//------------------------------// // Relatives and Real Estate // Story: My Big Fat Griffon Wedding // by LunaJack //------------------------------// It was eight o’clock and the sun had risen round and golden as a fresh egg yolk over the city of Griffonstone. Ginny, a small griffoness with light brown feathers irritably pushed her mob cap back from her eyes. “Stupid hat,” she muttered to herself. She marched into one of the second story bedrooms and flung open the curtains. The morning light poured in, falling across an enormous nest. It was big enough to hold three full-grown griffons, but now only held one. Guinevere lay in the center, surrounded by soft pillows and covered by a satin sheet. She grimaced as the light fell across her eyes. “Time to get up, ma’am,” Ginny monotoned. Guinevere rose up and blinked. “What time is it?” “Eight o’clock,” replied the maid, rolling her eyes. “The same time I always wake you up.” “Mind your tone,” the older griffoness snapped. She lay back down and stretched her body like a cat, talons and claws spread out and extended. “Mmmmm! Have you wakened the others, yet?” “Yes, ma’am. The girls anyway. Your son buried his head under the pillow and went back to sleep.” Guinevere clucked her tongue in disapproval. “He never was a morning griffon. I’ll take care of him. And what about Cinnamon Roll? Did you waken her as well?” “You mean the wingless pony?” asked Ginny, sneering slightly. “She’s been up since six o’clock, checking out the kitchen. I hear Cookie’s really annoyed right now.” “Oh, dear,” said Guinevere, trying to sound nonchalant as she fought the urge to flinch. The cook, Cookie as she preferred to be called, was fiercely territorial about the kitchen. Guinevere stood up and stretched out her wings till the pin feathers trembled. “I suppose I’ll have to take care of that as well. Go ahead and make the nest.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And be sure to shake out the pillows.” “Yes, ma’am.” Guinevere sailed downstairs. Gigi and Gidget were seated across from each other at the dining table. The first was sitting upright, clean, groomed, and happy to meet the day. The latter, who hated mornings as much as Gulliand, had her chin perched on her talon, her uncombed feathers drooping over her half-opened eyes. A platter mounded with hot apple muffins sat between them. “Good morning, Mother,” called Gigi cheerily. Gidget just grunted. “Good morning, girls,” replied Guinevere. She frowned at Gidget’s unkempt appearance but refrained from saying anything. Her ornery daughter could be downright nasty in the mornings. She pointed at the platter. “Muffins, I see.” “They’re fresh from the oven,” said Gigi snatching one up on her talon. “Hoo! Hot!” She dropped it on a small plate and slapped on a pat of butter. “Cinnamon Roll made them. She said she wanted to fix everygriff an AAAAAAAAppleoosa style breakfast.” Gidget grimaced at the loud, exuberant yodel. “Gah! Keep it down, will ya!” “Sorry. Anyway, that’s the way she pronounced it.” “I see,” said Guinevere, sighing. “Well, I suppose I should check on her. I’m sure Cookie is fit to be tied.” “Heh,” Gidget managed to mumble. “Wish someone would tie that biddie up.” Reluctantly, Guinevere stepped into the kitchen. As befit the mansion of a wealthy diplomat, the kitchen was huge and carefully outfitted with all the best appliances. There were two stoves, two ovens, a walk-in freezer, pantry, and meat locker. All of them were made of the best stainless steel. In the middle of the kitchen sat a long granite-topped island complete with a handy stainless-steel sink. It was here she found Cinnamon Roll busily chopping onions with a hoof-knife. “Mornin’, Miss Guinevere,” she called cheerfully. “Good morning Cinnamon,” replied the griffoness politely. “I hear you were up early.” “Yes ma’am!” The pony paused and slid the chopped onion into a bowl. “I’m an early riser. Habit from livin’ on a farm most of my life.” “I see. How did you get downstairs?” “Oh, Mr. Gordon helped me.” Guinevere’s eyebrow rose. “Mr. Gordon?” Cinnamon nodded. “He saw me out on the landing this mornin’ and was nice enough to give me lift down.” “I see,” said Guinevere again. She made a mental note to instruct the