillypine Isles were much smaller than their Earthen counterparts, but it was still a vast and romantic archipelago with exotic fruits and spices. Little houses bordered stone streets as Hearth’s Warming Decorations went full blast: wreaths, mistletoes, streamers, bunting, and flashing colorful lights as pony choirs sang holiday songs heavenly. From there, it was a short trip to the pier for a ship headed for the mainland. Genaro talked big about flying across the sea, but Ginger shot the idea down: would he like running out of energy and drowning at sea? Gwen, unaware of what the huge fuss was about, simply cooed and laughed and said nice words about the ship and its passengers. Maybe Genaro had a point though: ships were slow. With his vision, Garlan could see glimpses of the city on the other side. He could fly to the other side with his family, carry the kids on his back, get this over with. Still, Ginger would shoot his idea down too: didn’t want to set a bad example for the children. Water splashed onto the deck thanks to seapony pranksters, but nopony got mad at them. Near the end of the trip, as they approached the glowing city and as the lighthouse spun its yellow beam around, a tap came on his shoulder. It was Ginger again. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Garlan thought of flying again. It’d be a short burst to the ground. He kept his wings closed. “Ginger, what… what if something bad happened along the way?” “Like a train crash?” she asked but then said nothing for a while, horrified at her own words. Garlan shook it away with an uncaring claw. “No, not that. But what if it happens again?” “What happens again?” Garlan spun his claw around, motioning to the sea and beyond. “If the Blue Moon Festival becomes a disaster again. If things go bust this time, I won’t be surprised if griffons just up and left en masse. If that happens, it’ll all come crashing down, griffons will just leave... and Gary might just drag me to its broken crater and tell me to perform an actual miracle.” Ginger massaged his shoulders, half-relaxed his nerves. “I don’t deny the possibility. It may even be likely. But we’ll be there. Gilda and Greta are some of the better griffons out there; they’ll do their best to keep things civil.“ “And there’s stupid Gary.” “Yes, and there’s your brother who’s way too excited for his own good but still has his heart in the right place. With all of them, we’ll still have something to look forward to, no?” She saw Garlan’s scowl, but it melted into a sober blank expression. “At least we’ll have tried.” At least it was a try. One paw out the door: an easy exit if things went awry, and his old self of so many years would be proven right. He could finally be vindicated as the wise one, and Gary would be outed as the perennial fool. Then what? Nothing. It’d only mean a fallen kingdom fated to rot and burn. But Gary believed in resurrecting dead horses. It didn’t hurt to help. To try. Just this once. They made it to the city and got onto a train. Barring any delays on the coastal railway, they’d make it on time for the Festival. Far from the deep south tropics, snow sprinkled and reigned in Equestria. Hearth’s Warming decor had spread everywhere: train passengers carried gifts for their loved ones, families enjoyed the train ride to a big city for winter extravaganzas, and mouth-watering scents of festive foods wafted into the air as they were served with stomach-warming drinks like peppermint tea, eggnog, and hot chocolate which Ginger paid for a cup of. The train stopped by each village brimming with banquets of ponies wishing each other a good day amid harmonious carols. It spun Garlan’s poor head around, and now he wanted to sleep. The fledglings saw these villages and got excited, asking any pony within range about the holiday, how they were, what their life was like as ponies, and so on. They even flew around once in a while and did loops too: something they rarely did back on Earth. Perhaps it was that harmony or destiny magic getting to them, or maybe the joy of ponies was just that infectious: he couldn’t tell. A pegasus father ahead of him told his foals the story of Hearth’s Warming, how it all started when a blizzard crashed into ponies fighting each other for survival. At the mention of ponies scuffling until they didn’t, Garlan raised his head. It wasn’t long before they left Equestria proper. By then, the passengers’ make-up had changed. Rare was the pony who journeyed eastward still, so the seats were soon occupied by homeward griffons. Garlan stayed his claw at first. He had nothing to say, but his children did: watching other griffons from afar, they introduced themselves