Day 9 - The Wobbly-leg Frogger: 5/9
Without the guidance of the hive mind clock announcing sleepy time to be over, the drones just sleep and sleep after yesterday. However, as usual, once the first drone wakes up, the hive link presence wakes the rest as well, and the suite is soon full of squeaky yawning. 10013 forces itself to at least sit up, and even that little effort makes its head spin and taxes its breathing.
Whoa, I’m pretty low on love.
By the time it steadies itself the other drones start making their entrances. 99380 waves at it, winces, and rubs its forehead.
“Are you okay… buddy?” asks 10013, running out of breath mid-sentence.
“I think so,” 99380 forces a smile, “I’m just hungry after all that memorizing and stuff from yesterday, and running around after that.”
“Same here,” 10013 smiles back.
With rustling of laundry, the door of a doorside wardrobe opens, revealing Smiley who stretches-
*Bonk!*
-and hits its head on a shelf. It tries to convey its disappointment to the shelf with a quick frown aimed towards it but the shelf doesn’t budge so Smiley wisely backs away from its hiding place without further antagonizing it. A surface check of its hive link tells 10013 that Smiley is healthy, fed, and in a shape any drone could be jealous of if they were the kind to get jealous. What surprised 10013, though, is that Smiley looks straight at it, trots over, and hugs it, transferring a small amount of love its way. A drone refilling a drone is like splitting one shot glass into two, so 10013 doesn’t feel any less hungry afterwards, but at least its breathing stabilizes.
99111 and 10101 enter from the heretic bedroom, and 99111 says:
“Good morn- uhh, does it still count as morning?” it glances towards the curtains covering the balcony door, “Or am I completely wrong? I feel a bit dizzy… and head-hurty… and hungry.”
99380 slides the curtains open, revealing a day in full swing, maybe even a later part of the day.
“No, it does look like we slept through a good chunk of the day,” 10013 checks its own internal clock which confirms the definitive presence of the afternoon.
36658 shuffles in last from the fanatic bedroom and senses 10013’s almost instinctive intrusion through its hive links.
“I’m fine, 10013,” it grumbles, “Although I’d like to take today a bit easier.”
“That’s for sure,” 20100 walks out of the bedroom in tow, “My front leggos are super stiff.”
Something doesn’t add up in 10013’s head but it takes a moment in its exhausted state to figure out what’s wrong.
“Guys, where is 99526?” it asks.
“Oh goop!” 20100 facehoofs, “The armed guard griffons took it away after its sneezing fit during the game. We should tell the high ranks.”
10013 recaps the overall bad state of the drones, and decides the course of action:
“You guys rest, you deserve it after such a good job yesterday. I’ll go ask the high ranks what we can do about 99526’s situation. If I need anything I’ll call you through 99380.”
A series of scratches later, Smiley pokes 10013 with its tablet.
[?Out]
“Sure you can go outside,” 10013 nods, “I meant that whoever was still tired could stay here and relax.”
[:)]
As usual, Smiley flies off holes-know-where via the balcony.
“I gotta head out too,” 20100 gives its aching forelegs an apologetic look, “I promised the painter pony and that good time griffon lady, Miss Clara, who turned out to be a friend of this other super important griffon lady, that I would meet them and now I don’t have much of the day left to do it,” it rubs its chin.
“No problem,” 10013 nods, and the two drones leave the suite the normal way and, just as they’re about to split up in the hallway, 10013 freezes as an idea crosses its mind, “Buddy, can we ask your griffon friends to help us get 99526?”
“It has to be worth a try,” 20100 shrugs, “You can visit Miss Clara while I visit Mister Turtle- Tussle- painter as I promised.”
“Good idea. Where could she be?”
“She said the Bloodstone delegation water bungalow. You’ll have to ask around the beach.”
“Perfect, thanks. Good luck with your painting.”
“You too with saving 99526! Bye!”
On the first glance, the answer might seem callous and uncaring about the fate of a drone buddy, but if 99526 was in immediate trouble it could still connect to 99380 and call for help.
With that exchange over, the two finally split.
***
Room 218.
20100 hesitates for a brief moment with its hoof in the air before knocking. After all, this Mister Tussle is supposed to be a real painter who’s working for the Duchess! Its foreleg acts as if on its own and finishes the gesture.
