//------------------------------// // Culture Shock - Part 2 // Story: Bluebird // by Hammerhead //------------------------------// It was still the morning, and yet Staff Sergeant Razorwing had everyone from the platoon standing outside forming two lines, the air was cold and cloud drifted above them. Everypony had breakfast, although Gallus hoped that a small breakfast would suffice considering his small appetite. These were only the first exercises of the day after all, and they were drill runs, so the griffon could only imagine the basics. “Alright ponies, all of you need to pay attention, cause I’m only going to show you this once. After that, every time I see you get one bit wrong, I’ll be calling you out.” The first was face turns, the sergeant pegasus demonstrated how cadets would be expected to turn at perfect right-angles. Razorwing was slick with each turn, rotating his full body while his hooves slid on the ground despite no sound of friction on the gravel surface. When he completed a turn, he would count to three before stepping forward to standing. The only time his hooves made distinct actions were when he did an about-face, with one foreleg up and his hindleg crossed, he had effortlessly turned fully to face the opposite side. Some cadets looked intently to process his movements, Gallus had his beak open in surprise, the first realisation that there was a way to turn effortlessly with as few steps as possible. What was crazy was that the cadets were now expected to do the same movements, Razorwing would roar out a command such as “Right faaaaaace, HAH!”, and in unison, the cadets would respond “OneTwoThree ONE!” following the command with the correct turn. At least, that was the end goal from the first part of the exercise. The platoon began performing as a staggered troupe compared to Razorwing’s single pony waltz. The sergeant would call out commands over and over again, and as warned would call out to correct any error. “Acute! You are not turning far enough, and Obtuse you’re turning too much!” he called out to two pegasi as the pair hastily readjusted their stances, “And Sterling! Step in time with everypony else! Again!” How he managed to have the energy to shout at ponies constantly for turning the wrong direction, whether it be turning the wrong direction or stagger on each turn, remained a mystery to the platoon. The platoon could breathe a sigh of relief when Razorwing was at least satisfied with how everypony and griffon moved in place, the next exercise was marching. It was not enough for cadets to walk, instead, they were required to trot with their front hooves and walk with their rear hooves. The sergeant bellowed out which forehoof should be upright. “Left, Right, Left, Right... Halt!” and in an instant, the platoon halted, standing upright and trying to keep their heads up above their exhausted bodies. “About turn! Again! Left, Right, Left, Right...” Unlike face turns, Gallus had no difficulty with doing the marches, although there were technical issues from his efforts. It was hard enough for the griffon to hold his arms up while keeping his talons faced down with how they bent inwards, but his palms were not used to the constant pounding against the gravel surface on each step. He hoped that he could lighten the force on his talons, but the sergeant had other plans. “Sterling, I’ve seen fillies who can step in time better than you!” he loudly ridiculed, “Wind Breaker, your head should be upright! And Griffon, I should be able to hear each step from you!” The last thing Razorwing wanted to see was the salutes, which were the most confusing aspect for the griffon, seeing the pegasus held up firmly upright with his right forehoof pointing towards his eyes, yet the round stubbiness of hooves made it unclear of what Gallus should do if the ends of his arms were not horseshoe-shaped, or had extra features like claws. Fortunately, Gallus had seen enough griffons doing salutes back in Griffonstone to pass off. Whenever Razorwing did call for the salute, Gallus would do so like the others, and not get called out. That was until one call to salute was ordered, Razorwing was stood right in front of Gallus, and stared long towards the side of his face, where Gallus’ talons were as straight and close together as they could be, the palm faced down into the ground, the sergeant’s disgruntled face was all Gallus could tell something was not right. “Griffon! What in Celestia do you call that?” Razorwing asked sharply inches away from Gallus’ bright amber beak. The only motions Gallus could make were to narrow his eyes, “Uh… a salute, Staff Sergeant” he responded in bewilderment. “Oh really? Then how come every time I see