It was a six-hour train ride from Ponyville to Rainbow Falls. Dash had planned on taking the three PM train, but when five AM ticked by and she still hadn’t slept a wink, she’d elected to take the morning train instead.
That was a mistake.
Her mind was simultaneously racing, and stuck in a sluggish morass. Her left hindleg jittered uncontrollably with nervous energy, while her eyes could barely focus. A mild hangover from yesterday’s twin trips to the bar weren’t doing her any favors either; she’d even ignored her own advice and forgot to push fluids, like a stupid teenager raiding her parents’ liquor cabinet. Stupid. That about summed this day up, and it was barely past noon. She was five hours into her six-hour ride, and she didn’t know what to say past ‘Hey, Gil.’
She rubbed her hooves into her gritty eyes, snagged herself another cup of Equestrian Rail tea, and forced herself to think. What did she want? How did she see this ending? What would patching things up with Gilda even look like? In a perfect world, they’d both head back to Ponyville together, she’d convince Twilight to put Gilda on the work schedule, and… profit? Dash was too addle-brained to plan that far.
On the other hoof, the worst-case scenario- getting into a drunken brawl and beating the stuffing out of each other- would at least bring some closure.
Her chest felt tight. Her nostrils flared as she tried to suck in air- deep, slow breaths to calm herself down. It didn’t work. She felt…fragile. Like she was about to cry. And that only made her frustrated. What is this shit, am I on my period? “Uuuuurrrrrgh…” she sighed, slumping in her seat, “get it together, asshole.”
The next hour passed in excruciating silence. For the life of her, she couldn’t get it together.
Even before the train pulled into Rainbow Falls’ single platform, Rainbow Dash could see the massive construction project off in the distance; a colossal lakeside cloud stadium, built around the largest industrial waste dump she’d ever seen. As objectively pretty as the cascading streams of rainbow runoff were to look at, Dash could feel her lungs shriveling up already. To anypony not familiar with weatherwork, it probably seemed above-board, too. “Ugh, and it’s aerosolizing too, gross!” she muttered, “… I guess Gilda wasn’t lying, this really is the worst work detail in Equestria.” It still beats Innsbeak... A candle in the back of her mind lit up: this stadium was slated to hold the next Equestria Games, right?
Stepping off, she took to the air to try and find the construction offices. Maybe the foremare, or manager, or somepony could tell her where Gilda was. Feeling the tingly, electric burn of the prismatic spray starting to coat her wings, she dipped down to ground level as soon as she spotted a cluster of expandables and trailers just inside the site’s chain-link fence. Everywhere below her, the workers- mostly donkeys, but a sizable number were griffons, with more than a few minotaurs and goats in the mix- went about their business wearing cheap cloth respirators. With practiced smoothness that belayed her exhaustion, she touched down and opened the door to what she hoped was the main office, all in one fluid motion.
Inside, a dozen ponies sat at their desks, blueprints and paperwork and drafting supplies semi-neatly scattered everywhere. A bespectacled mare seated behind what passed as the receptionist’s desk greeted her, “Uh, hello? Do you have an appointment? Are you supposed to be here?”
Dash cantered up to the desk, and asked, “Hey, sorry, I’m looking for a… Gilda? She’s a griffon, she’s one of your employees?” She noted the receptionist’s respirator sat, unused, off to the side.
The secretary’s ears pinned back, but she kept her voice level, “Any and all complaints about our contractors’ behavior should be filed with local law enforcement. Mighty Minotaur Construction LLC cannot be held liable for what its contractors do in their time off.”
Dash cocked her head, “No no, I’m just looking for her.”
Realizing it would’ve been easier to just go to Gilda’s apartment and wait, she tried to backpedal, when a gruff, sharply-dressed stallion stubbed out his cigarette and grumbled, “Gilda? She don’ work here no more. First she failed to properly requisition fer time off, then she came back unfit fer work. Then she shows up drunk,” He drew a fresh cigarette from his pack, lit it up, then concluded with a wicked grin, “So we bumped her from 1099 to W-2, then fired that turkey for cause, ‘bout two weeks back.”
“So… you wouldn’t know where she is?” Dash asked.
“Try th’ bar.”
Rainbow Dash circled the town of Rainbow Falls in a wide, lazy arc. There wasn’t much to it: a couple streets, some long-abandoned carriage-making facilities, a few bars, and a single apartment complex; all bathed in a sickly rainbow-hued film, and lit orange by the autumn afternoon sun. She couldn’t tell if the toxic waste dump killed the town, or if Cloudsdale Weatherworks specifically chose this hollowed-out industrial husk as its dumping ground because it was already dead. Maybe it was both. The Springsteed music practically played itself.
