Collateral Damage

by Metemponychosis

03 - Alone

Gallus spent the first half of the boat trip sitting on the bed. Staring at the door. It would open at any second and some big, brutish northerner griffon would drag him across the ferry and all the way to Snow Mountains. Somehow. The idea made no sense whatsoever after minor scrutiny, but he was sure it would happen.

With the windows bolted into the wall, he knew he had to focus on the door. Merry noises upstairs reached him with images of all the fun the other passengers were having. He would not expose himself to join them, though. Among the festive griffons, he imagined the rich couple searching for him. He kept his post, watching the door, but the princess-sized bed was so soft and large. His eyes became heavy, and he found it difficult to focus.

He woke up with a gasp. The movement of the ship changed, and seagulls kept squawking outside along with the noise of moving carts and shouting griffons. The windows showed the sea on one side and a harbor on the other. Groaning the sleep out, Gallus sat on the bed. He had not only laid himself into a slumber but also covered himself with the silky sheets. He groaned again, but at himself, mumbling complaints and hopping off the bed. In the bathroom, he stared at his blue self in the mirror before he set his crest of feathers straight. Then he let out a gigantic yawn. All his anxiety from before became little more than a background worry, but he reminded himself he was not safe yet. Hopefully, General Seaspray’s lie would throw off the northerner agents a little longer, but carelessness would certainly get him into trouble.

Laziness too. The more he waited to get to Grampa Gruff’s, the worst it would be, and he still had to go through the teleporter to Griffonstone. Gallus donned his backpack, but before leaving the room, he opened the door to a sliver and peeked through to see a mostly empty corridor. Only a creamy hippogriff mare walked on the carpet, checking the individual rooms. Coming out of his, he made her perk her ears and gasp at him.

She half-angrily told him they had already docked some time ago, and that he had fifteen minutes to disembark. Gallus nodded, thanked her, and waved his paw at her before climbing the stairs up. The lounge too was mostly empty, with only a pair of hippogriff crewmembers minding the earnings of the bar while three others swept the floor. No one paid him any mind beyond a quick stare, and he was fine with that. On the deck, more crewmembers minded whatever shipboard duties they must. Gallus focused on the ramp going down to the docks, happy the rich couple was nowhere to be seen. Were they good or bad, he had dodged them.

Coming down from the ship, a small passenger terminal dominated the view at the end of a small pathway made of red cobblestone in the concrete. A few bushes kept eyes and passengers away from the rest of the harbor and the working areas. Even if they were meant to look at the terminal, griffon architecture was much less conducive to prettying up compared to the pony and hippogriff decorations. There was a lot of white, some yellow and red, wood. The yellow and red Griffonian flag, the Equestrian Confederation Flag, the city’s flag. Some lampposts with round glass tops for the gas lights flanked the path, but they were off during the day. The down-to-earth path led arrivals straight to the terminal, which was mostly a boring, white and glass building. Before it, a small plaza joined all the pathways from the passenger landings.

Griffons had taken the architecture of places like Manehattan, stripped it of anything that might make you happy, and filled them with griffons to get some job done with minimal enjoyment. Yay. He had been back on griffon lands for minutes and he already felt like a griffon again.

Double wood doors, welcomingly open, led into a lounge where a few griffons and hippogriffs talked to the officers behind a line of desks. Security was abundant: griffons wearing the city’s local militia leather armor, green and blue. Others waited in lines, but as a Griffonian citizen, Gallus had priority. He went to one of the free priority desks, greeted the guy on the other side, and quickly grabbed his identification document from his backpack. The sandy griffon hummed, looked at him, hummed again. Meanwhile, Gallus kicked himself for immediately identifying himself. There was no other way, though, and he fought back a grimace while the griffon wrote down something Gallus couldn’t see.

A couple of minutes, agonizing minutes later, the sand-colored griffon returned Gallus his document. “Welcome back, Gallus. You’re free to enter Griffonia. Please note there is unrest and fighting in the capital. We advise against traveling there.”

Gallus thanked the griffon, stashing his identification and making his way in between the desks. Security didn’t bother him, though it seemed some griffons had trouble with their documents. A couple argued with a clerk and waited until an official arrived. Background noise: Gallus wasted no time with the woes of others. Past the counters was another lounge where friends greeted each other, family members celebrated someone’s arrival. Nobody paid attention to the lone blue griffon, and Gallus was happy as punch with that.

He had been to Beachhome before, and it was quite the big town. Probably larger than Griffonstone, with all the jobs related to the hasty logistics of moving fragile produce out of there. It was the reason the city had the holy combo of teleporter, harbor, and airdocks. The city was the farming hub of Griffonia, with giant farms employing a silly number of ponies. Although, the livestock farms employed mostly griffons. There were also more specialized agricultural businesses, like the vineyards and wineries up north, making use of the cold that bled from Snow Mountains Hold further north.

Gallus shivered. Just thinking of that place gave him the shudders, and not only of cold.

Most creatures didn’t know, or didn’t care, but Griffonia was divided into holds, which were like counties or states. Griffonland had Griffonstone, which was the administrative center. Greenland was where all the farms and the big port were, while Fernland was an ugly swampland hosting most of the heavy industry. Then there was Snow Mountains that most griffons didn’t even remember existed. It was basically a frozen land of barbarians stuck in the last century, who provided game meat and iron. Taxes, too, Gallus supposed.

Walking out of the terminal, he found the great port of Beachhome under cloudy and sooty skies. Noisy warehouses surrounded the way out past the chain cordoning and carts hauled stuff in every direction. The entrance and exit of the harbor proper were a wide plaza with a central statue of a sitting griffon. It was a stone goof, covered in creeping vines and grinning at a little plant growing in his paw. He had a name, but Gallus forgot what it was. It welcomed the newcomers to Beachhome, and a cobblestone path channeled passengers to and from the terminal to the exit. The smell of fish reminded them it was a harbor-town meant to keep commerce alive in the hopes Griffonia wouldn’t implode, and the statue reminded them the hold dedicated itself to farming. In the distance, more warehouses and industry buildings changed into a griffon copy of Mannehattan. Just not as big nor as clean. Griffons skimped on the magical cleaning of industrial exhausts. It was probably only because of the ponies and weather teams the air was breathable.

