//------------------------------//
// Leaving the Nest 
// Story: My Big Fat Griffon Wedding 
// by LunaJack 
//------------------------------//

“Are you kidding?”

“That’s crazy!”

“You can’t be serious, Cinnamon, dear!”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Cherie?”

“Do I eat this?” 

“Yes, Uncle George, you eat it all the time,” replied Guinevere dismissively.  Her attention was focused on the little brown filly whose head was bowed soberly over her plate of pancakes.   “Moving down to the house in its current condition is out of the question, my dear! I’m afraid staying with us has given you a false sense of what Griffonstone is really like.”

“It’s rough,” said Gigi, nodding.  “That area used to be pretty affluent but when the older griffons died or moved away, it fell into ruin.  Mostly poor and homeless griffons hang around there now doing what they can to get by.”

“Stealing, most likely,” Gidget put in.  “Can’t beg for a living in Griffonstone, you’d starve to death.  And if you got into trouble, there wouldn’t be any help. Not unless you had the bits to pay for it.”

“I’m afraid they are telling the truth, Cherie,” said Gulliand, laying a claw over her hoof. “I would prefer to wait until the roof has been fixed.  Are you really that determined to move there now?”

“Yes, I am,” replied Cinnamon Roll, her mouth set in a firm line.

Gulliand sighed. “Then I will go with you,” he said. “I know not to argue when your mind is made up.”

Guinevere shook her head sorrowfully.  “This is all because of what happened last night with Uncle George,” she lamented. “I am so sorry, Cinnamon.  Please, stay here.  I promise it won’t happen again.  I’ll have a special lock put on your door…”

“No, ma’am, thank you,” Cinnamon Roll gently interrupted.  “I wouldn’t want you puttin’ up locks for my sake.  I’d never forgive myself if something happened to Uncle George because of it.  Anyways… that’s not the only reason I’m ready to move out.”

“It’s not?”

Cinnamon shook her head.  “I figger that if we move in down there now, that’ll save us from making the trip down every day to help with the repairs.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said Gulliand thoughtfully.

“And we could work as long as we needed to.  We wouldn’t have to fly back up the mountain in the evening.”

The griffon smiled. “And with us living there, we could guard the building materials and discourage squatters from slipping in. Good thinking, Cherie!”

“Now, wait just a minute!” cried Guinevere, standing up.  “Have you both forgotten that there is gaping hole in the roof?  Anygriff could slip inside while you’re asleep and rob you blind or worse!”

“The stairs leading to the loft has a door,” replied Gulliand, thoughtfully.  “And I’m almost positive it locks.  There are also doors on the pantry and larder and we know for a fact those have locks.”

“Seriously?” said Gidget, giving them a deadpan look.  “You’re gonna sleep in a pantry?”

“It could work,” replied Cinnamon Roll.  “I could sleep in the pantry and Gulliand could sleep in the larder.”

“I would prefer the loft, Cherie.  I don’t like tight windowless rooms," the griffon shivered.  "We’re going to need beds.  That old nest in the loft needs to be thrown out...”

“Gulliand!” Guinevere hissed.  “You are supposed to be talking her out of this, not going along with it!”

“If I may, sir, Gaylord’s furniture is a good place to purchase new beds,” said Gordon.  “That is where I commonly procure new mattresses for the household.”

“GORDON!”

“Thank you, Gordon,” said Gulliand.  “I’ll be sure to check them out.”

Guinevere glared at the butler.  “Yes, Gordon. Thanks a lot,” she muttered sarcastically.

“Well, this has been interesting,” said Gidget, rolling her eyes.  “But since you guys have made up your minds and I don’t really care what you do, I am going to eat my pancakes before they get cold.”

“Me, too,” said Gigi, taking up her fork.  “Not that I don’t care, but I really am hungry.” 

Defeated, Guinevere plopped down in her chair and began sulkily poking at her food. 

An hour later, Gulliand, carrying Cinnamon Roll in his arms, glided down the mountain.  The butler Gordon, his arms filled with various cleaning supplies, followed close behind.  The three landed in the market place at the base of the great tree.  The same vendors from the previous morning were already open and hawking their wares.  

“Fish!  Fresh fish!”

“Meat!  Chicken and pork!”

“I got eggs here! Chicken eggs fresh from the hen’s a—”

“Well, looks like we know where to go to get some of our ingredients,” Gulliand murmured to Cinnamon Roll as they wove their way through the stalls.  They passed the spot where the scone baker had been, but the stall was now empty.  Cinnamon Roll shivered, remembering the angry, piercing glare the griffoness had given her.  All the other griffons she had met so far had either regarded her with curiosity or disinterest.  The scone baker had shown open animosity.  She hoped she wouldn’t run into her again.

When they reached the house, Gulliand flew up and entered through the hole in the roof.  A few minutes later, he opened the door for Cinnamon and Gordon.

