• Published 24th Nov 2012
  • 11,824 Views, 224 Comments

Heart of Gold, Feathers of Steel - Nicknack



Gilda-centric retelling of "Griffon the Brush Off"

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Chapter Seven

I woke up in the dark, feeling like I had lost a fight. Both sides of my face throbbed, my wings were stiff, and when I stood up, I was met with searing pain in my right hand. That one made me remember everything from yesterday: the visit, the... fight, and then the trip home. I had gotten back around noon; now it was in the middle of the night, and I still felt tired.

On top of everything, my mouth felt like sand. I didn’t want to go out into the Jägerwald so late at night, but then my bladder spoke up and reminded me that I had been asleep for over twelve hours.

The trip to and from my pond was quick and sore, but I was too groggy to feel the pain as anything but an echo in a cloudy fog. When I got back to my cave, I fell asleep quickly.

The next time I woke up, it was daylight. I headed down to my pond again; that time, I felt a wave of nausea from hunger. Then, the thought of killing something made me lose my appetite. It was something of a benefit, given the situation; without anything else to do, I went back up to my cave and back to sleep.

That cycle repeated itself for a while; wake up, drink, go back to sleep. Sometimes it was daylight, sometimes it was nighttime.

I was never hungry, though. Every time I thought of food, I remembered Dash underneath me, straining against my grip, crying in despair. I reminded myself about our friendship, about how it was a “new beginning,” but it didn’t feel like that now I was back in my cave, alone. In fact, it really just felt like I had been kicked out of a second society until I fulfilled an arbitrary request...

Every time I thought about it, I just felt more and more helpless. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to go back and apologize to everyone, either. I felt trapped, and that just made me hunker down and do as little as possible.

Days passed—the sun kept setting and rising—and my head got less sore and my wings loosened up. I was physically healing from my trip to Ponyville.

Then, one time, I woke up to a sickening odor.

It was a scary sort of smell; griffins couldn’t really smell all that well, and I hadn’t noticed anything before I went to sleep. I found the source when I moved my hand and felt a burning, itching pain. I looked at it; the spots where my talons had pierced it during my too-rushed a fist were now swollen and red. When I flexed my hand, the scabs on the back split open, and clear liquid flowed out.

I stared at my infected hand for a few moments, trying not to freak out and come up with a plan. My mind went back to Father’s lessons, but his only bits of healing had been about preventing infection. Plus, those herbs were hard to find, only grew in a completely different part of the Jägerwald than where I was, and I didn’t want to risk attracting a predator’s attention if I smelled sick.

I thought about burning the infection out, but I didn’t really have access to fire or metal for cauterization; I also didn’t know if that would work for an infection.

The idea of metal made me think of Farrington. I also thought about my coin sack, which held a small fortune of Equestrian bits. I could afford medicine, even if I had no idea whether or not their stuff would work with me.

Outside my cave, it was dangerously late in the day; a trip to the city would mean I’d be racing against nightfall to get home, and I hated trying to find my cave at night. Still, Farrington was my best choice; someone there would be able to help me. They got me through what Father did to me, anyway.

There wasn’t anything else to wait around for, so I put my coin sack on, headed to the mouth of my cave, and took off to the north.

* * *

When I landed outside the city, the usual booth guy stared at me with a slightly confused look, but he didn’t say anything. I stared back for a moment, then asked, “What?”

“Your back.”

I craned my neck around to check my shoulders and spine; I was a little disheveled, but it was my hand that needed attention. I turned back to the wall guard. “What about it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Then why bring it up? I bit back the retort and started walking into the city on three limbs. And what day is it, anyway?

“Are you hurt?”

I looked back at the guard; his usual stoic expression was back, but I figured he’d at least be able to point me in the right direction. I waved my right hand. “Kind of.”

He nodded, then did something I didn’t expect: he turned around and disappeared into the back of his booth. I stood there, not sure what I was waiting for; after what felt like a long time, a door on the inside of the gateway opened up, and the guard beckoned me over to him.

I hobbled along and asked, “Wait, they let you leave your box?”

He grinned. “I was almost due for a break when you showed up.”

When I got over to him, I realized, for the first time in years, that he was a good half foot taller than me. I had to look up at him when I responded, “Well, don’t waste it on me.”

All he did was shrug. “Part of being a guard is helping individuals.” He bent down and looked closer at my hand. “Where is this wound from?”

