My Big Fat Griffon Wedding

by LunaJack

Getting Started

The griffons from the lumber mill did not come that day but Gordon flew in later that afternoon bearing a basket filled with carrots, celery, and spinach.

“Madame Guinevere worried you might not find any fresh vegetables for Miss Cinnamon,” he told Gulliand. “So she had Cookie pack a basket of things she thought a pony might eat.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gordon!” said Cinnamon Roll, unpacking the basket. “And please tell Miss Guinevere and Cookie I said thanks, too!”

“Speaking of Mother, how is she?” asked Gulliand. “Is she still unhappy about us moving down here so soon?”

“I am afraid so, sir,” replied Gordon with a sigh. “I have tried to reassure her that you and Miss Cinnamon are quite safe, but she is still very worried about you. She is also very put out with me for supporting your decision. She is being very…cold towards me.” Cinnamon raised an eyebrow when she noticed a forlorn look flicker across the butler’s face before his usual stoic facade returned. “It will pass, however.” he said airily. “It always does.”

“You know her best,” conceded Gulliand. “Thank you.”

After the butler left, Gulliand took command of the kitchen. Cinnamon did not mind being pushed out. It had been a few days since the griffon had been allowed to cook anything and she knew his talons were itching to make something delicious for the two of them. She quietly took a backseat and hoofed him the ingredients as he called for them. Before sunset a pot of hearty potato soup was bubbling on the stove. Cinnamon allowed herself to be seated at the table as the griffon served her a brimming bowl full.

“Mmm!” she hummed happily as she took a sip. “You are still a wonder in the kitchen, Sugarcube.”

“Merci,” nodded Gulliand as he added some crumbled bacon to his bowl of soup. He took a bite and smiled contentedly. They ate in silence for a while before the griffon added “I am going grocery shopping tomorrow. Do you wish to come with me or would you prefer to stay here?”

Cinnamon Roll swallowed. “I'd like to come with you. I’m gettin’ tired of being cooped up in the house and I’d like to see what they got for sale in the market.”

Gulliand nodded. “I will check with the lumber mill in the morning then we can go. I am anxious to meet these griffons Gabby mentioned and see what they have to offer.”

The next morning, Gulliand rose early to meet with the griffons at the lumber mill. He was rather annoyed when he found out they hadn’t even started on the lumber order yet.

“But they had some oak there when we visited the other day,” cried Cinnamon Roll when he broke the news. “I assumed that was what they’d be deliverin’!”

“I said the same,” said Gulliand with a sigh. “The manager told me ‘Well, it doesn’t pay to assume, does it?’ All that oak was for another order. Apparently one of my mother's neighbors is getting a new pergola.”

The filly closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “So, did they say when they’ll have our order ready?”

“Two weeks. They have to fetch some fresh oak from the forest then cut it into beams.”

“I see,” Cinnamon sighed. ”Oh, well. It is what it is. So, you ready to go shoppin’?”

The morning sun was shining warmly as the two stepped out, their saddlebags strapped firmly to their sides. It was a Friday and the vendors were out in force.

“Fish! Get your filets here!”

“Chicken! Whole or cut up!”

“Fresh beef! Prime steaks or ground beef!”

“So, where do you want to go first?” asked Cinnamon.

“Let’s stop by that general store Gabby told us about,” replied Gulliand after a moment. “We will definitely be needing flour and sugar before long.”

The store was located at the far end of the market, on a street furthest from the great tree. The building was not very big, about the same size as Sugarcube Corner, but it was very solid, made of logs and firmly chinked with thick plaster. The roof was covered with thick cedar shingles and appeared to be in good repair. It was obvious the owner cared about their business and had the bits to keep it up.

A cowbell over the door clanged loudly as they stepped inside. There was a muffled crash like several cardboard boxes falling over at once followed by some equally muffled swearing.

“Gimmee a minute!” a female voice yelled.

“Okay!” Cinnamon Roll called back. “Take your time!”

“Sacre Bleu Cheese,” Gulliand murmured next to her. “Look at this place!”