*Knock knock knock!*
Well, that’s exactly what 20100 was doing last night too…
He’s working full time for the Duchess or something, no one was exactly clear on the subject.
No matter, he’s supposed to know painting stuff and he seemed interested in 20100’s work. Just like when 65536 showed it how to layer paints to make the colors look different from a distance, 20100 is bound to learn much more from a real painter in person.
The door opens, revealing the earth pony in question.
*Squee-!*
“-I mean hello!” 20100 beams, “I’m 20100. We met last night when I was busy drawing and you said you wanted to meet me.”
“Of course,” the earth pony peers over his rectangular glasses and leans closer to examine the drone while offering a hoof to shake and giving 20100 a chance to get a closer look, “My name is Trestle. Umm, as I said I paint. I’m a painter. Don’t mind the black eyes, it’s a… medical condition.”
Trestle is a grey-coated earth pony of a slender build with a darker blond mane and tail. Even to a social behavior novice like 20100, he doesn’t seem like a member of the nobility. The only visually remarkable thing about him are his pitch black corneas, as if he either didn’t have pupils or as if he had pupils that covered the whole cornea like a cat targeting its prey.
Something in those black eyes stirs, some entity watching through the painter focuses its entire attention towards the drone. Silly abstract concept of strangeness hits the impenetrable brick wall that is 20100’s excited smile and unknowingly kneading forelegs, and withdraws, knowing not to toy with powers beyond its understanding. Even demons intruding the mortal realms and possessing their souls know not to mess with a pure force of fate that is… a drone.
“Heya, Mister Tressle!” 20100 boops Trestle’s foreleg with its snoot, “I draw. I’m a drawer! Don’t mind the blue eyes, it’s a changeling condition.”
“I- that’s not- how language works- I mean that’s not a word in ponish. I mean it is but it means something entirely different,” Trestle is slowly running through the mental checklist of weird inconsistencies that anyone attempting to communicate with a drone must go through.
20100 tilts its head.
“Weird. It makes perfect sense to me. Maybe it’s a word in dronish tee em, we call ‘em like we see 'em!”
“Tee em? Trademark?” Trestle’s voice raises in pitch in a way of someone attempting to not just say ‘whaaaaat?’.
“Is that what tee em means?” 20100 rubs its chin.
“Yes! What did you think it meant?”
20100 makes a grabbing motion.
“THAT’S MINE!”
“That’s not what it- well, technically- it does mean that but- aaaaahhhhh!” Trestle turns around before he has a droneness-induced brain hemorrhage and enters his suite with a deep, calming breath, “Come in. Let’s talk about something that makes sense - painting.”
“Eeeeee!” 20100 follows him inside.
***
It’s another beautiful day on the Ataraki island in the mind of a Griffon Imperial Legion Private leisurely strolling down the sloping road. His shift is almost over, all that’s left is to reach the promenade and make one final round along it and then back up along the western edge of the resort. Finally, he’ll get out of this stuffy armor -even though it’s only more a leather jacket over a white shirt because anyone in real armor out during the day would probably spontaneously combust- and go up for a swim in the sea. If he gets extra lucky, he might even impress some lady with his impressive physique. Or maybe one of the zebra bodyguards he’s seen around from time to time.
“Hello, Mister catb- griffon!” a voice from below his knee-height pulls the Private out of his steadily steaming up imagination.
Ffffuuuuu- why did it have to be one of the monsters?
“Go aw-” the Private stops himself in time. They might be wild, murderous, parasites, but they are here on invitation of some clearly senile noble from Equestria, “What do you want?”
He doesn’t stop walking, though, forcing 10013 to trot along.
“Your, uhh, friends took 99526 away last night due to some dangerous sneezing. Could you help me sort the situation out or at least tell me where 99526 could be, please?”
Why is the monster so polite? It would be so much easier to tell it to piss off if it wasn’t clearly trying so hard. Or if it wasn’t so tiny.
“The jail is on the northeast edge of the resort if you want to talk to the Captain. There isn’t a traditional GIL fortress on the island-” he stops. The monster asked a question which is now answered in regard to politeness and diplomacy. Time to get it to leave him alone, “The explosive changeling didn’t cause any physical damage from what I heard, but I doubt they’ll just let it go. I assume they’ll let it out once you’re supposed to return to Equestria.”
“But we’re leaving in two days!” objects 10013 after a moment of counting, “They can’t keep 99526 locked up all that time.”
