From Gander to Gendarme

by HackamoreHalter

Chapter Five: Hanging Out

Gander had never been the strongest flier. His wings were long and large, more capable at low-energy gliding than performing rapid wingbeats. He’d built endurance aplenty, and could stay aloft for days on end without rest, but races or acrobatics were simply beyond his grasp. With a proper wind to do the heavy lifting for him, Gander could manage acceptable speeds and decent maneuverability, but the winds of Equestria were orderly and manufactured; a far cry from the tumultuous gusts he was used to. Under his own power, he was as graceless as a fish out of water, and any pegasus was more than a match for him in the skies.

And yet, there was still something incredibly freeing about being airborne. All of the troubles plaguing his mind, all of the little worries that nagged incessantly, were unable to reach him in the sky’s embrace. They were below him, these earthbound cares. From the air, they looked as tiny and as insignificant as the anthive of ponies scurrying about. Gander was not the type to allow himself many pleasures, as befitting any properly reserved griffon, but flight was one of the few things that lifted even his dour spirits.

Which made the tight bands around his wings just one more form of torture he was forced to endure.

Gander sighed heavily. Captain Gumshoe had made it very clear that the words of the medical professionals were not to be ignored, and he was honorbound to obey. No matter that his wings were relatively undamaged, with little bruising and only a few clumps of secondary feathers missing. Regardless that it would probably be less effort for him to glide on the warm thermals rising from the asphalt streets than it would be to walk them. Completely ignoring that he and his kind shrugged off similar injuries without complaint. No, the overly concerned doctor had ordered Gander grounded, and so grounded he would remain.

He’d been released from the hospital and cleared for light duties with plenty of bed rest. The thought of the inactivity he would be subjected to only furthered Gander’s misery. His idea of fieldwork consisted of stalking the streets at night like a predator in a jungle of concrete, flushing out crime as it occurred and running it down like a true hunter. With that course obviously out of the question, it left only the desk-side of his position to consider. Paperwork was the part of law enforcement that interested him the least, but plenty of it would be waiting for him during his recovery. He could not hunt in his condition, and it looked like true progress on the case was out of his reach.

As it was, little enough had been accomplished during his extended nap. The lesser Skinflints in custody knew nothing of interest, and those that did were remaining tight-lipped. Nothing the officers had tried could manage to break the defense of Leicaster or the still unidentified mule, and the recent addition of the hitponies looked to be another dead end. The mare was nothing more than a blunt object. Already, she’d been isolated in solitary for breaking the jaw of a fellow inmate over a tray of creamed corn. It was obvious she knew nothing. The stallion might have potential, but they would have to wear him down first. Perhaps Gander could convince his superior officer that interrogation was a light duty.

Other than the prisoners, the only new developments in the case were rumors. Precincts were reporting a quiet but noticeable shift in the type of miscreants their officers faced down on the streets. Before, a policepony might have to run down a purse-snatcher, or break up the scheme of a small band of swindlers. More often than not, crime was an act of spontaneous chaos, caused by ponies in a bad way without the thought or care to understand the error of their actions. These were not the type of ponies to think about consequences. The same lack of order that drove them to break the law also kept them from banding together in greater numbers. While one charismatic ne’er-do-well might gather a few lackeys, rarely did it escalate beyond that point. It was a mixed blessing; whereas the common rulebreaker was easily apprehended, the more devious minds were much more difficult to root out. The gangs of Baltimare were few, but they had considerable power due to the influence and innovation of their leaders.

Regardless, crime did not come naturally to ponies, and organized crime even less so. It made the implications of this newest trend just that much more worrying. The vast majority of suspects being drawn in recently, down to even the petty thieves, were noted as wearing identifying markers. A certain color or style of clothing, garish jewelry of their chosen ‘family’, or even some who had gone so far as to brand their gang symbols into their flesh as a symbol of life-long loyalty; it seemed that delinquents of society were choosing sides. No, more than that, they were being drafted. The competing factions of the Baltimare underworld were consolidating their power for something, and Gander knew beyond a doubt that the results would not be pretty.