A line of wagons, carts, and carriages waited, almost in an organized manner, making a line around a parking lot with white markings that went mostly ignored. Their owners sat on them, looking bored and hoping some tourist or lazy bird would hire them for transportation. Most griffons just flew after passing under the gate: it was bad manners to fly inside places like the harbor, not to mention dangerous—safety rules reserved the air for working griffons in a hurry. If a mana battery somewhere is about to explode, that was probably more important than you missing your ship.

It was not an awful place, and if Gallus was in a good mood, he might even find it pleasant. The plaza had seats, a gazebo, food parlors and even a city-owned gift shop in the center, by the statue. Some friends lounged about, a family with three cubs walked around happily. An older teacher sat with her class, talking to bored little cubs. The problem was indeed Gallus’ mood.

The wagons interested Gallus the most. Some of them were closed and would take him inconspicuously to where he needed to go. He still remembered the etiquette, though. You were supposed to go to the first one in the line. A gray and white griffon hen with a red beret and a green scarf around her neck waited in a green, well-maintained, and enclosed wagon. He walked up to her and cleared his throat.

“Hey. I gotta go to the teleporter.”

“Sure thing, kid.” She said, giving him a bored, appraising stare. “That’s fifteen Bits. Upfront.”

Gallus fished the coins out of his coin pouch and gave them to her. Salty, but he would rather remain inconspicuous. She told him to hop aboard and make himself comfortable. Nice and simple, like he wanted. He found a small but comfy sitting room on wheels. It had a rainbow flower rug, a few sitting pillows, and a small bedside table. It even had a magical lamp hanging from the ceiling.

As the wagon started moving, and another promptly moved to take her place in the line, Gallus closed the tarp on the back. He took off his backpack and sat to relax on one of the pillows. His conductor told him it would be a while, as the teleporter was in downtown and traffic could be nasty, but he didn’t mind it. He simply told her he wasn’t in a hurry and took one of his comics out to read. It helped distract his mind; the damp hot air barely bothered him, and when he was just short of finishing, the wagon stopped.

“We’re here, buddy!” the griffoness announced.

Wasting no time, Gallus stashed his comic, thanked her, and hopped off. They exchanged goodbyes, but his attention had turned to the new location. All teleporters Gallus knew had a semicircular plaza in front of them. The usual fare occupied the place: food, entertainment and a lot of local militia officers looking for troublemakers. Or escaping nobles. Gallus grimaced, staring the other way when a griffon in leather armor looked at him.

He hurried his way across the plaza, ignoring all the fanfare and tourist traps. His head remained straight, not looking to the sides, barely nodding to whichever creature greeted him until he crossed the doors into the building. It was a state-of-the-art magical facility, the likes only Canterlot unicorns could buy. That was, run-off-the-mill builders could build most of the thing, just not to the advanced magical machinery that required enough magical crystals that Princess Cadance could probably afford a new palace every time they built one. But ponies paid for most of it, anyway. Griffons were not in the business of making other creatures’ lives easier.

Probably because most of the money came from the Equestrian Heartland, most of the decoration also came from there. Suns, moons, stars, and feathers everywhere, colorful furniture and paintings, not to mention the company logos. Most of them were owned by ponies, after all. Gallus also had a rudimentary understanding of how it worked. A company rented the space and equipment to provide teleportation services. Some companies also offered shops and what not, maybe a fast-food restaurant. Without the time spent traveling, as with an airship, most companies wouldn’t offer cassinos or fancy restaurants. Gallus would rather avoid any place with too many creatures, so he preferred companies without the added nonsense.

He followed the indications for the twelve companies, each with a ticketing desk within an over-thought kiosk. Most of them had plaques, or pamphlets easily available and mentioning the price of teleportation for a single creature and all the places they ‘linked’ to. Other than the unneeded mountain of posters and laycreature-level information about the facility. All three companies Gallus initially visited showed Griffonstone at the top of the list. Unfortunately, they had crossed them out. Noticing his frown looking up at the plaque, the earth pony attendant behind the desk for Lickety-Split Teleportation Services offered assistance.

Everything in the kiosk was orange and gold, including the earth pony mare and her little feathery headdress. Gallus could imagine some PR genius looking for a promotion, patting himself in the back for his brilliant idea of uniform for a griffon city that made the pony look like a hooker. Gallus talked with her after clearing his throat.

“I need to go to Griffonstone, please.” He said, trying his best not to sound too helpless. There were other means of transportation, but those would take too long and leave him too vulnerable. He wanted to make it to Grampa Gruff’s home as soon as possible.

“Griffonstone’s closed, sweetie.” The cute, gold-eyed mare told him with a smile.

“Closed?! But I need to get to my guardian’s home!” he squawked.

“I’m sorry. The union and the consortium have both asked companies to not link there and to evacuate all employees.” She told him with a sad frown and orange hoof pointing. Gallus’ eyes followed it to another kiosk near the end of the hall. “Wild North Teleportations is the only one still operating in and out of Griffonstone for now. Probably because they are an all-griffon company.”

Wild north.

Griffon-only.

The feeling when one sees a cockroach out of the corner of the eye and knows to be disgusted even before registering it was a cockroach made him squirm. It churned in his stomach and made the hair on his back stand. And much like so, seeing the kiosk, even at a distance, only reinforced it.

It was a simple and elegant affair, only a niche for the attendant’s desk. All white and gray, with fogged glass making the name plaque. The logo showed a gray cloud and a lightning bolt. Below it, and behind the desk sat a pink and white, cute griffon lady. She stared at nothing like she had perfected the Royal Guard art of standing still.

Gallus turned to the pony attendant. “I can pay extra…”

“Sorry. It’s not a matter of money. We don’t want the consortium, much less the union, to be angry at us. The city isn’t doing well and there were talks of Princess Celestia ordering ponies to clear out of there. That carries some weight. I’m really sorry…”

“Of course…” he sighed and thanked the mare before starting on his way out of the building.

Gallus wasted no time and took a ride to the airdocks. He’d buy an airship ticket to Griffonstone. That failed: no airships going to Griffonstone. Duh. Maybe ride an airship to a nearby town and then wing it from there? Nope. Too far and he’d be traveling alone like a dumbass kid running from home. Hire an escort? No money, and too conspicuous. Join a caravan? No dice. Nobody would go to Griffonstone, anyway. They might as well hand him over to the northerners as far as Gallus could trust other griffons.