Cinnamon looked around. Despite its size, the store was stuffed from floor to rafters with goods. A rack loaded with bottles of spice stood against the nearest wall along with shelves dedicated to a variety of salts and peppers. There were boxes of cream of tartar, baking powder, baking soda, as well as bottles of vanilla and other flavorings. Barrels of flour, sugar, and cornmeal formed aisles while wrapped salt pork hung from the rafters like Hearth’s Warming ornaments. There were also stacks of canned foods from Equestria and the Griffon kingdom. Gulliand looked longingly at some tall cans of salmon.

“I could really go for a nice quiche,” he murmured plaintively.

Cinnamon gave him an affectionate shove. “Knock yourself out, Sugarcube.”

“Okay, okay, I’m here!” A griffoness with dark yellow feathers and leopard spotted fur strode into the room. She stopped short when she caught sight of Cinnamon Roll, her green eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Wadda you want, pony?” she asked brusquely.

“Mornin’” replied Cinnamon Roll politely. She was getting used to this kind of greeting. “We just needed to pick up some supplies and heard that this was the best place to get them.”

The griffoness lifted an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“Gabby, the mail carrier.”

“Pfft!” the store owner rolled her eyes. “Of course she would. She also tell you that I don’t haggle over my prices? You wanna haggle, you go someplace else!”

“Yes, she told us.” Cinnamon assured her. “Which is fine with me. I don’t like hagglin’ much.”

“Whatever,” the griffoness sighed as if resigned to something unpleasant. “So whaddya want? I ain’t got all day!”

“I have a list,” said Gulliand, pulling a folded sheet of paper from his saddlebag. “We’re going to need some flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, pepper, oregano, basil, cinnamon…”

“Just gimme the list!” the griffoness snapped. She snatched the list and quickly perused the columns. “Yeah, I got all this stuff except for the fresh meat and vegetables. The flour and sugar I sell by the pound. The other stuff is by the box or bottle.”

“That’s fine, Madam,” Gulliand assured her.

“Name’s Ginny. And here,” she thrust a pair of large baskets at them. Like the store building, they were well made, solidly woven and stitched. “Fill those up and bring ‘em to the counter when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” replied Gulliand. He turned to Cinnamon. “Come on, Cherie. Let’s get started.”

Over the next hour or so, the two managed to fill both baskets to the brim with a wide variety of herbs and spices along with boxes of different salts. They laid their loaded baskets on the counter, picked up two more baskets and resumed their shopping. Cinnamon perused the bottles of extracts, filling her basket with whatever flavor she thought she might need, while Gulliand picked up the cans of baking powder, soda, and yeast. Ginny watched the two, seemingly unimpressed by the growing mountain of merchandise on her counter.

“Well, I think that’s it,” said Cinnamon Roll as she laid her brimming basket next to the pile. She turned to Gulliand. “Can you think of anything else, Sugarcube?”

“Just sugar and flour,” he replied, placing his basket beside hers. He turned to the stone-faced griffoness. “You said the sugar and flour are sold by the pound. How much for a whole barrel?”

“One hundred bits for a barrel of flour,” she told him. “One hundred twenty-five for a barrel of sugar.”

Gulliand winced but Cinnamon just nodded. “That sounds about right, considering shippin’ costs and all.”

“If you say so, Cherie. But before we pay for the barrels I would like to examine the contents, please.”

The griffoness’ eyes narrowed dangerously. “What are you implying?” she growled.

Gulliand shrugged. “I just wish to make sure the contents meet my standards.”

“Pfft! Fine!” Ginny reached under the counter and pulled out a crowbar. “But I’ll have you know, I take pride in what I sell!” She pried off the lid of the closest barrel. “Here, see for yourself!”

Cinnamon and Gulliand leaned in to look. The barrel was full of soft, powdery flour. The little filly took a deep breath and smelled the familiar wheaty smell. The griffon stirred the contents with a wooden scoop then sprinkled some on his hand. He felt the texture, sniffed it, then tasted it.

“It’s good,” he nodded.

They did the same with the sugar. Not only was it good, but it was pure cane sugar! Perfect for making cakes and frostings!

“Told you,” Ginny grumbled, tamping the lids back down with her fist. “You won’t catch me passin’ off Plaster of Maris for flour or sand for sugar!”