“House is clear,” he announced as they stepped inside.  “No sign of unwanted visitors.”

“I doubted there would be, sir,” said Gordon, carefully placing the supplies on the floor. “The griffons here are poor but tend to respect the property of others.”

“You sure about that?” asked Cinnamon Roll.  “My aunt told me about a griffon that visited Ponyville once and she caught her stealing an apple.”

“Petty theft is common,” replied the butler with a shrug.  “But breaking and entering is quite rare.  I know.  I have family who live here.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” said Gulliand.  “I won’t worry so much about us staying here.  Now, if you could direct me to Gaylord’s, I will go about getting us some bedding.” He turned to Cinnamon.  “Will you be all right here by yourself or do you wish to come along?”

“I think I’ll stay,” she replied, looking around the dusty room in distaste.  “I’ll get to cleaning while you’re gone.”  

“Very well, Cherie. Take care.  I will be back shortly.”

Once the griffons were gone, Cinnamon Roll immediately set to work.  She started by dragging the old nest out of the loft.  It was old and dusty, but did not smell or appear to have vermin.  Shrugging, she put it to the side until they could decide what to do with it then continued with her cleaning.  Cinnamon brushed and scrubbed the walls until she swore the stones turned colors!  She then tackled the floors, sweeping and mopping until they gleamed.

She moved to the dining room, giving it a desperately needed dusting followed by a good mopping. The kitchen was a little harder. Cinnamon had to open all the cabinets and scrub the insides clean.  She was happy to see no evidence of rats or mice.  Considering the entire city was made up of creatures who were part cat and part bird of prey, that should not have been surprising.  

After finishing the last of the cabinets, Cinnamon Roll took a much-needed break.  Gulliand had still not returned from the furniture store but that didn’t surprise her.  From what she had seen at the lumber mill, the only thing griffons liked better than bits was haggling over them.  Once she was rested, Cinnamon rose to her hooves, ready to tackle the stone floor. 

“Gonna need some clean water,” she muttered to herself.  Cinnamon Roll carried the bucket of dirty water to a door in the back of the kitchen that led to a back alley.  Holding the door open with her back hoof, she lifted the bucket in her front hooves and threw the contents into the alley.

SPLASH!

“AAARRRGGHH! WHAT THE FLAP!”  

“Oh, my gosh!” Cinnamon Roll cried out in horror.  A griffoness stood in the alley, her fur and feathers soaked in dirty mop water.  “I am so, so sorry!  I didn’t see you there…”

“YOU STUPID DWEEB!” the griffoness roared.  Water flew as the enraged hen violently tossed her head. “WHAT THE FLAP DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

“I-I-I’m sorry!” cried Cinnamon.  “I didn’t see you there.  I didn’t mean…” The little filly’s voice trailed off when she saw the griffoness’s face and recognized the heliotrope coloring around the eyes.  It was the angry-eyed scone baker from the day before! Oh, dear!

“OH, IT’S YOU!” the griffoness snarled.  “THE STUPID PONY WITH THE STUCK-UP RICH JERKS!  YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST THROW DIRTY WATER ON ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT?”

Cinnamon Roll gulped as the irate hen stepped closer.  “I-I didn’t mean to!  I didn’t see you there-“  Close the door!  Close it now! “I-I am so sorry—” She stepped back from the door and slid a hoof behind it.  “Really, I am!  Sorry…”

THUNK!  The griffoness’ talon shot out, holding the door in place.  “NO BODY DOES THAT TO ME AND FLIES OFF!  I’M GONNA—”

“KNOCK IT OFF, GILDA!”

The irate hen paused. Standing behind her was another griffoness.  She was slightly smaller with white head feathers and pale green markings around her eyes.  

“Stay outta this, Greta!” the angry hen snarled.

“I saw the whole thing!  The pony didn’t do it on purpose.  And she said she was sorry.  Let it go.”

“OWL DUNG!” the griffoness named Gilda screeched.  “YOU DON’T KNOW PONIES LIKE I DO.  THEY DO STUFF LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME!  THEY THINK IT’S FUNNY!  WELL, I’M GONNA SHOW THIS ONE 'FUNNY'!”

“Gilda,” the other hen’s voice dropped lower.  “Do you know who this pony works for?”

“No,” Gilda spat defensively.

“She’s with the LeGrand’s, that rich, stuck-up diplomat family,” Greta informed her.  “I know, because I saw her this morning with that hoity-toity butler of theirs following her around like a lap dog.”

“Excuse me?” cried Cinnamon Roll, taking offence at Gordon being called a “lap dog”.  She was about to say more when she saw Greta motioning for her to stay quiet.  

“So what?” snarled Gilda.  She was turned towards Greta but her talon still held the door open.  “Because they’re rich, they think they can walk all over us?”

“You forget that Old Lady LeGrand owns most of the property on this side of town.”

“So?  I don’t rent from her!”