Gallus sat on a bench inside the airship station and sighed, oblivious to the other griffons coming and going and the luxurious decoration. The northerners would search for him as soon as they confirmed he was not with the princess. They’d go to Ponyville to look for him—one-hundred percent sure—and they’d flip every rock in Griffonia until they found him.

Gallus noted, with a grimace and a glance outside the airship station, that the northerners must already be looking for him. But he never even saw anyone that looked like a northerner. That unnerved him. They could have hired locals to find him, but nobody seemed to pay attention to him. It wracked his nerves even more than if they were chasing him. The air was damp and hot, but it seemed suddenly ready to boil him.

He found it difficult to believe Ponyville would harbor him without Princess Twilight Sparkle. That they’d protect him from the northerner griffons. Queen Novo might have him back, but that was too dangerous. His sister-in-law’s agents would find him and would end up hurting Skystar and Silverstream just to get to him. Maybe even Queen Novo. The idea of trying the Yaks through Yona made him laugh, and the changelings… the northerners could do something horrible if the changelings got involved. With Princess Celestia and Luna gone, there might be no way of stopping them.

No. Gallus had only one chance and one option: getting to Grampa Gruff as fast as possible. He would shelter him. He would be a pain under the tail, but he would help him. Even if that would get him hiring the griffons he was trying to hide from.

On his way back to the teleporter, on another ride, Gallus felt as dumb as his coin pouch was lighter. When he noticed, he was already before the kiosk and staring at the pink griffoness under the ‘Wild North Teleportations’ plaque. She smiled at him.

“Greetings. Welcome to Wild North Teleportations!” she piped. “How may we help you, mister?”

All of Gallus’ willpower went into not wincing at the whistly accent. He blinked at her inquisitive intonation and coughed once. “Hi. I’m Galsius. That’s G-A-L-S-I-U-S. And I gotta get to Griffonstone, please. It is an important family business, and uh… kind of a private matter, too.”

“I understand!” she kept her friendly but professional attitude. “May I see your identification, please, Mister Galsius?”

He hesitated, cursed inside, and then smiled at her. “Sure. One second.”

She kept staring at him while he rummaged inside his backpack. Meanwhile, Gallus raked his brain for a way out of that situation with little success; he kept remembering he had no other chance. When it became awkward, and the griffon lady coughed into her fist, frowning at him, he stared at her with an apologetic stare. “Oh… I can’t seem to find it.”

Her confused frown turned into an annoyed one. “Then I believe we cannot help you. Sir.”

“I can pay…” he said. Desperately begging with his eyes, despite his best efforts.

“I doubt you have enough money to make it worth enraging my boss.” She told him dryly. “I also disapprove of you wasting my time like this. I shall call the authorities if you don’t leave.”

The young griffon groaned, sticking his forelimb into the backpack. After a second, he produced his identification and offered it to her with a defeated sigh. “Fine. Sorry. I’m just looking after myself here. Just don’t get anyone else involved, please.”

She hummed with a malcontent glare at him before squinting at the document and his finger over his actual name. It was a desperate attempt, an almost comical shot at not getting himself identified by the very griffons he was trying to hide from. To Gallus’ surprise, the clerk created no further problems. He almost burst, laughing with anxiety as she typed, produced a ticket, and gave it to him.

“That will be one hundred-fifty Bits.”

Salty, but teleporters were expensive for a reason. And it was not like an airship ride would be much cheaper. Not to mention… holy feathery fuck. It worked! With no complaining whatsoever, Gallus fished the coins from his pouch and exchanged them for the ticket with a huge grin on his beak.

“Is that it?” he asked as his grin became almost desperate.

“Yes, sir!” her tone became happy again as she pointed further into the facility. “Just follow the gray line. One of our employees will take you to the teleporter platform. Have a nice day!”

He did as she told him, and there was not much to see other than creatures enjoying a meal at the fast-food places or buying stuff. Gallus ignored the myriad of stores, bistros, and lounges. The hall was wide, but lower than the facility itself, which looked like a warehouse from outside. A glorified warehouse. All the magical machinery that made the teleporters work and the administrative side of operating the companies were behind the walls and in the floors above. Not to mention the storage for all the added services.

The rainbow of colored lines on the marble floor split apart, guiding users to their desired company’s facility on either side of the long hallway. Lots of wasted space in between, but again, the culprit was certainly the magical machinery. The gray line took Gallus to a small waiting area. Fogged glass panes, covered in a gradient of white and gray, separated it from the main area with a narrow, privacy-preserving entrance. A large gray griffon stood by a door on the other side, among sofas and a little coffee table. He locked his eyes with Gallus as soon as he crossed into the company’s space, the cold, dark gray eyes of a northerner griffon. Caught off-guard for an instant, Gallus wondered how many griffons one needed to kill to look badass like that.

“Sir.” He greeted Gallus, offering his paw, and reminded the younger griffon he might be in danger. “Your ticket, please.”

Gallus cleared his throat and reassured himself the larger-than-normal guy did not know who he was. He groaned a response and showed the ticket, faking hurry and irritation. It worked. The northerner griffon simply watched and thanked Gallus for using their services, not even caring that the younger griffon had pushed the door open himself. Stepping into the black stone corridor, Gallus silently thanked Celestia that the door was not locked.

The garish white walls and mirror-sheen black floor reflected his blue back at him, but they were not the worse. It was the giant black statue of the griffoness at the end of the corridor. She was lying on her belly, with her wings stretched upward and staring down at the corridor, poised to judge anyone entering. Collars, bracelets, and arabesques made of white gold adorned the thing, and a pair of diamonds made its eyes. Gallus’ tail found its way in between his legs with that thing staring into his soul.

He winced after a heartbeat and made an audible groan. “These freaks.”

The door to the right also was a white to gray gradient on glass with white gold for fittings and so was the one further down the corridor. The latter let pass a griffon lady, though. Her fur was a velvety shade of red and her feathers were like the delicate pink petals in a rose. The forward-swept feathers on her crest twirled on themselves at the tip, much like real petals would. Vibrant pink eyes locked on him, and she smiled like it was probably not acceptable for an adult to smile at a teenager. He blinked and hacked dryly, sitting on the floor.

“Welcome, Mister Galsius.” She told him with silky words, walking towards him and taking his ticket. Gallus focused on the fact that the attendant outside had used the stupid fake name he had made up on the fly. Thank Celestia indeed, but he almost let escape a chuckle. “Thank you for using Wild North Teleportations.”