I reeled, trying to decide how much to tell a complete stranger. “I... messed up, and made a fist too hard.”

“During your fight?”

“How...” The guard pointed at my chest and I looked down; a brown splotch of dried blood was on the feathers. Dash’s blood. I swore mentally; that was going to leave a stain. Then again, maybe I deserved it. “Yeah, during my fight.”

He nodded, then we walked through the arch. When he saw I was having a hard time keeping up, he slowed down. “I’m sorry about our roads.”

A quick glance out into the street showed me that several ponies were already staring at me. I shrugged. “Whatever. You didn’t pave them.”

Silence fell, then a few steps later, he asked, “But if I may ask, what was your fight over?”

Inside, I chuckled. We were only a minute into the first conversation we’d ever had, and he was already asking about deep, private things? “Personal stuff,” I muttered, hoping he’d get the hint.

“The best ones usually are.” I puzzled over that one, trying to figure out if it were either deep or common sense. Then, we stopped walking. “Fortunately enough for you, this isn’t the first stab wound I’ve ever seen.”

I turned and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He looked down his chin at me with a soft smirk. “The day that no member of the Farrington Guard is at risk of personal injury will be a fine one indeed.”

“I guess, but that’s what the armor’s for, right?”

He nodded. “That’s part of it. Anyway, your claw doesn’t look too far gone; I can patch you up in my office if you want to avoid going all the way to the hospital.”

With a shrug, I asked, “Where’s your office?”

He gestured to the building on our right. I had passed it probably a dozen times in the past year, but this was the first time I had looked at it closely; what surprised me was that, barring some misleading nooks and crannies, it spanned all the way from the wall to the first street that intersected the main one we were on.

Still, it beat a trip all the way north to the hospital. “You’re the stab wound expert,” I resigned with a shrug. “Lead the way.”

We walked up a small stone staircase and through a pair of heavy-looking doors—the guard held one open for me—and into a small, empty room. It wasn’t exactly sparse, but the main decoration in the room was a currently-vacant desk, followed by an empty fireplace. Two doors were on the left and right walls, near the back wall, and the guard led toward the left one.

The next room was slightly more vibrant; there were six desks, and three had a silver-armored guard sitting behind them—for a moment. As soon as my escort walked through the door, they all stood up and saluted him; when he returned the gesture, they sat back back down.

I followed my guard to a door on the opposite side of the room; once we were in the next room, he closed the door behind us. He walked further into the cramped office, but I stayed near the doorway and looked around. The sheer amount of books, stacks of papers, and maps of the city gave it a cozy, worked-in feeling. I saw a clock next to a calendar and commented, “So, this is your office...” I saw a little plaque on his desk. “Captain Iron Bulwark of the Farrington Guard?”

He chuckled. “Just Captain Bulwark will do.”

I nodded, and Just Captain Bulwark started to clear off his desktop. When he finished, he opened a little cabinet behind his desk and grabbed a white, metal box with his mouth. Then, he dropped it on the desk, opened it, and pulled out a small, white ball with a nozzle on top. “May I shee your hand?” he asked through his teeth.

Suddenly, my doubt got the better of me and I blurted out, “Why?”

He blinked. “Sho that... sho that I may treat it.”

I shook my head. “Not that. I mean, why help me? All I ever get in this city is crap and weird looks. So, what makes you different?”

His confusion left behind a slightly sad expression in his eyes, and he set the medical thing down on his desk. “I apologize for any difficulties you’ve faced in my city. But right now, I’m trying to help you. Is that so hard for you to take at face value?”

Without thinking, I shot back, “Yeah.”

He pointed to the white orb. “What do you think this is?” I shrugged and flared my eyes. He continued, “Do you honestly think that we keep poison hidden away for special occasions? This is a special blend of herbs that have been time-tested—”

“Okay, so it’s the real deal. And it’ll help with this...” I shook my hand. “But why?” I repeated. “Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.”

Captain Bulwark put his elbows on his desk and tapped his hooves together under his chin. “I know more about you than you’d think, Gilda.”

The bottom of my stomach dropped a few feet, and I fought to stand my ground. He knew my name? We’d never talked, except for our short exchanges at the gate. “H... how? How do you know...”

