The third chortle: Wherein a human gets clean. And then dies. (2.0)
A professional skydiver gave a presentation at my school when I was around twelve. I still remember the bright red and blue jumpsuit she wore. She walked circuits around the front row and our principle, old Mr. Knightly, orange tinted googles bouncing from their place around her neck with each excited step.
“There's just nothing like it, you go from a nice warm seat in a plane to clearing a bazillion feet between you and the ground just like that.” She snapped into her microphone, earning a startled yelp from someone to my right, followed by the obligatory spout of giggles all around.
“And then whumph!” She said, spreading her arms wide, “You pull your chute, there's a jerk on your shoulders, and you feel like you’re drifting into a painting fit to go forever. Beaches, glades, and rolling hills! Gosh! I can’t even do the experience justice with words. Falling from sky is the most poetic experience a bloke can have.”
The lady was a liar.
Wind howled past my ears, spraying a cold torrent of needles into my eyes and face. Between rapid blinks, earthen streaks accentuated by the occasional cloud tore around me. Dots on the ground became more and more defined until I could make out several griffins, minotaurs and pastel colored horses.
I would never make it too far, however, as there was a bridge connecting the lower parts of the mountain range between me and the streets. There was also a white furred horse with a brown mane, glasses, and a horn jutting of its forehead. It looked up at me, and I swear its horn tip gleamed as it shut its eyes, letting out a high pitched “Eep!” Had I my wits about me, I’d notice my descent slowing just a tad.
And then something slammed into my side. Barring the sensation of getting slugged in the ribs, my terminal fall ebbed into a peaceful halt with my neck inches above the horn. Vlad The Impaler wouldn't be getting his sacrifice this week.
I careened my neck around for the face of my savior, and decided that unicorn-stick shish kabob would have been preferable. Gilda dumped me on the bridge, belly up, her claws closed around my wrists.
“So you think can sneak into my room and cozy up to me huh? You think you can just dodge the repercussions by offing yourself? Well dweeb, you thought wrong! You’re going to pay me back for every drop of embarrassment you've caused me!”
I'm no stranger to being chewed out, in fact, Devon and I would get into it on multiple occasions. People fortunate enough to always be within their parents' reach, or be an even match for their relatives, would have grown an impressive armory of witty comments accumulated over the ensuing snark wars. My parents are a travel journalist and a soldier; I can count the number of hours they're usually home on a hand and a half. Devon is four years older than me and likely twice my weight class. Where my luckier contemporaries grew in sass, I grew in common sense. At least, that's what I would like to believe.
I looked into Gilda's eyes and took a breath. If she was decent enough to save me, she couldn't be that bad of a bird-lion-thing. It usually took Mom until the count of three to be certain that she was finished with a scolding session, so I gave Gilda six.
“I'm sorry for disrupting your morning and embarrassing you.” I tried to loosen my wrists out of her grasp with negligible success. “But I'm telling you the truth when I say that I had no hand in whatever horribly contrived twist of fate brought me here. Can we please just act like the last hour or so didn't happen?”
“She sounds sincere Gil, I think you should humor her.”
“I'm a male ma'am.” I said. I was slightly deflated, given time to think about how horribly I was taking my circumstances.
Gilda bore her glare against the unicorn who flashed a wide smile in return. With the distraction, I was able to slide my hands out of Gilda's talons. The bridge was pretty sturdy, it didn't sway as I righted myself.
Gilda considered the both of us for a moment, breathing a heavy sigh before she thrust her... something at my chest. - Seriously, do I call it a hand or a forelimb? I'll just go with “fist” as long as it's curled. Terminology isn't important. - I cringed and instinctively took a step back. 'Ha! That's two for flinching!' Devon's third most used phrase rang in my head, though the complementary double jab to the arm didn't come. This earned me a growl from Gilda, making me wonder if she was more big cat than bird, she repeated the motion.
“I'm Gilda, and the over-trusting mare behind me is Papyrus, our city’s librarian.” At the mention of her name, Papyrus stepped forward, lifted my hand with a hoof, and tapped it against my knuckles. She urged me to do the same with Gilda.
Oh. Aliens did the fist pound, too.
“My name is Charles, it's a pleasure.” Gilda's fist was much less coarse than I expected, but that was the last thing on my mind. I scored a point for level heads everywhere. A host of butterflies made their way to the pit of my stomach, with this behind us, we were going to get along just fine.