filly on etiquette and how to address a servant. “Now, I understand you are preparing breakfast for us all?” “Yes, ma’am,” replied Cinnamon, cutting into a red bell pepper. “I’m making the breakfast that my Cousin Braeburn likes to make for his family. I got the muffins on the table. Next, I’m gonna make some good old Appleoosan style hash browns, scrambled eggs—” “That sounds lovely dear,” said Guinevere cutting her off. “However, I need to speak to Cookie. Do you know where she is?” “I’m right here.” Guinevere squawked in alarm as a short, fat griffoness with brown fur and feathers suddenly appeared next to her. The chubby hen’s face was set in a fierce scowl. “Oh, Cookie! I-I didn’t see you—" “There is a pony in my kitchen,” Cookie stated flatly. Guinevere cringed. “Yes, there is. And I assure you—” “I do not like other creatures in my kitchen.” “I know that, Cookie, and—” “I personally pick who I want helping me in my kitchen. No one else.” “I understand. I will ask her to leave—” “No need for that.” Guinevere froze in mid reply, utterly confused. “W-W-What?” she stammered. “She has already started breakfast,” replied Cookie with a shrug. “She may as well finish.” “Oh.” “I have already spoken to her about this and she apologized.” “Oh, good.” “She also asked about my recipe for chicken fricassee,” Cookie added proudly. “I didn’t think ponies cooked meat.” “I didn’t think so either,” replied Guinevere stunned. She knew Cinnamon made vegetable dishes and desserts, but had assumed her son would take care of the meat. “So, you are all right with her being here?” “For now,” Cookie replied. She then pointed a long menacing talon at Guinevere. “Just do not let it happen again.” The griffoness nodded. “It won’t. I promise.” “Good. Now get out of here and let the pony work!” Guinevere didn’t wait to be told twice. She turned and quickly slipped from the kitchen. As the door swung closed behind her, she couldn’t help but give one incredulous look back. Did that just happen? “How did it go, Mother?” asked Gigi as the griffoness took a seat at the table. “Fine, dear.” Guinevere took a muffin and daintily slathered it with butter. She took a bite and gave a small hum of delight. “Just fine.” It wasn’t long before the savory smells of breakfast food wafted into the dining room. They could smell the onions and peppers mixed with the scent of frying potatoes. This was followed by the aromatic scent of perking coffee and the rich smell of scrambled eggs in butter. The next scent had all the griffons sitting up and taking notice. Gidget’s sleepy eyes widened in surprise as she sniffed the air. “Great Grover’s throne! Is she cooking—” “BACON!” Everyone turned as Gulliand landed heavily next to the table. His feathers were badly ruffled and his eyes were crusted in sleep. “I SMELL BACON!” Gigi giggled. “I guess that woke you up!” “But of course! It’s BACON!” Gulliand took a seat at the table next to his mother but his eyes were riveted on the kitchen door. “I haven’t had bacon in months! Not since Uncle Gustave’s rations ran out.” He glanced back at the table. “Where’s Cinnamon Roll?” “In there with the bacon,” replied Gidget with a smirk. “What?” Her brother’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean Cookie let her—cook?” Gigi shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.” A few minutes later, the wooden door to the kitchen swung open as Cinnamon Roll pushed a loaded food cart into the dining room. The griffons practically drooled at the sight as she unloaded her cargo onto the table. The little pony grinned at their eagerness. “Ya’ll go ahead and dig in,” she said. “I’ll pour the coffee.” They needed no second bidding. All four heaped their plates, being careful to leave some for Cinnamon Roll. They had barely begun to eat when they heard the front door slam. A male voice murmured something followed by a screeching female voice everyone could hear. “I don’t care if they’re dining with Tirek in Tartarus! Get out of my way, Blue Jay!” An irate griffoness came charging into the room. She looked similar to Guinevere, except her feathers were more off-white than white and her fur was a dark navy instead of black. She made a direct line for Guinevere. “So, you couldn’t even