He went on like he hadn’t heard me. “At least, I’m aware of some of your actions in this city, and I’ve picked up on certain things over the years—and today.” With a shrug, he went on, “I don’t know what tragedies befell you in your homeland, but you wear them like armor, convincing yourself that you’re better than those around you, who can’t possibly have suffered as much as you.” He scoffed. “You accuse my city of being unwelcoming and prejudiced, but when was the last time you made an effort to be friendly to anyone here?”

I stood there, speechless for a moment; I was still reeling over how he knew my name. Then his words sank in. They weren’t all crap, either, which was a little creepy—and sad. But mostly creepy. “Yeah, well, what do you know? You live in a box.”

“I live in a home...” he corrected. “A home I remember being called out from the night a griffin crash-landed in the Market Square.” He put one hoof down at the elbow of the other, which he turned upside-down. “But as for your sense of superiority, one only has to look at how you treat those you have authority over. Have you checked your mail recently?”

Gaahh...” I hissed quietly. “Stupid mail clerk.”

He heard. “I believe she prefers ‘Maxie.’”

I glared flatly, “What, is she your girlfriend or something?”

“Sister.”

“Ah.” I shut my beak and tried to think of what exactly was happening: I was in the office of some stranger, who had apparently been keeping tabs on me for years, and he was now... Insulting me? Giving me advice? “So... what? You’re not going to fix this...” I waved my hand. “Because I don’t say ‘hi’ to everyone?”

He mouthed up the little medical orb from his kit and waved me over. I walked to his desk and put my hand on it, and he sprayed some weird blue foam on the wound. It was cool and tingled, but it didn’t burn like any of Father’s remedies. “Other shide,” he muttered, and I flipped my hand over, making a loose fist. When he had applied the blue stuff, he spat the container in the garbage, got a roll of bandages out of the box, and wrapped up my hand with a surprising amount of speed and dexterity, given his hooves. Then he pulled a little bottle out of the kit and slid it over to me. “Drink this.”

Like hell! I almost shouted. Treating the wound itself was one thing, but why would something need to be drank? I pulled my hand back and asked, “What is it?”

My question received a sad smile. “You are nothing if not consistent. So, to answer that, let me ask you...” He gestured at the armor he was wearing. “What do you think this is?”

“Armor.”

He paused for a moment and stared flatly. “I meant, what metal?”

That was an easy one, too. My tribe hadn’t really been one for shiny things, especially gems and metals that were too soft to be useful for anything. “Gold,” I answered with a little nod. Pointing my back finger at the door behind me, I added, “And those guys were wearing silver. Kind of a weak choice for armor, but I guess you use the better, cheaper stuff for the guys out in the street.”

Again, he nodded. “Farrington’s bounty is in the huge deposits of iron ore that lie below our mountain. So yes, steel is ‘better and cheaper.’ But...” He rapped his chest. “This is just gilded; gold on top of steel.” He pointed his hoof at me. “I believe you are the exact opposite. Beneath your hard exterior, I think there’s something more to you, something you protect. But if you gild the inside of armor, it’s worth less, because it then needs more care and maintenance for something that never gets to see the light of day.”

I could see his point, but I didn’t know what he was getting at. “So, what, put myself out there for the world to see and spit on? No thanks.”

He shook his head. “What I meant was, you have strength. However, you hone that strength as a sword. A sword is only as good for defense as you are at attacking. Better would be to use that strength to build a stronger Gilda. Then, you could let the world see who you are—the good parts of who you are—and when the world comes with arrows and swords, as is its wont, you’ll be able to withstand.”

The hell is a ‘wont?’ It didn’t matter. “So, you’re saying I should go learn some lessons on how to be something better than a disgrace? Sorry, been there, done that—”

“Don’t put words in my mouth...” he warned, with a little anger underlining the words.

I raised my bandaged hand. “Fine, that’s not what you said. But still, the answer’s ‘No thanks.’”

“So you’re content with your life?”

His words cut right to the bone. I didn’t know if he knew how little I had in my life, or if he knew how I was probably going to go back to my cave and sleep for another week or month or so. Given how much he already knew, it wouldn’t surprise me. I blew a sigh out the side of my mouth and shook my head. “What else is there?”

“Join my Guard.” He said it as if it were that simple.

After my gut aversion wore off, I considered it for a moment. A job in Farrington would be something to do with my time, true, but there were probably a million and one things I could do in Farrington that didn’t involve walking around wearing a dorky metal suit.