to them before raining questions upon the unfortunate passengers. Garlan and Ginger kept a wary eye on them in case a tiger-hawk in a bad mood threatened them, but nothing of the sort happened. Some were curious, others yearned to return, and still others hoped that something good would finally happen this year. Griffonstone united them all. Pony cities and towns faded into obscurity; they were replaced by grand forests, unoccupied plains, and rugged alpines where pegasi and other winged soldiers perched on outposts watching over the rail. They crossed the Ponish Channel on a long bridge. An arch received them on the other side, welcoming them to the land of Griffonstone though the kingdom itself would still be hundreds of miles ahead. Two griffon statues flanked the vault colored vibrantly with recent paint. An uphill battle was the final stretch. The ground slanted upward, the turnpikes turned sharp, and the air thinned to comfy levels. No more stations to stop by: here lay the long and uncomfortable calm before the storm. Here, nothing could be found but vast tracts of land: virgin tundras where vegetation was scant and everything felt cold and empty with intermittent patches of thin snow. No buildings to speak of: just the ground and the infinite horizon above. Silhouettes flew in the sky. As the train gnawed the miles away, they got closer: griffons. Gwen shouted and pointed at the griffons in the sky; they flew together in an orderly formation shaped like a V. Garlan looked up, yawning after rising from an hour’s nap. “Pa’, look, look!” Gwen yelled, tugging at his wing. “There’s griffons… griffons out there! There’s griffons out there!” “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get yourself asking, ‘Are we there yet?‘” “But there’s so many! It’s like… it’s like a… it’s like a flock!” That tore his eyes wide open. “What?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Garlan looked out the window. The horizon uncovered mountain ranges as wide as the eye could see. Overhead, flocks of griffons swarmed onward, banded together as they converged towards their sole destination. With its houses around The Great Tree extending skyward, higher than any skyscraper could dream of, with The Griffish Castle Palace of Lords at the peak of the world— The train slowed down. Passengers stood up, jostling their way to the doors. When it stopped, they spread their wings and flew out of the train and into the liberating expanse above. The pony conductor waved them a goodbye, wishing them both a happy Hearth’s Warming and a happy Blue Moon Festival. He stepped out of the train only for the station to startle him. Somegriff was actually managing the site now. A new paint job covered it, trimmed with blue and white decorations to wear that festival spirit. Garlan didn’t bother to greet the station’s griffon; for all he knew, he might get roped into small talk, declare friendship after a few minutes, and cry on each other’s shoulders in less than a week in ponish fashion. Still, the path upward would be exhausting especially for the fledglings. It was a test of endurance. The cold tough winds drained their energy, the distance broke the hearts of the unfit, and a single misflap could slam a careless griffon against a tight rock formation. Yet they bore through it together, and not just as a family: couples, friends, other families charged on with them. Not much talk was had, but he heard some of it and it wasn’t all doom and gloom. Close to the entrance arch, there was squabbling which stalled griffons on the way. Some headed onward to avoid the trouble; others stayed to watch things unfold. An old griffon not unlike Sir Gruff had gotten in a spat with a young-looking eagle-lion in the dark before the kingdom’s holiday lights. Garlan held his children tight. Things could get ugly fast. “I told you to not bump into me, you whippersnapper!” shouted the elder, ready to pounce at the youngster. “Who are you to boss me around, telling me what to do when I’ve got fifty years more than you?” The other griffon whispered back, trying to coax the senior to cease, but the old griffon replied, “Well, sonny, you bumped into me! Let me tell you, I can handle all of these possessions myself! These are my things, sonny! Didn’t your mother tell you not to snoop on other griffs’ business, you overgrown baby? Bah, why’d I come back here if you just won’t square up like old times? Come on! Show ‘em up! I may be old but I still have the blood of my ancestors—“ Got knocked out cold. Past frozen-surprised onlookers, Garlan flew closer, hoping the assailant wouldn’t beat the oldster to a pulp. Wasn’t too bad upon closer inspection. He’d be unconscious