send a servant to fetch him, could you?” she snarled. “Garbo, dear! We just got up ourselves—" “I thought I would have a chance for a decent breakfast this morning but NOOOOOOO!” the griffoness continued to rant. “He had to steal the eggs from the cooler and…TRY TO HATCH THEM!” “Oh, dear,” sighed Guinevere. “Our meal was ruined! And so was my guestroom nest! Do you know how hard it is to get egg yolk out of a mattress?” “I’m sorry, Garbo. I’ll pay for a new nest.” “You better!” The angry griffoness noticed Cinnamon Roll who was still pouring coffee. “What’s with the pony? You finally get rid of that crotchety old cook?” “I heard that!” yelled Cookie from the kitchen. “That’s Cinnamon Roll, Aunt Garbo,” Gulliand began. “She is—” “I don’t believe I was talking to you, little boy,” Garbo snapped. She turned back to Guinevere leaving her nephew to grind his beak. “So, why is the pony here? You trying to show off your wealth or something?” “NO!” said Guinevere drawing herself up regally. “This pony is Cinnamon Roll. She is Gulliand’s business partner and…friend.” Gigi, Gidget, and Gulliand glanced questioningly at their mother when she said that last part. “They are opening a restaurant here in Griffonstone.” Garbo snorted. “I remember you saying something about that. You’d have been better off staying in Equestria, boy,” she added over her shoulder to Gulliand. The griffoness plopped down in a seat and looked expectantly at Cinnamon. “You! Get me some eggs and bacon. And make it snappy!” The other griffons glared at her. Guinevere was about to remind her that the pony was not a servant but Cinnamon answered first. “Yes, ma’am,” she said politely. “Let me get you a plate.” She went into the kitchen and returned with a plate similar to the ones the others were using. She then loaded it up with eggs and bacon and presented it to Garbo who took it without so much as a thanks. Gulliand was so furious he could barely bring himself to eat. The others were equally subdued, picking at their food. Cinnamon Roll remained cheery and even fetched a cup so the griffoness could have coffee. Garbo smacked her beak. “Delicious!” She wiped her beak with a napkin and tossed it across her empty plate. “That will do for me. Honestly, you should give up on opening a restaurant and work as somegriff's personal chef.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Cinnamon Roll sweetly. Garbo stood up. “I still expect payment for that nest, Guinevere! And those eggs!” “Of course,” Guinevere replied, her eye twitching. No one spoke as the rude griffoness exited the room. Only when they heard the front door slam shut did they open up. “Chienne!” Gulliand hissed. “Of all the nerve!” huffed Gigi. “Jerk Face,” Gidget growled. “I am sorry for that Cinnamon Roll,” said Guinevere. “Though I must say you handled the situation well.” “Yeah,” said Gidget. “You didn’t blow up or anything. How could you stand that?” Cinnamon shrugged. “Well, I just remembered my manners and treated her like a guest.” She then gave a wicked grin. “Giving her a dirty plate and cup didn’t hurt either.” There was a moment of silence as this last part sunk in, then everyone burst into laughter. Gulliand wiped his streaming eyes. “Oh, Cherie! Remind me to never make you mad! Ha-ha-ha!” “AHEM!” There was a pause in the laughter as everyone turned to see Gordon standing at attention at the far end of the table. He looked at Guinevere and spoke in a deep, quiet voice. “Mr. George is waiting in the foyer, Madam. Shall I bring him in?” “Goodness!” cried Guinevere. “With all that happened, I forgot she was bringing him here! Yes! Bring him in! Poor fellow’s probably hungry!” “Who is Mr. George?” asked Cinnamon Roll as Gordon bowed out of the room. “He’s my uncle,” Guinevere explained. “My mother’s youngest brother, to be exact. He was the baby of the family. Garbo was watching him for me while we were in Equestria.” The filly raised an eyebrow. “Watching him?” “Uncle George has Old Timers,” said Gigi somberly. “You know what that is?” Cinnamon Roll nodded. “Yeah. My Aunt Goldie has it. She had to go into the nursing home when she started getting lost in her own yard.” “I wish we had one of those facilities here,” said Guinevere with a