“I ah… I just want to go home.” He told her, trying to hide behind the aloof ‘I’m too important for you, hurry it up’ tone.

“Absolutely.” She kept a smile on her beak. “Our teleporter is down at the moment, and we apologize for the inconvenient.”

Gallus suppressed his grimace and his desire to turn tail and flee from that place. Maybe he could walk to Griffonstone? His rational side told him it wouldn’t help; he had already entered the belly of the beast and they would just find him eventually. “You can wait in the lobby of our hotel while we remediate the situation.”

He coughed again. It would be alright. They hadn’t recognized him. All he had to do was keep a cool head. “Yeah. Great! I mean, sure. That is acceptable if there is no other way.”

She kept her smile and turned with a sultry, fluid movement like she was a sheet of velvet in the breeze, with her tail swishing through the air after her. An unnerving smoothness filled her movements, a majesty in her voice that unsettled him. Gallus kept his eyes on the black stone of the floor before they found something else to focus on and followed her.

The door at the end of the corridor opened to a luxurious two-level lounge. Glasses clinked from the tables in front of a fancy bar, its glass counter gleamed under the white walls behind. A couple of griffons sat with their daughter at one of the black glass tables, sipping their drinks. Behind the counter, a black griffon lady waited, her professional attentiveness rendered her as still as a statue. Above the tables, a milky crystal orb hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft, cold light.

Down half-a-dozen steps, the lower level housed a fountain, but rather than a sprinkle of water, it had an internal lake made with river stones and a small, black storm cloud raining above. It filled the air with petrichor and made a calming rainy background noise until a lightning flashed and took over the lounge for an instant. Black iron and white leather made the furniture surrounding the fountain. Stylish and fancy, with a touch of luxurious and exotic, just like the image the evil bitch up north wanted the world to think of her.

A corridor in the back led into the rooms, and the wall above it held a painting of a griffon lady. One Gallus knew well. It was a bust of a white griffoness with a gradually darkening fluffy chest and black wings. Her white face showed very sharp and aquiline features, like most griffons, but fiercer, somehow. Gray eyes, full of arrogance, stared at him, and a cowl of black feathers rested behind her head. Finally, an obsidian beak turned with a coy smile. Behind her was a serene prairie dimly lit by the sun of the twilight hours. Gray mountain with the snowed peak dominated the background, sharing the sky with a dark storm.

Gallus squirmed, mumbling under his breath. “She’s getting so bold they’re hanging her on the damn walls now.”

“Was there anything you needed, Mister Galsius?” The red and pink griffoness asked from behind him.

Gallus cleared his throat. “No. Thank you very much. I’ll just sit here and wait.”

He failed to hold back a scoff as he made his way down the stairs and hopped onto the sofa and still held a displeased frown, but had to admit it was more comfortable than the bed in the ferry. His backpack left to rest next to him, Gallus kept his eyes on the steel and black glass table before him. A selection of fashion and real-estate magazines covered the table. A lightning in the trapped cloud cracked and filled the room with a flash again.

“Stupid gimmick…” Gallus mumbled to himself.

His eyes turned from the cloud and the internal lake. After a couple of minutes avoiding to stare at anything that annoyed him in that lounge—mostly everything—Gallus reached into his backpack and grabbed one of his comics to read. He had not read it yet, but focusing was difficult. His eyes kept escaping the pages to look at movements or noises that distracted him in the lounge.

Little bugs scurried around in the internal garden, plants bobbing under the drizzle. A poster hung from a wall, showing Gallus’ half-brother in all his aquiline glory, tan and white, powerful, majestic A. F. Most griffons might not even recognize the scratchy letters; it was a pandering note urging the smart and strong griffons to go north and join the Lion. Lord Gilad was going to fix Griffonia. A couple of lines below repeated the message, but in the Common Equestrian ideograms. Gallus silently scoffed at it and focused on the comic again. To think some griffons were dumb enough to think replacing their Chancellor with a king. Democratically elected chancellor, one should mention. His eyes rolled and, again distracted, drifted to the bar.

The family was still on the upper floor, enjoying their drinks and snacking. An entirely gray griffoness and her mate, a darker shade of gray, talked discreetly over their drinks and food. They looked like northerners… rugged, big. Almost feral. They probably had a farm nearby to be traveling this far south.

Their daughter had gone to the bar. Her pelt and plumage were a fortunate shade of gray that seemed to shimmer like silver in the internal magical lights. She stood with her hindlegs taut and showed a lithe figure of the kind to be found in those magazines Gallus was not supposed to look at. While her forelimbs supported her weight at the counter, she enthusiastically asked for something, and the tip of her tail flicked frenetically. Then her eyes met his. Her beak, made like a work of art in quicksilver, pulled with a sultry smile and she wagged her tail for him. Gallus quickly shifted his eyes back to the colorful images in his comic.

Next thing he knew, the griffon lady was prancing behind his seat and the silver, tufty tip of her tail licked the sofa and tickled his flank. She walked around the sofa while Gallus remained still, staring into his comic. She cradled a plate on her left wing, carrying little snacks of ham and honey that she then left on the table before climbing onto the sofa.

“Hello,” she said in the mostly forgotten High-Griffonese, only presently spoken in Snow Mountains and lost to most griffons in existence, with all its hisses and whistles. “I do not believe I have seen you here before.”

“I am Gracelyn of Brokenhorn. I don’t believe I have met you before.” She scooted closer to him with a sweltering smile. Her eyes inspected Gallus up and down with her growing smile. “Although I certainly should have.”

His eyes darted around the room, desperate to look at anything that wasn’t her because the comic wasn’t working anymore. He failed miserably; the warmth from her body absorbed him and filled his head with very adult thoughts. He stammered, both at a loss for what to say and rusty with his High-Griffonese. Probably blushing so hard while he didn’t dare look away from his comic anymore. “I’m a… Gal…sius. Galsius of Griffonstone.”

She giggled, but not like Silverstream would and much less like Skystar. She was also not the first to give Gallus such a stare, as Silverstream did that too, but also not like that. The lady next to him turned him into a piece of ham hanging from the ceiling for her to peck at. She held his shoulder and whispered silky, hissy, and whistly words at him. “Drop this silly pony thing and let us do something more spirited.”