Then again, the guy in front of me didn’t seem like he was completely full of it, either. So I asked, “Why?”

He looked straight back at me. “I remember an individual who was in a similar situation to you, believe it or not. A hard life, no safety, no security... for them, the Guard offered stability, and a sense of duty. I don’t think that you would hurt from having either of those in your life.”

“Okay, so why...” I turned my head to the side with a little shake. I didn’t want to keep asking.

“Why help you?” he asked warmly. “I will admit that I have my own reasons.” I looked back, intrigued, and he smiled. “But I’ll only tell you that they’re mostly in your best interest, not mine.” He pushed the little bottle of medicine—or poison, for all I knew—over to the edge of the desk. “So that will be your first step, then. Can you trust that some individuals in this world don’t specifically wish to hurt you?”

I looked at the small, glass bottle. It was filled with a red liquid, but there wasn’t a label on it. I looked up at the stallion who was helping me; he was still grinning, but it was warm and waiting. He’d let me make my decision, I knew, so I weighed the options.

If he were telling the truth, maybe I’d like being a guard. Maybe ponies would get used to me, and I’d get used to them. Maybe I’d get to know some of the other guards, maybe we’d be friends, and maybe, there’d be something in it for me. Maybe.

If he were lying... I chuckled. I’d be in for hardship and pain, rejection, and being an outcast. In short, exactly where I was now.

“So why’d I be a good guard?” I asked. Sure, he was captain, but he probably had to answer to someone if I were a screw up.

“The strength I think I see in you,” he answered. “If I’m wrong, there’s a training period that you’ll fail, and I’ll only suffer mild embarrassment and the self-righteousness and prejudices of a few others.”

“Yeah, but what if I screw up and like kill somebody?” I blurted out.

His smile evaporated, he tapped his hooves together again, and he glared. I could’ve sworn the room got a few degrees colder. “You would not escape this city. And you would face justice.” He paused. “I understand you have a history of violence. But is that something I need to be aware of?”

“N-no,” I answered. Stupid beak, stop shaking.

His expression got considerably more neutral, to my relief. “Understand that there are consequences for your actions,” he warned. “And understand that being a guard is hard work, with little thanks unless you see the merit in being part of something larger than you are. There are rules, regulations, and laws that you will be expected to uphold.”

I nodded. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

He raised a bemused eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re accepting the position?”

All of a sudden, hunger caught up with me in a stabbing, grasping pain. According to the clock, it was almost seven-thirty, but looking at his calendar reminded me that I didn’t know what day it was. Standing there, not having eaten for days, made me realize I didn’t want to “live” like that, letting massive amounts of time just passed me by.

I turned back to Captain Bulwark, grabbed his bottle, and drained it in one swallow. It fizzed going down, and it left me full of pleasant warmth. “Yeah. It does.”

He smiled at me. “Well then, Gilda. The hour is growing late.” He stepped out from behind his desk and over to his office’s door. “Your first shift will be this coming Monday, at eight o’ clock.” I gave him a flat stare and he chuckled. “Today is Wednesday. As of now, if you reconsider, I don’t have anything to hold you to. But if you mean to see this through... again, Monday, at eight o’ clock. Meet me at the south gate. Don’t be late, and...” He brushed his armored chest with a hoof. “Clean yourself up. There’s a shop, three blocks west, that should sell what you need.”

With a nod, I turned to face him. “Monday at eight. I’ll be here.”

He extended a hoof. “Welcome to the Guard, Cadet Gilda.”

I looked at it, then back at him. Then I shook his hoof. It was firm, sincere, and in it, I felt the essence of a new beginning. I still wasn’t sure that it wasn’t a huge mistake, or that everything wasn’t going to come crashing down around me, but at the same time, I wanted to believe in it. In him. “Thank you, Captain Bulwark.”

He only smiled and opened his door to lead me out of the Guard’s headquarters. After that, I went to go make some preparations for the coming week.

* * *

South of Farrington, I landed next to the huge lake. To my left, the sun low on the horizon, setting the entire sky ablaze with flames of pink and red. The evening air was cool, and a breeze formed little waves on the lake’s surface.

Across the lake, the Jägerwald stood thick with trees and ominous darkness. Even though I was over a mile away from it, I half-expected something to come leaping out of it at me.

Instead of worrying about potential attackers, I closed my eyes and thought what I was there, sitting by the lake, for.