sigh. “My siblings and I take turns caring for him. He can be very stubborn which makes him quite the talonful.” “That’s an understatement,” muttered Gidget. Further discussion was interrupted as Gordon returned followed closely by a scowling elderly griffon. He was large but his features were sunken and his skin seemed to hang off his frame. Despite his age, his feathers and fur were black as Luna’s night without a hint of gray. His golden eyes glared at them suspiciously. Guinevere rose to meet him. “Uncle George! How are you this morning?” The old griffon’s eyes narrowed on her. “Where in Tartarus have you been?” he snapped in a gravelly voice. “Leaving me with that Harpy!” “I’m sorry Uncle George. It won’t happen again. Would you like some breakfast?” Uncle George appeared to think about that a moment. “Yes. I guess so.” Gordon escorted him to a seat and Cinnamon Roll fetched him a clean plate. She loaded it with eggs, bacon, hash browns, and a muffin then placed it in front of him. “Here you are Uncle George,” she said kindly. The old griffon stared at her. “Why do I have a niece who looks like a pony?” Gulliand facepalmed as Gigi and Gidget shook with stifled laughter. Cinnamon just smiled and answered him patiently. “’Cuz I am a pony, sir. My name is Cinnamon Roll. I’m engaged to Gulliand.” “Really?” the old griffon frowned and appeared to be considering what he thought about the matter. In the end he just nodded. “Good for him. Now, what is this?” He pointed at the food on his plate. “You have scrambled eggs, and bacon, and hash browns, and an apple cinnamon muffin.” He stared at the food doubtfully. “Do I like this?” he asked. Cinnamon was about to reply that she didn’t know when Guinevere cut her off. “Yes, Uncle George,” she said. “You eat that all the time.” Uncle George frowned then after a moment picked up his fork and tentatively ate his eggs. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. “Getting him to eat is a hassle sometimes,” Guinevere whispered to Cinnamon Roll. “He has trouble concentrating and he forgets what he’s doing.” Everyone returned to eating. Cinnamon Roll filled her own plate and took a seat next to Gulliand. She was pleased to see everyone enjoying the food. “Mmm! This bacon is perfect,” said Gidget, nibbling on a strip. “I’m surprised you were able to make it.” “I learned about preparing meat while at the college,” the little filly replied. “Maestro Gustave was the one who taught the class, but Gulliand helped me practice after school.” She glanced at her fiancé and chuckled. “It was a lot easier after he got his own apartment.” “Who knew frying cubed steak would cause an emergency evacuation of the dormitories?” Gulliand grumbled. The family had a laugh at that. They ate and chatted for a while, occasionally stopping to encourage Uncle George to finish his breakfast. He ate slowly but seemed to like what he was eating. It wasn’t long before everyone had finished and Guinevere checked the time. “It’s half past nine!” she cried. Hastily, she drank what remained of her coffee and wiped her beak on a napkin. “The tutors will be here soon! Gigi, go put on your leotard and slippers.” “Yes, Mother.” “And Gidget, for heaven’s sake, get a bath, groom yourself! You look like a slovenly market griffon!” “Yes, ma’am,” grumbled Gidget. “All right, Gulliand, go brush out your feathers and clean your face. I’m taking you to see that property today. Cinnamon Roll, if you could just—what are you doing?” The filly who was holding a stack of dirty cups froze in place. “Cleaning up the table.” “You don’t need to do that, child. We have dining staff to take care of that.” She rang a little bell and two griffonesses wearing aprons marched into the room and began to clear the table. “There. Now you just run over to the washroom and make yourself presentable. