Freaks like Beaks

by pertelote345

A marginal upgrade

On your average day, I'll take money from everyone.

Not that I'm a thief, I work for my wages thank you, but I do have a lot of people who throw money in my guitar case who aren't very well off. We're talking bar workers, dish washers, the folks that worked at the greasy fast food place down town... The whole shebang.

But when a disheveled, skinny mare of the night put five bits in my case with a smile I knew instantly they could be put to better use.

I eyed the prostitute and fished her bits back out. "Thanks, but you need these more than I do."

The earth pony stared down at me, sitting on my industrial district street corner and holding my guitar with my feathers ruffled and my butt unprotected on the pavement. She narrowed her eyes.

"Seriously? You need the money! You're homeless!" She said in an obviously male voice.

I rolled my eyes. And looked up at the makeup encrusted, red dress wearing mare with ribbons on her tail. "And you're probably living in whatever passes for a brothel in this dump. Take the money sister, you're going to need it."

Her eyes went wide. She almost looked indignant, but it was undercut by her ridiculously fluffy dress and garish makeup. "I'm not a prostitute!"

I snorted, leaning back against the wall. I really didn't have time for this. "Hey lady, I'm a busker, I don't judge. You do prefer lady right? You're not a drag queen?"

Her eye was twitching. "I'm a chef!"

I raised an eyebrow. "A chef that dresses like that?" I shrugged and attempted to tune the guitar in my talons. It was a losing battle, but I couldn't help but keep fighting. "Whatever you say. Now if you're not going to accept my charity you better hurry out of here. This isn't exactly a friendly neighborhood."

She glared at me, then let out a breath, turned up her nose and walked away.

I stared at her as she made her way down the street. I stopped playing. Holy shit, she was telling the truth, wasn't she?

I tried to avoid the old steel mill for a few days after I was accosted by that griffon. It wasn't easy because it was right on my way back from work. Still, I spent some time dodging and weaving around that haunt.

In the end, it wasn't courage or a need to speak my mind that brought me back to the busker, it was simple forgetful laziness. I'd worked an overnight shift and I was running on autopilot, which of course meant walking my old route home.

I had nothing on my mind but sleep and maybe making some rice to eat before bed when I heard a soft voice behind me. "I'm sorry miss..."

I turned around and noticed that indeed, the tawny brown griffon was back.

I paused. The busker had actually put down her instrument to say that.

Normally, when homeless people tried to talk to me as I was walking back from work I made it a point to just ignore them and keep walking. No good could come of staying in one place for too long.

But I had to admit, I was curious. Not many griffons came to Ponyville... And she'd called me miss. That was not common.

I looked her over. She had sort of a kestrel look about her for her bird half while her rear was obviously that of a lioness. Said rear had mud caked on it, and her feathers weren't in great shape either.

I frowned. This hen had called me a prostitute not two days ago. I should be furious with her! She could be dangerous... Honestly I should have just walked away.

But I always sucked at ignoring people. "Apology accepted." I said.

She smirked, faintly, gripping that ancient guitar in her frightening looking talons. "My name's Gretchen by the way."

I nodded. "Nice to meet you." Then I left for home. There wasn't much else to say.

I counted the tarnished bits in the lining of my case. Not bad for a day's work. Maybe I could find some solid food for once. I was just about to pack up and head to the bus stop to find that and a bit of shelter when I heard a rustling from the alley next to me.

Now, there were some simple survival rules when you lived on the streets. Rule number one was to not investigate strange noises. This late at night, the best case scenario was a stray cat and the worst case was too terrible to consider.

I picked up my case, shook myself, and began actively forgetting about the whole thing.

Of course, two steps later, I heard the forced squeak of someone being shoved against a wall, followed by the tearing of fabric.

It was the fabric that got me flying.

Sure enough, when I turned the corner there was a seedy looking stallion tearing some poor mare's dress. I couldn't make her out clearly, but the stallion's intentions were obvious.

There wasn't much time for thought. Heck, there wasn't much time for common sense. The only thing there was time for was lifting up my guitar case and bashing the stallion on the head.

My instrument connected with a very satisfying clang and the stallion fell like a rock. For a moment everything was silent.

I went to check on his victim, who sputtered at me in a much deeper voice than I expected. I only made out a single word. "G-Gretchen?"

The police station smelled like stale coffee and bad decisions. Bad decisions smelled like vomit, in case you were wondering.

I hadn't left Gretchen's side since the cops picked me up. The Griffon was filthy, and she smelled worse than the police station.

But I felt safe with her. Right now I needed that.

"Okay," The policepony said, taking down my statement. "Everything seems to be in order except..." He squinted at the Griffon musician. "I still haven't seen your ID. What were you doing at-"

I instantly put a protective hoof on Gretchen's shoulder. The griffon looked more than a little confused.

"This," I said, glaring down at the policepony,"is my room mate Gretchen. She was just coming back from a show at Glass Bit Pizza. Now, if it's fine with you we'd really like to go home."

Gretchen caught on quickly, nodding to the officer.

He stared at us for a moment, probing our expressions... My poker face was good. So was Gretchen's.

"Alright," He said with a shrug, "Let's get you girls home."

Home, it turned out, was a studio apartment with a 'hide a bed' couch.

The officer left us to our devices and I let out a breath. I took a moment to take in the surroundings. All that was there was a kitchenette, a small closet, a bathroom, and the aforementioned bedroom. The walls were completely unadorned.

My host and I shared an uncomfortable silence.

Finally I spoke. "So... Are you okay?"

She smiled. It was a bit morose, but it was real. "Yeah, thanks to you I think I'll be just fine. Do you want me to unfold the couch or would you prefer sleeping on the cushions?"

I stared at her, my feathers slicking in shock. "You can't be serious."

She smirked, going for the closet, shaking out her long blond mane and white coat. "I don't make a habit of lying to the police. Now come on, I think it's time to get ready for bed, starting with the most important step."

That said, she gave me a towel and a bar of soap and shoved me into the bathroom.