“They absolutely can,” the griffon chuckles before noticing that 10013 stopped, “Are you done pestering me?”
“Yes, Mister griffon. Thank you for the info,” says 10013, turns around with an exhausted sigh, looks up the hill, and starts running again.
If only the monster wasn’t so… un-monstery!
***
10013 stops in front of the only building it’s seen around here with bars on the windows. A brass plaque above its reinforced metal door simply reads GIL, and there's a faint presence of 99526’s hive link coming from the area.
“Huh, is this it?” the drone mutters to itself, “I thought jail was spelled differently.”
The door wins the following impromptu staring contest and, with a shrug, 10013 flies up to the handle and pushes it. The heavy door budges only a little, and 10013’s wings have to work overtime to eventually crack it open. 10013 flies through before it closes on its own and crashes on a smooth, tiled floor, gasping for air.
“...I really hope… this was the right door…”
Several hoof- pawsteps stop by and a not particularly gentle foreleg grabs 10013 by the back of its neck and pulls it up to face a frowning griffon clearly not pleased by 10013’s presence.
“What do you want here, changeling?” asks the griffon wearing nothing but a badge reading ‘Captain’, some numbers the meaning of which 10013 can’t identify, and an engraving of talons closed to a fist.
“Uh, hello!” 10013 remains polite and hanging like a cat being held by someone behind it, just like a drone who doesn’t want to get eaten should, “Mister Captain one one four three nine eight, do you have an idea where my friend 99526 could be? It’s a drone that looks like me and I heard it was brought here last night for some serious sneezing.”
The captain narrows his eyes.
“The changeling in question was detained on charges of terrorism and property damage,” he states flatly, “On the request of Equestrian Paladin Grandmaster it’s not in a solitary cell nor chained to the wall, nor has it been punished further in a manner of befitting our laws. Our current official position is that it will be released by the end of your visit to the island.”
“Can I talk to it?” asks 10013, “It might be hungry or-”
“No,” the Captain shakes his head with zero signs that he’s regretting any part of the situation, “The severity of its crimes forbid it.”
10013 sighs. Without much activity, a drone can survive with no feeding for far longer than the two remaining days, but keeping 99526 locked up would be counterproductive to their mission of exploring the opportunities the world has to offer.
“Thank you for telling me,” it forces a smile, “I’d like to go now, if you don’t mind?” it shifts in the grasp of the second griffon and turns its head as far as it can. The griffon holding it looks at the Captain who nods, and 10013 is let go.
The drone stops in front of the heavy door and whimpers quietly before asking:
“Could you open the door, please? It’s super heavy.”
The two griffons exchange looks, pondering torturing the changeling further, but the desire to get the monster of old tales as far away as possible wins, and the non-Captain lets 10013 outside where the drone finally breathes a sigh of relief.
It might not be able to read pony minds like the high ranks can, but sensing emotions that are out in the open is still a biological instinct and 10013 feels absolutely certain that leaving the GIL station is an achievement akin to successfully fleeing a leggy spinner cavern. However, that does mean getting 99526 is a priority.
It sits down on a lawn nearby and concentrates.
“99526, can you hear me?”
“Huh? Yeah! Hi, 10013! How are you? You sound tired.”
“Just a little, but that’s not important. Are YOU okay? I’ve just visited the griffons and they’re definitely not letting you out before we’re supposed to return home.”
“Awwww…” 99526’s mental image pouts, “I could use some sleepy time after yesterday, though.”
“Are you hungry or hurt?”
“Yeeah, I sneezed so much I could barely stand,” 99526 chuckles, “All my inside bits are still sore and I could use some love for sure but it’s nothing I couldn’t live with. The griffons just squeezed me a bit and then tossed me here, so no real harm done. I can wait and rest up.”
“That’s good to hear,” 10013 smiles to itself, “But I’ll still try to get you out. There might be a way that won’t get us in trouble.”
“Alrighty!” replies 99526, “But don’t forget to have some fun too, 10013.”
“I’ll try to find some time,” says 10013, “I’ll ask around and hopefully see you later then.”
“Bye!”
10013 looks around for the closest road leading down the slope. It could fly but it really isn’t feeling good.
I guess it’s time to ask 20100’s griffon lady if she can help. Hopefully the griffons will listen to another griffon.