“My apologies, Madam Ginny,” Gulliand bowed his head. “Now, how much for all of this?”

“Let’s see.” The griffoness pulled out a calculator with a pump handle. She carefully counted out the merchandise then typed the amount into the calculator. She pulled the handle CHUNK-CHING! The numbers appeared on the ticker paper. Gulliand and Cinnamon waited patiently. After a while, and several CHUNK-CHINGs later, they received their total. “Five hundred twenty-two bits.”

Gulliand reached into his saddlebag and counted out the coins. The shopkeeper took them, examined them closely, then, confident of their authenticity, swept them into the register.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said, though they couldn’t tell from her dry tone if she meant it.

The couple left the shop with all their purchases stuffed into a pair of old flour sacks (which Ginny had sold them for a bit apiece) except for the barrels of flour and sugar which Gulliand arranged to have delivered (for another twenty bits). They let themselves into the house and laid the bags on the table.

“Where ya wanna go next?” asked Cinnamon.

“Well, we need milk, eggs, cheese and butter,” replied Gulliand. “After that, I need to get some meat. I don’t suppose you’d like to come along for that,” he added, giving her a wary look.

“I think I’ll be fine,” Cinnamon assured him. “If I’m going to be living here, I need to get used to it.”

The milk stall was a large lot located on the fringe of the market where there were not many vendors. It was soon obvious why her stall was so isolated. Four black and white spotted cows stood in a fenced area nearby and the smell of bovine manure was strong. Cinnamon smiled and waved to the cows, but they just stared at her blankly and continued to eat or chew their cud. It was obvious they were non-sentient.

The stall’s owner was busy skimming cream when she noticed the two approaching. “Well, well,” she said with a smirk. “If it ain’t the fancy talking griffon and his pet pony! Figured you’d be coming around sooner or later.”

“You know of us?” asked Gulliand, choosing to ignore her remarks.

The griffoness snorted. “Of course I do! Word travels fast in the streets. You’re living in the old McPhearsome place and planning on making it a rest-o-raunt.”

“That is correct.”

“Shouldn't be too hard, considering you're related to Old Lady LeGrand,” the griffoness sneered. “Oh, yeah. I know about that, too. You should be able to pull it off with her money backing you up.”

Gulliand’s cheek feathers flushed red with anger. “I am not relying on my grandmother’s money," he informed her coldly. " I have my own. Keep making remarks like that and you will lose a customer.”

The owner clicked her beak dismissively. “Try going somewhere else,” she sneered. “I’ve got the best dairy in Griffonstone.”

“Your cows certainly look very healthy,” said Cinnamon Roll, trying to change the subject. “They’re sleek and fat and so clean.”

“I take care of my cows,” replied the griffoness proudly. “They’re my bread and butter. Literally.”

Cinnamon Roll nodded. “I see you have both Jerseys and Holsteins. Jerseys have good quality milk, but Holsteins give a whole lot more. My Granny called the Holsteins 'butter bean cows' because they're speckled like a butter bean.”

“So, whaddaya want?” the griffoness cut her off. “I got butter, milk, cheese, cream…”

“Milk, definitely,” answered Gulliand. “And five pounds of butter if you have it.”

“I got it.” she slapped down a yellow lump covered in wax paper. “I’ll bet you wanna inspect it first.”

“Please.”

The stall keeper carefully unwrapped the block of butter. Cinnamon Roll looked at it appreciatively. It was firm with no streaks and colored a soft yellow that reminded her of Fluttershy’s coat. “Is it salted or unsalted?” she asked.

“Salted,” the griffoness replied without looking at her. “Most of mine are salted. Only the rich mooks up the mountain ask for unsalted.”

Gulliand bristled at the insult. “How much?” he managed to ask.

“Ten bits. Milk is two bits per bottle. You get one cent back for every empty bottle you return.”

“How much milk do you think we should get, Cherie?” Gulliand asked Cinnamon.

The filly considered. “Well, I would like to make some of my cakes for you to sell. Let’s say three bottles for now. We’ll get more when we need it.”

“Very well, Cherie.” Gulliand handed over the bits. Like Ginny from the store, the griffoness checked the coins before dropping them into a metal box. They were putting their purchases in their saddlebags when the griffoness suddenly spoke.