'Take that, Murphy! You have no hold over my luck!'
“Dweeb,” Gilda muttered.
The butterflies died, wailing in agony.
Papyrus insisted that she tag along with us to Gilda's house, stating that anypony would be a foal to pass up on a chance to chat with an alien. And there happened to be an overdue book she had to pry from Norward's talons anyway.
With Gilda flying lazy circles overhead, we navigated the maze of shaved mountaintops and bridges. They slanted up and down and even spiraled for as far as the mountain range went. I would be more than a little bit hesitant about walking on some of the less stable looking ones, like one that seemed to be held up on one end by a cloud, if Papyrus wasn't such a good tour guide.
She looked and sounded positively bubbly, stopping us every few minutes to point out major shopping districts and the painted marble statues that depicted images of previous emperors alongside their high mages.
“And this,” Papyrus tapped on the foot of a statue wearing green robes. “Is Gavin, our fifty-second emperor and the third to simultaneously hold the title of high mage. Notice anything different about him?”
I gave the statue another once-over; it's monocle-cane combo and the way it held a talon to its chin in a thoughtful expression gave it a rather friendly vibe compared to the others that had their faces in a snarl or a blank stare.
I raised an eyebrow. “He looks more... relaxed?”
“Not exactly what I was hoping you'd say but that is true, good eye.” Before I could draw away, the unicorn landed two pats on my head. I managed to not sneeze on her face- this time. She smiled and cleared her throat. “Gavin was crowned a year after we won the Eighth War of Suppression which was meant to stem a century long secession crisis in the west. His first act was to gather all the imprisoned leaders of the defeated party for a banquet before sending them back with a small fleet of airships, a not-so-small trove of gems and precious medals, and a writ signed in his own blood declaring that Griffiona and all of her allies were to recognize what is now called the West Griffionian federation as its own sovereign territory, the gesture earned h-”
Gilda banked left into a downwards spiral that ended with a hard landing, sending clouds of dust in the air. She snatched up Papyrus's tail. “Long story short, after Gavin kicked the bucket, he became the first statue to commemorate a dead guy in a thirty-something generation line of statues commemorating dead guys to pose with a swordless scabbard.” She pointed at Gavin’s limestone hip. “It symbolizes Griffonia's place as 'the great peace kindlier'. My house is two seconds away. Move your rumps.” She yanked Papyrus's tail, but only earned about an inch of backpedaling in the desired direction.
The mare in question simply arced her head back at Gilda. I don't have a tail so I wouldn't know how painful it was supposed to be, but the way she kept on smiling unfettered creeped me out a bit. “Gil, you've been reading your textbooks! I'm proud of you!”
Gilda groaned. “Can we just go? Please?”
FBatSLoM
Gilda, Norward, and I waved off Papyrus as she left the house with a heavy book balanced on her back, her form disappeared behind a corner on the mountain platform below us. As soon as he closed the door, Norward sighed, and Gilda rubbed at the sides of her head with something between a low groan and a growl.
I didn't quite understand, they acted like long term exposure to Papyrus was bad for their health; granted, it did take ten minutes to evict her, but still.
“So.” Norward stood on his back legs to grasp my shoulder. “Was that fun?”
“No.”
“Still think your dreaming?”
“No.”
“Gonna try jumping off of the roof again?”
“Only if you decide to eat me.”
Norward cocked his head to the side in mock-contemplation and pinched my forearm, stretching the skin a bit, I haven’t the slightest clue how he managed to do so without cutting me. “Nah, you probably don't have enough on you to make a decent meal. Besides, your much more useful as a tenant.”
Gilda opened and shut her beak multiple times, like she was not quite sure about the proper way to state her disapproval. For once, we held a common view.
I shook my head. “Thank you very much for the offer, but I don't have any way to pay rent.”
“He's right!” Gilda perked up, donning a hopeful grin. “And he can't fly, so if he sleepwalks out of the house, he'll die, besides, don't you have to babysit some dignitary soon?”
“Helping out with the chores is payment enough, if he sleepwalks at all, let alone that badly, we can chain him to the bed, and Duchess Gingerheart isn't due here for another four months, All six of our guest rooms are collecting dust in the meantime.”