I had hurt Dash.

Sure, I had barely managed to stop myself before I went too far, but what about next time? Would I be able to stop myself then? Plus—I thought back to Stormglider—Dash was lucky; her injuries would eventually heal.

Opening my eyes, I leaned forward and peered at my reflection. I thought I looked the same, but when I met my eyes, there was something in there that scared me.

A history of violence...

Captain Bulwark’s offhanded comment made me think back to the few times that Father had mentioned his father. Given how Father said he was comparatively merciful and how I didn’t have any aunts on that side of my family, it wasn’t too hard to imagine what my grandfather had been like.

Then again, I never met the guy. He hadn’t lived in Sharfkral-Grat while I was growing up, and Father wasn’t exactly an open book in terms of information that he wasn’t pounding into me. However, if my grandfather had raised my father to be what he was, that meant Father could’ve just as easily raised me into something like that.

I looked away from my reflection and shook my head. There was more to it than that, and I knew it.

Still, I couldn’t help but imagine, thirty-some odd years ago, my father weighing himself against his father. He had chosen his path; now, what was I going to do? I had a job, I guessed, but I also had to make sure I didn’t end up maiming someone in the process—especially my friends.

With that in mind, I set down my shopping bag and pulled a small bottle of “Tea Brown” dye. I glared at it, hating its necessity. But it’d keep me from ever making the same mistake again.

As I read the instructions, I imagined what I would look like with a huge mark on my chest. “Ugly” was the first word that came to mind. The dye would cover up Dash’s bloodstains, but it would also cover up my little purple spots feathers. Growing up, I had always felt a little special to have them; I got them from my mother, who was from the Sterkergeist, so not a lot of others had them.

A lump swelled at the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard. I liked my spots. They reminded me of my sisters. But I needed a reminder of what I had done to Dash, of what I needed to stop doing. It was the only way I could make sure that I broke my family’s “history of violence.”

Dying myself was easy enough: apply, leave on for fifteen minutes, then rinse. There were some warnings like, “Do not drink,” but I ignored them and popped open the bottle; I was violent, not stupid.

The smell of chemicals burned my eyes. I didn’t have a brush or any sort of applicator, so with a shrug, I poured some of it onto my non-bandaged hand and started smearing it on my feathers. After I got Dash’s blood covered up, I shrugged; the dye itself was a symbol, so there was no reason I couldn’t make it look presentable.

With a few more smears, I now had a stripe, running from shoulder to shoulder, dipping down and making a “V” shape. The edges were a bit sloppy and it wasn’t quite symmetrical, but it would remind me, every day, of what I was capable of. What I had almost done.

What I could never do.

That knowledge was strangely comforting. Yeah, I had hurt Dash, but at the same time, even in the middle of a primal, rage-filled nervous breakdown, our friendship meant enough to me that I could stop myself.

While I waited for the dye to set, I washed off my hand as well as I could. That ended up staining my other hand’s bandage a deep brown color. Luckily, I had thought ahead in the store; I had some more bandages, some wound-cleaning stuff, and an alarm clock so I’d be ready and in Farrington on Monday, at eight o’ clock.

My thoughts drifted to the upcoming week, and what it would bring. I didn’t know anything about being a guard, let alone being a member of pony society. I didn’t know any of their laws or rules; heck, all things considered, I had a very slim understanding of their whole culture.

The more I thought about it, the less I knew about what to expect from the whole thing. The only thing I could be certain of was that I’d have to figure it out as I went along.

I hoped that there’d be something in it for me.

When I felt like fifteen minutes had passed, I jumped into the lake and rinsed off the remaining dye. Back on dry land, I checked my new stripe out. Right away, I saw the benefit of how, when I was soaking wet, my scars were still hidden. It also didn’t look half-bad; it was even, and now that I thought about it, it reminded me of how Gretchen’s spots also formed a stripe.

However, it was hard to get too excited about my new marking, given the reason why it was there in the first place.

By the time I was dry enough to head home, the sun was almost all the way set. It was still early in the night, though; if I hurried, I’d have time for dinner before I settled in for the night.

With a small grin, I stretched out my wings and took off for home and a restful weekend. My first shift was on Monday.

Comments ( 168 )

Hail NickNack:pinkiecrazy:

Wait, is this the real thing? Can it be true? :rainbowderp:

Hail satan.