It was one more reason why his current inability to do much of anything at all galled him. There was a storm brewing and he could not fly up to meet it, figuratively and literally. Even now, he could only limp home to his crummy apartment and wait for news. For a hunter such as himself, it was both aggravating and shameful. It seemed that both feelings were only magnified by his company on the long and unhappy walk back home. Fisher had shadowed him the entire time, staring all the while as if he might assault and devour a passing pony in the street. It was a typical pony saying that griffons were always in a foul mood, some sort of play on words that Gander didn’t quite understand, but today had simply been one long string of irritations and whatever patience he’d possessed had long since worn through. It was a thirty-minute walk, and they’d done nothing but hurl veiled threats at each other. The constant bile coming from the unicorn was enough to starve a changling to death, and Gander could not bring himself to appreciate the challenge as he might on a normal day. It only set his teeth on edge and further darken the scowl on his face.

By the time Gander had managed to make it inside his apartment building, free from the hateful eye of his suspicious coworker, he was fuming. He made his way up the stairwell, each step bringing with it a lancing pain that reminded him of his failures and limitations. He’d been beaten, which was aggravating, by ponies, which was a whole new level of aggravating. Even more demeaning to his griffon honor was that they’d hospitalized him after. Bandaged and cared for him like a newborn hatchling. The final insult; because Gander was incapable of performing his duties, he’d been assigned a guardian. As if he couldn’t defend himself. A deep-seated angry built up in his chest, setting his blood to boiling. Unable to suppress it, Gander let out a furious shout as he reached the top of the stairs, venting his rage with a roar that shook the cheap floorboards beneath the carpeted hall.

“Gaaah!” An equally loud voice replied, only with surprise rather than anger.

Gander’s one good eye had been clenched shut in his wordless expression of anger. At the unexpected response, he opened it to stare down the hall in bewilderment. Outside his door sat a paper bag with all manner of colorful decorations sticking out from its top. Several silver balloons were floating above it, tied to one of the handles. A vibrant orange tail stuck out from behind the bag, and Gander blinked slowly.

“Ducky?” he asked, and the mare’s head peaked out from her impromptu hiding place.

“Oh. Ohh! Heya, Gander!” Ducky breathed a sigh of relief before chuckling sheepishly. “Ahaha, you scared me, there. Nice eyepatch, by the way. Looks real sporty.”

“Is that-” Gander paused as his gaze shifted from the brilliant yellow pegasus to the equally brilliant yellow feathers sticking out of the keyhole to his apartment. “Are you breaking into my home?”

“Uh...” She fumbled for a moment, clearing her voice as her former sigh of relief climbed back down her throat. “Well, you see, ahem, about that... I can totally see how somepony might get that impression, but, um... no? I was just, uh, waitin’ here. You know. Just... uh... just hangin’ out.”

She tried to lean as nonchalantly as possible against the doorway to prove her point, as innocent a smile as she could manage plastered onto her face. The door swung open with a creak of rusty hinges and she fell in with an audible “Oof!” as she hit the floor, halfway inside the apartment with her back hooves jutting out.

“I’m okay!” She called from her new vantage point, her voice bright and cheerful. “But, just for the record, it was like that before I got he-” Her voice froze before taking on a frightful tone, accompanied by scuffling noises as she wrestled with something out of sight. “...Aah! Jumpin’ jackalopes, Gander, I think your floor just tried to bite me!”

One breath. Two breaths. Clear the mind. Gander exhaled slowly as he found his peaceful center before picking up the mare’s forgotten bag and following her desperate scramble inside at a much more sedated pace. He closed the door behind him as she flew to the relative safety of the worn-out couch, perching above it and giving the mold on the floor suspicious glares. Gander made his way over to the coffee table, trying very hard not to question anything, as well as resisting the urge to slap a webbed foot to his face. His beak was still recovering from its last break, after all.

“Ooh, careful with that! It’s-” Ducky started to say as Gander dropped the bag onto the coffee table. As it hit the scoured wood, something inside exploded with a wail of noisemakers and kazoos. Confetti burst out in a mushroom cloud that left a fallout of floating streamers in its wake. Ducky shook the colorful remnants out of her hair, finishing lamely,“-volatile.”

“Ducky,” Gander said as he rubbed at his temples, willing his sanity to remain, “why now are you here?”

“Well, uh, I heard from Smokey that you were awake and gonna be out soon, so,” she shrugged, confetti falling from her shoulders like snow, “I wanted to throw you a ‘Get Well Soon!’ party. You know, since you got hurt, and all.”