Norward clasped his hands (?) together before allowing himself to fall back on four legs “You can start by helping out with breakfast. With the three of us, we might be able to get done before Amalia wakes up.”
Gilda seemed to deflate at that, giving a barely audible humph as she walked past us. She kept everything else to herself, I consider that progress.
The natives seemed to prefer walking on all fours, I was surprised that the house didn't have low door-frames and archways. The ones in my home were low enough for me to touch with my fingertips. The one between Norward's kitchen and living-room was too high to graze, even if I jumped. It’s like they expected a visit from a giant at any moment.
The kitchen looked surprisingly like a normal Earth kitchen. A gas-burning stove with six eyes nested snugly between a windowed wall and a counter-top with an embedded sink, they even had a modern fridge and microwave. The only alien objects in the room aside from the talking predators were the crystal lights which Norward turned on via a sliding switch on the wall.
I was quick to point the similarities to my own home out after Norward set Gilda to work with gathering silverware and handed me a bowl, a whisk, and some fist sized eggs.
“Is that so?” He asked, grabbing a short cooking knife and a slab of meat from some poor indistinguishable animal. “I don't know much about magic, but I do know that there aren't many coincidences in the field. The same thing that dumped you here might be slingshoting ideas between Gaia and... What's your planet called?”
“Earth.”
“As in: Earth-Pony?”
I rose an eyebrow at him
“I guess not.” Norward reached for a cutting board on a rack bolted to the wall before placing it and Mystery Meat X on the opposite side of the sink from me. He sliced it into strips that were about as fat as my thumb and twice as long.
Within half an hour or so we had four plates with an omelet, mixed fruits (all of which were native to Earth as well) and three strips of meat each, which Gilda identified as ridge tortoise.
Norward looked over the table with a nod. “Good work, and not a moment too soon.” Creaking floorboards heralded the arrival of griffon number three. “Morning, Amalia,” Norward said.
“Good morning, Papa.”
I know nothing of genetics, but the way her black fur and red head-feathers contrasted with that of her kin's struck me as odd. The half-Gilda sized bird-lion stretched her legs in the entryway, yawning with closed eyes. Phenotypical weirdness aside, she was a cute kid. Chick. Cub?
Norward brought out some cups and a wooden canteen containing what I guessed was cherry juice with something added to give it a tarty aftertaste from the fridge. Once we all got settled, I played twenty questions for the third time that day.
After the usual whos, whats, and wheres were resolved, there was a lull in the conversation, so I took a swig of my drink.
Amalia spoke up, “Were you looking for a special someone before you came here?”
“Nope, don't have one either. Why ask?”
Amalia put a claw to her beak to suppress a giggle. “Your hair,” She said, you look like a minotaur bachelor-ette
I coughed, launching a spurt of juice into my nose that left a tingling sensation on the way back down but, thankfully, didn't sputter or choke. “What?”
I couldn’t look that feminine could I? I looked at each griffin in turn, my expression must have given my question away; Gilda made a weird claw gesture that earned a chuckle from Amalia.
Norward sighed. “Minotaurs in the upper and middle class usually have their daughters cut their hair close to let other families know an arranged marriage is on the table. The tradition dates back before the Great Tribe was split into a couple hundred different sovereignties.”
“And,” Gilda cut in,“You're too slim to be a guy minotaur, you might actually be a sundress short of a Gresford's Cows model .”
Gilda and Amalia both stared at me, managing all of three seconds before they started laughing.
To be honest, it wasn't my most uncomfortable moment, that dubious honor went to my twelfth birthday, Devon, one of those blue bulb syringes people use for baby's noses, and an ungodly amount of wasabi. The fact that I still shy away from spicy foods explains enough.
If anything, the spot of humor opened the bird family up to a more nonsensical conversation path for the rest of breakfast. Hopefully the distance the topic stood away from “scary/weird alien hailing from the Sol system” was directly proportional to my distance from a vivisection table.
After the dishes were done, Norward sent Gilda off to escort Amalia to school. Leaving me to leaf through a history book I found in the living room on that Equestria place that took up a large section of Norward's map. It was ruled by a diarchy, hosted place-names that were rife with horse puns, and recently crowned a pretty purple pony princess as its ruler-in-waiting, she was apparently an authoritative voice on magic to boot. I sent up a silent thank you to the guy upstairs for not having me end up there; neither my sides or my sanity would have lasted long. I mean, seriously, Las Pegasus?