you saluting, it looks nothing like what the other cadets are doing?” With the lack of personal space and internal resistance to move out of place, Gallus shifted his eyes left and could see Scythe holding his salute. The pegasus was fully upright and firm, his arm precise along his body, and the stub of his hoof was pointed directly at his forehead. “Because I have talons, not hooves, sir” answered Gallus, assuming the only difference he could find between him and his adjacent cadet. Razorwing was quick to reject the response, “Not having hooves is not an excuse, Griffon!” He proceeded to use his wing to push Gallus’ arm, now its talons faced outwards. “The arm goes over the shoulder and the shoe should face out, when a superior wants you to salute, you should do it properly” he instructed before making his move onto the next cadet. “Like you’d know how to salute with talons…” The air went silent, Razorwing froze midstep, and as he slowly turned his head to face Gallus, he saw the griffon’s beak was clamped and his eyes looking up and away. The sergeant’s eyes glared at Gallus as if daggers were pointing towards him, who could only imagine dark thunderous clouds forming from the sergeant's ears, realising the big mistake he made. “On the ground!” barked Razorwing through the grit of his teeth, pointing his hoof on the gravel in front of him, “Get on your stomach griffon, now!” Gallus hastily lowered himself until his bare chest was flat on the ground. “Now when I call up, you push yourself up with only your wings, and when I call down, you go down until your beak is touching the floor. Up!” Using the ends of his two wings, Gallus slowly pushed his body up as far as he could take it, his hind paws being the only other points on the ground. “Down!” As commanded, Gallus then lowered himself until he could feel his beak pressed against the gravel. “Up… Down… Up… Down… Up… Down…” He continued the calls, only to leave Gallus holding himself low to inspect the other cadets, who all remained upright and holding his salute. “Breaker, get your head up, you’re not supposed to be hunched.” He called out, only to pause as a pony in the platoon started snickering. Unable to tell who it was, he continued onto the next Pegasus. “Nick, move your hoof down” Razorwing caught the sound of more snickering, and in the time he took to see who it was, the pegasus he was inspected had moved his arm. “Okay, now your hoof is too low, move it back up.” After more snickering, he was about to see who it was, but when he turned to look around, he noticed Gallus had positioned himself with his wings fully pushed upwards. “Griffon, did I call you to push up?” he asked the blue cadet. “Yes, Staff Sergeant,” Gallus answered with a strain, looking at the ground with agony. “Twice, Staff Sergeant.” The answer led to more snickering, which only angered Razorwing further as he lowered his face to be closer to Gallus. “DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, GRIFFON?” he yelled forcefully. “No, Staff Sergeant!” Razorwing then moved up to address the rest of the platoon, a few who were desperately holding their mouths shut. “Well then, I shouldn’t be hearing any laughter, unless you other ponies want to join him?” “No, Staff Sergeant!” they all called out in unison, Gallus remained down on wing-ups until drills were over. It was early in the afternoon, and Gallus had finished having lunch. As difficult as it was for him to hold utensils with his sore talons, he managed to eat enough for the energy he needed. Once lunch was over, he made his way through the corridors towards the platoon commander’s office, on orders to see Captain Westland. As he approached the entrance, dread was etched into the griffon’s face, if Staff Sergeant Razorwing was loud, strict, and sharp around cadets, only King Grover’s ghost would know what his commanding officer was like. He peeked into the open doorway, inside was an office with posterboards, a large window looking out into the field where an Earth pony platoon marched passed, and two office desks. One desk at the side of the room was vacant, while the one at the opposite end was the light red pegasus herself, holding a pen between the feathers of her right-wing with several sheets of paper on her desk. Despite the possibility that the colour sergeant was not present, any reassurance could not be grasped at the thought of what he could have told her prior to his arrival. Bracing himself for the worst, he cleared his throat, “Uh… Captain Westland, you needed to see me?” he hesitantly announced. The mare did not even bat an eye, “Come in, close the door, and take a seat.” Gallus marched his way through into the office and stood at