Something inside him snapped. Not a physical snap, the boney kind he was used to dealing with, but a mental shattering that left him seeing red as if a blood vessel in his eye had burst. Even here, he had to deal with pony pity. Even in his own home with the closest thing he had to a friend, he could not escape the derision of failure. Gander should have been used to it, as often as he saw it from his griffon kin. He should have, but it still made him quake with a vengeful fury. It was an unspecific anger directed at the ponies who had bested him, those that mocked him, the world as a whole, and himself most of all. It was his own weakness, after all, that allowed this sorry state of events. His claws dug furrows into the cheap wood beneath him as anger swelled within his chest, inwardly cursing his very name and his pathetic-

-mental tirade that was suddenly interrupted as that same anger-swelled chest was hit by an impact like a crossbow bolt. He rocked backwards from the collision but managed to keep from falling over, although his line of thought was broken by the twinge of pain from ribs that were also recently broken. He craned his head downward at the mare currently burying her head in his feathers, with her forelimbs locked around his neck. Knowing what he did of his pony friend, Gander deduced she was not likely trying to tackle or strangle him. Probably.

“Ducky,” he ventured cautiously. “What is it that you are doing?”

“’pology hug,” she mumbled, her response muffled by his feathers. “You looked mad, so I’m sorry. For whatever.”

Gander considered this, finally coming to something of a surprised realization. The anger he’d been building up had lost its steam. It was not gone completely, but his emotions were more of a grudging simmer than an uncontrollably boiling rage. The troubles of the day, the worries and doubts of his mind, and especially the perceived insults he’d endured all seemed petty, or at least manageable. This was fortunate news, as he highly doubted a bloodrage would be useful in his current situation. The furious frenzy of the griffonkind was highly respected, with many tales told of the fantastical deeds of warriors gone berserk, but it was also well-understood as being as much a weakness as a strength. Losing one’s head in a fight had two meanings, but they often happened in conjunction.

“How does that work?” Gander asked in confusion. “Pony magic?”

“You’re darn right!” Ducky pulled back but didn’t quite let go. “Ducky brand apology hugs fix all ills!”

“Does that include broken ribs?”

“Oh, shoot!” Gander had spoke in amusement, but Ducky still let go as if she’d been burned. “Sorry! Sorry about that. Totally forgot.”

“It is fine, Ducky.” Now that she was closer without being directly under his beak, Gander could see the angry red welt on her forehead, not quite hidden by her bangs. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her hair was combed forward instead of the windswept look she preferred, most likely to conceal the bump. “But it looks as if I am not the only one to carry injuries from the battle, yes?”

“Oh. Um... yeah. I, uh, I guess.” Ducky looked... well, not quite embarrassed, but maybe upset at the question. Perhaps ponies did not take pride in their battle scars. Obviously, if something was upsetting, it was worth discussing. It was the griffon way to face conflict head-on.

“I do not remember much of the night,” Gander prompted. “You could tell the tale, maybe?”

“Not much to tell, really.” Ducky tried to brush it off, but the griffon’s stare eventually got her talking. “Well, I mean, we left the pub and two ponies jumped us. Knocked me down, knocked you around some. You took out one, and I, u-um,” she flinched, more than likely recalling some injury suffered in the fight, “I... took out the other.”

Gander almost smiled, his spirits lifted even as his friend’s mysteriously crumbled. “This is fantastic news. I had been shamed to be defeated by ponies, but the shame is much lessened to defeat one even when encumbered by the drinking.”

Ducky offered a hesitant smile. “Yeah. That’s, um, that’s great. I guess.”

“I do not remember of my victory, though. Tragic.” Gander scratched beneath his beak in contemplation. “How did I triumph? A display of brute strength?”

“Oh, uh,” the mare paused as she glanced from side to side, rubbing at the back of her neck, “I’m kinda... hazy on that. Yeah. Hazy. But that sounds about right. Yeah, fancy griffon warrior stuff. Super cool fightin’ move. I’d call it, um, th-the... Breath of the Dragon?”

“Ah, innovation in battle?” Gander puffed up his chest, looking mighty pleased with himself. “An achievement worthy of pride. It is a shame I do not remember the technique. Perhaps I should try to recreate it.”

“Nonono!” Ducky stammered before hastily correcting herself. “I mean, it looked waaay too dangerous. Forbidden master death kinda stuff. You’re better off not rememberin’, just trust me on that.”