for about half an hour, and the purple eye would be gone in a week’s time. Enough fights in childhood had informed him much about knocked out creatures. The young griffon brushed the dust off of his claws and shoulders. “Surprised to see I’m both a lover and a fighter?” he said before he blushed. “Not that I have an actual chickfriend or anything like that, but yeah. Just because they say I’m some goody two-shoes doesn’t mean I’ll fall like cardboard in a proper fight. By the way, did I tell you about my half-hour-long exercise regiment? Helps with self-defense and keeps me in shape, heh-heh. You see, Garlan, I start with a hundred push-ups—“ He shook his head and stepped back, gasping so much, he could’ve broken his jaw. “W-wait! Garlan? Y-you’re... you’re here?!” The griffon in question nodded his wind-ruffled head, patting the luggage strapped around his torso. “Yes, Gary. We’re all here.” Gary’s beak opened and closed like the mouth of a blubbering goldfish. “B-but you didn’t say anything! Oh, no! You don’t have any arrangements! I didn’t even prepare my house for you or a special greeting or a good breakfast—“ “Just as planned,” Ginger said with a wink. “He wanted to keep it a surprise until the very end.” Gary stood there stupidly, onlookers moving on now that the fight had long been over. “So you weren’t going to Los Angeles for Christmas? No Hollywood movies or anything?” “That’d be fun,” Garlan admitted, “but this… this better be good, Gary.” As if on cue, the two kids assaulted Gary with hugs and hellos, excited to meet their funny uncle again. Gary hugged them back, embraced Ginger too. Letting them go, Gary flew to his only brother for the longest hug, taking him off guard. However, in the moment—the sky had turned pink; no wonder the lights were starting to turn off—Garlan patted back and tightened his own hugging grip on Gary. “Alright, alright, s-stop suffocating me in love!” and Gary took a huge breath when Garlan let go. “Now… well, look at the time! Look at the sky! Festival’s about to begin! Sorry to goad you into big favors Garlie, but would you be okay with the honor of serving your scrumptious cart meats for the morning market buffet? I said it before, and I’ll say it again: your food will be a hit here!… oh, but before we do that, you need a bird’s eye view of the place. It’s changed a bit… not a lot, but, eh, you’ll get it when you see it!” Gary led him and his family along. They soared high above the swathes of buildings, peaks, and griffons flying underneath. Meanwhile, the two kids enjoyed the unbridled view in the cool twilight air. They stopped at the top of a nearby mountain, roosting there to see the kingdom’s darkened silhouette against the dying night. The night then died. The sun ascended, its rays striking Griffonstone into glory. New half-constructed houses glimmered under the rising dawn, clean dirt roads showed themselves under solar illumination, and the feathered-furs of griffons glimmered in the morning light. The uncommon pony and other non-griffon creatures helped out with the festivities as they set up last-minute decorations, but his eyes were lured to the houses and stores in the kingdom’s outskirts: life slowly expanding back to old golden-age boundaries. The screeching and squalling of every griffon everywhere. Garlan covered his ears at the alarm, but it wasn’t an alarm. Ginger squawked in pride, and so did Gary. Though feebly, his children mimicked the sounds as they raised their heads high to the rising sun—the first time they’d cawed since infancy. Griffonstone wasn’t much. Too much construction and cleaning up had to be done before it could be much. Still, under this gorgeous sunrise, he had to admit its fiery splendor. Once the early morning majesty faded away, it’d be tacky and ugly again. A few minutes later, he looked at Ginger. She already took note: about to ask a question. Garlan spotted a little house in the scabrous peaks, much more fixed up than the last time he’d seen it. “Honey, that’s our family home. Best you help Gary out with the accommodations. We’re staying here for a week, so we have to be as comfy as possible.” Then, the fledglings who looked up to him: under the sunrise, Garlan became a superhero angel to them, surrounded by a celestial halo. “And kiddos, enjoy yourselves here. You’ve seen this place in the videos, but now you’re trying out the homeland for real. Make the best of it while you can… but don’t get into trouble, you hear?” And for a few more minutes, Griffonstone remained beautiful. Nothing to do but sit there and drink it in while it lasted. But maybe he could help make it last a little longer. To make home last a little longer.