attention. The captain shifted her vermillion eyes up from the papers to see an upright and tense griffon stood in front of her, and she returned a bemused smile. “At ease cadet," she calmly ordered, "this is just a standard one-on-one, just to know who my cadets are.” The griffon exhaled a sigh of relief, relaxed his shoulders, and lowered his hind so he could take the weight off his talons. The captain opened a drawer to grab a new form and place it on the desk, “So, your name is Gallus?” she asked, leaning forward over the desk, taking note of the name badge on Gallus’ coveralls. “Yes, ma’am” he answered, calm and direct. “How old are you?” “Eighteen, ma’am.” “What’s your family like? I have it that you were under the care of a griffon named Gruff?” Upon hearing that name, Gallus’ eyebrows straightened and moved closer towards the eyes “...yeah, Grandpa Gruff” the pitch of his voice lowered slightly upon answering. He could feel his talons start to tightly grasp the edge of his seat, holding his breath, trying in vain not to answer any further. Captain Westland proceeded to write on the form, her wing scratching on the paper with vigour as her eyes glanced between the form and other papers on her desk. “And tell me, what you were doing before you came to the Academy?” Taking a breath, Gallus looked up at the ceiling and list out his answer, “I grew up in Griffonstone, did small jobs here and there, learned on the go, helped Grandpa Gruff while he worked…” “What kind of work did he do?” she interrupted. “He wrote novels, a lot of griffon history, so he’d need someone to go through the libraries or archives with him. When I was fourteen, I was sent to the School of Friendship in Ponyville.” “Princess Twilight’s School of Friendship…” the captain muttered to herself as she wrote it down, “that would make you one of its first graduates, right?” “Yes ma’am.” The captain raised a smirk, “Guess that'll mean we’ll expect you to have a good rapport with your platoon.” “Uh… yeah… rapport,” he remarked with a nervous smile, looking back at the weird looks, murmurs, and the dressing down from the sergeant that morning. “Finally, are there any problems I should be aware of?” The griffon started rubbing one of his palms with his talons, “The drills I think, I feel they’re not built for my talons.” Captain Westland glanced down at them, before looking back up with a relaxed smile. “I’m sure those will get ironed out over time, it’s only the first day, but I’ll have a word with Staff Sergeant Razorwing.” She then leant over the desk again and followed with a quiet remark, “Next time just be careful what you say, you’re training to be a leader, and leaders set by example.” The griffon felt his heart stop, beads of sweat rolled down the side of his head, to which Westland caught with another smirk. “That will be all, thank you for your time.” After another breath, Gallus turned and began walking to make a brisk exit, when heard a sharp voice from behind him. “Stop, get back here…” The griffon froze, and slowly walked backwards and turned around, to see the captain with an intense glower towards him, her nose and mouth covered by her hooves resting on the desk. “Just because we have nothing left to talk about, doesn’t mean I allow you to leave…” His heart racing, the captain had the same aura of dark clouds before a storm that Razorwing had, and even though her tone was nowhere near as loud. “Uh… may I leave and carry on… ma’am… please?” he slowly requested, his voice trailing as he shakily smiled. Westland lifted her head above her hooves to reveal her grin, although the reveal did not feel that comforting. “Face right, march two steps,” she instructed, “then you may leave.” He attempted the right face turn, counting under his breath and wobbled as his talons rubbed on the carpet, before making two steps forward. “Good effort” was enough from the captain to tell she could recognise the sloppy attempt, but it was also enough permission to make his way out as fast as he could. The afternoon was, in the nicest way of putting it, excruciating. Gallus had been keen on sports during his last years at the School of Friendship, but he could never have imagined fitness exercises lasting for hours. He already had a strain on his wings from doing Razorwing's penalty push-ups in the morning, but in the afternoon he had to do more. The worst was the shuttle flights, where cadets had to take off and land within a yard, back-and-forth, several times. Everyone in the platoon felt exhausted afterwards, although Gallus felt the worst, trailing far behind, gasping for breath at each step. He was unable to fly up the stairs, given how sore his wings were. As he finally reached