Gallus hacked and stuffed the magazine inside his backpack he then slung over his shoulder. He quickly hopped off the sofa to flee. He was not dumb enough to think that was just innocent flirting… And proposing. And while tempted, he also considered his situation. He wanted out of that place. He would find a way to travel to Griffonstone. For now, he rushed his way around the sofa, ignoring whatsherface and her mewling pleas and excuses.

The older, red and pink griffoness intercepted Gallus at the top of the stairs. He didn’t even see where she had come from, but meant to walk around her, ignore her. Until she spoke. “I am terribly sorry for the delay, Mister Galsius. The teleporter is now functioning, and you will be at Griffonstone within minutes.”

Was it something in the way she spoke? The pure professionalism, or genuinely helpful manner? Suddenly, he was not so sure he ought to leave; he had paid already, after all. Thinking back to the rich couple back at Mount Aris, he had been overreacting, too. He gave the older griffoness an awkward smile and told her he was ready to leave and followed her through the corridor. He never gave the other so much as a backwards glance, though.

The other door in the corridor opened into the actual teleporter. It was a simple room with a round platform made of pink crystal and golden accents. It had rails around it and all sorts of crystal doohickeys in every color of the rainbow. Next to it was a crystal table with more colorful crystals and gems, along with dials, meters, and lights. A light brown and yellow griffon guy stood next to an orange unicorn scrutinizing the table and all its thingies.

With his backpack donned, Gallus climbed the steps and turned around even before his escort told him to. The unicorn sighed, and his horn lit with magic.

“Griffonstone… Please remain still. You may experience some nausea and disorientation, but it will pass momentarily. The staff at your destination will assist if necessary.” The unicorn spoke with the tired monotone of a thousand repetitions.

Before Gallus could ask if he was alright, his horn shone with amber magic. Everything took on a blinding shine and when it was over, a white and gray mare replaced the orange unicorn. She observed her set of instruments under the watch of a creamy white griffoness. Third on the room was a black and gray griffon frowning at Gallus, still standing on the platform.

“We have decoupled. Waveform returning to baseline.” The new unicorn piped.

The dark griffon approached Gallus as he stepped down. “Welcome. You are now at the Griffonstone teleporter facility. Wild North Teleportation thanks you for your preference. We have luxurious accommodations if you wish for—”

“No, thanks. I have my home.” Gallus interrupted while walking past the guy so fast as to be rude. Thankfully, he experienced none of the disorientation or nausea. He just wanted out of that place.

If the facility was the same as the other, he ought to know the way out. It was. A quick sprint took him to the grand hall behind the ticket desks. The exit was in sight and the way clear. The entire facility was all almost devoid of traffic or working griffons. A pair, wearing the Local Militia leather armor, stood watch by the abandoned ticket desks. Unsurprisingly, only one had a clerk sitting behind it.

Again, donning his busy face, Gallus beelined to the exit and walked past the guards, sparing the couple of law-enforcer griffons not a glance. He kept going and going until he made it outside and the teleporter facility plaza opened itself to him. And it was nothing like the one in Beachhome.

It smelled. The breeze carried a rancid, sweet smell that was not quite intrusive or strong. It simply remained to remind Gallus something smelled bad. Mounds of grime and discarded trash accumulated under the benches and by the planters with brown, withered plants. More alarming were the dirty griffons loitering around. Some wore torn clothes and dragged patchy blankets or just lied to sleep on dirty cardboard sheets under the elements. Gallus was sure one was sniffing something from a bottle, and it was probably bad because he blacked out immediately.

What should be a gift shop was a broken husk of a building. Glass shards still covered the stone pavement, and the masonry on the walls had black soot. What had happened there? Nothing good, that was for sure. That place looked like it wanted to hold Gallus with invisible paws and suffocate him in the thick air. He leaped and flew.

Veering towards the richer part of the town, things seemed nicer and much more normal. Griffon ladies wore fancy dresses and elaborate bonnets, talking in between the rich houses. Tuxedo wearing gentlegriffons walked up and down the sidewalks with their friends or female companions. Cubs played in their spacious backyards or chased balls and themselves down the street. Everything was clean and devoid of burned and destroyed structures. Some griffons greeted Gallus as they flew past. Nice carriages waited for their owners outside of the pubs and stores, well-groomed assistants sat patiently nearby. Others followed the pavement stone up the slope.

Gallus flew up to a plateau where the houses became a ring of mansions surrounding the inner streets which were themselves flanked by nice, not as opulent, houses. Cut stone was a privilege for civilian construction, and so were the ceramic tiles in the roof, but those marked Gallus’s destination. Memories of flying home with ice cream after school and of chasing friends under the afternoon sun returned with the sight of those roofs. He had finally reached his destination upon seeing the two-story brick and wood house in the middle of the others.

As politeness asked, he landed on the sidewalk and trotted with a grin past the open gate. It was shoulder-height—any cub could leap over it—existing for decorative purposes only. Gladly smiling, he pranced up the stone path, nickering that Grampa Gruff had let the grass grow out of control. Regardless, he knocked on the door and warbled.

“Grampa Gruff! It’s me! Gallus!” He waited patiently, but no answer came.

Nothing crashed to the floor or scratched as the grumpy griffon hurried to open the door. “Hello?”

The butterflies in his stomach chased away the warm nostalgia, but he knocked again. No answer. A frown crept into his cheery, then worried expression and he flew above the house. He could see no activity through the windows on the second floor, only furniture covered in white sheets. Gallus chuckled. Desperation had taken over his eyes as he justified it in his thoughts that Grampa Gruff was probably renovating. No answer from the backyard door. He flew to the front yard and knocked harder.

“Come on! This ain’t funny, you old jerk!” his voice strained and a sharp sob accompanied it.

Gallus sat before the door and chuckled with a forlorn, quickly withering grin. It would be alright. Grampa Gruff was probably just busy with something. Maybe he went to the market. Yes, that was it. There was no need to panic; just sit tight and wait. He should be back soon.

The dusk showed up before Grampa Gruff. With it came a quickly worsening cold. An old griffon in a blue uniform stopped before the fence. His gray feathers had lost their gray shine and took on the fading shade of old age. His blue eyes lit like the streetlamps he had been tending on his way up the street upon finding Gallus.

“Gallus?” he gasped. “Is that you?”

“Hello, Old Mister Grayson.” Gallus said with a smile, despite his chattering beak and chill clinging to his fur.

