This time, as Gilda approached from the distant east, Pinkie was ready. Most of Ponyville was still drowsing at this hour, but Pinkie was up bright and early, having taken the time to set things up. She shielded her eyes with a hoof, squinting against the blinding dawn sun, and made out the shape of the familiar feathered fiend ... soon to be a familiar feathered friend, if all went to plan. Pinkie doubted this would be the case, knowing that she could yet again get easily killed for some arbitrary reason, but it never hurt to have a little optimism.
As she’d hoped, the griffon faltered in her flight, then angled downward at a pace not unlike somepony dragging her hooves. (“Dragging her wings”? Pinkie wondered if there was a whole cornucopia of alternate idioms for different species, silly though the idea might be.) Gilda touched down tentatively, though her wings pumped impressively in a show of supposed dominance.
Here it comes. Pinkie plastered on a winning smile.
Golden hawk eyes narrowed as Gilda sized her up. “... Yeah?”
“Good morning!” Pinkie chirped. “On behalf of all Ponyville, I welcome you to the coziest little town on this side of Everfree!” She waved a hoof at the tables. “Hungry?”
“Eh.” Gilda glanced lazily at the treats on display there ... then did a double take. Piles and piles of muffins sat stacked on an enormous tray, surrounded by fruit of all shapes and sizes. A banner repeated Pinkie’s welcome in loopy hoofwriting. “What the?!”
“I did a little research.” Pinkie hoped she wasn’t sounding braggy. “I figured you’d like something to nibble on after a super-long trip from Griffonstone. Nothing too rich or sweet, though.”
Gilda leaned tentatively forward, poking an apple with a noticeably sharp claw. Her gaze took in the sight again, more slowly this time. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly to take in the scent of slightly warm muffins. “You did this for ...?” She shook herself, twisting her beak in a scowl. “How’d you know I was coming? I didn’t tell anyone!”
“I have my ways.” Pinkie tapped her head in feigned wisdom. “I know Dash will be super excited to see you! But she’s still asleep, so maybe we should wait until she wakes up.”
Feathers ruffled as the griffon gave her a suspicious sidelong glance. Reluctantly, Gilda plucked the apple from its perch, gave it a long sniff, and downed it in one snap of her beak. “I guess I could chow down a little.”
Fifteen muffins and eight apples later, Gilda seemed to be letting her guard down. She listened, albeit with a heaping tablespoon of skepticism, as Pinkie chattered inanely about the goings-on of Ponyville. A feathered eyebrow rose a little more with every odd little story Pinkie could come up with.
“—and that’s why Dash and I aren’t allowed to tell scary stories at Twilight’s sleepovers ever again.” Pinkie swept her hooves in a flourishing ta-da gesture. Then she cracked a grin as Gilda struggled to conceal her snickering. "Dash is a silly filly sometimes."
"Heh, that's for sure." Gilda blinked, then coughed. "So, uh ... Pinkie, I think you said your name was? Do you do this for anyone who comes to town?"
"Sometimes." Now that she thought of it, maybe that could nip the Trixie thing in the bud before bears started happening. "I figured you'd want something a little quieter than what I usually do." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ponies are pretty jumpy."
"Isn't that the truth." Gilda managed a grin of her own. "You know, you're not as bad as I thought at first. Once you look past the pink fluff and stuff, you're all right."
"Thanks. I think." Pinkie flipped her bangs in a cool-kid kind of way. "But what about you? Any weird stories in your super-cool life?"
"Pshyeah." Leaning back, Gilda launched into a memory with a sharp gesture. "So this one time, at flight camp ..."