“Fair enough,” Gander grunted. “Although one thing I would very much like to remember is how you defeated your opponent.” His voice was light-hearted, even if his dour expression didn’t quite match it. “It is not my meaning to offend, but the image of you in combat is most amusing.”

“I think I’d be more offended if you thought otherwise,” Ducky sighed, her shoulders slouching as she sat down. The vitality seemed to drain from her before his very eyes, but she continued to speak before Gander could ask about her melancholy. “So, what happened was, when I got back up there was the mare just... just wailin’ on you. Punchin’ a-and kickin’, and I just...” Her voice began to break as she trailed off. Gander was baffled at the change in tone. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. “I just got sooo mad, you know? I mean, h-how could somepony go and do that to you?” She was in tears now, though she wasn’t fully crying. “How could they do that, Gander? Wh-what gave them the right?!”

“Ducky,” he spoke in what he hoped was his most soothing tone of voice. This was not the funny image he’d imagined. There was nothing funny about his friend crying at all. “It is fine, yes? They did not injure much. I am okay.”

“Well, I’m not!” She turned away from him, rubbing at her cheeks and fighting back sobs. “I was so mad, Gander. I’ve never... I mean, I,” she stammered, her shoulders shaking, “I just... I just wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt her so badly,” she confessed, as if the thought alone was damning. “So, I jumped her. W-with everythin’ I had, I tackled her. Right into the trash. I hurt her... just like I wanted.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, one filled with regret and sorrow. “I am a terrible pony.”

She wept in utter silence for a very long moment. Gander was frozen in place. Even justified guilt was a concept that he was only vaguely aware of, but Ducky felt sorry for defending herself because it meant harming another being. Or, perhaps, because it meant wanting to harm another being. Even the concept of violence was too much for her. This was something entirely beyond his comprehension. Hesitation was not the griffon way, however. Action was.

Ducky was too deep into her own misery to notice at first when the scaly avian arms surrounded her, dragging her into a feathery embrace. Gander held her close as she sobbed, wings wrapped protectively around his friend. He patted her on the head, too, which he thought was a nice touch. It took a few minutes before she stopped trembling and he felt it was safe to speak.

“Ducky brand apologizing hug,” he crooned comfortingly. “It is to make all hurts better.”

“What do you got to be sorry for?” She sniffled. Gander could feel mucus on his down feathers. Delightful.

“I apologize,” he began in the tone of voice one might expect from a schoolteacher, “for two reasons. The first is I have no problems with the hurting of those who deserve it, and therefore we should leave said hurtings to me. Next time, I will defeat them all before you have cause for anger.”

“Can... can we try not to promise to beat up other ponies?” Ducky pleaded mournfully.

“Defeat has many meanings,” he replied cryptically. “Defeat can be with words, too.” He neglected to mention how unlikely that scenario was. “But reason the second is I think maybe you have learned too well of some of my griffon ways. Anger is not uncommon for the warrior, and must always be tempered.”

“So you’re sayin’ you’re a bad influence.” That actually managed to get something like a chuckle out of her. Good, that was much more her style than tears.

Gander snorted. “Different, not bad. To hurt others or to want to do this does not make one bad. Fire does this, and fire is not bad. You should know this, yes?”

“I know an old horror movie that would disagree with ya. Frankenstallion says ‘Fire bad!’ all the time.” She must have been feeling better. Ducky cracking jokes, even ones that Gander didn’t understand, -no, especially ones that Gander didn’t understand- meant she was almost back to normal.

“Your franking stallion can disagree and he can be wrong,” Gander said, releasing his hold on the pony. “Besides, the influence is not all bad. Look, you are a influence on me, and is it bad?” He gestured to himself, trying not to look at the mess she’d made of his feathers. He’d clean it later. “I have learned of apologies and of hugs. The apology hug is a very good thing to learn, I think.”

That shaky little smile grew, brightening with every moment. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he said firmly. “If it can be used to take down a criminal in one strike, it is as powerful even as the Dragon’s Breath.”

“I, uh... wait, what?” Her muzzle twisted in confusion. “I didn’t apology hug that gang pony! Don’t go makin’ that into a fightin’ move!”

“I do not see what is wrong. She was angry at me, you tackled her, and then she was no longer angry.” Gander nodded matter-of-factly. “I, too, have felt the power of the Apology Hug.” The way he said it now, in a sort of reverent manner, was now worthy of capitalization as a concept all its own. “None can hope to stand against it.”