Dash struck out with the first three bars- each a grizzly affair where she got the clear sense she was intruding on the locals- and was about to give up hope as she approached the fourth and last watering hole. She was so exhausted, she didn’t piece together the clatter and scraping of hooves on hardwood right behind the door until it flung open violently, nailing her square in the muzzle. She certainly wasn’t expecting to be hit by a semi-conscious Gilda as she was tossed unceremoniously into the street, either, but the trio of donkeys inside must not've seen Dash standing there.
Rainbow Dash scrambled to her hooves, adrenaline forcing her tired brain to focus on the coming fight- only for the patrons to shrug and head back inside, and for Gilda to flop around on the ground, eerily quiet. She ducked down and, careful of Gilda’s flailing limbs, she tried to help her friend at least roll upright. Her caution paid off as Gilda made a feeble attempt to rake her with her paws, slurring a barely coherent, “Gedoffa me yoo squirrely fucks, I’ll teach you t’stand still…”
“Gil, it’s me. Rainbow Dash. I came back. I…” she trailed off, still unsure of what to say. Doubly so to an utterly sloshed, blindly belligerent bundle of sharp-tipped limbs.
Gilda’s eyes focused, just a bit, on the mare standing over her. “Dashie? ‘Zzzat you? What’re you- HURP” She didn’t get to finish that sentence, as she wretched and dry-heaved herself into doubling over and curling up into a ball.
Rainbow Dash could barely contain her disgust, though it was tempered by a healthy dose of pity. She’d been here before, more than once. “Gil… what the rut…” was all she could muster.
After a minute, Gilda finally rallied enough to roll onto her stomach, legs mostly under her, though it looked like standing up was going to be a tall order. “Heeeey… m-my apardmend’s near here, we should h-urp-hang out.” With titanic effort, the drunk griffon rose to her feet, swayed hard to the left, but remained upright, “Yeah, issss nearby.” And with that, she slunk off down the road, head and wings bobbing like yoyos with each step.
Dash paced along beside her, doing her best to prop her up whenever she started listing. “Uh, yeah, why not.”
Gilda’s pace slowed, and she yawned- a big, catlike yawn that filled the air with the stench of cheap hooch- before grumbling, “I’m tired, RD.”
For the second time in as many days, it fell on Dash to put one of her drunk friends to bed. She craned her neck and saw the optimistically-named Scrivener’s Tower- a three-story array of cheap-looking apartments that did indeed tower over the otherwise flat town. “It’s ok, Gil, we’re almost there. You’re in 103, right?”
Gilda mumbled something incoherent as she dug through her feathers, eventually withdrawing a key. The fob confirmed the room number.
Dash took the key, and did her best to hold Gilda’s wing over her back, to help share the weight. Gilda yowled and swiped absently with her talons; Dash remembering a bit too late that that was Gilda’s injured wing. “Shit, sorry. C’mon, I can see it, just a bit further.”
Gilda just stared at the cracked asphalt road beneath her. “Hey, RD, you know what I love?”
Dash shook her head, and kept trying to coax Gilda forward. “What do you love?” She played along.
“I love my bed. I spent… ten… hundred… I spent so many bits on my bed. It’s all I’ve got.” She finally looked up, staring at Dash with hollow, vacant eyes, “It’s all I’ve got left.”
It chilled Rainbow Dash to the bone. She did this to Gilda. She reached out and asked for her help. What a fantastic friend she’d turned out to be.
“Shit… made m-myself sad again…” Gilda mumbled, “I know. I got- god- godda- ‘ey gottem!’” she interrupted herself, “got a joke. What was…. Right!” With purpose, she asked, “Hey Rainbow Dash: what’s the dif- no, what’ll- what- what does light beer have in common with ffff-sex on a boat?”
Dash blinked, dumbfounded, and replied with a flat “What.”
“They’re both ffffuckin’ close ta water! Ha!” She giggled, then chuckled, snorted, and threw her head back in a full-on guffaw, letting loose a deep belly laugh Rainbow Dash had never heard from Gilda before.
“Gilda…” Dash chided, “That’s a Surprise-level joke, dang.”
“Hey! Heey! Heeeey!” Gilda whined, “What did- that was unf- un-fuckin-called for.”
The smell hit Dash before she even got the door open. Shoulder-checking through the carpet of empty cans, bottles, and fast-food wrappers, she found herself staring at an absolutely squalid single-room apartment. Rancid gyro meat, skunked beer, and a distinct, sickeningly-sweet floral smell she could only hope was cider assaulted her in waves. “Gah! Four Winds, what is that stench, Gil?”
“Isss fuckin’- fuck- fffuuu-“ Gilda burbled.