“So, you’re planning on selling cakes in the market, eh?”

Cinnamon turned to the stall owner who was regarding her with malicious amusement.

“Among other things,” she said. “We’re trying to drum up interest in the restaurant.”

“Might get more interest than you can stand if you go selling pastries in the market,” answered the griffoness, smirking. “We already got one baker around here. I doubt she’ll be happy about the competition.”

Cinnamon frowned. “I’m not trying to compete with anyone or put them out of business.”

The griffoness shook her head, the malicious smirk still on her beak. “Silly pony! Business is a competition! Winner gets the spoils and the loser gets the boot! Sooner you get that through your cute head, the better off you’ll be.”

Cinnamon was about to refute this but realized, as much as she hated to admit it, the vendor was right. Business was a competition. Sugarcube Corners competed with the other bakeries. Carousel Boutique competed with the other designers. Sweet Apple Acres competed with the other farms. In the case of the Apples and the Pears many years ago, it had been an outright war!

“But I’m not trying to put anyone out of business,” she thought as she turned away. “And competition can be a healthy thing.”

The next stall they visited was the poultry vendor. Chickens sat in wicker cages that hung from a rope stretched out like a clothesline along one side of the stall. A few plump hens were allowed to roam free there, pecking at seeds the owner had fed them. The vendor was a short but stocky male griffon with white and gray speckled feathers and dark gray fur. He glanced questioningly at Cinnamon Roll, but did not say anything. He instead turned all his attention to Gulliand.

“Hey! Ya lookin’ get some chicken? I carry wild turkey, too, but I ain’t got any today.”

“That is fine,” replied Gulliand. “I just want some chicken. Umm…” he glanced at Cinnamon concernedly. “I don’t suppose you have any already prepared.”

The griffon noticed the glance and nodded knowingly. “I got two ready; plucked and gutted. Some rich griff up the hill ordered ‘em for some fancy dinner or something but I can always kill two more.” He reached into an ice chest and pulled out one of the chickens for inspection. “Two roosters. Nice and fat.”

Gulliand nodded. “I’ll take them.”

The griffon wrapped up the meat in white paper then placed them in a thick paper sack.

“Here ya are,” said the vendor, handing Gulliand the sack. “Anything else?”

“You also sell eggs?”

“Yep. The stall behind this one. My son runs it.”

The couple thanked him then walked around to where the griffon had indicated. The egg stall was about the size of a foal’s lemonade stand with a wooden crate for a counter and baskets filled with different sized eggs. A young griffon whose coloring matched the meat vendor was engaged in an argument with a customer. A griffoness with beige fur and white feathers and heliotrope colored wing-tips towered angrily over the child.

It was Gilda!

“Those large eggs look mighty small to me!” she growled, pointing an accusing talon at one of the baskets. “You trying to pull a fast one, kid?”

“I know how to size eggs, lady!” the fledgling snapped back in a young, high-pitched voice. “You can look at the eggs in the other baskets and see these are bigger!”

The griffoness clicked her beak. “They look medium-sized to me, kid. I’m not paying large egg prices for smaller eggs!”

Cinnamon Roll had frozen in fear upon recognizing the scone baker, but watching Gilda try to bully a child infuriated her. “Leave him alone! He’s tellin’ the truth!”

Gilda whipped her head in Cinnamon’s direction, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Mind your own business, pony!” she spat.

“He’s tellin’ the truth!” the filly insisted. “Those are large eggs! As many eggs as I handled on the farm I oughta know!”

“I said mind your own business, pony!” the griffoness snarled.

Cinnamon gulped but stood her ground. Gulliand slid up beside her. She could feel the tension in his muscles and hear the low rumble of a growing roar in his chest.

“YO!” The chicken vendor leaned around the wall of his stall to yell at the irate hen. “My kid says the eggs are large, then they’re large! Ya don’t like it, you can beat it!”

Gilda’s face feathers turned bright pink. She was so furious, Cinnamon Roll expected to see steam shoot from the griffoness’ ears.

“Fine!” Gilda managed to snap. “I’ll take ‘em! Just hurry up so I can get outta here!”