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.” “Come along, Cherie,” said Gulliand, nudging a reluctant Cinnamon towards the downstairs washroom. “No sense arguing with Mother when she’s in this mood.” The two took turns washing in the sink. Gulliand groomed his feathers and Cinnamon Roll brushed her mane and teeth. The little filly then stepped out so Gulliand could use the toilet. As she waited, she saw Gigi glide down wearing a pink leotard and ballet slippers made to fit her back paws. The griffoness noticed her staring. “Go ahead and laugh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Gidget always does.” “Why? I think you look cute,” said Cinnamon Roll. Gigi snorted. “I think I look like a feathery sausage stuck in a pink casing!” “No! You remind me of the little ballerina fillies back home dancing The Nutcracker at Hearth’s Warming.” Gigi cringed. “Gee, thanks.” Cinnamon wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Don’t you like dancing?” Gigi shrugged. “I like it. It’s fun and I’m pretty good at it. I just don’t like having to wear these tight-fitting things.” She tugged at the leotard’s neck. “It makes me claustrophobic. But that’s one of the things you have to put up with when you’re a LeGrand.” Cinnamon shook her head. “I don’t understand.” “Okay, you understand our father is a diplomat for the Griffon Kingdom.” The filly nodded. “Well, that kinda makes us diplomats, too. Whenever there’s a summit or a ball like the Grand Galloping Gala, we have to attend with him. My job at these functions is to be charming and graceful.” The griffoness demonstrated by performing an elegant arabesque much to Cinnamon’s delight. “I often share dances with esteemed guests.” “Does Gidget dance, too?” “Not really,” replied Gigi, shrugging. “Father decided long ago that Gidget was the clever one. She should take language, history, and political science. I’m just the pretty but silly one who’s only useful for charming important guests.” “Well, I think you’re purty smart,” murmured Cinnamon Roll, laying a comforting hoof on the griffoness’ shoulder. “And Gidget is just as purty as you are. I don’t know what your Pa’s thinking.” Gigi gave a shy grin. “Thanks, Cinnamon Roll.” Gulliand exited the bathroom drying his talons on a towel. “Well, I’m ready—.” He paused at the sight of his sister in her leotard. The corner of his beak twitched. “I see you weren’t joking about the dance lessons.” Gigi just gave her brother a wry grin. Their mother fluttered down next to them, her feathers and fur combed into place and her pearl necklace with the letter “L” was displayed prominently on her neck. “All right, come along now,” she said as she shepherded Gulliand and Cinnamon Roll outside. “The house is close to the center of the market at the root of the tree. It’s not in the best condition, but with the grant money you received you should be able to fix it up quite nicely. Oh, my goodness!” she cried, backpedaling towards the door. “I forgot Cinnamon Roll cannot fly! That’s all right. I’ll call Gordon to fly you--” Guinevere froze in mid-sentence as her son took the filly into his arms and flew away. “See you at the bottom, Mother!” he called over his shoulder. The griffoness huffed indignantly. “That boy has completely lost the whole concept of decorum.” The Griffonstone market, located at the base of the Great Grover Tree closest to the trunk, was the business hub of the city. Permanent shops that sold dry goods and work equipment formed a circle around the trunk. Temporary vendors showed off their wares from booths or the back of rickety wagons. Fast-talking sales griffons bantered with passers-by and barkers drummed up business. “Here we are!” Gulliand announced as he set Cinnamon Roll down on a clear space near the base of the Great Grover Tree. “W-w-Wow!” Standing so close, the little filly could fully appreciate the enormity of the ancient tree. “N-now I know how a Breezie feels lookin’ at a regular old apple tree!” The griffon laughed. “Don’t stare, Cherie. They’ll think you’re a tourist.” Guinevere landed heavily next to them. “There you are,” she huffed. “What have I told you about leaving me behind?” Her son sighed as he rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mother.” The griffoness snorted, but decided to let it go. “Well, come along. The building is on the other side of the tree.” The couple followed Guinevere as she wove her way through the market. Cinnamon Roll couldn’t help looking around her as they went. There were no flower sellers like there were in Ponyville or fancy art vendors like in Canterlot. Most of the stalls sold tools, gadgets, or