the top, he made his way to the dorms. The thought of tough drills and encounters were enough for him as his head sunk and let out a sigh, but he lifted his head as he hoped to relax on his bed and maybe even start to write a letter to his friends to let them know how he was getting on. When he opened the door, there were cadets with mops and towels, scrubbing the floors and doors, all with glazed and wrinkled eyes. Another sigh emerged from Gallus’ breath, a few steps inside and he already jinxed himself. “Hey, Bluebird!” A familiar-looking cyan pegasus greeted with a bucket hooked around his hoof, although Gallus looked around, unaware that the one being greeted was himself. “Bluebird?” was all he could respond, his head tilted and his brows furrowed. “Yeah, Staff Sarge wants the dorms cleaned, you’re last so you have to do the washroom.” The pony shoved the bucket into the arms of Gallus, “Sorry for the mess!” Before Gallus could wonder what he was on about, the pegasus hurried off to his dorm. A disappointed Gallus made his way to the washroom, he should have seen this coming when Razorwing expected the entire dorm to be clean and tidy, what with the sergeant’s high standards. The washroom had three of everything a pony needed, cubicles, showers, hoofwash stations, all surrounded by pearly white tiles. “Well, it can’t be that bad” he reassured himself in his mind, he had all the cleaning equipment he needed, and when he’s done, he could have first dibs on the shower to cool himself off. He went to mopping the floor, scrubbing the walls, wiping the basins, cooled himself off in the shower and scrubbed that too. It was the most effort he had done in cleaning since he made a mess in the breakroom back at the School of Friendship just before Heartswarming Eve, not his proudest of moments since he also got his friends in trouble, but he imagined what kind of jokes they’d make about Gallus cleaning up an entire washroom by himself. He wiped the sweat off his head, impressed that he was almost done in a short amount of time with everything sparkling, all he had left to do was clean the cubicles. But when he went into the first one and lifted the toilet seat, he was met with the most horrible sight. As he gagged, he remembered why the cyan pegasus was so familiar, he threw up earlier that morning, and what made it worse was that he never flushed it down. Completely washed-out, Gallus took a slow stumbled walk into his dorm room. All he could hear were what sounded like incoherent mumbling. Even as he approached, his bed felt so far away that kept moving until his arms encountered the frame, causing him to fall face-first onto the soft mattress. After he rolled the rest of his lifeless body onto the mattress, he glanced up at the graduation photo. He wished he could have stayed in Ponyville, perhaps gotten a job at the School of Friendship instead. At least back then things were simpler, and every creature and pony knew who he was, and he had friends. Even the Griffon Army sounds like a better choice, he would have been far away from his friends, but griffons would treat him like any other griffon. That was another thing, he promised to write to his friends, but what should he even write? That he cannot survive the first day of training, cannot turn face, cannot salute like a pony, or get any pony to refer to him by name? “Hey Gallus, you okay?” a concerned voice reminded Gallus he wasn’t alone in the room, Scythe was lying on his own bed, a forehoof resting behind his head while the other was holding a book, his hind hooves crossed. The sight of someone more relaxed and comforted didn’t sit well with the griffon, who instead return his face with a pillow with a muffled groan. “It gets better, believe me, you’re not the only one feeling bad after today.” Scythe reassured the lifeless corpse as he pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed. “Easy for you to say,” moaned the muffled Gallus, before turning to look at his roommate’s fresh-looking face with a glare. “I don’t even remember you being called out once.” “That’s because I’ve been through this before…” Scythe explained. “I was in the Cloudsdale Junior Cadets, we did drills and obstacle courses, not as bad as this but it helped us prepare. A few others are soldiers or ex-wonderbolts, so their experience differs.” “I’m starting with nothing, and I’m a griffon…” the hopeless griffon responded, “I can’t even turn properly or salute like a pony…” Scythe put on an encouraging smile, “Well, most cadets start with nothing, but you’ll pick up some good tricks.” He jumped off the bed to face Gallus fully standing, “One my brother told me was to shift your weight when you turn, so you