“Here.” Norward tossed a towel over my shoulder from behind. “Shower's downstairs, third door from the right. Yell if you need something.”
I turned around in time to see him disappear around a corner. I waited a few seconds to make sure he was gone before I performed a quick sniff check, confirming that I was, indeed, in need of a some self maintenance. I smelled like Devon after football practice.
FBatSLoM
If Guns Germs and Steel was to be believed, both the griffins and I had more than a little cause to be weary of whatever nasty bugs lived in and on our bodies. One sneeze, or cough, or drop of blood could turn into an ultra-deadly-dragon-pox-apathygenophagitis-flood-FEV-T-andromeda-bird flu-epidemic™. With that in mind, I set the water to a temperature that was probably one degree short of scalding, scrubing myself down vigorously with the liquid soap and wash rag provided to me, and then I scrubbed again.
I paused mid-rinse cycle. Something felt funny; not funny 'hee hee' but funny odd. A tingling kind of funny that spread about my arms, starting from my inner elbows and grew in power and territory until every bit of me itched and my arms started to burn. The only time I had a sensation moderately close to that was during my allergy test; the doctor had this plastic panel full of needles that he pressed into my skin, “There’s a tidbit of almost every common allergen in these,” he told me.
I looked down at my arms and wished that I hadn't. Little raised bumps dotted my skin, hives. I'd never contracted a severe case of them, even when I pet Oreo. Something would actually have to seep through my pores for it to get that bad.
Frowning, and with a pang of worry churning at my stomach, I summoned up all of my self restraint to not scratch my everything while I took a look at the soap bottle.
Ada's Improved Body-wash
Made with real phoenix down to revive and restructure dead/damaged skin or fur in an instant!
My eyes and nose tightened up.
I dropped the soap bottle with a thud, rinsed as much suds off of my body as I could, redressed, and made a beeline to the door.
By the time I reached Norward, my throat was clogged, every part of my body burned, I did the undead shuffle into his study with a groan. “Help," I croaked with an outstretched hand.
He looked down at me and gasped. “By The First, Charles! What happened to you?” He closed the book he was reading and scurried over. As soon as he got within leaping range I latched onto his forelimbs.
“Soap contained feather extract. Allergic. Hospital pleeeeeeas...” My hands slid down to Norward's wrists before he helped me to my feet.
Murphy never sleeps.
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5636206
It's not dead it seems.
Geez, Murphy hates this guy
Good chap. little strange andoddly paced during parts but i was excited to see some profress. Well. See you guys next year!
Fun little factoid: As the third planet to circle the Sun (typically called 'Sol'), Earth would also be "Sol 3", and -
Oh wait, nevermind, guess you already knew that. XD Carry on, my wayward son; there'll be peace when you are done... XD
Wait... he's alergic to feathers... and he is living with Griffon... Oh for fuck sake.
I'm surprised more HiE stores don't involve someone telling the human that the name for their planet, Earth, is the old earth pony name for the planet they're now on.
6555588 I always preferred "Terra". Everything sound better in Latin.
Hopefully, if they have microwave ovens, they have antihistamines. and maybe even steroid anti inflammitaries.
Othewise. hello tubing.
i hope he gets rid of the feather allergy somehow, if not then i wont be reading any potential human/griphon lovin'
It's alive!! Yay!!
Phoenix Down Shampoo, revive your friends with style
If the reason for the delay is playing Undertale, that is a totally valid excuse.
Gotta say, the "tm" after "epidemic" made me do more than just "chuckle".
Neat concept, but you might want to give it some proofreading after nailing down the difference between your and you're.
6851782
I'm aware of the difference.
Your= possessive
You're= contraction of you are
That being said, I don't employ editors, and I'm surprised you didn't comment on the sorry state of the second chapter. I probably screwed up a bit of the writing.
Progress has been... stagnant to say the least while I'm taking care apathy and school related stuff. When the edits come around, I will take particular care with the your/you're nuance. I appreciate your help.
I like where this is going, just wished for more common updates.
When will this story get a new chapter?
7641482
Before this Sunday, most likely. I'm back to writing fanfic in general and I'd hate for this to stay unfinished.
7642512 Yay :D i'm looking forward to it
people talk of the god Finagle, and his mad prophet Murphy
7642512
Ironic