“Goodness gracious!” the old griffon smiled warmly. “It is delightful to see you again, Gallus. I hadn’t seen you since… the last vacations, was it? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I… I live here. Or I lived… I used to live here.” Gallus had hugged himself with forelimbs and wings, chuckled at his self-deceiving lie. “I’m just waiting for Grampa Gruff to come home.”

The old griffon, poking the gas lamp lit with his sparker stick, listened to Gallus, but shook his head once he succeeded. He spoke with a touch of worry in his tired voice. “There must be a mistake, son. Mister Gruff has moved from this house almost a month ago.”

“For real?” Gallus cried. The sarcastic anger almost warmed Gallus enough to flare his wings. He swore under his breath, though. “Oh, man! What now? Where did he go?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. You should leave the town, kid.” The old griffon let his cheerful expression melt into sadness. The happy marks of old age at the corner of his eyes turned bleak. “It is not friendly right now. In fact, you should not be out at night. The military and their northerner friends turned the city on itself. Some griffons have become desperate.”

“I… Ah…” the old griffon looked away. “I would offer you a place to stay, but my home burned down because of a fire in a warehouse the military had taken over to shoot their cannons at something. But I don’t think my daughter can afford to house another griffon.”

“It’s alright Mister Grayson.” Gallus smiled and steeled himself, standing from the floor and resting his wings along his flanks. “It was great seeing you. Later.”

He left his old home’s front yard and took the sidewalk, but he did not fly. He just didn’t want to walk in the same direction as Old Mister Grayson. In fact, Gallus never stopped to think about what he was going to do, much less where he was going. He simply wanted to be out of there. He only stopped after three blocks among the upper mid-class homes. Panting softly, he kicked his brain into thinking again.

Rather than his situation, he focused on the surrounding street. It worried him how so many of the houses he had grown up playing around had dark windows. Only a couple in the entire street shed light from their windows, and even then, through the curtains. Griffons were supposed to be getting ready for dinner. The smells of homemade food should be filling his nares along with the smoky tinge of the heating furnaces. He stopped and looked around. Not a soul shared the streets with him. Two streetlamps remained dark, and silence had claimed the cobblestone street. To make it all worse, the dark clouds lit with lightning and distant thunder echoed.

Crashing glass startled him. Further ahead, in the shade, a trio of griffons stood on someone’s lawn. They wore heavy clothes and one of them threw a brick at a window, shattering it whole in the second attempt. Another leaped inside and the first followed. The third looked at Gallus and drew a revolver from his heavy coat. The shock was all Gallus needed to leap into the air and fly in the opposite direction. Hiding behind the roofs, only stopping after he was out of that hill and with his paws firmly planted on the ground. Partially to catch his breath, but also because he was so cold from flying in the nightly chill.

There seemed to be a party going on, with griffons hanging around and talking. A few tables covered in tacky, fruit-themed sheets had bowls smelling of alcohol and fruits while stands sufficed for griffons buying and selling… What were they negotiating? A griffon lady in shades of green and wearing a blue and green feathered headdress walked past him. Her tail wrapped around and pulled a grinning guy’s neck as she led him into a closed booth.

“Oh, man…” Gallus winced.

A tan and white griffon lady with a similarly large headdress of colorful feathers approached him. Another two followed. Her visage was heavy with strong colors for makeup, but her green eyes offered him some worry as he caught his breath again.

“Are you lost, sweetie?” The first asked, smiling, but her breath carried a strong smell of alcohol that almost made Gallus retch. He took a couple of steps back. “You look cold.”

The other giggled. Purple and a soft shade of green, her feathers also had green highlights that her headdress mimicked, wavering to one side and the other. She too talked to him, with a slurred voice, and ruffling wings. “One-twenty Bits and I can warm you, deary!”

The third shoved the second and her inane giggling to the side with her body. “Cadance’s mane, Gemma. He is a chick.”

Chastised, the second shrugged, getting her giggling under control. Not the stench in her breath. “Looks mature enough, to be fair. And I’m just talking about cuddling!”

“I… Ah… Gotta go,” Gallus told them, frowning and stepping away again. “Excuse me.”

He was not rude, Gallus would have said, but swiftly walked around them and ignored tan’s pleas that she wanted to help. Where the heck had he ended up? Still shaken by what he had just witnessed and confused by the dark buildings, and even avoiding drunk griffons everywhere, he tried taking stock of where he was.

Around the plaza, the streets were dark with the lack of functioning public illumination and the privacy walls covered in cheap fake plants helped none. Someone had set up a weird sort of carnival with large leaves and vines hanging from a folding screen. There were soft fruits everywhere, most of them fake, along with cheap torches for lighting and cheap fake trees.

Then he saw the decorated sheets hid lewd griffons, kissing, touching each other. He pressed his step to come out of that place until he finally saw salvation. A hotel on the other side of the street. Why not? It had a decent-looking decoration, and the teleporter was probably closed. Gallus decided not to further test his luck that night. Most importantly, the hotel had no degenerate griffons doing dirty stuff in the open, that was for sure. The frowning, seething, young griffon guy by the entrance was a good sign inside was safer.

As soon as Gallus untangled himself from all the smells of filth and alcohol, and awful music with horny-jail worthy sounds, almost like he popped out of that mess, the griffon in front of the hotel’s entrance grinned. They greeted each other as soon as the griffon resumed his grumpy expression upon Gallus’s approach, but it was too late.

“Greetings. The neighborhood used to be… hum… cleaner, but there’s been a raise in lazy bums and the local militia says they have bigger problems than ‘a few hookers trying to survive’. Of course, except nobody wants to travel anymore and the ones who do will not come to a hotel with a feathering red lantern right outside the doors.”

“I’ll bet,” Gallus retorted, following the other griffon into the building.

It was more like a big house than someone renovated to accommodate griffons in need of lodging. He had ended up on the edge of one of the commercial zones in town, on the way to the teleporter. What mattered was that he was inside and safe.

The living room turned into reception and had a desk next to the stairs. Once behind, the owner turned around and eyed Gallus with a malcontent frown. “Are you… How old are you?”

“For real?” Gallus glared at him.

The owner was quite young, although certainly an adult. Covered with an orange pelt and yellow feathers with no outstanding characteristics other than his accusatory glare at Gallus. “There are laws…”

“I’m fifty Bits old, pal,” Gallus growled, pointing at the sign with the prices. All rooms were fifty Bits, a testament that all rooms ranked ‘premium’, and a meal was twenty-five. “What? Are you gonna kick me out of your lame guesthouse? It’s night outside!”