medicinal remedies. One stall they passed sold leather belts and chaps. The filly was intrigued with the tooling on the belts but the sight of a cowhide pegged on the wall behind the counter made her turn away. “Definitely NOT something to tell the cows back home.” “Fish! Fresh caught fish! Buy ‘em whole or fillet!” Cinnamon turned to see a griffon fish monger expertly gut and slice a fish into neat portions then grab up another and repeat the process. The fish were obviously dead, so the sight did not bother the filly as much as she thought it would. In fact, she rather admired the quick, matter of fact way the griffon operated. “Move it, Pony! If ya ain’t buyin’ then get outta the way!” “Sorry!” Cinnamon hurried away to catch up with Gulliand. She passed several other vendors selling meat. One advertised hams, sausages, rashers of bacon, and something called head cheese. Cinnamon shivered in disgust. She very much doubted head cheese was the kind of thing you made pimento and cheese with. As she passed another stall, she heard the loud squawking of a protesting chicken. THUNK! The squawking abruptly stopped. Cinnamon gulped as she tried not to look. She hurried up to Gulliand and pressed her face into his neck. “I’m used to handlin’ meat,” she murmured. “But seeing what you gotta do to get it…That’s gonna take some gettin’ used to.” Her fiancé looked down at her with sympathy. “It died quick, Cherie. We griffons are carnivores but we are humane.” The two continued in silence past other vendors. A fruit stand selling what Cinnamon knew to be subpar apples. A vegetable stand with withered looking carrots and bell peppers. “Scones! Get your Griffon scones!” Cinnamon paused. That voice. It sounded feminine yet hoarse like…Aunt Rainbow Dash! She turned and looked in the direction of the voice. Standing nearby was a griffoness. She wasn’t very big, but she wasn’t small like Gigi and Gidget. She had soft beige-colored fur and slightly darker wings. Her head feathers were white, the ends tinged the color of heliotrope. This same color circled her eyes, giving them a speculative appearance. The griffoness noticed her stare. At first, she seemed surprised to see Cinnamon, a pony, looking at her. Then the look morphed into an angry scowl. “Get lost, dweeb!” she snarled. “Come along, Cinnamon,” said Guinevere, prodding the filly along. She gave the scone baker a withering look. “That one isn’t worth it.” “Huh! Stuck-up jerk!” Guinevere ignored the insult and shepherded Cinnamon and Gulliand to a spot on the other side of the tree. There, under one of the gigantic branches, was a house. It was large, bigger than most of the other buildings around it, but nowhere near as big as the LeGrand mansion. It was two stories tall and longer than it was wide. The walls were made of gray stones, weathered and stained by wind and water. “Well,” said Cinnamon Roll, after a moment. “The walls seem to be in purty fair condition.” “Oui,” Gulliand nodded slowly. “But the roof is a different matter. It’s completely covered in thatch!” “Not completely,” put in Guinevere, pointing to the side closest to them. “That part is covered in good, slate tiles. The rest is wooden shingles covered with thatch.” “Um, why would someone do that,” asked Cinnamon. “Wouldn’t it be better to have covered the whole house in slate?” The griffoness shrugged. “I don’t know why the owner did it this way. Perhaps he was low on bits or maybe he liked the thatch…” “Or maybe he was a cheapskate who didn’t want to pay for a whole slate roof,” put in Gulliand, bitterly. “Welcome to Griffinstone Economics 101, Cherie.” “Let’s look inside.” Guinevere unlocked the door and the three stepped inside. The house was surprisingly well lit thanks to a line of windows that let in the morning sun. To their left was a large space open to the rafters. Looking up, they could see the wooden shingles that made up the roof. Some of them looked damp. Gulliand flew up and poked one area with his talon. The rotten wood gave way easily. “Not good,” he said, bringing a piece to show Cinnamon Roll. “I think the whole roof needs to be replaced.” Cinnamon nodded. “Sure looks like it. And if the shingles are rotten, I’m sure the rafters are too. Better check the