1670667 You have always been an idiot.

1670859

And so now I'm an idiot for good ole american humor? One of two things are about to happen.

1. I'm about to call you a new fag, because you don't live in america, and then, you probably will go off, because you don't understand what a new fag is.

2. You obviously do not know me, because, as I've said before, fuck religion.

Ooh, nice.

Now that this is here my computer will tell me when it updates.

Well once it gets done with telling me that the rest of the already written chapters have been added.

oooh
Has there been any changes in the 12+ months this has not been updated?

1670859
1670667
Hey now... if you wanna fight, go do it on your own time, in a parking lot somewhere. Not in a school, surrounded by books.

1671259
The writing style has improved, and the scenes were shuffled. Only one or two were really changed, though.

Except chapter 7. Chapter 7 is almost entirely a new thing. I decided against a "bar fight" in the "falling action" section of the story, as that seemed to be the right thing to do.

Oh man this, this pleases me so, thanks for posting it :heart:

1671374

Well, it's not your fault, it's not even mine. Sometimes people don't know humor.

ie.

JL-Hero said: Hail NickNack

Bro Dash said: Hail Satan.

G-AB Acid said: You have always been an idiot.

And, you know the rest.

1671784
I got called Satan once, when I did a Christmas benefit for dyslexic kids.

Stuff sticks with you.

1671797

lol...wait, whoa dude. Seriously, I didn't know. I was just making good old american joke! Legit, man! But...people have been ridin my rear for it. Something tells me people are still blinded by religion...

In the words of many forum goers, "This thread got derailed." Now of course, this isn't a forum but I think it applies nicely here.

1671807

Personally I don't care if you we're joking or you draw pentagrams on the wall and sacrifice goats. Lastly, if you want to spout that atheist stuff, go to reddit or something this is not the time or the place.

At any rate, it's nice to see my favorite fic on fimfiction. Have a "like".

1671807
I, too, was making a joke. Dyslexia. Christmas. Santa.

But yeah, no worries, what's said is said, and I'm not really in a position to judge anyone these days.

Yes! Going to re-read this.

Oh fuck yes. Tell me you have the sequel. That's one of the first stories I read in the fandom and it's what made Gilda best pony in my book.

1672321
Garnot's got the first half, I've got the second half. When we go on a destiny quest out into the Mojave desert, we will meet, combine the two halves, and then take over the world with the power or Rock 'n Roll.

Or, you know... finish writing and polish them before posting them here.

I had been told that this had been taken down from... well... everywhere. This was perhaps my favorite Gilda story, so I was very disheartened when I heard that. I'm glad to see it here. I shall have to put aside some time to read it again tomorrow :pinkiehappy:

YES
YES
YES
YES
YES
YES

...

YES

huh, figured he would have been here to comment... props on the story btw

Oh hey, I remember this story! A quick glance-over tells me there's been some changes, some more major than others (I sort of miss the fight in the restaurant from the last chapter; it was one of my favorite scenes), but that doesn't mean it's any less awesome to run into again. :twilightsmile:

1671807
From one atheist to another:
For ____'s sake, shut up and read the _____damned story. :ajbemused:

:unsuresweetie:Do I even need to say good fic?
Its do goddamned awesome and introspective I want to just hop into the computer and stuff. I always knew That something like this would get featured. and it truly deserves to be known. Better than what I could do. Hats off Nicknack Take a moustache:moustache:

thesnakesoup.org/articles/mpwmpo/salute2.gif
Ladies and gentlemen, it has been an honor working on this story, as well as Two Beats. I've done my part, and carried this tale at a time that would have seen it forgotten and lost.

Now, it's creator has returned, and I am no longer of need. I still carry one half of the future, but my job is essentially complete. What does the future hold? Who knows. All I know is that I'll be there, watching, ready to aid should I ever be needed again.

Till we meet again.

-E.D. "Garnot" C]-[H

Ezn

Hey, welcome back!

Read this story a while ago and loved it. You made me like Gilda.

I hope to start reading the sequel soon.

1672521 Your avatar has the power to make the strongest of warriors tremble in fear. Do not hurt me. :fluttercry:

PresentPerfect
Author Interviewer

Waaaaait wait wait wait wait wait wait.

Nick's not back, is he? c.c Is this just Garnot posting the polished version or whatever?