“It’s ruttin’ what.” Dash snapped.
“Seeeex…” The griffon belched, sliding to the floor.
All Dash could do was stare. “…Damn, G.”
It was a messy task wrestling the half-conscious griffon into the only clean place in the room- her nest. Dash had to admit, it was a very nice nest. Free-hanging cloud-lined, climate-controlled, self-cleaning… and was that a massage function? Queen-size, too, and Gilda barely took up half of it. It dawned on Rainbow Dash that she’d been awake for over thirty hours, so far. That nest looked inviting, and she knew a thing or two about the importance of a quality bed after doing hard labor all day.
“Uuuurgh…” Gilda groaned, “If you’re expecting a ‘thank you,’ you can go fuck yourself.”
“Gil… I’m here because I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Dash explained, as evenly as she could wrangle her voice, “I left you behind. You don’t- ok, you didn’t exactly need my help… but you needed a friend. And I left you behind.” She sighed, and looked for any change in Gilda; her head hung limp over the side of her nest. “But I’m here now. I’m here now, Gil.” She waited for a response, her heart racing, wings tense.
“Fuck. You. Dash.” Gilda spat out, head still drooped, beak almost touching the floor.
“Yeah yeah-“
“I said fuck you, Dash!” She looked up this time, eyes rimmed red with tears, “Fuck you and your purple dweeb boss!”
“Hey, let’s leave Twilight outta-“ Dash took a step back, defensively.
“Fuck you!” The griffon shouted, finally managing to prop herself up on her talons, leaning into each word, “Fuck you for ever helping me!”
“Gil, you can’t mean tha-“ Dash tried to admonish.
“Fuck! You! For making me think I’d ever be more than worthless gutter-trash! Fuck you!” She howled, tears streaming down her face, lightning crackling through her wings, “Fuck you! Fuuuuuuuuck yoooooooou!”
And with that, the griffon was spent. Her forelegs collapsed out from under her, and her beak clonked against the bed frame on the way down. Even the crying stopped. Dash stood there, fight-or-flight instinct paralyzed. If she were Fluttershy, or Rarity, or even Twilight, she might’ve known what to say, anything to say. This wasn’t something she could solve by flying fast, kicking hard, and making it look easy.
Eventually, Gilda’s eyes tracked the pegasus, and she weakly spoke, between breaths, “Every time I make myself a cozy little seat in the clouds, I have to look down. Sometimes, I jump.” She swallowed hard, “Just a quick, one-stroke power dive, just like they taught us, and the ground rushes up at me.” Her breath hitched in her throat, “Sometimes, I close my eyes. The wind in my crest. The sun on my face. Gravity doing the job for me." She was quiet for a moment, "But my wings always spread, I always pull up. I'm not sure why."
Rainbow Dash was horrified. Her exhausted mind raced, trying to think of anything to say to her friend. "It- it can't be that bad-"
"Dash, you're a pony." Gilda's voice trembled, barely audible between breaths, "You lose your job, that sucks. I lose my job, I get deported. It'll happen any day now. You saw Innsbeak. You saw how bad it was. Griffonstone is worse." A sob shook her body, "And that's where I'm going."
One memory finally emerged, early on in Flight Camp, when Gilda taught her a few common phrases. “’Peidiwch a gwyllto. Dialwch.’” She said, in undoubtedly butchered Griffish- seriously, why is ‘w’ a vowel?
Gilda cocked her head, “’Don’t get hungry, revenge?’ OH!” It was a phrase every griffon knew, and even in her inebriated state she could tell what Dash was trying to say, “Don’t get mad. Get even.” She blinked, the whiskey-soaked cogs in her brain slowly but steadily trying to figure out what Dash meant by it.
“…Gil, I heard you. If it’ll make you feel any better… I’m right here.” Dash rocked back on her hindlegs, bracing for a brawl.
“Hey, shut up. For once, you’re right. I just need to- need-“ She slumped over in her bed, then curled up into a tight little ball, “Need to get some sleep. Revenge can wait ‘til morning… lousy stupid sun-damned supportive friend…” She was out like a light, filling the air with vodka-scented snoring.
All at once, the adrenaline drained from Rainbow Dash’s body. Thirty hours no sleep… and that was one mighty fine nest in front of her. There was still an open half. Zephyrus’s warmth, there was even a second pillow. She glanced over at Gilda. Yep, she’ll be out ‘til morning.
Dash took a moment to survey the room one more time; on the bedside table sat a small, framed picture. An adolescent Gilda and Rainbow Dash smiled and waved at the camera, having just passed their dreaded partial-pressure humidity written exam. She sighed, “Well, fuck me. This doesn’t count, Hoops!” As she pitched forward and passed the rut out.