“I, y-you, are you makin’ fun of me?!”

Gander snorted as he patted the mare on the head. “And I learned also of jokes. You are proud, yes?”

“More like peeved,” she said, though her tone clearly said pouting instead. “You better watch yourself, now that I’m all violent and hurty or I might mess you up. You know, that idea of yours isn’t half wrong, about you being a bad influence.” She jabbed a hoof in the air, like she was socking an incredibly annoying ghost. “Early that night, before all the drinkin’ started, I kinda threatened that little posh bratty unicorn for bein’ a jerk. Uh, what was his name, Rook or somethin’.”

Gander laughed. It was more of a honk of surprised mirth that escaped before he could control it, but it was as close to laughter as he really ever came. “That is... fascinating news. You will be very much pleased to learn then that the detective Fisher has volunteered to be my partner.”

“Wait, what?!” Ducky’s eyes bulged out slightly in shock before she calmed down to a general state of concern. “But that pony hates you, Gander.”

“I have noticed this,” Gander admitted. He had ears, after all. Well, holes in the sides of his head. They still counted as ears.

“Nonono,” Ducky shook her head. “I don’t think you understand my worryin’, here. I’m not sure if you remember that night right, but he left, like, right away.”

“I do remember the recruit escaping the celebrations very much early.”

“Yeah, and those gang ponies that were outside?” Ducky’s expression was serious. “They were waitin’ for us. Not even us, but you specifically.” She gestured at his chest with a wing. “They knew you were in there, Gander. They were waitin’ for ya. And somebody had to have told ‘em you were there. See what I’m gettin’ at?”

Gander scratched at the bottom of his beak. “You think that the recruit’s hatred of my kind is cause for him to, how do you say, have me sold to the criminals?”

“Sell you out, ya mean, but yeah.”

“It is a possibility,” he admitted. “And perhaps worrying, if now he will be working also on this case with me. All that I will find, he will know.”

“Does,” she began, hesitating for only a second, “does it have anythin’ to do with you trying to figure out about the donkeys?” At his raised eyebrow, she added, “You told me that night, something about wanting to hire donkeys.”

“Perhaps,” Gander said with some reluctance, at odds with whether or not to speak freely.

“Oh, come on,” Ducky threw up her hooves in frustration. “Just tell me already. I ain’t gonna blab, and I wanna help somehow. If workin’ with that Rook guy will screw you over, maybe havin’ me on the side can keep him a bit in the dark.”

“I do not think it wise, Ducky,” he said at length. “The criminals already target me for what I have done against them.”

“Yeah, well, I’m already gettin’ hurt ‘cause of it, anyhow,” Ducky started before flinching at her choice of words. “Sorry, didn’t mean to blame you or nothin’. I’m just tryin’ to say I ain’t scared. Well, I am scared, but I still wanna help anyway. I mean, I’m helpin’ already.”

Gander stared down at this frustratingly confusing little mare in suspicion. “What do you mean, when you say that you help already?”

“Well, remember when you told me about that barkeep?” Ducky’s face broke into a classic smile, broad and pearly-white. “Yeah, turns out he don’t mind talkin’ to a pretty face.”

***

Comments

[NobleValor]

Started reading once more and got caught up. I forgot how much fun these characters were! Looking forward to more when you get an opportunity.

[NobleValor]

Also, I get the sneaking suspicion that the 'apology hug' will come up later. Also, I think I know who the immediate leak is, but I shall hold my reservations until I have more to work with.

[HackamoreHalter]

5657437

Thanks for staying invested! I've been down for the count recently, but I have recently been working on getting back into the saddle. Hearing I've still got your attention does wonders for the motivation, let me tell you. Chapter six is running long, halfway through it and it's already as long as the previous chapter, so I'm hard at work there. So far, a good deal of it is just playing Gander's and Ducky's personalities against each other, but I'll be working on some action, world-building, and plot movement before I ship it out.

If you'd like a tidbit to tide you over, I've got a crossover short story that I wrote for a contest a couple weeks back. Check out The Exterminator if you're into post apocalyptic blatant movie rip-offs.

Hmm, maybe I can work on a little more subtlety... evil plots are brewing already. And hugs are always important, especially when weaponized.

Thanks for reading,

-Hack

[KMCA]

What is the crest on the story actually for? I happen to have something from my grandfather sporting the same crest.