don’t drag your other hooves.” Scythe demonstrated his turns, and Gallus half-lidded eyes grew wider as they were fixed on how slick the motions were, turns as smooth as Razorwing’s were from that morning, and as he described, his hooves glided along the marble floor. “Can you show me how you do that?” he asked as he finally found the strength to push his upper body off the pillow. Scythe was taken aback by the request, “O-Oh sure” he accepted, stepping back to make room. Gallus then forced himself off the bed and positioned himself, so he was standing upright beside Scythe. “Say you want to turn right; you loosen your right foreleg and your left hind leg, then you use your other legs to turn your body until your parallel again, and then step forward.” Gallus stared down towards his talons, and carefully lifted his right arm, hollowed by carefully lifting his left hind paw, just enough to that were still touching the ground but any force he applied was only enough to keep himself balanced. Then he started to turn his body and noticed felt smoother than before, his left arm appeared to move back, while his right paw appeared to move forward until he could feel his body lock as he made the right-angled turn. With the way all his appendages were positioned, he leant forward and stepped back into a standing position, as if on instinct. When he looked back up, he was met with the impressed smile of his roommate. “See, there you go. If you need to turn the other way, do you the opposite.” The griffon just looked around, still in amazement, unable to control the grin on his face and the racing of his heart in the excitement that he felt like he surpassed the largest obstacle, and it was from nailing the simplest move the staff sergeant had to teach. He was not sure whether he wanted to dance or jump or sing or do anything to show how happy he was. Instead, he decided to say something to the pony who decided to help him, “Hey… thanks” was all he said to Scythe, his gaze lowered, and wings folded in. Scythe’s smile grew wider, “No problem” he muffled, as he quickly tried to avert from his welled-up eyes. “We have room inspections tomorrow, so if you need help…” Gallus chuckled, “Knowing that the Staff Sergeant is going to do them, I think I’ll need it.” “Hey, Bluebird! Mumbles!” a voice echoed from the opposite dorm room. “Are you gonna close your door, or give the rest of us a show?” Scythe's face started blushing as the two inside blankly stared at each other and snickering could be heard outside. The pegasus proceeded to turn around to shut the door, before giving out dejected sigh. It was early in the following morning, the first day for room inspections. Each cadet was stood to attention outside their rooms, all the while Captain Westland and Staff Sergeant Razorwing went into each one individually to check them. Gallus and Scythe were stood outside, their heads looking upwards and outwards, and while Gallus had bags under his eyes, he was at least confident that his room was fine, knowing he had some help from his room buddy. At least, that was what he hoped, “Griffon! Get in here!” summoned the sergeant from inside the room. Gallus looked towards Scythe, unsure what could have been wrong, before marching his way inside. He stopped in front of Razorwing, who was sat beside his bed. “Stand and salute, Griffon” ordered the sergeant, and followed as directed. Razorwing looked over at the side of Gallus’ head, where his talons were stretched out and closed, pointed slightly above his eye with the palm facing outward. “You’ve changed your salute, I see,” Razorwing remarked. “Yes, Staff Sergeant” acknowledged Gallus. Without any words, Razorwing used his wings to adjust Gallus’ arms and head, making the arm more perpendicular to the body, the head held straight upwards, his beak angled more level. Once he was done, he gave a minuscule nod. “Good, I expect you to hold that exact pose anytime you’re required to salute, understood?” Having never seen Razorwing nod or give any positive word so far, Gallus couldn’t help but grin and hold his chest out. “Yes, Staff Sergeant” he answered with some pride. Razorwing remained deadpanned. “Right, I found this in between your bedsheet.” Using his other wing, he revealed a stray blue feather, no doubt from Gallus’ wings. “We shouldn't be able to find any stray feathers during inspection.”. He then turned around towards a neat and immaculate bed, and pulled away from the bedsheet with his teeth, undoing Gallus’ hard work. “Do it again...” he orders, before leaving and moving onto the next room, leaving Gallus to groan. All he could think was that these would be small steps, this was only the second day after all...