support beams while we’re at it.” The griffon flew up to comply. Meanwhile, Cinnamon poked around below, testing the wooden columns and wall panels. To her relief, none of the columns appeared to be damp or rotted. The same could not be said for the wall panels as water from the leaky roof had run down and seeped into the wood. Gulliand flew down a few minutes later. His face was grim. “The rafters are rotten and need to be replaced. The support beams appear to be all right, though. Still, this is going to be expensive to fix. Wood that size would have to be cut from the forest and hauled up the mountain by wagon. And then we’d have to hire the carpenters to fix it…” “Don’t worry about that, Sugar cube,” said Cinnamon Roll, cutting him off. “As many barn raisings as I’ve helped with, I’m sure we can handle that part ourselves.” She clopped her hooves together eagerly. “I don’t mind getting’ my hooves dirty.” “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Guinevere, distaste clear in her voice. “Now, let’s look at this side of the house. I believe you will find it to be in better repair.” The two followed her through an arched doorway and into a cozy stone-walled room. Unlike the other room, this one was not open to the rafters but had a high ceiling. A round wooden table and stool sat in the center. Both were covered thickly in dust. In the corner was a doorway with a flight of wooden stairs that led to a second floor. Gulliand and Cinnamon climbed up and found themselves in a loft. A discarded nest against the wall hinted this had once been a bedroom. A quick look at the roof revealed no water damage or rot, the slate roof having protected it from harm. “Previous owner may have been cheap, but he certainly made sure his sleeping area was protected,” said Gulliand. “Rafters are dry and solid here.” “The floor looks good, too,” replied Cinnamon Roll, knocking her hoof against the boards. “Nary a creak or a groan.” The two descended and followed Guinevere into another stone-walled room. Cinnamon Roll gasped in delight. The room was a kitchen! A long, gray, granite-topped counter, perfect for preparing food, ran the length of one wall. Under this were several drawers and cabinets offering plenty of storage space for pots and utensils. At one end was a stainless-steel double-sink with a drying rack. Against the far wall was the star of the room; a big, beautiful black iron stove and oven. The little filly almost squealed when she saw it. “OH! It’s just like the one Granny had when I first came to Sweet Apple Acres!” she whispered as she lovingly stroked it’s iron top. “I made my first apple pie in it.” “It looks like a good stove,” agreed Gulliand. “I must say this kitchen makes up for that first room we saw.” “I agree. Oh, what’s behind those two doors?” “I believe it’s the pantry and larder,” said Guinevere opening the doors. “Yes, that’s what they are. Come take a look.” “Wow!” whispered Cinnamon, gazing into the first room. It was small but more than big enough to hold lots of provisions. She peeked into the next room. It was smaller but cooler. Meat hooks handing from the ceiling told her what this room had once been used for. “Wow,” she said again. Gulliand was also impressed. “I like it,” he said. “I think we may be able to work with this. The hard part will be getting the roof fixed and getting the building up to some kind of code. Do you think it is worth it, Cherie?” Cinnamon nodded. “I think we can do it. Ten thousand bits can do a lot if you know the right folks.” “Then it’s settled,” said Guinevere, sounding relieved. “Come along, now. I need to get back home and check on the girls. You two run along to the lumber mill and see if you can get an estimate on those beams. And check with a carpenter! If someone gets hurt fixing a roof, I would prefer it not be you two!” “Yes, mother.” “Yes, Miss Guinevere.” The three exited into the street and the griffoness locked the door behind them. As they walked away, Cinnamon once again saw the beige and white scone baker selling her wares. The griffoness glared at the filly but didn’t say anything. Cinnamon shuddered. She had seen that look before. It was the same look Rainbow Dash had given Gulliand at the graduation dinner.