“Fine! Fine! Just buy a dinner too, alright?” the owner rolled his eyes. “My wife’s gotta earn her money, too.”

“Deal!” Gallus grinned.

What that earned Gallus was a subpar room, but a room. Located opposite to the entrance, so he couldn’t hear the ‘partying’ outside. Dinner was not so bad either, and delivered to his room. A juicy chicken breast with tomato and fine herbs sauce, well above expectations for that place. The bath was good enough, especially since he had a magical shower. Gallus even felt bad for the owner. He really was trying, only the economy wasn’t helping. He was one of those griffons that stayed with Griffonia through its worse and he could admire that, after calling him an idiot. But Gallus refrained from thinking about that. He had his own problems to deal with. Looking inside his pouch of coins, he fished one-hundred-fifty-five Bits out of it, and those should be enough for him to teleport to Ponyville in the morning.

He went to bed, but sleep didn’t come quickly. He wondered what had happened to Grampa Gruff. Gallus had known him since an early age, and growing up, Grampa Gruff was the closest thing to a father he had. Although, more like an educator, a grumpy one, but that did like Gallus. They played well off each other.

He had told Gallus everything. That his mother was a northerner noble lady, and his half-brother was ‘the Lord of the Black Gates’. His father was another noble his mother had dated after her original mate died. More importantly, that Gallus’ half-brother was the ruler. Officially, as far as Canterlot and Griffonstone were concerned, the governor for Snow Mountains hold. The northerners treated him as the king. There were some feudal obligations. Ancient pacts. Weird exceptions. Northerner griffon nonsense Gallus wanted nothing to do with.

His brother had sent Gallus to live in the south after their mother died in his birth. It was not like he had abandoned Gallus and Gruff in Griffonstone, though. Their money came from his half-brother. It afforded them a very comfortable life, even when Griffonia’s problems started. And it was not like Gallus lived isolated, either. He visited his older brother growing up. He even had fun learning about the northerner traditions and helped big brother in a hunt once. It was just those never sat with Gallus, as something he’d want to get involved in.

Gallus liked his older brother. Gallus liked Grampa Gruff, like… a father? Maybe not that much. Gallus was always kind of alone, but he sure liked Gruff as his guardian. And his brother, as you would love a brother, they just had to live apart because Gilad wanted an easier life for Gallus than hunting monsters and living under the eternal winter. It was only after his brother married—or mated, as the northerners would say—his wife that things got… awkward.

She had insisted Gallus stayed in the north and mated a ‘proper northerner lady when he came of age’. She wanted him prepared for some grandiose vision of hers. Her ideas never sat right with Gallus, and she scared him from the first time he had seen her. But the last time he saw her, he was terrified.

It was supposed to be an innocent trip to know the ‘oldest griffon city in the world’. For a school project. Gallus had taken Skystar and Silverstream to see Griffindell, but his brother was not there. He was busy dealing with a host of monsters. That is what the northerners did: they hunted monsters. Unfortunately, that left Gwendolen alone. And, alone, Lady Gwendolen was… Deranged. Gallus and the two hippogriff fillies swore to never speak of it again.

In the dark of his room, far from the noises in the plaza, Gallus let out a long and tired yawn. Yeah, it was better for everyone involved if he stayed away, and instead of worrying about the crazy north, he accommodated his head on the ‘okay’ pillow. Let his body relax on the ‘good’ mattress. That time tomorrow, he’d be at Ponyville. It wouldn’t be ideal, but that would be good enough.

Thunder crackled above. The small blue griffon found himself in a much too large room. Tall windows wept with thick lines of water continuously running down the glass. The flash of lightning broke the absolute darkness outside and instants later thunder rattled the windows. A massive door stood before him and kept the storm outside, but the flashes of lightning crawled underneath. The planks of the cedar flooring shone under the light of the storm, but a thick dust ruined the varnishing and attacked his nares. Sets of furniture laid on the sides, out of the way and under stained white sheets. The corridor to the kitchen, laundry and office threatened to swallow the tiny griffon with its impenetrable black.

With his tiny beak open, he frantically looked at the covered furniture and at the chandelier, which also hid under sheets. Lighting flashed again; thunder rattled windows. A piercing cry shattered the dark. The shade of a monster prowled outside; its ruffled feathers shone through the windows and its shadow entered beneath the door.

“Oh no! Oh, my feathers, no!” His tail slipped between his legs and under his stomach, his trembly legs carried him backwards. “Princess Luna! Help!”

Lightning blinded him. The monster cried again with the thunder. A pure fury that locked his joints and filled his stomach with butterflies. Silence, and then three polite knocks echoed into the room and chilled his blood.

“Go away!” he shrieked. His tiny wings flared, and his meek feathers ruffled.

The doors shook with violence, threatening to fly from the hinges and exploding into splinters. She screeched outside, yelling at him.

“Silence these filthy words! Speak the language of your kind!” he understood her sharp voice that almost sang the words. It startled the miniature griffon so much he jumped with a squeal and collapsed under his little wings. Her wrath passed, though.

“I have found my beautiful wayward child!” Her overexcited voice filtered through the door, soft and sing-songy as the High-Griffonese was while talons scratched at the door. “Let me in! I want to look at you!”

“My mom died when I was born!” he shot back at her, angry, shrill, despite obeying and speaking the same language. “You are not my mom!”

All the scratching stopped. The sudden silence grasped at his stomach.

“Oh. Does my little plume wish to be left alone then? Queen Novo has abandoned you. Princess Twilight Sparkle has more important matters to worry about than a feisty griffon tom. Your companions have their own matters to mind, each with their own people. Your old acquaintances will not harbor a teenager griffon who eats like an adult and works like a cub. Now, look at you, my little plume. You have scorned your heritage and the customs of your kind, and now you shun your Mother when I welcome you under my wings. Fine then. You are a big griffon. Be alone, then.”

Silence. Only the rain pelted the glass, and a tiny blue griffon wept in the dark.

Singing birds woke Gallus, and the sunlight through the window warmed him under the creamy sheets. He could remember dreaming about something, but could not remember what to save his life. He had no time to waste and spent none before getting prepared to go to the teleporter. Hopefully, leaving Griffonstone would be no problem, and after learning that his stay did not include breakfast, he just walked out the hotel’s doors.