The little griffon deftly packed up a dozen eggs and thrust them at Gilda who snatched them up before slapping a bit onto the counter.

“Little crook,” she muttered under her breath as she turned away. “I know small eggs when I see ‘em.” She shoved past Cinnamon Roll. “Stay outta my way, pony!”

“Whew!” sighed Gulliand once the angry scone baker was out of hearing. “That was a close one. Are you all right, Cherie?”

The little filly nodded. “I’m fine. Thanks for sticking by me, Sugarcube.”

“You know I would, Cherie.”

“Hey!” the little griffon barked, interrupting the two. “Ya wanna buy some eggs or not?”

The little filly chuckled. He was trying to imitate the belligerent adults, but his young voice and appearance only made him appear cute.

“Yes, please. I need two dozen large eggs, if you have them.”

“I got ‘em!” He pulled out a box and quickly but carefully loaded it with eggs. Cinnamon watched him, smiling the whole time. He reminded her of her younger self, eagerly helping Applejack at the market stand.

“What are ya grinning about?” asked the fledgling, eying her suspiciously. “I ain’t doing nothing funny.”

“Sorry. I just think it’s sweet, you helpin’ your father like this.”

“Sweet?” The griffon made a face as if he had tasted something funny. “Griffons don’t do ‘sweet’, lady. We eat it.”

“Right,” said Cinnamon, trying not to laugh. “What do I owe you?”

“Two bits.”

Cinnamon nodded and laid three bits on the counter. The little griffon stared at the coins but made no move to take them.

“Two bits, lady,” he said.

“I know,” Cinnamon replied, pushing the third coin towards him. “The third is a tip… for good service.”

The fledgling stared at her then back to the coins on the counter. It was obvious he wanted to take the third coin but was reluctant to touch it.

“It’s a pony thing,” Gulliand told him.

“Oh!” The little griffon gave Cinnamon a quick glance then quickly pocketed the extra coin. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

Gulliand and Cinnamon Roll made their way back to the house. There were many other vendors with interesting wares but the two were done shopping for the day. Then Cinnamon noticed a stand selling carved figurines. She stopped to admire the clever carvings.

“I need to pick up a souvenir for Applespike,” she murmured. “Just to let him know I’m thinkin’ of him.” She picked up a figurine of a griffon with spread wings. The work was beautiful, showing great detail in the figure's feathers and fierce expression. She bought the figurine from the artist, who gave her a funny look as she paid for it without trying to haggle, then rejoined Gulliand who was admiring a set of carving knives.
"Isn't it pretty?" she said, showing him her purchase. “This doesn't look like wood or stone. What do you think it's carved from?"

Gulliand gave it a quick look. “Bone.”

“Bone!” She stared at the figurine in her hoof.

"Most likely from a deer or antelope. Perhaps something bigger."

"Wow! I never knew you could make such pretty things with bones! I think Applespike will get a kick outta this!"

Gulliand raised an eyebrow “You don’t think your brother will be upset knowing it's made of bone?”

Cinnamon Roll snorted. “Are you kiddin’? All the things he's probably seen hangin' out with Zany? This would be downright tame!”

As they approached the house, they found the delivery griffon from the general store waiting with their barrels of flour and sugar. Cinnamon took the groceries inside while Gulliand and the griffon (who had to be paid extra because he insisted he had only been paid for delivery, not moving the barrels into the house) wrangled the barrels inside. Once they were safely deposited in the larder and the delivery griffon duly paid for his service, Cinnamon Roll eagerly pulled out her cake pans, mixing bowls and sifter while Gulliand stoked the oven.

Cinnamon tied her apple-themed apron around her waist and washed her hooves in the sink. "Did you get what you needed for your chicken parmesan?" she asked Gulliand.

The griffon shook his head. "The milk vendor had no parmesan. I will make Chicken Florentine instead. But that is for tomorrow!" He tied on his own apron and placed a torque on his head.

"Today, Cherie! We BAKE!"

Author's Note:

Don't have much to say. This just took awhile to write. I hate that I'm going to slow and I apologize.

Comments

[Darth Wrex]

It's okay

[Vailen]

Can't wait for the next chapter

[LunaJack]

11732849
You don't have long to wait. I am uploading today.