Stats
Page generated in 0.035 seconds
Total duration
814 users online
501,915 hits today, 1,960,719 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
How about the Hot tamale chef, Elsalvador Dali, DJ MC Echer really twists the beats, and the seapony games host, Never Mind The Pollocks?
Ah yes, worky time... the bane of all creatives. Still, you need those shinies. They're what let you have noms and a place for sleepy time.
Yes, I am curious as to how this will turn out...if only because I'm pretty sure it's not going to go the way Miss Clara was thinking it would.
They probably were, they just weren't clear enough for 20100 specifically.
Well, only until a drone gets its hooves on it, then it's going to find a way to make it not make sense.
Because they're not really monsters. Even Chrysalis stops short of being a monster--she's really more just a jerk. Granted, there were a few changelings that were monsters, but more only on a case-by-case basis at best. On average, most changelings just seem practical and loyal to their hive, but otherwise are like any other creature trying to get through life just a day at a time.
I know! Then you wouldn't have to--heaven forbid--actually think about it.
You have figured out the deepest and darkest secret of the griffon species, 10013--the griffons are all bad at spelling.
I mean, I'm sure the GIL will totally try and tell you something different about it just being an acronym for their organization or some nonsense such as that, but it's really just a government cover story trying to hide their own bad spelling skills.
Okay, the property damage charge I can totally understand, but the terrorism one is a bit of a stretch--I'm sure it was tacked on because some griffon just wanted to frame a changeling for something high brow, and saw this as excuse enough. In any case, I'm sure if it were to be challenged in a fair court, it probably wouldn't stick very well...but why resort to that when Drone Logictee em will no doubt save the day instead in a fraction of the time?
Well, if that griffon's high-brow enough, yes. And maybe generous with the bits too.
11534399
Bollocks!
11534803
You speak words of wisdom. I just wish the worky time wasn't creeping so much into breaky time and let me be creative. But the solution is easy! I just need to git gud and write something that makes enough money so that I can spend the next ten years working on a book without a word instead of a year with weekly updates and have a never leaving fanatical fanbase that would snort any sort of even barely related, diluted content and in the end rename myself to George RR Martin.
11534933
- With some patience, detailed explanations, and preferably a diagram, everything is possible.
- MORE PATIENCE AND DIAGRAMS!
- Drones are the embodiments of common sense. Note to self - High Score returns as the alicorn of common sense in book 11 - They're GOING ON FOR TOO LONG.
- Some ingrained habits and learned stories die harder than others. Although drones do have the habit of destroying those scary stories on impact.
- You can't fight racism/speciesism (especially some warranted to a degree) with logic. That's not how people work. If it was, several socioeconomic lectures would instantly make the world a much better place. Wait! Everything I write is just silly nonsense, no relation to the real world issues or lessons to be learned. No fights against depression, no parallels with caste systems and inequalities caused by hoarding of power and influence in the hands of the rich or any. If I wrote anything that deep I would be a real writer and we can't have that.
- PLEASE NO! Why did you have to say that?! Now I have to write a drone conspiracy theorist at some point. Alex Drones incoming in the next book.
- I'm starting to think that people aren't taking the serious stakes of the serious plot of this serious story seriously. Aaaaalright, start placing bets on who dies in the end and why. I'm rolling 99 and spontaneous combustion.
- If this problem was solvable with shinies, I don't doubt 20100 would have already done so. 20100 is a strangely min-maxed drone, but that's what I get for letting the characters do what they want.
11535292
A more than fair point, and you're absolutely right about that. Racism/speciesism is altogether very illogical when you get right down to it and more emotionally driven. Still, a guy can hope arguing against it with logic still helps to counter it's promotion at least a little.
For the record, nah, I do, I just also know no one's facing actual mortal harm (for the moment) and instead just more victims of what's really political saber-rattling, so it's a little easier to make light of it so to take some of the edge off.
Actually, in all seriousness, the idea of a drone conspiracy theorist seems way more comical than it has any right to be, if only because I know they'd find a way to do it in a particularly ridiculous manner.
11535513
- it is something that has to be fought with a scalpel rather than a hammer. Defintiely.
- That's way too accurate of an answer for me to make fun of or comment on.
- And the best part is that somehow the drone would be entirely correct but for completely wrong reasons. "They're making the licky hoppers gay!" "Wazzat mean?" "All licky hoppers can like all other licky hoppers!" "Yaaaaay, more love for us!"