The square was a mess with broken wooden panels, the remains of a fireplace, and more used condoms than he cared to count. With abundant sunlight and lacking armed griffons or hookers, he could see his estimate of last night was close enough. That was Cottoncove Street, one of the many streets that joined King Grover Avenue, connecting his plaza with the teleporter in the richer, nicer areas of town. Rather than fixating on how badly that all could have ended, Gallus pressed his step. A short walk should take him to the teleporter facility.

An uneventful walk took him to the same dirty, dilapidated, and abandoned plaza before the richly adorned and pristinely maintained teleporter facility. For better or worse, the fancy glass doors were open. Gallus walked in, more annoyed than worried, swiveling his head constantly. At least nobody seemed to look for him. The local militia griffons in their leather armor barely paid him any attention and all the passersby griffons worried more about dodging the beggars and the filth.

Once inside, he found the lounge empty. Almost. There was a single, solitary griffon lady behind the counter for Wild North Teleportations. Of course, all the other companies had evacuated their personnel from that dumb city. He should have followed their example, but that was a mistake he was about to rectify.

Gallus groaned and stomped his way to the counter with the cute green and pink griffoness watching him, only to pipe a happy greeting. “Greetings! Welcome to Wild North Teleportations! We thank you for your preference!”

Gallus could appreciate sarcastic humor. Just not in that situation, or when others directed it at him. With both being the case, he restrained his bad mood and slammed his coin pouch at the desk. “I’m going to Ponyville.”

“Of course, sir.” The attendant pipped again and began counting the coins. “I am terribly sorry, but this is not sufficient. Teleportation out of Griffonstone to Ponyville is five-hundred Bits. You only have one-fifty-five.”

This one didn’t even ask for his identification.

“Twist the knife, will you?” He told the irritatingly well-mannered griffon lady. “You can buy an airship trip straight there for five hundred!”

He could swear he saw a griffon staring at him as the light bounced off the glass pane with the company’s name.

“Well, you can buy an economic class ticket with your money…” the attendant responded politely.

“Fine.” He groaned, taking the money from the desk and went on his way outside.

That was why they let him leave the lounge back in Beachhome. Gallus grimaced and frowned; his throat closed with fear. They had him ever since he stepped inside the teleporter at Beachhome. But screw them! He would not give up. Gallus was going to the airdocks to get an airship ticket, or he was going to fly all the way to Ponyville if he had to. He would fight them! He would…

The light was playing tricks on his eyes. He could swear he saw ‘her’ in the glass doors of the facility. White and black, with an arrogant smile in her glossy beak and her crown of black feathers standing like the crest on a cub with a new toy.

“Feather’s sake… I’m seeing things now!” he growled and shook his head.

Walking out of the glass doors, a pair of griffons blocked his path. Gallus was not small, but they were monsters compared to him. Both wore the green jacket of the Griffonian Standing Army and carried revolvers on their shoulders.

“Ah, excuse me.” He said with a frown and tried walking around them, but one of them held his shoulder.

A grim-looking griffon, tan and white, with deep gray eyes and not a shred of softness in him. He spoke with a serious tone that brokered no games. “You are Gallus. Gallus of Griffonstone. No?”

“No, I’m Gallus of Getthefuckoutofmywayville!” He tried pulling away, but it was like trying to yank open a fortress door with his bare paws, even after he held the griffon’s forelimb with his own. “What the feather! Let me go!”

“Listen, son.” The other griffon, a slightly shorter and less grim griffon of white feathers and gray pelt, murmured to him. “Some powerful griffons want you to go see them. Since we care about our jobs, our families and our lives, we’re gonna make you if we must. Now, I have cubs, and I don’t want to hurt you. Neither does Gunther here, but… These are tough times. Let’s not make a scene.”

He grimaced again and his options came to him in a flurry of ridiculous suggestions from biting that guy to making a scene, and he was about to accept the latter. Another griffon came to them, laughing jovially and trotting easily, drawing attention to him, yelling. Making a scene.

“Whoa, hey! Nice job guys, I’ll take it from here. I’m sure our nation’s fine military has more important birds to catch than a kid traveling on his own.” He laughed. “Right?”

“Sir, please do not interfere.” Grim said and raised his right paw, going towards his holstered revolver.

“What’s that? We should take him to the local militia? Why, I absolutely agree, they are the ones meant to deal with lost kittens, after all. Am I right, my fellow griffons-in-arms?”

Either by luck or because that guy really knew what he was doing, the griffons minding their business or walking around the plaza started to paying attention to what was going on there. They stopped walking and glared, judgmental creatures that griffons were, assuming the worst and giving proper stares. Just as planned. It worked. The two grunts let go of Gallus and made a hasty retreat.

“Come on, kid.” Gallus’ rescuer slash new abductor called and gestured for him to follow.

Gallus followed the griffon, but was not sure why. He was a nice, swell-looking guy covered in cyan and white. Either a cool dude or a complete idiot to stick his neck for some griffon he had never seen in his life. Gallus supposed he needed an idiot at that moment, anyway.

“You are putting this griffon in danger, Gallus. Things would be much easier had you chosen to go with the soldiers.” A voice in his head told him sternly, like a mother whose cub disobeyed her, and Gallus ignored it. He was not ready to go crazy yet.

Comments

[Dufa]

Really enjoying this fic. I appreciate how hard you commit to showing gallus's journey, and the detail used to describe the locations. It's immersive!

I haven't read your other fics but the lack of context isn't a bad thing, I'm right there with Gallus and Gabby's confusion; moreso, I'm intrigued. It'll be interesting reading this after taking a look at your other work.

[Metemponychosis]

11842576
I'm glad it worked. And yes, the lack of context really works for this story since the two were mostly away from the rest of the AU.

[Jinnchin]

Genuinely impressed by how well you write "frightened teenager" here. Gallus knows just enough to understand he's in deep sh*t, but not enough to actually avoid the deep sh*t. Here's hoping his new "friend" isn't just going to make things worse!

And because I just can't resist tossing in yet another crazy fan theory, I'm going to take a stab and say Grampa Gruff is or was a member of the Blackfeather legion. Or at the very least ex-military!

[new55]

That was a good chapter.

[Metemponychosis]

11844143
I'm gonna respect your right to make crazy theories and not say anything.

11844402
I'm glad you liked it. As always, that is the goal.