The Gruff Griffon

by Dreams of Ponies

Berry Fortunate

“Weeeeeeee!”

I trotted, well, danced, in lovely little awkward steps down the snowy street of Ponyville. Minty Schnapps tickled my tongue as the last rays of the day cut through the chill. Turning my head, I watched the golden rays of the sun tint the snowflakes with lavender as they reflected off Princess Twilight Sparkle’s castle. Tears trickled down my muzzle, and I couldn’t look away.

Then something heavy sent me sprawling.

“Holy buck, that’s cold!”

Scrambling, trotting and shivering, I pulled myself out of the snow using a conveniently placed feathery wall beside me. A moment later, I blinked, pulling my hoof back to glance at a single, gray feather.

“Give back, pony.”

Taking a step back, I look up, and up, and well, I fell over again. The shadow of a looming griffon shrank as it bent down towards me. With a clenched claw over my hoof, I was wrenched from the snow. Giggling, and with a little hiccup, I passed the feather back to him. I had clutched it against my chest as I fell, and it had only gotten a little bent.

“Sorry.” A tinge of purple crossed my cheeks, not that anyone ever noticed. Having berry-colored fur had its advantages, I suppose. The large griffon, silver and gray now that I could get a better look, took the feather gingerly from me before inserting it back into his ruff plumage.

“Ow?” I raised an eyebrow, but was ignored as he, given the pronounced muscles and lack of fine curves, just walked on by. The wheels of a wagon creaked as he practically dragged them through the snow. The wheels slid more than actually doing their job as he approached the end of the market district. Then I caught a whiff of something.

Is that… I think it is?

Before I could blink, I was standing on the edge of the wagon, hooves pushing off the tail end as I reached inside.

Just… a little further.

Then I fell in, knocking boxes and cans around before I finally came upon my prize. Thick, gravy-like liquid warmed my throat and sent my soul onto Celestia’s bosom. Hours, or maybe just seconds passed before I noticed the wagon had stopped, and that I was being stared down by the owner of the fine grog I was now mid-way through.

I lowered the jug, giving him a sheepish look before offering him the bottle.

“Cheers?”

He narrowed his eyes, and then, just like that, smiled at me like I was a freshly slain carcass. Turning, he left me to the grog, and after a grunt and a hitching noise, I was moving again.

Get up… or not…. let the grog decide. And so the wagon creaked on, boxes and bottles playing a lovely cadence as world revolved around me.

Click, clack, click, clack, grog, grog~ What a lovely tune.

The wagon dragged to a stop once more, and snow crunched once more just outside. I looked past the jug of grog, now nearly empty, and gazed up as the final rays of twilight faded into Luna’s domain.

Nothing good ever lasts long.

“Get up.”

“Hmm?” I turned to face my escort-slash-executioner-slash-provider of grog. His, um, beak was unreadable as he lowered the wagon’s tail end. His claws reached inside, and I pulled back. A moment later, he grunted, heaving up one of the many boxes and turning away. The clink of glass faded as he moved off, and I found myself sliding out with grog in hoof.

“So…” I started, watching as he held the large box with one claw, an old rusty key in the other. “What’cha doin'?” A grunt was the only answer as the heavy tumblers fell into place and he opened an old mahogany door. The sweet smell of polished wood, fermented wine, and, oddly enough, aged cheddar greeted my nose. I was happy to oblige it, of course, nearly floating inside as I hugged my jug.

With a flick of his long feathers, lights hummed to life around us. Low-hanging lanterns over wood counters, cushiony bar stools and long, private booths made me want to just sit down and have a drink. So I did just that. With a little squeak and swivel, I plopped my plot down, the jug clunking down atop the bar. As I took in the rather impressive variety of spirits, ciders and exotic mixers displayed on the bar shelves, my attention was torn to the clatter of pots and silverware emanating from the backroom.

So this is how it ends? At least, that was my first thought when the huge knife preceded the gruff griffon through a silver curtain. He sat a long pan down with a clank, pulling out a cutting board along with assorted food items: carrots, onions and a few others I didn’t recognize were laid out along the smooth, brown wood.

He got to work without a word.

Chop, chop, slice, mince.

Really, there was a lovely rhythm to all of it.

Swish, slash, dice, twist.

There was only one down side.

“I’m almost out…” I swayed a bit. “...of grog.”