By Golly it's here! Hooray! I first read this several months back on EQD & Google Docs. Now i get to read it here I am so excited I can barely contain myself.

Well I'm completely new to this story and ignorant as to why it would have been taken down. I think it's rad. I went in skeptical that I could view Gilda as a sympathetic character and was pleasantly surprised. Redemption!

1672251 No, it's different because, if this had been the first time I read it, it wouldn't have hooked me as bad as the first time:ajsleepy:

1673229 T'is a shame that you are under-appreciated for your efforts.
Not just with revisiting Nick's works, but on your own as well, Garnot.

Take comfort in the fact that there are people out there who enjoy what you write a lot. Me, namely.
Might not seem like much, but I thought I'd say it.

Sorry, Nick... twice now I've done it and "polluted" the comments with off-topic stuff.

L4

Ever since i heard of this story i wanted to read it, but i don't like gmail and the only gmail i have is for my youtube account which i can't technically open.

:,D thank you for making such an amazing story that isn't crop and copy like every other story.

YESH! THANK YOU FOR POSTING THIS!!! I must reread sometime, that stolen copy had errors everywhere! Plus, it's been changed! :D :D :D

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Ok, as for the sake of my well being, because I don't want to flip shit because people don't drop this:

Stop, quit epestering me. I've explained my reasons to five people already, and I don't feel liek doing it anymore to shut you people up.

As for you, Rattle, tie down your rear. I've got this marked in my favorites, so I cna catch it later, and possibly read it when I'm in the mood. Along with the 27 other stories I need to read.

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Yep, that's definitely NickNack.

The pony intertubes need more puns and witticisms. All the more reason it's good to have you back.

I read this a long time ago... it is you the real author of this or you just repost it here?
Just asking because when I read it, this fic was in a 'google text' document on the internet and I didn't find who the author was. :fluttershysad:

Where ya been Nick?

Nice to see this on here. Been a while since I read it.

“Your back.”

That's you're back--the contraction of 'you' and 'are'.

“You accuse my city of being unwelcoming and prejudiced, but when was the last time you made an effort to be friendly to anyone here?”

See, that's the lesson Pinkie should have been trying to get across in the first place.

Oh, so Gilda flashed Bulwark's sister. Awkward. Unless she's into that sort of thing, which makes it doubly awkward for Gilda--if griffon culture is as ultraconservative as they appear, I'd wager that same-sex relationships would be violently discouraged.

“Join my Guard.” He said it as if it were that simple.

Why do I suddenly envision a line of guardsponies dancing past in the background singing "In the Navy"? Still, he just lets her into the guard knowing she has a history of instability and violence? That's quite a risk.

All in all, this was a solid and engaging story from a rarely-seen perspective. I eagerly hope to see its sequel posted here as well.

OK, so this is a new version?
Will there be a continuation of the parts where she lived in town and had all that trouble and involvement withe the captain? Or was that some other author building on your story?
I'm very confused, and excited.
The last thing i remember is gilda trying to make amends with the captain's friend and when they're talking about her and her father she punches him in the face and says something like "well, if you weren't fast enough to dodge that i should hit you more"
That kind of thing was such interesting character development.

Another thing, dash's being unfair with demanding complete apologies or GTFO gilda. She knows the situation and some extent of the misunderstanding that happened, all and all just a talk and explanation should solve the situation in poniville, maybe Dash is just secretly scared of having the unstable predator near everyone else.

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"Your back"

Gilda's secondary language recognition skills still aren't fully there. That's why she turns around.

Still, he just lets her into the guard knowing she has a history of instability and violence? That's quite a risk.

Oh, now, what's the worst that could happen?


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All of the ponies' characters seem to reflect their Element of Harmony. While I can't imagine "Loyalty" is easy to bear when one's friends fight with one another, Dash does what she has to do.

And from an objective standpoint, "swallowing one's pride and apologizing" is one hell of a lighter Verbannungsprüfung than "cold-blooded murder because my pride was insulted."

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Horribly dramatic goodness that makes for a great sequel? =D

Haha,!160th thumbs up vote

You have succeeded in doing the impossible. You have made me feel sympathetic for Gilda to the point of liking her. This story is now my head canon. May god have mercy on your soul.

This was one of my favorite stories when I first dived into the fanfiction. Definitely going to dive into this one again.

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what about what i asked the other post, about the sequel to this?

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