“No, but she could fix it so you can’t sell your scones in the market!” snapped Greta, rolling her eyes.  “Where would you be then?  No bits to pay the rent.  No bits to buy food.  No bits to get yourself outta this dump!”

The larger griffoness winced like she had been struck.  Greta pressed on.

“It was a mistake. The pony apologized.  I’m sure it won’t happen again,” she added, looking at Cinnamon very hard.

The filly took the hint.  “I-I will be more careful next time.  I promise.”

“You better be,” growled Gilda.  She snatched her talon back from the door.  “Just stay outta my way pony!”

Cinnamon Roll nodded in reply.  The angry griffoness stalked away, still grumbling under her breath.  The little filly turned to Greta.

“Thank you for your help,” she said.

“I didn’t do it for you, pony,” Greta snapped, turning her back on Cinnamon.  “I’m just looking out for my friend,” she added over her shoulder.

Cinnamon Roll closed the door, locked it, then, her trembling legs no longer able to support her, slid to the floor.  

“Sweet baby Luna!” she breathed.





Gulliand checked the time and cursed.  He had been gone a lot longer than he planned.  The furniture sales griffon had insisted on haggling with him over the price. Then the delivery griffon had to haggle with him over the delivery fee.  Then he had to haggle with the porter griffon who was bringing their things down from the mansion!  He wished he had not been so quick to send Gordon home that morning.  He was sure the old butler would have done a better job than he.

Quickly, he made his way through the market, closely followed by a burly drake pulling a cart containing two nests and mattresses.  

“So, you’re rentin’ the old MacPhearsome place,” the delivery griffon grunted as they stopped in front of the house.  “’Bout time somegriff moved in.”

“My grandmother is letting me have it,” replied Gulliand.  He tried to open the door but found it locked.  “I’m planning on turning it into a restaurant soon.”

The porter chuffed. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Gulliand knocked on the door.  “Cinnamon Roll!  Can you hear me?  Cinnamon Roll!”

For a moment there was no answer.  Gulliand was about fly up to the hole in the roof when he heard the lock click and the door swing open.

“Cherie!  Why was the door—”

“Gulliand!”

The griffon grunted as the little filly threw her arms around him and buried her face into his feathery neck.  His arms went around her at once.  He could feel her trembling.  The delivery griffon looked at them strangely but did not say anything.  Gulliand waited until Cinnamon Roll had calmed down before asking.  “What is it? What happened, Cherie?”

“There was this griffoness,” Cinnamon Roll said, her face still buried in his feathers.  “I was throwin’ out the mop water and I accidently threw it on her.  I apologized but she wouldn’t listen.  She was so angry, I thought she would…”

“What did she look like?”

“White head with kinda lavender markings around her eyes,” Cinnamon sniffled.  “I remember seeing her selling scones in the market yesterday.”

“That would be Gilda,” said the delivery griffon grimly.  Gulliand and Cinnamon looked at him questioningly.  “She’s the only scone seller around here.  She’s got a bad temper and she really, really hates ponies.”

Cinnamon’s jaw dropped.  “What? Why?”

The griffon shrugged. “I don’t really know.  I heard her folks sent her to some flight camp when she was little and she ended up makin’ friends with some pony.  She went to visit years later and came back madder than a dragon with a toothache.  Never went to Equestria again.”

“That’s awful!”

The griffon shrugged again.  “It is what it is.  Say, where you want these nests?  I’m on the clock here.”

“Put them down in that front room,” Gulliand ordered.  “We’ll move them ourselves.”  He turned back to Cinnamon Roll.  “Are you still sure about staying here, Cherie?  What if she comes back?”

“I don’t think she will,” replied Cinnamon after a moment.  “There was another griffoness with her who talked her down.  She said something about your grandmother keeping her from selling her scones in the market if she didn’t leave me alone. That really seemed to worry her.”

“It ought to,” said Gulliand grimly.  “Grandmother owns most of the space in the market and keeps the rent low to prevent the competition from stealing clients.  I could get her banned if you want.”

Cinnamon Roll considered for a moment.  “No,” she said.  “I don’t want to keep her from making a livin’.  I don’t think she’ll come after me.”

“Very well, Cherie,” replied Gulliand.  “I will let it go.  But if she threatens you again, I will take action.”

“Got the beds in the front room,” the delivery griffon announced.  “By the way, you want that old nest?  It’s still in good condition.”

“No, you can have it.” 

The burly griffon grinned like a colt on Hearth’s Warming.  “Sweet!”

After he left, the two moved the nests into their respective rooms.  Later that evening, Cinnamon prepared for sleep in her secure little room.  She lay across her bed, excited about her first night in their very own house yet tired from a hard day of work.  She thought about the angry griffoness and wondered what could have happened to make her so bitter against ponies.  After a while, her mind slowed down.  She turned on her side, breathing in the comforting apple scent of her sheets, and fell fast asleep