He cocked his head at me. No expression, no leer, just a head tilt--he probably had a killer poker face. Gripping the grog, he lifted it into the air. One last mouthful swished at the bottom, and I nearly cried as he polished off the bottle.

“But grog!” I threw my hooves up into the air, now somehow standing atop my stool in protest. “The last bit is always the best!”

With what might have been a chuckle, he placed the jug beneath the counter. “I know.” And after that, he walked into the back.

I slumped, eyes dropping as my whole world shattered before me. The darkness crept towards the center of my vision, and I jolted up with a start right before I fell to the floor.

“W-what? Who?” I turned, my head darting back and forth. This shaking helped immensely, for it brought forth the most important question of my life. “Grog?”

A bottle, not grog was placed next to me; it was accompanied by a plate of rice and vegetables wrapped with some strange green paper-looking stuff. The griffon, who had a mildly amused smile on his beak, pushed the plate forward.

“Eat, pony.” Then he stepped out and around the bar, carrying a plate as he sat next to me.

My mouth hung open, anticipating some argument that never came. I uncorked the bottle, and, finding two mugs already waiting, filled them with bubbly liquid. Didn’t even spill a drop… on the table. I think my coat’s gonna be sticky in the morning, ugh. A blush crept up my face, which I tried to hide with more drink. This one had a bit of a light tang to it, and I drained my glass without thinking.

“Ah!” I turned as he bit down on something red and slimy. “Is this Sunflower liquor?” He was slow to swallow, and even slower to nod. “I mean, it’s not as good as that other stuff, but…”

He stood up, plate already finished and proceeded to stare me down. No blinking… no smiling… pretty sure he didn’t even take a breath. As a bead of sweat threatened to traverse my forehead, I reached for my plate. I didn’t even break eye contact as I scooped up a bite, chewed, and then swallowed. It was good… even managing to make me feel uncomfortable for eating it so quickly--though, it’s possible it was the crippling stare I was still receiving.

When I finished, I felt like the room would explode at any moment. “I’m just gonna go?” I stepped off the stool and started to trot away. “That’s for the meal and--”

“Pony will stay.”

And now he was behind me. Not sure how that happened, but with the room swaying and candles singing in soprano, nothing should’ve surprise me at this point.

“Pony stay?” I echoed, turned, and cocked my head up at him. “Pony needs to go home.” I moved to step around him, hard as that was as he took up most of the doorway.

“Pony is mine now.” And that made me sit and stare. Eventually, he continued, “I hit pony with cart. Pony pulled my feather, then drank most expensive grog. Finally, have pony for dinner. You now mine, Griffon Kingdom law.”

“Umm…” I peeked out the window behind him, seeing a glimmer of Princess Twilight’s castle in the distance. “This is Equestria, and well, I’m flattered, but it doesn’t work that way here.”

He grumbled, grunted, but seemed to accept that without much thought. “Then pony will pay for grog she drank.”

“I-- but!” I started, faltered, and then just sighed. “How much?” My little bit pouch I kept in my mane seemed to cry as I pulled it out.

“Five.” He held out his claw.

“Oh,” I said, a smile crossing my face. “That’s not so ba--”

“Five thousand bits.”

“What!!” I actually fell over. “What did I drink?” I rubbed my tummy, which must now contain liquid gold or some equivalent.

“Grimfeather Grog.” He never moved from the entrance. “The last bottle my mother ever made, distilled from her finest ashes.” He stepped closer as I sulked, dumping out my bit pouch and hoping to find a surprise fortune.

Only twenty bits appeared.

“We told pony. You are now mine.”

“I-I--”

He turned and opened a small cabinet beside the bar, then tossed me a silver hat. “You start tomorrow, before sun comes up.” I turned the hat over to read the words etched into the front.

“‘The Gruff Griffon.”’ I turned to scowl, or sneer, or apologize, but he was gone. Slowly, I made my way out, the lanterns clicking off just as I closed the outer door. Then, a question was late to the party.

“Don’t you at least want a resume or something?”

Author's Note:

Here's to a new story, and hopefully a new drive to write. Started a new job not too long ago, and I've been both busy and exhausted. Bronycon is tomorrow, so I'm hoping to rekindle my motivation for the written word. New chapter soon!

With love and dedication, Dreams of Ponies

Comments

[Shrink Laureate]

An interesting start...